Midnight Fog

I’ve got quite an overactive imagination.  I remember, even as a young child, being afraid of scenarios that almost certainly would never happen. Just before I entered kindergarten, my two oldest siblings went to live with their father. This meant that I would be travelling to the school bus stop each morning alone. It was only about a block and a half from my house, and most of the time, it was fine. In the winter months, however, the sun would not yet be up when I would have to leave. In the darkness, everything felt terrifying to me. If I saw cars’ headlights approaching, I would run and lay in the grass in an attempt to hide from potential kidnappers. In hindsight, I realize I was almost definitely not hidden at all, but my kindergarten brain thought it was enough.

It definitely didn’t help that each Friday, when I would go to my weekend visitations at my father’s house, he would tune in to America’s Most Wanted. I’d hear the terrible stories first and then learn that the men were still at large. Upon seeing their mugshots, I’d become convinced that since I’d seen them, and knew of their crimes, that they would consider me a witness and want me dead. For years, I was too terrified to sleep in my own bedroom, choosing to instead endure the snoring of my drunken father in favor of feeling protected.

My mind has always jumped to worst case scenarios. If someone tells me they will meet me at a certain time and they’re late, I automatically assume a tragic accident has occurred and that they’re lost forever. This has made for a very interesting existence. The older I get, the more aware I am of these thoughts and how irrational they are. Typically, I am able to keep myself in check and remain in control. Sometimes, however, my brain conjures plots that catch me by such surprise I cannot dispute them before I am carried away by them.

For some context: I work third shift at a gas station, alone. I don’t typically feel afraid, and the police station is right across the street. Police officers are in and out throughout the night. Plus, it’s a small town. I know quite a few of the customers that come in. There have only been a handful of times that I’ve found myself in an uncomfortable situation with a customer, but even those times ended up okay.

One particular summer night, around 2 AM, the business had finally slowed down enough for me to get my nightly cleaning done. I put in one Bluetooth earbud to listen to my true crime podcast as I cleaned the sticky cappuccino machines. Then, I swept and mopped the floors. On nice nights, I like to sit outside after I finish mopping. It gives me the chance to rest my tired legs and let the floors dry. I did just this that night. The air was muggy but not unpleasant. I sat and scrolled on my phone, when I suddenly heard what sounded a lot like a screaming lady. I looked up, and the first thing I saw was fog rolling in. It was an eerie mist, moving rapidly in my direction. There’s a factory not so far from my gas station,  so naturally, my first thought is that it was some sort of chemical smoke and that’s why I heard screaming. The woman must have been being burned or something horrible. I ran inside, hoping the ventilation in the store would be enough to protect me.

I immediately began texting my boyfriend. I asked him to look outside of our apartment to see if it was foggy there. He said that it wasn’t, which only heightened my anxiety. It proved to my mind that it was something far more sinister than just a simple fog. I told him about the screaming. I didn’t know if I should call the police. Like I said, I’m well aware of my propensity to over react. What if I called the police just to find it was something ridiculous? What if they scolded me for making false reports?

A customer entered the store, and they seemed fine. I didn’t ask them about the fog, nor the screaming, but their presence put my mind at ease. If they’d walked from their car to the store then surely the fog was not some deadly toxic variety. It gave me the courage to go back outside and try to pinpoint the source of the sound I had heard. I wish I could describe fully what it was. It sounded like someone in pain, but I also recognized that it was too rhythmic to be a person. I thought of all the stories I’ve heard of foxes and coyotes that sound oddly human when they’re yowling. Still, the sound made me feel extremely uneasy. All of the true crime stories I’ve ever heard went spiraling through my mind. What if someone was being tortured, and I was the only one who even heard her cries? Just as I thought this, the noise abruptly stopped.

Knowing not where the noise was coming from, nor if it was really even anything of concern, I tried my best to push it from my mind. The rest of the night passed uneventfully. After my shift ended, it was time for my four-day weekend. I forgot all about the mist and the screaming woman.

A few nights later, my boyfriend and I had a night off work together. Since we both

work 3rd shift, we keep the same sleeping schedule even on our nights off. This means the prime time for us to do things is between 1 and 3 AM. It’s just our normal. In the summer time, we love taking long meandering walks through our quiet hometown. As we walked, we talked. Our conversation was abruptly interrupted by a noise that sounded like a screaming lady.

“It’s that noise!” I told him.

“Let’s go find out what it is,” he suggested.

I absolutely DID NOT want to go find out what it was, but seeing as how I didn’t want to be alone, I had to follow him. We walked in the general direction of the noise. As it got louder and louder, the discomfort in my stomach grew. What if we found something horrible? I don’t know why, but I was imagining it was some woman tied up in a shed or something of the sort. My boyfriend seemed totally unbothered, only curious to know the truth. We eventually got to a dead end street. The noise was clearly coming from the very end of the street. We walked until we were in front of a house. The noise sounded as if it were coming from a backyard. It was dark, though, and we couldn’t really see what the noise was coming from. We didn’t want to go wandering through anyone’s yard at 3 AM, so we turned around and began walking home. Before we reached the end of the street, the noise suddenly started coming towards us. I turned around, and at first I didn’t see anything. Then, suddenly, I saw something run across the road.

I could not hold back the squeal that came out of my mouth. I grabbed Josh’s arm and was prepared to use him as a shield. He just kind of chuckled at me as we kept walking. The noise returned once more, and I saw this time that it was a dog.

A small dog.

Like the size of a rat.

All I could do was laugh at how ridiculous it all was. You mean to tell me it was not only an animal, but a TINY animal that nearly had me peeing my pants in fear? I could’ve easily kicked that thing into outer space if need be. I don’t know why it was screaming that way. I don’t know who it belonged to or what ever happened to it, but after that night, I never heard the screaming woman again.

Photo Source: “Fogged” by Premnath Thirumalaisamy is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0