UCSD Gothic: The Fog
It’s foggy tonight, an event not uncommon in a beach town like La Jolla, but still unusual when wading through concrete buildings instead of sand. By the light of day, Ledden is a dreary slab, but the glow of the sulfur lamps reflecting off the rolling fog give it a sheen you’ve never noticed before. You half expect the building to quiver.
There is something off-putting about the frozen campus. At 2pm it’s a blur of students hustling off to lab, a sea of skateboards and the occasional terrified faculty member. At 2am the only mobile feature is the fog. The fog and you. Don’t 30,000 students go here? You can’t possibly be the only one around and yet no one else appears to be wandering through this ocean of cement. Still, the night seems awake and you don’t feel alone.
As you stroll past AP&M, you glance from side to side. You look ahead at Sun God, suddenly aware that the fog swirls faster around Him. Then the fog clears away, dancing around the trees and hugging the faculty club. You pull your hood up, thinking the wind is kicking up, but there is no wind. No chill. Only the swirling tendrils weaving through Sun God’s golden crown.
The supernatural warm is unusual but not unwelcome. The night seems to beckon you forward, but you feel at odds with where to head. You spot a nearby manhole and remember that the university has an underground tunnel system, but maybe it’s not smart to explore the creepy tunnels by yourself at night. There’s always Muir Woods. At the very least, that’s what the twisting fog seems to prefer.
