The Man in the Fog

Daniel had driven this route a hundred times before. The old country road stretched for miles, surrounded by thick forests on both sides. It was quiet, peaceful—until the fog rolled in.

That night, the fog was unlike anything he had ever seen. It swallowed the trees, thick and suffocating. His headlights barely cut through it, the world outside his car fading into a blur of gray.

Then he saw him.

A man standing by the roadside.

At first, Daniel thought he was a hitchhiker. But as he got closer, unease crept over him. The man was tall, too tall. His clothes were old-fashioned, his face pale and expressionless. He stood perfectly still, his dark eyes locked onto Daniel’s car.

Something in Daniel’s gut told him to keep driving.

As he passed, the figure didn’t move. But in his rearview mirror, Daniel saw something that made his blood run cold.

The man had turned.

He was watching.

Daniel swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the road. The fog thickened. He gripped the wheel, his breath unsteady.

A few miles later, he let out a shaky laugh. Just my imagination, he told himself. Nothing to worry about.

Then, up ahead—another figure.

It was the same man.

Standing in the exact same position.

Daniel’s heart pounded. That was impossible. He hadn’t seen any turns, any paths leading off the road. There was no way the man could be here again.

This time, as he drove past, the man’s lips curled into a slow, unnatural smile.

Daniel pressed his foot on the gas.

The fog swirled around him. The road felt endless. His hands trembled as he checked the mirror.

The man was standing in the middle of the road behind him.

Closer.

Daniel’s chest tightened. He forced himself to focus ahead. The sooner he reached town, the better.

Then, the radio crackled.

Static.

And then—a voice.

"Why are you running?"

Daniel’s blood turned to ice.

The voice wasn’t coming from the radio.

It was coming from the backseat.

He didn’t dare look.

The fog closed in. The road twisted. The car shuddered. Daniel gripped the wheel, his breath ragged.

"Almost there," he whispered to himself.

Then, the headlights flickered.

And the car stopped.

The silence was deafening.

Daniel’s hands trembled as he reached for his phone. No signal.

Then he felt it.

A cold breath on his neck.

Slowly, unwillingly, he turned.

The man was sitting in the backseat.

Smiling.

Daniel screamed.

The next morning, a truck driver found his car on the side of the road, empty. The doors were locked. The keys were still in the ignition.

But Daniel was gone.

And in the fog, just beyond the trees, a figure stood watching.

Waiting for the next traveler.