The fog rolled in swiftly, without warning. In less time than it took to shed his coat and bid his brother greeting, he looked back out the window and found that the way home was now shrouded in mist. Streetlights and windows glowing across the road appeared suddenly hazy. The busy traffic just down the road was now a play of light, with no form or substance. In every direction, trees close enough to count the leaves were now all but invisible shadows; people were simply enveloped by the whiteness as they passed by.

As the sun sank into the west, all turned red, then simply to grey. Navigating through the shroud would be slow, and wide tree-lined lanes would become weirdly claustrophobic. If he were a religious man, he might have been afraid. Being a superstitious man, he was simply wary, and glad he would not be travelling again soon.

Many things can hide in the mist. Not all of them pleasant.