Within the Fog

Sam

"Sam, why are we still here? I know you've heard about those...stories."

"Those 'stories' are a load of bullshit, Ben. You should know that." I duck under a low branch; I swat it away when it brushes against my head. "There is no cannibal walking around in this forest. If there really was, don't you think the police would've already investigated this entire area? Or at least, catch this 'cannibal' in the act?"

"I doubt they would even dare--not with this bloody fog! I can't see a thing!" Ben has said that over five times already. We've only been here for about half an hour.

Listening to someone's repetitive complaints annoys me as much as the next guy, but I've known Ben for nine months now; I've learned to get used to his whiny habits...somewhat. I do get these occasional urges to smack him in his bitch-face, but I never end up doing it.

We have a strange friendship.

We're meandering through a thick forest, it's past one o'clock in the morning, but I don't feel as tired as I thought I would. Let me tell you how I got in this situation. Including four others, Ben and I were sitting in this forest not too long ago. We were celebrating Amber's twenty-fourth birthday and--following the tradition we've developed over the past few years--sat around a campfire, drank beer, and just had a good time.

I don't drink as heavily as most of my friends. So of course, I had been appointed as the designated driver. I quickly sobered up by the time the party was over, and after driving all but one of my friends home, I was back here again for one reason only: my house keys were missing.

I decided to drag Ben along, because I realized what was missing right after he was the only one left with me. Ben was still a little drunk; the occasional slurring of his words confirmed it. So far, he wasn't any help--as per usual. I knew the Englishman was frightened because of what was supposedly lurking here. It's not just the newcomers who stay away from this forest.

The root of all this paranoia and fear originates from the stories.

There are countless of missing cases occurring. They start with young citizens going inside of this forest whenever  there's a thick fog, and never returning. That's the story, anyway. Similar things have been said over the past few months. It's not out of the ordinary that this town gets cloudy, misty weather on a daily basis. 

Last week, a rumor emerged about one of those missing persons being found, but they were beyond recognition. It was a girl, no older than the age of thirteen. The girl had been maimed during the last moments of her life. Her flesh was torn apart and her limbs were severed from the torso. The sinews of the girl's exposed muscles spilled into the world. Her stomach was slit open too, if memory serves.

There weren't any claw marks or any indications that a four-legged creature devoured the body, so they say a human did. I don't believe in that; there's no solid evidence to show this is true.

Ben groans in despair. "How much longer?"

"Not much longer, Ben."

He's quiet, but I don't expect him to stay that way for long. He asks me, "Why are you even carryin' that backpack anyway? Are you carryin' a torch in there?"

Torch equals flashlight in British terms. Unconsciously, I grunt through my nose. "No. If I did, I would have taken it out by now, Ben. Plus, I'm carrying the beers we didn't finish--I'm saving them."

"Y'know what? Let's just leave," he suggests. "You can sleep the night at my place, and we can come back here in the morning when there's no fog. Yeah?"

I offer a sarcastic laugh his way. "No thanks, Ben. You live in a pigsty. There's no way you're convincing me to sleep there."

"Arsehole," he remarks, "I was tryin' to be nice." I don't make any further comments after that; I don't feel like agitating him any further. A few moments later, I glance down at my feet after hearing a soft crunch sound.

"Good; we're on gravel. It means we're on the right track. And Ben, since you're so scared, I'll just go up ahead and search around our campfire spot, in case that cannibal is there already."

Ben sighs irritably, like the drama queen he was born to be. "Make it quick. But if I hear any sounds, I'm bailing."

I shrug my shoulders; I couldn't care less. "Fine by me. But I'm the one with the car." I  turn on my heel and walk away, leaving my friend grumbling to himself as he leans against a tree.

--------------------------

Ben

"How could somebody just lose their house keys...?! Out of all things...?" I apply friction to my hands by rubbing them together and try to make myself less disgruntled about the chilly air. It was warmer just a few hours ago--I don't understand how weather can change this quick.

And why drag me into this place?

I still don't see a point in this. Sam forced me to accompany him because he wouldn't drive me home until I accepted his request. This is a game of finding the needle in a haystack. There's no such thing as a "helping set of eyes" when the fog is this thick. I just don't understand my friend sometimes--most of the time, really.

When I first met Sam, I didn't like him for some reason. I guess I just got a bad impression of him, but then I learned he was a cool, decent person... Except, only when he's not being a total prick. That's all. Sam takes the sentence "honesty is the best policy" way too seriously; he's just pretty damn blunt about everything. 

I wait for more than a few minutes.

Where in the world is he?

I don't want to shout his name--it'd be a stupid idea to attract the attention from that cannibal. Just like Sam said, I am afraid. Anyone would be too, if they learned a predatory creature of their own species was roaming the streets.

I hear a few bushes stirring from movement, and I nearly jump  out of my skin.

It's not something--someone is there. Contrary to what I told Sam earlier, my feet stay planted to the ground. Before me, is the eerie silhouette of a man. He's just standing there. The fog serves him as his mask; I can't see anything but his shape. I know he's staring at me.

"Sam?" my voice shakes, but I try to sound as angry as possible. "If this is a damn joke, it ain't funny!"

The man doesn't answer. I step away from the tree I leaned on, and back away from him as steadily as I can. I see the man raise his right arm and point something at me. A gun. This realization makes me feel colder--heavier--than I ever thought.

I know it's too late to run; he can see my silhouette as well as I can see his.

I'm trembling so much, it's uncontrollably. I'm going to die. Right here, in this moment without any final goodbyes to anyone. Not my family, friends, acquaintances--not even Amber. I want to tell her how much I love her. This leaves me feeling something I have never experienced before: helplessness. 

I raise my hands in front of me to signal my relinquishment. My eyes burn from the tears and my throat constricts itself into a tight knot--so tight that it hurts to speak.

"Please... Don't shoot."

-------------------------------

Sam

The sound of a single gunshot tears through the heavy, night air. It screams in my ears, letting out a sharp, furious cry before dissipating into silence. I don't break into a run from the noise. I stand where I am, though only for a moment. I slowly move forward, and the gravel is whispering beneath my shoes.

I stand over Ben's corpse. I stare at his lifeless eyes; he returns my gaze without actually looking back at me. His forehead bears a raw bullet wound, followed by a small crimson line that flows down his face. The ground beneath his head has been painted with a careless plethora--a splatter of dark fluid intermixed with tidbits of brain.

It's beautiful. He experienced a quick, painful death...unlike the others.

"Sorry, Ben," I tell him, "But it was time for my dinner."

I return my gun to its holster, and pull out the machete from my backpack. The satisfaction of curling my fingers around the machete's handle causes me to shiver with absolute delight. It's been too long since I have felt its welcoming touch... I smile to myself, then I begin to work.