This writing assignment consisted of writing a scene from combining two differing ideas. My sources were 1) mist coming over the hills I can see from my back porch, and 2) the phrase “Bad things are coming.” from an episode of Angel. The maximum length of the scene had to be less than 450 characters.
Sitting on her porch, Old Jane watched the dense fog slowly advancing over the hills and through the forest. The mist seemed alive, quietly creeping between the trees and shying away from the open spaces around the farm. She knew what the others did not; this fog would bring bad things.
“Timmy,” she said, setting her needlepoint aside. “Get everyone over here right now.” Her six year old grandson quickly scampered out of view.
As the fog drew closer, it wrapped itself tighter around the small farm. The sounds from the distant highway grew faint as the mist thickened. The hawk circling above gradually faded from sight as the vapor obliterated the remaining patch of blue sky. The forest was still and quiet, the silence overwhelming.
The sunlight faded to a dull gray, and the temperature dropped. Jane shivered and wrapped her coat closer around her small, thin form. She stood up and looked around her small farm, hearing the approaching footsteps. Her grandson ran around to the front of the old farmhouse.
“Maw Maw,” Timmy said. “I tole Mom and Wilson.”
“Thanks, Timmy. You done good.” Jane replied absently. There was much to be done.
Mary and Wilson came around the side of the house. “Maw, what is it?” Mary asked, seeing Jane’s distant expression.
“They’re back?” asked Wilson. The farm hand glanced at the thick fog with a worried frown.
“Yes, bad things a’coming.” Jane said. “We need to get the farm ready a‘fore dark.” She stepped down the porch stairs and strode briskly toward the corral. “Wilson, get the sheep in, and I’ll check the amulets. Mary, you and Timmy get in the house. Where’s Dapple?”
“Up in the far pasture,” said Wilson, walking next to Jane.
“Don’t have enough time to get her. She’s on her own.” Jane said. The mare would have to survive the night by herself.
Jane quickened her pace and inspected each brightly painted amulet on the fence corners of the corral and around the farmhouse. The amulets were fastened tightly. Wilson brought the sheep in from the pasture to the corral. They walked to the front porch as the sky darkened, and watched the night arrive.
As night fell, the mist thickened. Instead of heavy silence, there was now a low rumbling and growling within the darkness. A black void lay beyond the lighted corral and farmhouse. A distant wail of fear and agony pierced the fog. The sound was suddenly chopped off with a loud screaming squeal. Bad things had found Dapple.