Today I bring you another spotlighted book, Deathly Fog by Adam Breckenridge, part of the Horror Bites series of books. Enjoy.
When Jacob and his brothers discover the ability to capture fog from the marsh behind their house, they bring it back with them. The fun game turns to danger as they realize perhaps something else accompanied them home. Is it too late to escape the Deathly Fog?
Available now on Amazon Kindle
*****EXCLUSIVE EXCERPT BELOW*****
Deathly Fog
by Adam Breckenridge
“From back when it was Indians killing other
Indians,” he said. “Centuries of murder down there. If you pulled the bodies up
they’d look just like they’d been killed yesterday.”
We poked around a lot trying to find a human
body. We never did, but we found just about every kind of animal that we knew
lived on our property. Squirrels, rabbits, frogs, snakes, and birds, all
mummified in a terrible imitation of life.
And then there was the fog, always so thick
you could never see more than a few feet in front of you. It didn’t matter when
you went. No matter how sunny the day was, as soon as you passed into the
marsh, the world became murky and dark. That’s why we only ever stood on its
edge. We were pretty sure if you went in, the fog would eat you whole. It could
certainly move in ways that seemed unnatural for fog. Sometimes I was convinced
it had teeth, but we were always safe as long as the air to our backs was
clear.
When we weren’t there looking for dead bodies,
we’d try to catch the fog in our hands instead. That’s how thick it was. You
could actually cup it in your hands and hold it there. It was like holding a
ghost. You could feel all that death from the marsh in it chilling your skin.
It became a game for us to see who could hold their fistful of fog the longest,
and then the game became running toward the house while trying to enclose it,
which further evolved into a determination to try to get into the house while
still cupping the fog in your hands. We never made it anywhere near the house.
The fog was too slippery for the task, dribbling out between our fingers as we
ran.
But then Jacob figured out a way to blow on the
fog that would make it spin into a globe. He’d stay down there at the marsh’s
edge for hours, practicing rolling the fog in his hands with his breath, trying
to keep it going for as long as he could. It always bored the hell out of me
and our younger brother, Mattie. Neither one of us could do it. We just didn’t
have the breath for it, but we never wanted to leave him alone while he
practiced because that’s how bodies go missing in the marsh. You never knew
what was hiding in the fog just out of view. So, we’d stay and watch, keeping
an eye on the fog for him in case one of those dead Indians rose from his grave
and came after us with his tomahawk.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Jacob said one day after
practicing for awhile. He scooped a fresh batch of fog in his hands and then
started running for the house, keeping it spinning with each exhalation like it
was the world in his grasp.
We ran after him, not getting too close in case
we tripped him up. I could see bits of the fog slipping away, but he was
keeping a lot of it in his hands, blowing and running at the same time.
Mattie rushed ahead to open the front door for
him and then he was through, still a few wisps clutched in his hands. In the
atrium, he stopped blowing and we watched the fog dissipate above us.
It should have been a cause for celebration—we
had finally pulled off the impossible task—but a somber mood struck us. The
marsh was a place of death, not fit for any house, let alone our house, and we
had brought some of its morbid air into it. The decay had diffused and we could
never get it back. My brothers and I breathed gingerly for a long while
afterwards, feeling the stink of death in our lungs everywhere we went in the
house.
The fog sat long in our minds so that even as we
aged and shed our childish beliefs, the specter of death never stopped hanging
over the house. Our house was a place of life, not just with our family coming
in and out of it and all the pets and plants we had, but also the spiders,
rats, and mold in the basement. Even the furniture, which was old and made of
wood, had a certain life to them. There wasn’t a corner of the house that
didn’t have something breathing in it, but since we unleashed the fog, the
house was just as much a place of death as the marsh was.
Jacob was more adamant than any of us in trying to dismiss the weight of our superstition, but I could tell it bothered him as much as it did the rest of us.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Volume 1:
Alice’s Scars by Adam L. Bealby
When he
met Alice, he wasn’t prepared to go down the rabbit hole. His love for her
pushes him into the uncomfortable realization she might be mad. He wants to
keep her safe, but what if that’s not what Alice wants?
Dear Reader,
You’ve been invited to a very special night of Campfire
Tales, hosted by HorrorAddicts.net. Meet us at Old Bear Creek, just past Dead
Man’s Curve. Dress warm. We’ll be waiting.
Four
scary tales told by Next Great Horror Writer finalists and woven together by a
trek through the woods you’ll never forget.
HorrorAddicts.net is proud to present our top 14 contestants in the Next Great Horror
Writer Contest. The stories, scripts, and poems are the result of the hard work
and dedication these fine writers put forth to win a book contract. We hope you
enjoy the writing as much as we did.
Volume
4: #NGHW Winner
Requiem in
Frost by Jonathan Fortin
BLACK METAL LIVES! When Ingrid and her mother move into a home in the deep frostbitten woods of Norway, they are haunted by extreme metal musician, Skansi Oppegård. Hoping to exorcise Skansi’s ghost, she talks her mom into being part of a metal band. Oppegård’s last musical creation awakens forces beyond Ingrid’s understanding and causes Skansi’s murderer to resurface. In the battle between a madman and zombies, metal may be the only weapon she has.
