A/N: This is just an idea I had whilst driving to work through extremely thick fog. Please tell me what you think. All comments are welcome, even if you think its cr*p.

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The crow soars above the thick grey blanket of fog that covers the trees and fields below. He catches a thermal, and hovers there. The breeze ruffles the feathers on his wings. Above the fog, the moon is high and full. The light catches the crow’s sleek black feathers and turns them to a silvery grey. He folds his wings to his body, and dives into the impenetrable fog below. The clammy, cold air wraps itself around the bird like a cold damp cloth. The crow hears nothing. He caws. The sound seems loud in the deafening silence. He lands on a fence, and surveys the scene around him. He cocks his head. He hears something. The sound gets louder, though is oddly muffled by the thick fog.

The car penetrates the fog. Shrouded in fog, the car doesn’t seem real. The crow flies away. The car slows down. Ciaran peers through the windscreen apprehensively. He doesn’t see the crow fly away, as he concentrates on the road ahead. The darkness descends further. The fog swirls around the car like cloudy water. Fog that is stealthily accelerating by the minute, and it doesn’t help that it is getting dark as well. Driving along in the fog, along twisting country lanes, where there is no place to stop.

“Why didn’t I stick to the motorway?” Ciaran says to himself. He turns the stereo down. “At least I would have been able to pull onto the hard shoulder.” He carries on driving, but slows right down, following the road into a dark forest. Darker still, due to nightfall, and increasing fog. Ciaran shuddered. He couldn’t see ten yards in front of the car. He was scared, and not ashamed to admit it. The lights were on, but they had no impact against the impenetrable grey blanket.

The road continues into the dark forest. The fog parted, like waves, on either side of the car. Ciaran tries to hold the car steady, as his shudders increase. Even though the windows are shut, the fog seems to envelope the car, and enters through every vent. He slows the car even further as he negotiates a sharp bend in the road. 

All of a sudden, a shape appears on the road. Ciaran slams the brakes on, knowing full well it is a futile action. He is too close. There is no way he can stop in time. There is a sickening thump as the car slams into the indefinable shape, on the left hand side of the car. The shape bounces onto the bonnet, hits the windscreen, and continues over the roof of the car and into the road behind. The car skids to a halt. The damage to the windscreen is obvious. Ciaran gets out of the car, visibly shaken, and breathing heavily. He feels like he has just run in a race. He zips up his leather jacket, and walks to the back of the car. There is nothing there.

“Where the hell is it?” He mutters, “It must be here.”

He looks around frantically, but cannot see what he hit. There is nothing there! He walks to the front of the car. The bonnet is dented. The left hand headlight is broken, and the windscreen is cracked like crazy paving.
It did happen! It wasn’t a dream!
Where the hell is the thing that hit the car?
He stands there, wondering what the hell is going on. He forces himself to calm down, breathing slower, his heavy breathing seems to be adding to the fog, which in turn, seems to be thicker still. He takes one last deep breath, breathing in muted scents of wood, damp earth and damp air.

He starts to walk back to the car. He is opening the car door, when he hears a noise in the trees. He whips his head around so fast he almost gets whiplash. He looks frantically for the source of the noise. He hears it again. A low rumbling, and looks in that direction. He takes a deep breath. The air smells damp, and of wood. The fog ebbs and flows around his ankles. He walks slowly in the direction of the noise he heard. He steps off the road and onto the grass. The ground beneath his feet is soft and spongy. He carries on walking, but slows right down, almost to a standstill. He stumbles as the ground beneath his feet disappears, and he feels his stomach lurch.

“It is just a ditch, get a grip Ciaran.” He says to himself. He picks himself up, and brushes himself off. Clambering up the other side of the ditch, he pauses to catch his breath. He looks back. He can’t see his car. Hell he can’t even see the road.

“What the hell am I doing? I must be insane!” He says under his breath.

He sees it. There is a shape lying in the bracken. He moves closer still, but is oh so cautious. All of a sudden, the shape stands up, and moves towards Ciaran with alarming speed.

“Jesus Christ!” He shouts.

With speed borne on fear and adrenaline, he turns and runs for the car. In his haste, he trips on a rabbit hole. He scrambles to get to his feet quickly, cursing under his breath. But he is not quick enough. A heavy weight pounds into him from behind, and he falls back to the ground, giving him a mouthful of damp soil and leaves. He turns his head, trying to see what is on his back, but his head is pushed roughly back into the damp earth.

The air no longer smells damp, and of wood. It smells fetid and rotten. He gags, trying not to throw up. Hands grip his hair, and raise his head off the ground. Ciaran braces himself, as the unseen assailant slams his head to the ground repeatedly. A tunnel of darkness replaces the grey blanket of fog.

Ciaran loses consciousness.