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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1066474
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Horror/Scary · #1066474
This was a short story i wrote, experimenting w/ no dialogue, its kinda creepy
The man stood in the center of the town square and looked around at his surroundings. The rain earlier that day left everything damp and left a musty smell in the air. There were surprisingly no pigeons around with the air eerily silent. A fog was rolling in from the bogs a few miles to the south. The countryside had earned a reputation for its thick fogs and rainy days, never letting the air dry out. This fog though, was somehow different. It rolled in with a sort of guidance.

Despite shivering from the crisp breeze, the man started to sweat at the sight of the fog. His eyes darted nervously around looking for something to protect him from an unseen foe. He saw that the fog was coming closer, and tendrils of the fog rolled out farther as if grabbing for something. He turned to run from the fog, and as he ran the fog rolled in faster as if in pursuit of prey, him. Every time he looked back the fog was just a bit closer.

A tall man dressed in a navy blue suit stepped out in front of the running man, and grabbed him. The man runner was absolutely terrified, and started to claw at the well dressed man. The man in the suit held on tight, blood flowing from the cuts the runner made. The fog moved in ever closer, and enveloped the two men.

The clopping of horse hooves on cobblestone soon followed, so loud Thor's thunder was muted. A small, scream-like sound eminated from the fog, but fell on deaf ears. The clopping began to fade as the scream ended and the fog rolled out as quickly as it came. The spot in the town square where the man was stopped by the well dressed gentleman now only had a few drops of blood on the cobblestone. The clopping slowly faded into nothing, and a single pigeon flew down and landed near the blood-stained path. And as it drank out of a nearby puddle, blood dripped from its small beak.
© Copyright 2006 Daniel Alan DuGalle (tassadar7945 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1066474