It was a still night, and it was hot. That part wasn’t uncommon—even during the rainy season. But the fog was. Uncommon, I mean. Especially in that place. Our subdivision has never been a particularly foggy place. Zero visibility only usually happens when there’s a typhoon in the area.

But there it was.

The fog covered a bend, and a few meters of road. That was the other weird thing. I know that it’s possible for fog to just occupy a certain place, but a very specific (and small) area like that? I thought it was weird. Weirder when we passed through it. It felt as if someone was pulling at me, trying to drag me.

I’m usually in a car when I pass through this bend in the road. Maybe that’s why I never notice. But that night, I was riding at the back of a motorcycle. A tricyle, actually. And while a slight drag wasn’t weird, the sensation of being pulled was. It was as if a pair of hands were trying to take a hold of your clothes but keeps losing its grasp.

And you know what was weirder still? The tricycle driver never noticed. Neither did the passengers inside the cab. But my seatmate and I exchanged glances. We both felt the sensation.

And just like that, we were out of the foggy area. And taking a look back froze my blood. There were black shapes inside the fog—shapes that I didn’t see before entering and while we were inside.

One of them was waving. Or beckoning.

I quickly turned back to facing front.

Tonight, I’m gonna have to pass that bend again. And I don’t have a car.