"Tim?" when he tries to spot her it's like she's always just on the edge of his vision. When he moves, turns, so does she, always out of sight, always just out of reach.

The lakeside is quiet and the thick fog covers everything. Tim feels like he's alone on an island. Beyond the fog the ground stops, becomes nothing. He's afraid to move forwards. If the world suddenly ends, he doesn't know what he'll fall into.

"Tim," she calls again and he turns, catches a glimpse of thick dark hair. "Will you come with me?"

He feels small and much younger than twelve. He's cold and somewhere out in the fog something is moving. He can hear it huff as it breathes, hear it grunt. He can sense it's hunger, it's anger. It's not a good something. It's the kind that will rip and tear. It's come for Meredith. He knows that but he can't find her to protect her.

"Tim, will you come with me?"

He reels as a shade flits by him once again.

Out in the fog the monster is screaming.

Tim Gutterson ran. His chest burned around every breath and sweat ran down over every inch of his skin. His eyes burned, his muscles ached and cried out for peace, for rest but he ignored them. His feet slapped in time with his breath, the impact juddering up through his legs, his body, rattling his skull a little but he paid it no mind.

He was home. The streets of Foggy Lakes were beginning to glow gold as the sun sank behind the horizon and the outdoor lights and street lamps began to glow to life. After a pre-dawn to the long arduous drive home, Tim and Raylan Givens had been mentally and physically drained. They had checked into their motel room, fallen into their respective narrow beds and slept like the dead.

At least until Tim was woken by a strange and unpleasant dream about Meredith Rodham. He woke filled with uncomfortable fidgety energy, his head thick and addled. He had changed into running gear and headed into the night, hoping to catch the air cooling down, but it was only getting warmer. Still, he ran. He wondered if it might storm, hoped it would to clean out the dry and sticky air, wash away some of the dust.

As he ran he noted the changes that had come to his home town. Some money had found its way in and it showed in the renovated store fronts, the franchises cropping up around the slowly expanding streets. Tim ran past a funky vintage store, recalled it's days as a dusty thrift store where Tim would dig through boxes in the hope of finding old comics or cool old sci-fi books, the library where he first found a copy of 'Dune' and had his pre-teen mind absolutely and permanently blown. The building had been renovated, modernised. Signs promised free internet, free wi-fi, a franchised coffee kiosk.

The bowling alley where his dad spent half his life getting hammered had gotten a family friendly make over, promised discounts for kids and birthday parties. Tim remembered it having the cheapest bar in town and a happy 'hour' that ran from 7 til 10. It was the starter bar for the town residents looking to get dangerously drunk at as little cost as they could. Now it promised a free cake for your kids birthday, shaped like the toy of their choice.

The ache and tightness in his legs was such that he knew he would have to stop soon, turn back, take some manner of a break, but he pushed on. He passed a diner where his father, in rare burst of good nature would take them to indulge in greasy burgers, fries and shakes. It had been cleaned up, shined up nice, brighter paint on the walls, better lighting and a menu that offered a vegetarian option. It was open, the lights on, the clientele inside laughing and chatting as they spoke. Tim saw a sign offering take out, made a mental note.

A new plaza had been built on the site of the town hall fire. The centuries old pine building had been burned to ash one Halloween when Tim was six years old. He was dressed up as a soldier and the school was taking a group of school children out trick or treating when they first smelled the burning wood and saw the orange glow on the night sky. They had run to look and watched the roaring flames eat the wood away to nothing, embers racing for the sky like fireflies who knew something humans didn't.

The new plaza had grass and trees, comfortable benches and vintage street lamps to light it up, keep it safe. A few people walked around, sat on the grass, enjoying the last warm dark night. A group of teenagers hung out on one such bench, talking and sharing a joint that Tim could smell as he jogged past. They watched him calmly, as relaxed as everyone else in the park, or more so, in honesty.

The humidity was rising and for the first time Tim seriously considered stopping. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything like enough to have run this far and fast. But every time he slowed down he saw Meredith and the clawing discomfort of anxiety that was coiling in his gut would flare up, send a jolt of something through his nervous system.

He tried to push through the flat, dull weakness flooding his legs, the feeling he had run through even his fumes.

He slowed down and he thought of Meredith Rodham. Gorge rose in his throat and without getting a say in the matter he doubled over and started to be sick.