The New Era of the Ghostly Mist

Without warning, dense fog swallowed the city. At first, people thought it was just an ordinary heavy mist. Then it grew thicker and thicker, until it swallowed the light, cut off all signals, and twisted familiar streets into a strange maze. Lin Mo was trapped at home, watching helplessly as the world outside his window vanished beneath a gray-white shroud, leaving only utter silence. Then he noticed that the old grandfather clock in his living room had changed. Beyond the twelve numbers on its face, there was suddenly a pitch-black mark, like a blot of ink, unlike anything he had ever seen. The pendulum had stopped, and the hands pointed motionlessly at it. Some irresistible urge drove him forward. When his fingers touched the cold clock face, its wooden casing rippled like water. He climbed inside and fell into an abyss beyond comprehension. When he “came back,” the world had changed. The fingers of Auntie Wang next door, who always smiled as she brought him snacks, were fused to the rusty blades of a pair of scissors, her flesh and blood a mangled mess. When old Mr. Zhang, who exercised downstairs every morning, turned his neck, it made the stiff grinding sound of gears. But an even deeper terror came from within himself. His ankle began to itch with a strange sensation, and beneath his skin, something was slowly but surely pushing its way up, taking shape as a third foot. In the depths of the fog, unspeakable rules were rewriting everything, and he was sliding toward the edge of humanity.