Jessica drove home from the second shift at work. She soon left the urban streets of Concord behind, and began to feel the stress leach away as she cruised down the long, wooded stretch of Old Turnpike Road. There were no lights showing in the windows of the few houses she passed - most people in these small towns followed the old adage of early to bed and early to rise. At this late hour, she enjoyed having the quiet streets all to herself.
Around the time she reached Salisbury, still a few miles from home, the fog suddenly thickened. She could barely see where she was going, so slowed to a cautious creep, diligently watching the the road ahead for impetuous wildlife or drunk drivers who'd forgotten to turn on their headlights. Despite her care, a wandering bull moose suddenly leaped into her path. She barely saw it in time and swerved hard, knowing that crashing into the huge beast could be fatal to both of them. She missed the moose, but the nose of her car smashed into a stone wall at the edge of the road. The moose ambled off into the woods as she climbed out of the car to get her bearings.
She pulled out her cell phone, but there was no coverage here. The surrounding hills often blocked any signals from getting through. Jessica looked around her, hoping to spot a house where the inhabitants might still be awake, and that's when she saw a path leading through the stone wall. She saw a bright light shining a short distance away. She began to follow the path towards what she hoped would be a safe haven.
Eventually, the path led to a monstrously enormous hemlock tree - Jessica judged that it must have been hundreds of years old. She could see that the mysterious light seemed to hang from the upper branches.
Suddenly, a strange, low voice called, "Help me, please help me." It seems to be coming from the tree. She walked closer, staring at the light as though she were hypnotized. She tripped on an exposed root and grabbed a branch to stop her fall. Something suddenly began to swirl into her mind, while her being seemed to be flowing away into the tree's core. As her spirit filled the tree, she could see into the previous tenant's memories. On October 31, 1845, Josiah was driving his buckboard back to his farm, when a coyote rushed out and startled his horse. As the horse panicked, Josish was knocked off the wagon - he found the tree just as Jessica did and exchanged places with an Abenacki warrior, who'd served as the tree's spirit since 1523. As the exchange of thoughts neared completion, the faces of other previous tenants flashed through her mind: John, a slave who'd escaped from Portsmouth in 1779, who'd lost his way trying to get to Canada. A soldier fighting during King George's War in 1745. An early Saxon settler, who'd been gathering firewood in 1623. These exchanges always occurred on a dark, foggy, October night, leaving one entity trapped within the giant hemlock tree, while the previous tenant, confused and bewildered, inhabited the newborn Lurker's discarded body. The very first Lurker was a child of an ancient, long forgotten race, who was sacrificed to an ancient, long forgotten god and then buried among the roots of this very hemlock, 1000 years ago, when it was a tiny sapling.
As Jessica assumed her new position, she watched Josiah dazedly wander away towards the road. She could see the past, but then she realized she could also see the future. The undersides of the ancient, mighty hemlock's needles were infested by the tiny, cottony bodies of the dreaded woolly ageldid and Jessica knew that the tiny insects would kill the majestic tree within four years. When it died, the resident spirit would die, too. Jessica would be the last Lurker in the Mist.
and here I am again walking through this valley where the mist turns everything into a watercolor painting like the ones my mother used to hang in the kitchen except there's something wrong with this particular morning something that makes me think about all those times I've watched nature documentaries where the gazelle doesn't know it's being stalked and isn't it funny how we can sense these things how the body knows before the mind catches up like that time in third grade when I knew Tommy Williams was going to throw a spitball at me before he even reached for his straw
the fog is doing that thing again where it seems to have fingers or maybe tentacles or maybe I'm just remembering those Japanese prints I saw at the museum last spring but there's definitely something in there watching waiting and I wonder if it gets lonely being a thing in the mist if it has coffee breaks or vacation days or if it just endlessly prowls these hills like some cosmic night watchman who never gets to clock out and why am I even thinking about its coffee breaks when I should be terrified but maybe that's just how the human mind works always trying to domesticate the unknown
three days now it's been following me and I keep pretending I don't see it like we're playing some otherworldly game of peek-a-boo and I remember playing that with my niece how she always thought she was invisible when she covered her eyes and maybe that's what I'm doing now covering my eyes metaphorically speaking while this thing this shadow this whatever-it-is creeps closer and closer and isn't it strange how the mist parts like stage curtains as if it's all been choreographed just for me just for this moment when I finally turn and see what's been watching me all along and oh
oh
now I understand why people only whisper about the mist-walker why they leave offerings at the edge of town why my grandmother used to cross herself whenever the fog rolled in and why words will never be enough to describe what I'm seeing right now in this moment as the mist pulls back like a bride's veil revealing what's been here all along waiting just waiting for someone to look back
The mist-fog eye’s you and with hydrochloric acid peels the paint of your house and then melts your clothes into the blob of hoot movies we know that nothing turns out well e when the mist crosses the stream of consciousness.
Great ghost story. Drank the whole bottle of whiskey to last drop. Got misty eyes that dripped blood 🩸; hooked on hoodwinked , I want more whiskey , but I can’t get up from the floor. The weight of mist is an iron clad moment. An anvil of evil elixir that drags me down to a puddle of acid disintegrating pee.
Those Lurkers don't mess around. Great job of connecting the past to the present with your ending.
Thank you! I’m glad you liked it :))
Good thing there is no mist in my city. Phew! I will sleep tight tonight. What an awesome ending, creepy, unexpected, still, awesome.
That's a great and well-written story. Thank you for sharing it!
Wow. I just read that now... bad choice for bedtime! 😬 Great story, though. I think you just invented a new urban legend!
