Tuesday, April 3, 2012

London Fog

Henry did not like the look of the fog that rolled over the dewy grass hills of the city’s large park. It moved amongst the trees purposefully; against the night’s breeze, covering them in mists that seemed to swallow them up into oblivion.

This could not be true of course, he knew that the trees were still there, standing as they ever had been, however, for some dark reason he felt the fog had consumed them, along with the rest of the landscape.

The fog continued to roll itself out onto the cobblestones of the street that bordered the park, coming straight towards where he stood underneath the flickering flame of the streetlamp, smoking his nightly pipe.

A carriage bustled along the road as the fog enveloped it. The clip clop of the horse’s hooves and clatter of the wheels on the street stones became muffled, then silent; as if they had disappeared not just from sight, but vanished entirely.

Henry bit down on his pipe and turned on his heel to walk briskly away from the oncoming cloud of mist that had grown to block out everything it touched; blocked out or devoured.

Looking over his shoulder, Henry saw the looming fog eat up the brick buildings that lined the street. Not watching where he was going, he bumped into the shoulder of someone, knocking the pipe from his mouth down to the sidewalk.

George Grafton was the portly, older gentleman who lived a few homes down from Henry and his family. Begging his pardon and barely hearing the elderly man’s inquiries as to where he was off to in such a hurry, Henry only touched the brim of his hat as he turned to see the fog moving closer.

Continuing to hurry away, he heard a few of George’s upset remarks at his rudeness before the old man was silenced by the fog. Henry looked back and saw that George was gone, lost to the fog that threatened to take him as well.

By the time he turned the corner to the street on which his house stood, he was at a full run to try and stay ahead of the sinister mist. Everything behind was gone, but he did not turn to look anymore, he only wanted to make it home.

Reaching the steps to his townhouse he let go of his hat and let it fly off his head to disappear into the foggy depths. He pounded his gloved fists on the thick wooden door for his Emily to unlock the door and let him in.

He dared one more look over his shoulder only to see the dark shadow of the fog moving in around him. His shout for his wife muffled and then was silenced completely.

Emily opened the door to let her husband in before he busted in down, but only the chilled night air came in, causing her to shiver and pull her schal higher around her shoulders.

She stepped out onto the front stoop and looked up and down the lamp-lit street; Henry was nowhere in sight.
What fool game was he playing at this time? She thought to herself grumpily. Down the street a fog was rolling away, leaving wispy trails in its wake.

Sniffing in annoyance, Emily turned back to go inside and closed the door.

A figure stepped out of the fog as it moved away, silhouetted from the lamp light under which they stood. The figure wore Henry’s close, but from underneath the brim of Henry’s top hat, dark foggy eyes look out as they lit Henry’s pipe and began to stroll; moving purposefully towards Henry’s beautiful brick townhouse. Their new home. 

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