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thought left him as the massive fingers brushed against his shoulders and waist.  
    “No!”
    Turning, Dan ducked the creature’s grasp and fled again. He barreled through the mist until his house reappeared. He cast one terrified glance over his shoulder. As before, the figure wasn’t following him.  
    He ran into the house once more and slammed the door behind him. His hands were shaking and he fumbled with the lock. When he worked up the courage to peek out the window, he saw that the shadow was still there, lurking in the fog. It stood still as a statue, watching the house.  
    “What are you,” Dan whispered. “What do you want?”
    Eventually, the shadow turned and slowly vanished into the gray haze.
    And then Dan was alone again.

 
     
     
    SIX

    W ith no electricity or even a working clock, it was hard for Dan to mark the passage of time. The murk outside didn’t help matters. There was never a clear transition of daylight or darkness. There was only the oppressive gray half-light, as if the world were being lit by phosphorescent fungus. Neither the sun or the moon could be glimpsed through the fog, and the sky was empty of stars.
    He was alone.
    He sat. He tried to cry and couldn’t. He sat some more. He sighed a lot. Occasionally, he attempted to eat something, not because he was hungry, but because it was something to fill the hours. Each time he tried, Dan ended up spitting the food out. All of it had that same flat, unpalatable, tasteless texture. He didn’t shave. He didn’t go to the bathroom. He didn’t have to. His stubble didn’t grow and his bladder and bowels remained quiet. And besides, with no plumbing or running water, he couldn’t exactly bathe or wash up anyway. If he stank, he couldn’t smell it. And so what if he did? It wasn’t like there was anybody else around to complain. He didn’t bother to change his clothes. The bathrobe and boxer shorts clung to him, but if they turned musty, he didn’t notice.
    He didn’t sleep. He didn’t need to. He didn’t see the point. Why bother going to sleep when you already were? People never slept in their dreams, and he was most definitely dreaming, so fuck that noise.
    And also, when he tried to sleep, he found that he couldn’t. It was strange without Jerry next to him. He kept expecting to hear Jerry breathing or snoring, or to smell his cologne. Instead, there was nothing. The bed felt empty, as did the rest of the house. He felt like a stranger in his own home. He feared that if he closed his eyes, Danielle might return and he wouldn’t see her. Or worse, the thing outside might decide to emerge from the mists again, and this time, it would come into the house. Even if he had felt sleepy, the thought of opening his eyes and finding that monstrosity looming over the bed was enough to keep him awake.
    He tried to get drunk—and failed. Neither Dan or Jerry had been heavy drinkers, but they kept a stock on hand for when they had company. The bottles were stored on the top shelf of the kitchen cupboard, safe from Danielle’s reach. Dan brought them all over to the kitchen table. He tried tequila, scotch, vodka, and beer. The liquors were tasteless, just like everything else, and the beer had gone flat. He forced himself to drink them anyway, but no matter how much he consumed, the effects were negligible.
    He talked to himself. At first, it was just to break the silence and fill the void. Later, he’d catch himself in mid-sentence and realize he’d been doing it without knowing.
    He laughed aloud.  
    Screamed aloud.
    Tried to cry, and failed. The emotion was there. It was always there, threatening to rip him in half, but just like always, the tears themselves refused to flow.
    He had no idea how long he went on that way. Two days. Maybe three? Perhaps four? Certainly no more than a week, though. In all that time, he did not know hunger or fatigue—only sadness and fear and an overwhelming sense of loneliness. The simple act of