It was her idea to leave at 5 a.m., when the sun hadn’t even woken up and the fog was so thick that it made Clyde nervous. He’d only driven down the bridge a handful of times, three, maybe four times, and there wasn’t an inch of confidence in him. He stayed focused on the small amount of road before him, but he could feel her glare. Could see her anger and frustration through his peripherals, through her strained body language.

“You can drive faster,” she finally spits out. It’s coarse, harsh words intended for a child instead of a man.

“This fog is terrible. I literally can’t see but a few feet ahead of me.”

“Clyde. Will you grow a pair? Can you grow a pair? For me, if not for yourself? It’s five in the morning. I drive down the Hampshire in this kind of fog all the time. You’re driving like my grandma.”

Clyde’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. He could hear the strain in the leather. He could feel the burn in his forearms. The idea of stepping on the gas and launching his Jeep into the unknown and into something flashed across his mind like lightning during a violent storm.

He knew why Annabelle wanted to get to the Shadowbrook Campsite so early. It all had to do with Jeff. Her “friend” from work. He saw how she lit up when she texted him. How late into the night they texted one another. Clyde knew damn well that their relationship was on its last legs, yet he still danced to her beat when it came to this stupid little camping trip that he wanted no part of.

Her tone sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Had been for a while now.

_You’re not driving fast enough, Clyde._

_You’re doing it wrong, Clyde._

_Stop playing video games, Clyde. You’re thirty-five. Not fifteen. _

_Get a better job, Clyde._

His foot turned to cement as he applied all his weight on the gas. The sound of his struggling engine drowned out by her infuriating tone.

_Jeff at work is so funny. _

_Jeff did this. Jeff did that. _

_Jeff. Jeff. Je-_

“Clyde! Watch out!!”

The man in the suit and the top hat emerged from the fog from out of nowhere. The sound of screeching brakes pierced through Clyde’s ears. He could smell the rubber on the asphalt as he struggled to maintain control of his vehicle. He thought he’d drive straight through the man, expected to hear the sound of his body colliding with the bumper. Anticipated the sound of his windshield shattering. But nothing happened; his jeep came to a final halt, but somehow the man still stood before them. He was no more than ten feet away, standing infront of the fog, right before it got thick.

“Who is that? What’s he doing standing in the middle of the road?” Annabelle’s voice was hoarse after the screaming.

Clyde’s breath hitched in his throat. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead from his hairline. His palms burned, and his right ankle ached as his muscles began to relax. He didn’t even realize that his teeth had been clattering together, until he stopped. The man that stood before them wore a black suit, a white button-up, and a red tie. The top hat sat on his head with perfection. Clyde couldn’t see his face; his features distorted because of his headlights. He stood there. Unflinching. Like a human statue. Then he moved, almost robotically, to his left. Toward the passenger side window. Toward Annabelle.

Annabelle screamed for him to drive. He could feel her hands slap into his forearm, her nails scratching into his skin. He still couldn’t see the man’s face; all he could see was darkness. Why did he walk like that? With his hands straight to his sides, neither fast nor slow. He stopped by Annabelle’s window, as she screamed and screamed. They could see his face now. Except he didn’t really have a face. But only a mouth.

His mouth consumed his entire face. Knife-like fangs spanned deep into a dark maw that seemed to extend for an eternity. There were rows and rows of fangs, each row a different size and length. Some sharp. Some dull. Some missing. Some spun right, some spun to the left. Clyde thought about a piece of construction machinery, but he couldn’t think of the name. There was a single light, deep in the darkness of the man’s throat.

Clyde and Annabelle didn’t scream. They quite simply couldn’t. The man in the top hat just stood there, his fangs spinning and spinning. Clyde, absentmindedly, placed his left hand on the console of his door and rolled down the passenger side window. He could sense a feeling of approval as it radiated off the man; he knew he’d done well even though he didn’t do anything.

The man with spinning fangs leaned into their car, stopping but a few inches from Annabelle. She didn’t scream; she didn’t even flinch, not even as the man’s jaw expanded over her head.

Clyde. Just watched. As the fangs spun around through Annabelle’s face. As the ribbons of blood splashed all over the interior of his jeep. He felt something slap into his cheek, and he thought it was her ear, but it could have been her nose. The man continued to swallow her, ripping her from her seat and consuming even the seat belt. He devoured her within seconds, leaving nothing but a sheet of crimson gore on Clyde’s passenger seat. Clyde. Covered in what remained of Annabelle. Smiled.

The man stepped away from his jeep, and the two looked at one another for a few seconds. Clyde returned his attention to the road and stepped on the gas. Driving through the fog, and into an unforgettable weekend.