The Hunger in the Mist: A Coastal Town’s Horrifying Secret
The Mist’s Grip: Terror on the Edge of Seabridge
The sea was furious that night. Thick mist descended over the small coastal hamlet of Seabridge, curling around the wooden piers and obscuring the few flickering lanterns like ghostly hands.
Fishermen whispered stories about the fog — how it wasn’t natural, how it carried whispers and shadows that no one dared to pursue. Molly had never been terrified of whispers, though. Not until that night.
Molly was seventeen, as brash as they come, with wild red curls and a defiant streak that made mature men mutter under their breath. She adored the sea — the salty sting in the air, the cries of gulls above, and the steady rhythm of waves hitting the shore.
Her father managed the lighthouse, a towering stone sentinel perched on the cliff’s edge, and she frequently assisted him in keeping the enormous beacon lit.
But tonight, her father was gone, taken by the fever that had swept across Seabridge like an angry spirit. Half of the town was sick. What about the other half? They are too terrified to go beyond their houses.
Except Molly.
“The fog’s thick tonight,” Old Harold remarked as she walked past his cabin near the docks. His glassy eyes followed her, although he hadn’t seen anything in years. “Don’t wander, girl. The hunger is out there.”
Molly stopped, her breath evident in the cold air. “The hunger?” she repeated, half intrigued and half amused.
Harold’s lips drew back into a toothless scowl. “Aye. It appears in the mist. It always has. “Always will.”
Molly shook her head and continued walking. Seabridge was full of superstitions; every creak of wood and shadow told a story. But stories could not harm you. Could they?
She walked up the twisting route to the lighthouse, the fog becoming deeper with each step. The air tasted strange — sharp and metallic. The lighthouse’s beam sliced through the mist, sweeping across the dark waters like a vigilant eye. Molly’s pulse raced as she climbed the spiral staircase, her boots echoing against the stone walls.
She lighted the large lamp at the top, putting oil into it until the flame roared to life. The light flashed out into the fog, but it didn’t penetrate completely. The mist seemed alive, twisting and swirling just out of reach.
That’s when she noticed it.
A scarcely discernible shape moves through the fog below. It was too big to be a guy. And it moved with an uncanny ease, gliding instead of walking. Molly’s breath was trapped in her throat.
What was that?
She leaned forward, squinting into the darkness. The figure hesitated on the edge of the cliffs, where jagged rocks protruded like broken teeth. Molly’s skin prickled. Every instinct told her to flee, yet curiosity kept her in place.
The figure turned, showing what appeared to be a face. Instead, there were rows of dazzling fangs embedded in a maw that opened wider than any human mouth could. Empty eye sockets looked up at the lighthouse.
Molly stumbled back, heart pounding. She’d heard stories about monsters in the mist, but they were merely meant to scare children.
Were not they?
She hurried down the stairs, her mind racing. She needed to warn someone. Old Harold, perhaps. He would know what to do. But when she rushed out of the lighthouse entrance, she froze.
The mist became denser, swallowing the town altogether. The way back to Seabridge was vanished, submerged beneath a whirling gray mist.
She couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead.
Then she heard it.
A low, guttural grumble, reminiscent of distant thunder. It resonated through the fog, becoming louder with each passing second. Molly’s knees wobbled, but she pushed herself forward, each step a battle against the horror that gripped her chest.
The growl turned into a cacophony of sounds — wet slithering, bone breaking, teeth gnashing. Shapes crept through the fog, circling her like predators assessing their prey.
Molly breathed in frantic gasps. She grasped the knife on her belt — a little, miserable tool designed for cutting rope, not battling monsters.
Molly just escaped a shadow that surged from the mist. It was way too fast. She sliced blindly, the sword encountering resistance for a brief, terrifying instant before the thing shrieked and ran away.
Blood, black and viscous, splattered the ground.
Molly sprinted with her heart hammering. She had no idea where she was headed, just that she needed to get away. The fog closed in on her, cold and moist, whispering whispers she did not want to hear.
“You can’t run forever,” a low, guttural voice said.
Molly tripped, almost falling. Her head spun around, but nothing was there. It’s just mist.
There’s also hunger.
She could feel it now — a gnawing, ravenous presence that craved not only flesh but also dread. It fed on anxiety and grew stronger with each beat of her frightened heart.
No, she reasoned vehemently. I refuse to give it what it wants.
Gritting her teeth, Molly forced herself to slow down and ponder. The lighthouse’s beam cut through the fog in rhythmic sweeps. If she could just reach the cliff’s edge, she might be able to entice the creatures to come into the light.
It was a desperate scheme. But she only had despair.
She dashed for the cliffs, the sound of gnashing fangs and slithering flesh following closely behind her. The edge loomed ahead, a precipitous drop into the swirling dark seas.
“Come on,” she whispered to herself. “You bastards, come get me.”
As they approached the light, the distorted outlines of the creatures became more visible as they raced forward. Eyes blazed with evil hunger, teeth glittered. Molly felt her heart pounding in her ears.
She rolled onto her back and dove to the side at the last moment. The animals continued. Their screams were drowned out by the thunder of the waves as they crashed over the edge.
There was silence.
The mist around Molly was starting to clear as she lay there with her chest heaving. Nothing but empty air was visible when the lighthouse beam swept across the cliffs.
She had prevailed.
For the time being.
Molly, however, knew the truth as she stood on shaky knees. There was still hunger. It would never be. It waited for the next idiotic person courageous enough — or stupid enough — to venture into its clutches while it lurked in the fog.
And for a little while longer, Seabridge would hold its terrible secret.
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