The mist was a mystery. Sometimes it was cold. Sometimes it hot.
Sometimes it was both.
Sometimes it had teeth. Not literal ones that could bite but anyone that had been in the mist could swear that there were shapes in the mist which chewed through lungs, flesh and sanity.
It clung to one half of Ferry Island like a jealous lover, refusing to let go while coming and going in other places.
The mist was feared. Most people did not dare go close to it. And yet, twelve figures moved through it, heads low, masks and scarves wrapped tight over their nostrils, eyes darting. The team had twenty originally, twelve had already been swallowed by the mist.
The rest walked in silence, afraid that they would share the fate of the twelve if they breathed or looked the wrong way.
