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The fog catcher

On a snowy day, a little girl was walking, as pure as a snowflake, she went often to her grandparents’ house. On the way to go back, she met a man. Not an ordinary man. A little man with black leather gloves and a trench-coat. He was here, staring at her, motionless, like a gargoyle protecting the bus shelter from any intruders. She tried to avoid his look with difficulty, but wherever she was, he was gazing at her, always. She felt coldness in him, he was like a snake, with eyes full of anger. His hair were combed like an old rockstar. He was like a chimera, a kind of creature from nowhere. He rose and went towards the girl who ran off. They both ran in the foggy streets of London, but the little girl is quickly out of breath, and when she turned, he had disappeared. She could feel against her breast the beating of her heart, and even if she was alone, she didn’t feel safe. He was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, like a spirit or a ghost, smoking in the fog like if he was the fog himself. There was no escape, no reason for him to let her live. It was her fate, she was cursed. He was evil, all the madness on the Earth she had never seen. Big Ben struck ten hour with her heavy bells. All of a sudden, she was hit by a thing which hurt her head. She can’t feel nothing with her fingers, because of the cold, but she can see the blood running on it. A dark red blood dropping on the snow. It was beautiful, and horrible at the same time. She felt on her knees, but she can’t ask help. She was dumb since the day she was born. Alone in the snow, all she can smell is the chimneys’ smoke and the cold of the night, and what she can feel, water running down her skirt to her sore feet.

She was now crying tears of blood, running on her cheeks. It was apparent on his face as pale as a corpse. Now she can feel the cold wind in her brown hair, wet because of the melted snow. She was lost in her mind, she doesn’t even know who is this man, and why he wanted to hurt her. She doesn’t even know who threw the thing. In a deep breath, she stood up and walked to the Thames. She expected to find someone, but there was nobody. Nobody to show her scars. On the corner of a street, he was here, like attracted by the smell of blood. Like a vulture, he flies to her. Like a prey, she can’t escape. With his cold gloves, he takes her by the shoulders and give her a cold kiss, like Death. She ran away again, afraid and lost. Behind h e r, t h e r e w a s nobody, just the fog and nothing else, except the steam from the sewers. She could barely walk because of the wet dress, but finally she got home safely. She told her mum with her sore hands she had been aggressed by a strange man in the streets. Her mother dressed her wound and then they started eating. She could barely swallow because of what happened, and if she could have shout, it would have liberate her from all the fears she got. She goes to her room to take a shower, but he was there, just in front of the window. She could just see his back, and when she wanted to call help, she can’t, so with courage, she approached him. He turned, opened his large black cloak and swallowed her in an infernal whirlwind. Nobody has ever heard of her, but other disappearances took place. There is talk of a legend, a monster who eats little girls who walk alone in the streets.

Short stories from a dreamscape


The Fog Catcher