One Mississippi... Two Mississippi... Run!
It was a dark stormy night. I was alone in the house... or so I thought.
The cliché felt safe, a cozy wrapper for the violence hammering against the roof. The rain didn't tap; it was driven by a gale that made the old Victorian siding scream. I sat in the armchair facing the sliding glass door, watching the backyard strobed by violent bursts of white light.
Flash! The oak tree in the center of the yard stood rigid, its branches thrashing like drowning arms. One-Mississippi. Two-Miss... BOOM! The thunder shook the floorboards beneath my feet.
I took a sip of tea, the ceramic rattling slightly against my teeth. The storm was moving closer.
Flash! The yard lit up again. The oak tree. The overturned lawn chair. And a shape standing by the back fence. I blinked, leaning forward. It was tall, motionless, and draped in something heavy and wet. Darkness slammed back down before I could focus.
"Just a bush," I whispered. My voice sounded thin, swallowed by the drumming of the rain.
Flash! The shape wasn't by the fence anymore. It was standing in the middle of the lawn. It had no face. Just a smooth, pale surface where features should be. And it wasn't looking at the house. It was pointing at the sliding glass door. One-Miss... CRACK-BOOM!
My heart raced with terrified panic. I scrambled up, checking the lock on the glass door. The latch was engaged. I backed away, grabbing the heavy brass poker from the fireplace.
I waited, my breath hitching in my throat, praying for the storm to pass, praying for the darkness to hold.
Flash! The yard was empty. The figure was gone. Relief washed over me, cold and dizzying. I let out a jagged exhale, my grip on the poker loosening. It had just been a trick of the light.
Then, the lightning flashed one last time.
The yard was still empty. But in the reflection of the glass door, illuminated by the stuttering white light, I saw the living room behind me.
I saw the sofa. I saw the lamp.
And I saw the pale, faceless figure standing directly behind my left shoulder.
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Stay safe in the storm,
Pamela Beach
The fog is spreading...
"The Storm Without Rain" is a glimpse of what is coming next. But to understand where the nightmare began, you must start at the source. Read the complete legends of the Watchers, the Takers, and the mist that consumes in the full Morro Bay Fog-Mythos Collection.
Pamela Beach is a multi-genre author, poet, and lyricist who writes from her home on California's foggy Central Coast. She is the creator of the "Morro Bay fog-mythos" and author of The Unstoppable You. You can read more of her work and explore her complete "fog-mythos" collection at her blog, Beyond the Blog with Pamela Beach.
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Source: One Mississippi... Two Mississippi... Run!
