Misleading Fog

The New York night was eerily quiet, with Alex pushing open his dormitory door at precisely 2:44 AM, the air heavy with a clammy chill. He donned a dark coat, the pockets laden with a folding knife and a pouch of pebbles, his mind perpetually weighing the authenticity of that cryptic email.

Central Park North, beneath the Belvedere Castle, was approximately four miles from Columbia University. The subway was long since out of service, prompting his decision to cycle there. He unlocked an old bicycle from the rack outside his dorm, mounted it, and thrust himself into the inky darkness.

Dim streetlights cast a yellowish glow, with the occasional whisper of drunken revelers drifting from alley entrances. He rode north along Broadway, the wind howling, the tires crunching over the damp road, kicking up tiny droplets of water.

The silhouette of Central Park gradually emerged, the trees swaying in the mist like countless contorted arms. A glance at his watch revealed the time as 3:40 AM; he was on schedule. He parked his bicycle at the park's northern entrance, securing it to a lamppost, and proceeded on foot.

Central Park North was almost devoid of life. Belvedere Castle was a low-slung stone platform, offering views of a deep, dark wood. Alex positioned himself beneath the castle, leaning against a sturdy oak tree, doing his best to merge with the shadows. He held his breath, his ears registering only the wind and the distant hoot of an owl.

A thickening fog was forming, bringing back unnerving memories of the start of that strange event. He clutched the stones in his pocket, his eyes sweeping the surroundings, awaiting "SilencedOne."

Just after 4:00 AM, a dragging footstep sounded from the left. He turned to see a figure slowly approaching. It was a man, dressed in tattered clothing, resembling a vagrant, with a worn beanie pulled over his head, a scraggly beard, and a pronounced limp.

As he passed Alex, he paused, reaching into his torn pocket to retrieve a crumpled piece of paper, which he held out. Scrawled upon it were the words, "Beware Your Voice."

Alex's heart skipped a beat. "Are you SilencedOne?" he whispered. The man lifted his gaze, revealing a pair of cloudy eyes, nodding in response, his voice raspy, like sandpaper, "Come with me. Stay silent." He turned and shuffled forward, Alex, after a moment's hesitation, following.

They ventured along a trail on the park's edge, the mist closing in behind them, forming an invisible wall. They left the park, arriving at a narrow alley next to a convenience store, the lights inside extinguished, with only the streetlight casting a sickly pale light. The man leaned against the wall, pulled a cigarette from his ragged coat, lit it, took a deep drag, and said, "You've seen it, haven't you? Those strange things..."

Alex nodded, lowering his voice. "What you wrote in the post three weeks ago... is it true?" The man grinned, revealing two missing teeth, whispering, "True. Worse than you think. My name's Jack. I used to be a dockworker. That night, I was walking home from work, and the fog suddenly thickened, and my ears started ringing, like something was trying to get in. I blinked, and I was in that hellhole, the ground slick and greasy, like stepping on the belly of a dead fish."

He paused, his eyes distant, as if lost in memory. "I heard my friend Tony's voice, screaming for help, but he wasn't with me that night. I went on, and I saw that thing... No eyes, looks like a flayed dog, claws dragging on the ground with a tap, tap, tap. It came toward me, and it called out Tony's voice again. I got so scared I threw my beer bottle. It shattered, and it pounced, giving me a chance to run."

His voice trembled, his fingers fidgeting with the cigarette, "The next day, Tony was gone. The cops said he passed out drunk and fell in the river, but I know that's a damn lie!"

Alex frowned, whispering, "How did you escape?" Jack glared at him, his tone urgent, "Stones! I threw stones, distracted it. That place is full of fog. I ran out, back to the docks. I've tried to go back and find Tony, but every time the fog gets thick, I run, afraid of getting trapped inside again." He chuckled nervously. "It steals voices. Steals lives, you hear? It's hiding in this city, like a rat in the sewer. No one knows!"

Alex listened calmly, cataloging the details: the fog, the sound rules, the random entrances. "Anything else?" he asked quietly, "Any patterns?" Jack scratched his head, cigarette ash scattering on the ground. "The fog... I get scared every time there's fog. And nighttime. Nighttime's the worst, especially in the alleys. What about you? How did you survive?"

Alex briefly recounted his experience from the prior night, omitting Lena's name, mentioning only that two had died. Jack's expression darkened, and he said quietly, "You were lucky. Don't push it. It'll remember your voice. It won't let you go next time." He dropped the cigarette, grinding it out under his heel, whispering, "Don't look for me again. I already regret talking to you." He turned and shuffled away, disappearing into the alley.

Alex stood still, the mist swirling around the convenience store. Fog, nighttime, alleys, he thought. Those might be the keys. He walked back to the lamppost outside the park, unlocked his bike, and rode back to his dormitory. By then, the sky was beginning to lighten with the coming dawn.