Beware of the Fog

Splash!

There were screams, too, leading up to the moment of impact. The sounds of tires skidding across pavement and then a heavy splash as the car careened into the freezing, rushing river below.

But it didn’t matter. No one heard anyways. The fog kept kids out of school, and kept most people out of work. The cold, damp air, and the threat of what was to come kept them inside.

The fog.

It wasn’t easy to describe to outsiders, tourists. It was heavy, almost viscous. It blanketed the town in a deep whitish-grey haze. It was nearly suffocating, if you found yourself out in it. But locals didn’t let that happen. They knew better. Because the fog didn’t come on its own.

The town was really great to be in during the summer. It was hot and sunny, with lots of things to do. A time to let down your guard. The river was actually a fun place to spend time, if you let yourself forget about what lay on the bottom. But winters, winters were a different story. It’s why some people had winter homes in other places.

But, for most people who had lived there a long time, it wasn’t really worth the trouble of finding somewhere else to go. Lots had adopted the practice of working from home in the winter anyways. At the sound of the fog sirens, they’d lock up their doors and windows and keep their TV volume loud. That part was crucial. It helped deafen the sounds of the wailing and crying, of the banging and scratching on the doors. You could almost have a normal morning. Almost.

There had always been stories of what happened out in the fog. The only roads in and out of town ran next to the Sacramento river. School buses needed to travel down those roads, and on foggy days it was way too dangerous to have them so close to the river. It took a long time to learn this lesson, though, which is where the real problem started.

Countless vehicles had lost sight of where they were going. The thick fog was disorienting, and they’d turn off the levee and end up in the river. Search and rescue used to try to recover them but it never worked. The river was too cold, too quick and the dense fog made rescue attempts even more difficult.

With the fog then came the weeping, echoing through the air, seemingly disembodied. We thought it was a prank, at first. Kids trying to get a rise out of each other, trying to spook their friends. But, we were wrong.

It seemed to start slow. Police found the body of Sandra Byers on the floor of her living room. It was clear it was a forced entry, the front door was ajar - bloated and cracked as if it had been sitting in water for ages. The cause of death was dry drowning. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense - there had been no flooding or even a sign she had used her bath. But the autopsy inexplicably showed water in her lungs.

More fog days brought more eerie wailing and crying without an obvious source. It brought more break-ins, more inexplicable deaths. The first time I heard the crying, I had just pulled into my driveway. I didn’t have to drive on River Road to get to the market, so it felt like a safe trip. I got out of my car with groceries in hand when I heard it.

“Ooooohhhhaaahhhhh” It was a deep sob, distant but very clear. The fog was already so thick I couldn’t see past the end of my driveway. I looked around, to see if I could tell where the sound was coming from.

“Ahhhhhhoooooh heeeelllppp.” It was louder now, closer. The hair on my arms and behind my neck stood up. I rushed to my door, fumbling for my keys. It sounded like it was coming from...everywhere? The sound echoed off my neighbors’ homes - I felt surrounded by it. I finally got inside and slammed and locked the door behind me. I dropped my groceries. My mind scrambled to think of what could be happening.

Then came the scratching. The pounding on my door. Someone, or something, was trying very hard to get inside. Shaking, I dared to look through the peephole. I could see nothing. The fog had come in so close that I could only see a blanket of white through the peephole. I couldn’t see anything, or anyone, on my front porch.

The banging stopped soon, and I could hear the crying pick back up, seeming to retreat. My heart pounded. I grabbed my phone, mind racing on who to call. How could I explain this? Before I could call anyone, my phone started ringing. It was Isabel, my best friend.

“Dude, tell me you’re home. It’s happening again,” She sounded out of breath.

“I just walked in. Something was banging on my door.”

“Mine too. Did you hear the crying?”

“It was so effing close.” I started to get choked up. I was terrified. Confused.

“What is happening? This can’t be real.”

“Sandra Byers. Tim Jackson. Hector Vasquez. It can’t be a coincidence. People are saying that there’s a 911 tape of Hector before he was found dead. He rambled on about hearing crying. Supposedly you can hear it on the tape.” That tape eventually got posted online, got mocked and called fake, but we all knew it wasn’t. You can hear the cries in the background and the fear in Hector’s voice, a crash, and then silence - the phone connection goes dead.

Catching proof of this phenomenon on tape is pretty much what cemented it for us. We couldn’t say how but the fog brought something with it. Something that would roam the streets, trying to find a way inside. No one could say for sure what happened when it did get inside. Anyone who could tell us didn’t survive it.

That was 3 years ago. We lost a few more friends and family, those who refused to believe what was happening, or those unlucky enough to be too far from home when the fog got too thick. The running theory is that somehow the spirits of those who have died in the river because of the fog come back. They enter town and grab hold of anyone they can. Anytime they've gotten to someone, they end up drowned somehow. Now, when the fog starts to roll in, a siren goes off that can be heard from anywhere in town. We know the drill.

There have been a handful of accidents since we implemented the sirens, but mostly we all know what to expect.

The sirens went off about an hour ago. I’m comfortably sitting in my bedroom office, writing this. I hope to reach people and let someone outside of our area know what’s going on. I know it will be hard to believe, but I think it’s important we share our story. Wait, I locked the doors right? I had to have locked it. This is second nature by now. Once the sirens went off, I blasted a playlist and got to writing. Even though we’re somewhat used to it, the cries still give me the creeps. Anyways, I feel like there might be a way to help us, or stop this somehow if we can just get someone to believe it. Was that the door? No, it can’t -

Antoinette Green was found dead in her home, at her computer chair. Cause of death: dry drowning.