Maybe! Glad you liked it :)
October 31, 2024 - 23:30
Jessica drove home from the second shift at work. She soon left the urban streets of Concord behind, and began to feel the stress leach away as she cruised down the long, wooded stretch of Old Turnpike Road. There were no lights showing in the windows of the few houses she passed - most people in these small towns followed the old adage of early to bed and early to rise. At this late hour, she enjoyed having the quiet streets all to herself.
Around the time she reached Salisbury, still a few miles from home, the fog suddenly thickened. She could barely see where she was going, so slowed to a cautious creep, diligently watching the the road ahead for impetuous wildlife or drunk drivers who'd forgotten to turn on their headlights. Despite her care, a wandering bull moose suddenly leaped into her path. She barely saw it in time and swerved hard, knowing that crashing into the huge beast could be fatal to both of them. She missed the moose, but the nose of her car smashed into a stone wall at the edge of the road. The moose ambled off into the woods as she climbed out of the car to get her bearings.
She pulled out her cell phone, but there was no coverage here. The surrounding hills often blocked any signals from getting through. Jessica looked around her, hoping to spot a house where the inhabitants might still be awake, and that's when she saw a path leading through the stone wall. She saw a bright light shining a short distance away. She began to follow the path towards what she hoped would be a safe haven.
Eventually, the path led to a monstrously enormous hemlock tree - Jessica judged that it must have been hundreds of years old. She could see that the mysterious light seemed to hang from the upper branches.
Suddenly, a strange, low voice called, "Help me, please help me." It seems to be coming from the tree. She walked closer, staring at the light as though she were hypnotized. She tripped on an exposed root and grabbed a branch to stop her fall. Something suddenly began to swirl into her mind, while her being seemed to be flowing away into the tree's core. As her spirit filled the tree, she could see into the previous tenant's memories. On October 31, 1845, Josiah was driving his buckboard back to his farm, when a coyote rushed out and startled his horse. As the horse panicked, Josish was knocked off the wagon - he found the tree just as Jessica did and exchanged places with an Abenacki warrior, who'd served as the tree's spirit since 1523. As the exchange of thoughts neared completion, the faces of other previous tenants flashed through her mind: John, a slave who'd escaped from Portsmouth in 1779, who'd lost his way trying to get to Canada. A soldier fighting during King George's War in 1745. An early Saxon settler, who'd been gathering firewood in 1623. These exchanges always occurred on a dark, foggy, October night, leaving one entity trapped within the giant hemlock tree, while the previous tenant, confused and bewildered, inhabited the newborn Lurker's discarded body. The very first Lurker was a child of an ancient, long forgotten race, who was sacrificed to an ancient, long forgotten god and then buried among the roots of this very hemlock, 1000 years ago, when it was a tiny sapling.
As Jessica assumed her new position, she watched Josiah dazedly wander away towards the road. She could see the past, but then she realized she could also see the future. The undersides of the ancient, mighty hemlock's needles were infested by the tiny, cottony bodies of the dreaded woolly ageldid and Jessica knew that the tiny insects would kill the majestic tree within four years. When it died, the resident spirit would die, too. Jessica would be the last Lurker in the Mist.
Very tense atmosphere and absolutely gripping! Well done, Miguel... 😎👍
That's a great story! very "classic" but with its own charm and I like how its his friends come back for him.
Thank you Nick! I wished to make a classic urban legend kinda character, :)
you nailed it with the Lurker... you become the next one... very clever!
Very creepy!!
Thank you!
and here I am again walking through this valley where the mist turns everything into a watercolor painting like the ones my mother used to hang in the kitchen except there's something wrong with this particular morning something that makes me think about all those times I've watched nature documentaries where the gazelle doesn't know it's being stalked and isn't it funny how we can sense these things how the body knows before the mind catches up like that time in third grade when I knew Tommy Williams was going to throw a spitball at me before he even reached for his straw
the fog is doing that thing again where it seems to have fingers or maybe tentacles or maybe I'm just remembering those Japanese prints I saw at the museum last spring but there's definitely something in there watching waiting and I wonder if it gets lonely being a thing in the mist if it has coffee breaks or vacation days or if it just endlessly prowls these hills like some cosmic night watchman who never gets to clock out and why am I even thinking about its coffee breaks when I should be terrified but maybe that's just how the human mind works always trying to domesticate the unknown
three days now it's been following me and I keep pretending I don't see it like we're playing some otherworldly game of peek-a-boo and I remember playing that with my niece how she always thought she was invisible when she covered her eyes and maybe that's what I'm doing now covering my eyes metaphorically speaking while this thing this shadow this whatever-it-is creeps closer and closer and isn't it strange how the mist parts like stage curtains as if it's all been choreographed just for me just for this moment when I finally turn and see what's been watching me all along and oh
oh
now I understand why people only whisper about the mist-walker why they leave offerings at the edge of town why my grandmother used to cross herself whenever the fog rolled in and why words will never be enough to describe what I'm seeing right now in this moment as the mist pulls back like a bride's veil revealing what's been here all along waiting just waiting for someone to look back
The mist-fog eye’s you and with hydrochloric acid peels the paint of your house and then melts your clothes into the blob of hoot movies we know that nothing turns out well e when the mist crosses the stream of consciousness.
Great ghost story. Drank the whole bottle of whiskey to last drop. Got misty eyes that dripped blood 🩸; hooked on hoodwinked , I want more whiskey , but I can’t get up from the floor. The weight of mist is an iron clad moment. An anvil of evil elixir that drags me down to a puddle of acid disintegrating pee.
Creepy!!
Melted yellow snow better?