Day 1,238

I'd heard of the way the fog crept over the moorlands many years before my time, like an army of beggars crawling towards our doorsteps but I didn't expect it to be so... literal.

In the days beforehand the weather forecast warned us all to pad out our door frames, window sills, anywhere that let in a breeze had to be blocked. They said that the fog contained traces of some factory chemical with an unpronounceable name but now I see that was just to make the outsiders and newcomers pay attention.

Those who haven't grown up with our tales aren't likely to heed when they must and likely to die from it. Best to let them think there's a rational explanation behind it all rather than saying that the fog isn't anything natural and it likes to rip the breath straight from your lungs for no apparent reason.

Now I've only ever seen the fog once but the stories have been around for well over eight hundred years, possibly for as long as the area's been inhabited by humans and possibly for as long as the land has been above the sea. It may have been around before the world had even formed, with all its arms reaching for air that wasn't there.

All I can say for sure is that everything they say about the fog is true.

Everything and worse.