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cold, dewy grass, the breath momentarily knocked out of him. He regained his feet, alarmed to see that the fog was so dense he couldn’t even see his hands in front of his face.
    “Hey, you lot, where are you?” Ratty’s voice wavered slightly. “Come on, where are you. I can’t see anything in here.” The fog seemed to muffle his cries. “Come on, don’t mess around. This isn’t funny.” He couldn’t believe the fog was so damn thick. He could have only stumbled a few feet into it.
    No one replied, or if they did, he didn’t hear them.
    He stumbled around, arms outstretched to feel his way through the white void like a blind man. He couldn’t believe that he was completely disorientated. Understandably, the fog had been a local talking point since it first appeared. What couldn’t be explained was why it hadn’t dissipated. It just hung around like a huge blanket and there had been no contact with anyone from the village since it descended. The fog was too thick to safely navigate on foot or by car, although some people had tried following the only road into the village, but they were turned back at a roadblock. A report came out saying everyone in the village was fine and they preferred to stay where they were as they were being looked after and supplies were being regularly flown in. When Ratty’s father had asked if he could go in on one of the helicopters to visit his own father, the request had been turned down ‘due to safety issues’, whatever they were.
    Ratty remembered his father got very angry about being refused. He had never seen him so angry. Even Ratty’s mother hadn’t been able to calm him down, which was why they gave him a tranquilliser injection, ‘for his own good’. Ratty’s father had been docile ever since. No one had been able to offer any explanation about where the fog had come from, or when it would disappear. And for such an unusual occurrence, there had been little to no news coverage about it.  
    Shuffling forward, his foot snagged on something he couldn’t see and Ratty fell face first into the wet grass.  
    “Come on, a joke’s a joke. Where are you?” He regained his feet; tears stung his eyes and he wiped his face on his sleeve. His soaking wet jeans clung to his legs.
    A faint sound caught his attention and he tensed, listening. Whatever it was made a wet, slithering sound, as though something was being dragged through the grass. He had a vision of a giant slug slithering toward him and he shivered. He could feel his heart beating fast. His blood froze and he could feel his temples pounding in time with his fear as the noise drew nearer.
    They say the whole village has disappeared. Everyone’s dead ...
    Bogey man’s ‘ad ‘ em ’.
    What the hell was it?
    Knowing that he was probably panicking over nothing didn’t help. The fog became a nether world where he had lost the sense of sight and where he had to rely on his other senses, straining his ears to detect where the noise originated.
    A shape flashed before his eyes, lunging toward him in a swirl of mist before it grabbed his shoulders. Ratty screamed; almost wet himself.
    “Ratty, is that you?”
    “ Izzy . Izzy . It’s you, I thought ...”
    “Thought what? What are you screaming for?”
    “I wasn’t screaming.” He hoped she couldn’t see him blush. “I’ve been shouting for ages. Why didn’t anyone answer?”
    “We heard you shouting, but the rest of them thought that it would be funny not to answer. And as no one else would come in to find you, well, here I am. It was partly my fault you’re here anyway, I suppose.”
    Ratty sighed with relief. “So come on then, lead the way.”
    “Lead the way where?”
    “Out of the fog.”
    “I don’t know the way.”
    “You mean you’re lost too.”
    “Well, Sherlock, nothing gets past you does it.”
    “So why did you come to find me?”
    “Because I’m stupid like that.”
    Ratty grabbed Izzy’s warm hand and squeezed it.