I stared out into the fog. It was as thick and impenetrable as it had been for months. The mighty light from my lighthouse just barely able to pierce it. A dim beacon rising above the islands.
It still makes me feel uneasy. Perhaps I've been listening too much to the fishermen in the pub. Too many of their wild stories. But I've started to believe them. Believing that this fog is not natural.
Ever since they dredged up that accursed old wreck... nothing has felt right. Whatever they found down there has to be causing all this. It has too be!
But whatever is happening, I still have a job to do. I am the lighthouse keeper. My lighthouse is essential in keeping the waters safe. And as things continue to get worse, I can't help but fear what would happen to us if the light ever goes out. If that happens, then I fear that we might all be lost to the fog.
Subdivisions! 
