In late September 2015, the skies collapsed over the small coastal town of East Scituate, Massachusetts.

A great fog rolled in from the sea, utterly and completely blanketing the summer destination retreat in a matter of minutes after sunset. Any and all light, even from the streetlamps lining the roads, was snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

The first to witness the fog was a former merchant seaman by the name of Mr. Kearney, who had been wandering about the shoreline along his property with his young grandson, Sean. As the boy ran about in the sand, Kearney strolled out onto a short dock that he’d built many years prior. Watching the tides gently lap against the rocky outcroppings down the opposite end of the beach, Kearney spied the low-hanging cloud appear over the horizon. But it was moving far too quickly to be any act of nature. In spite of the voice in the back of his mind telling him to flee this unnatural phenomenon, Kearney simply stood in awe as the fog bank sped across the water’s surface. From midway up the beach, Sean observed his grandfather for the last time as Kearney become swallowed by the menacing miasma. A moment later, an anguished scream rang out from the dock. Sean Kearney, having hidden inside the family shorehouse in a closet, would be found by emergency responders several hours thereafter, petrified and rocking back-and-forth in a puddle of his own urine.

About a mile and a half inland, Hector Guerra sat in the living room of his family’s 2-floor suburban home, flipping through television stations. Recently returned from his junior year at Boston University, Hector had fallen into something of a slump. His father, a rather lucrative entrepreneur currently away on business, had discovered Hector’s declared major fell outside the bounds of business, much to the chagrin of both parties. As such, Hector’s academic future was put on hold. In his father’s own words, Hector would not be returning to school until he “came to his senses” – a phrase evocative of his older brother, who had followed in their father’s capitalist footsteps. But Hector was not at all like his brother or his father. He still bore a sense of idealism in his heart; he was still capable of dreaming.

On this most significant eve, Hector had all but given up. Only two months into his gap year, he’d abandoned his job search, for thus far there had been no offers. Over sixty applications sent without so much as a callback. Overwhelmed with the dreadful sense of defeat, Hector was now resorting to anything he could find to pass the immeasurable free time. And so he swallowed the bitter pill of mediocrity and turned to the boob tube – America’s favourite gateway drug designed to numb mental acuity.

Flipping past Dateline MSNBC and Fox News affiliates alike, Hector’s chest rose and fell in a series of heavy sighs. Was this all the world had to offer him? A series of momentary distractions from the misery of a pointless existence? Every line in the countless dramas, every snake-tongued pitch line of an infomercial, every overdramatized cut of a reality show was but another brick in the wall Hector’s mind was constructing between himself and the world beyond his skull. All that remained was the long wait for eventual death.

But then the fog came. In an instant, the sweeping cloud enveloped the Guerra home, blackening the distant light of the setting sun. Odd, Hector thought as he glanced over his shoulder and out into the fog beyond the bay window, but his attention soon slipped back to the television. It was not long before this creature comfort was taken from him.

There came the unmistakable sound: Bwuuuuur…click.

The power went out, and the darkness clinging to the windowsill claimed the last bit of light left in East Scituate. Hector blinked, hoping the sudden outage was but a figment of his dulled sensibilities, but alas, the dark held strong. With a heavy sigh, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, unlocked it, and tapped the weather icon.

No, nothing about a sudden onset of fog. Hector stared at the screen, as though by his pure skepticism the text would change. It didn’t. All he could do was tap the screen, hoping for more details. What he received was a sudden distortion of his phone’s video display. Large monochromatic bars tore across it.

Then it cut to pure white noise. The static was occasionally interrupted by flashes of images unfamiliar to him. A girl with a flirtatious scowl, the shadow of a raised knife against a brick wall, a finch plucked bald and bleeding, a cut power cable, a disembodied hand floating in a jar of formaldehyde…

The slideslow advanced at rapid pace. An eyeless woman in a wedding dress, loose change in free-fall, two cows for
nicating, an oozing burn wound, a bowl of fruit…

He began to lose perception of what was being shown to him. The images were now little more than flashes of light. Hector’s eyes darted about, unconsciously responding to the signals moving up and down his optic nerves. He could feel himself drifting out. And then his mind went truly blank, if only for a moment.

Ah yes, nothing quite like a petit mal seizure that says “contact established,” is there? At the very climax of the trigger images, the screen switched and hung on a “picture” of a seablue eye. It watched in appreciation of its work. Returning to active consciousness was akin to merely losing time. For a mere second or two, he’d simply stopped processing anything. His first thought upon waking regarded how dark it was. Pitch black.

But then he looked down into the most horrible and beautiful eye he’d ever seen.

“Hello, Hector,” came the Old One’s voice from his phone’s speaker, seemingly alternating its tone between both sexes.

“What the hell--? What is this?”

“Technically, a fart. My apologies. It wasn’t me, per se. It was the result of my actions, though, and for that, I do beg your pardon.”

“Huh?”

“The fog. What was it you called it, Zahra?” The voice on the other end seemed to direct this question away from the microphone. There was a quiet chuckle and scoff from a second voice, whose owner then said:

“An extra-dimensional queef.”

“I’ll trust that’s delightfully disgusting enough a descriptor to ascertain my disdain for the fog’s originator.”

Hector could not come up with anything of a reaction. He remained silent, still a bit too nonplussed to respond.

“Exactly. Exes, right? I’d rather Choth-Meggurakk not exist, but alas,’The Crawling Terror’ doth draw breath, and thus she bore forth a sudden squall which has rendered unto your pitiful little town the uh…”

There was a pause, followed by a heavy sigh from the second voice.

“The stank-mist of her fuckhole.”

“Christ, what crackhouse were you raised in?”

“An overbearing Muslim one, thanks. My talent for words came from my own brain. And crack, obviously.”

“Crack is for peasants, luv. Cocaine is for successful Middle-Eastern oil barons.”

“As if.”

“Um…?” Hector simpered into the receiver.

“Oh, right. You. So…bad news, some people are gonna die because of the fog. Sorry, harsh truth. I ain’t here to be a hero. It’s just that I have use for you. I like to scout my talent early in life, Hec. You’ve got what it takes. By which I mean…oh, forget it. You’ll see. But good news, ‘cause right now, I need you alive. And in order to do that, I need you to trust me.”

“Wait, people will die?” asked Hector, slinking down in the couch so as to move out of view of the bay window behind him. Peering over the cushion, he glimpsed the cloudy tendrils of the fog clinging to the window pane. He couldn’t help but shake the feeling of being watched.

“Alright, listen to me. You’ll be fine. So will your family. Just listen to what I tell you, lad. Move into the kitchen.”

Though incredulous, Hector followed the Old One’s instructions and scampered across his living room floor and into the kitchen. He figured that if he moved quickly enough, whatever it is the fog did wouldn’t be able to get at him. It was stupid, he knew, but it made sense in the moment. Human beings do the most embarrassing things when they’re frightened.

“Oh, and one important thing, mate.”

“What?”

“Stay away from the windows.”

And that was when something slammed against the sliding glass door.