The fog rises from the water in a white, misty cloud. It's not an even cloud, of course but rather one that reminds me of a city landscape or a rocky bluff, like a terrain of hills and mountains made of stone, recreated or deposied now in mist. That's when it's dangerous, of course. That's when they're coming. Time to lock the doors an windows, you know. Make sure they're shut tight. Because there's no getting away when they rise in the mist - and if you leave something open, beware.
Don't leave anything open.
You'd have to be a madman to tempt fate.
Because fate, when tempted, can be one mean mother-fucker.
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