The highway should have been familiar. Ethan had driven it a dozen times before. But after a few minutes on the road, the world outside the truck was gone, devoured by fog so dense it looked like wet cement poured over the night.
Ethan leaned forward over the wheel, squinting. "I can't see more than a few feet ahead."
Maya's hand gripped the door handle. Her pulse quickened as she stared into the wall of haze beyond the headlights. There was no roadside, no trees, no horizon. Just pale beams swallowed whole.
Without a word, Ethan eased the truck to the shoulder and killed the engine. Silence pressed in, heavy and unnatural. They stepped outside.
The air was thick, damp. The fog clung to their clothes, to their skin, to their lungs. Maya turned in a slow circle, searching for anything familiar—but the diner was gone. The highway was gone. It felt like everything was gone.
Then a flicker of blue.
A faint light pulsed somewhere out in the void. Blue-green, hazy, smudged through the fog like a neon sign gasping for life.
"There," Maya whispered.
They scrambled back into the truck. Ethan turned the key—the engine roared reluctantly, headlights stabbing forward into the mist. Slowly, they rolled toward the flickering glow.
The radio popped. A shriek of static burst through the speakers before cutting out completely. And then it came again—The Hum.
It rose deep and low, vibrating through the dashboard, through the seats, through their bodies. It wasn't sound anymore—it was sensation. Ethan's teeth buzzed. Maya pressed a hand to her chest, shuddering.
"Do you feel that?" she whispered. "Or is it just me?"
Ethan gripped the wheel tighter, "No. I feel it too. I don't know what the hell it is."
The fog thinned just enough for the building to emerge.
It rose out of the nothing like a forgotten relic—an abandoned mall, four stories of cracked concrete and shattered glass. Its signs were long dead, but the blue-green glow came from broken neon clinging to its facade. And at the very top, faint but steady, a golden glow bled through the fog like a candle in a sealed room.
Ethan parked at the edge of the lot. They stepped out, staring up at the ruin. The building and its sprawling parking lot were the only things visible, an island in a sea of haze.
Then Maya froze.
At the far end of the lot, a silhouette stood in the fog. Tall. Too tall.
It tilted its head at an odd angle. Then it moved—not walking, not stepping, but gliding forward with twitching jerks. Its limbs bent wrong, and from its throat came a low, grinding growl. The sound was not human. It made their skin crawl.
Another shape materialized beside it. Then another.
Three figures now. All twitching. All gliding closer.
"Get in the truck!" Ethan barked.
They scrambled back inside. Ethan jammed the key into the ignition, turning it again and again. The engine coughed, choked, refused.
The figures drew closer, their heads twitching, their growls vibrating in the fog.
Ethan cursed and shoved the door open. "Come on!"
They bolted across the lot, sneakers slapping the cracked pavement. Maya's breath came in sharp gasps as the creatures closed in behind them, gliding faster now, the sound of their growls overlapping into a chorus of something inhuman.
At the face of the building, they found a narrow opening—an emergency exit door, rusted and half-pried open. Ethan yanked it wider and shoved Maya through. He slipped inside after her, slamming it shut behind them.
The hum followed them even here, echoing faintly inside the dark, cavernous halls. But the space was lit. Dim, yes—but lights still glowed, flickering fluorescent strips buzzing overhead.
They did not feel alone.