They say the bog is haunted.

White mist curls around my ankles as I walk down the narrow path. The air is cold and crisp as it would be on a winters day and a sharp breeze ruffles my hair.

“People had disappeared here”, the townsfolk had said. “Every night, the fog thickens and those who venture into the bog never return home. The spirits claim them. They will not stop at your detective’s badge.”

My breath forms a small cloud in the air when I huff out a sigh. I reach into my coat and pull out a box of cigarettes. My lighter clicks, once, twice. I shake it but the flame flickers out immediately each time. Great.

I stuff it back into my pocket and continue walking.

It’s silent, not even the sounds of frogs and birds can be heard.

There is something in the distance, the fog swirling to form a silhouette. I click on my flashlight and shine it forward.

The last thing I see is a white hand flying at me and the touch of ice cold fingers closing around my throat.