Chapter 4: Fog at the Door

I asked Grandma Carol, “Does Old Mo really exist? Have you ever seen it?”

She sat down heavily at the kitchen table, rubbing her hands together. The room was so quiet I could hear the refrigerator humming in the corner.

Grandma swallowed and said, “It really does. Over by the old woods, more than twenty years ago, there was one living there. Whenever a family had a newborn, it would come out at night and cause trouble. Back then, a family had twins—a boy and a girl. Old Mo ate them both, not even a trace was left. Ever since then, whenever a family was about to have a child, they’d go stay with relatives out of town. With no newborns, it started eating older kids. Later, it didn’t matter—adult or child—if it caught you, it ate you. When it stood up, it was taller than a house. Its eyes were bigger than our mixing bowls, and green. Several strong young men who weren’t afraid tried to kill it together, but in the end, not even their skin sacks were left. Finally, the whole town joined forces and blasted it with a hunting rifle loaded with homemade shells. The corpse lay there, and it took eight strong men to carry it away. Then they dug a pit, threw it in, burned it, and buried the ashes. It’s been over twenty years since anyone’s seen it. Could there really still be one?”

Her voice shook, and for the first time, I noticed how small her hands looked, knuckles white around her coffee mug. The story sounded like something out of a horror movie, but in Grandma’s mouth, it felt all too real.

Uncle Derek looked like his soul had left his body.

He stared at his lap, face drained of color, the hatchet in his hand forgotten.

“Mom, I really think that was it. The first time I saw it, I felt it wasn’t human. If you say it was a person, what would he be doing in the old woods? Besides, in our town, is there anyone I don’t know? I’ve never seen that person. If you say he was a passerby, no one would go into those woods, right? From what I saw, it must be over seven feet tall.”

His words tumbled out, desperate for someone to believe him. He looked up at Grandma, eyes pleading for comfort she couldn’t quite give.

Just as we were talking, a sudden loud noise erupted.

It sounded like the Fourth of July—three sharp pops that rattled the windowpanes. We all froze, listening.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

From the direction of the councilman’s house came the sound of skyrockets.

The firework echo bounced down the snow-packed street, startling crows from the trees.

“Oh no, my dad!” Uncle Derek shouted, rushing out.

He lurched to his feet, nearly knocking over the kitchen chair, panic written all over his face.

Grandma grabbed him. “Don’t go out yet. It might not have been your dad who set those off. Lots of families in town have those fireworks.”

Her grip was fierce, stronger than I’d ever seen. She pulled him back, her eyes glued to the frosted window.

Uncle Derek said, “Who would set off fireworks at this time of day for no reason?”

He looked at Grandma, voice rising, frustration mixing with fear.

Grandma replied, “You can’t be sure. If you run out like this and run into Old Mo, you’ll be sending yourself to your death. How did you get out of the woods just now?”

Her words were sharp, edged with the kind of practical fear only mothers have.

Uncle Derek said, “I crawled out. I left four-footed prints on the ground. It’s just a beast—it won’t recognize them as human.”

He sounded half-convinced, replaying the escape in his head, clinging to any shred of safety.

Grandma breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. When Old Mo comes out of the woods, it’s always led out by people. Today you crawled out. If it can’t tell you were human, it won’t follow you out.”

She squeezed his arm. It was the first hopeful thing she’d said all day.

I thought for a moment and said, “Grandma, that’s not right. He did come out. He was following behind us.”

My words sounded small, but they made Grandma’s face go chalk white.

Grandma’s face turned pale. “You really saw him come out of the woods?”

Her voice was barely a whisper, eyes wide and searching my face for a lie.

“I saw him. He was not far behind us.”

I hugged my knees, remembering the shape in the fog, closer than I wanted to admit.

Uncle Derek was startled. “Behind us?”

He looked at me, fear and regret flashing across his face.

I said, “Yeah, he even waved at me—seemed like he called out to me too.”

I tried to keep my voice steady, but my lips trembled.

Uncle Derek’s face went completely white, and he collapsed onto a bench.

He put his head in his hands, rocking back and forth. For a second, he looked like a scared little boy, not my adventurous uncle.

“It’s over. If it can stand on two legs and speak, it’s become a demon. Whoever it targets, that family is doomed.”

He muttered the words like a curse, eyes unfocused. I wanted to argue, to say it was all just stories, but I couldn’t.

Grandma hurriedly asked, “Did you answer when he called you?”

She knelt in front of me, hands gripping my shoulders so tight it almost hurt.

“Uncle wouldn’t let me make a sound. And his voice was raspy and scary, so I didn’t answer,” I said.

I glanced at Derek, grateful for his quick thinking, even if I hadn’t understood it at the time.

Grandma quickly had me take off my red puffer jacket and put on black clothes.

The old hoodie swallowed me up, smelling like mothballs and woodsmoke. My red coat—my favorite—got stuffed behind the dryer, as if hiding it could hide me.

I asked why I had to change clothes.

I was shivering, part from cold, part from fear. The black hoodie smelled faintly of mothballs.

Grandma said, “Once Old Mo targets someone, he won’t stop until he eats them all. If you didn’t answer, he can’t remember your voice. If you change your clothes…”

Her voice trailed off as she buttoned the last snap, not meeting my eyes. I could tell she was trying to follow some old logic, some folk wisdom passed down through the years.

Before she finished, we heard heavy ‘clop-clop’ footsteps outside the yard fence.

The sound was slow and deliberate, echoing against the garage. It made my heart skip a beat.

You just knew—whatever was out there, it was huge. And it wasn’t leaving.