Horror Story 3: The Fog That Consumed Gurgaon

Winters in Gurgaon are always bleak, but this year was something else entirely. The smog was thicker than ever, a choking cloud that hung over the city day and night. The AQI numbers had stopped making sense; everything just read **“Hazardous”** as if the air itself had given up on being breathable. The fog rolled in each night, blending seamlessly with the smog until it felt like the city was drowning in an unholy mix of ash and despair. No one dared to venture out more than necessary. The streets, once bustling with honking cars and impatient bikers, were now eerily quiet, their sounds muffled by the suffocating air. Even the stray dogs that roamed Gurgaon seemed subdued, their howls silenced by the dense veil of smog. It started with whispers. People spoke of **disappearances**. A cab driver went missing near Cyber Hub. A night guard at a DLF office never showed up for his morning tea. A jogger in Sector 29 was swallowed by the fog and never came back. “Pollution,” people said at first. “It’s just the smog playing tricks on us.” But soon, the city couldn’t ignore the mounting fear. I worked late nights at a tech startup in Cyber City, and one evening, as I stepped out of my office to catch an auto, I felt the fog wrap itself around me. It wasn’t like normal fog—this was **alive.** It moved with a purpose, curling around the streetlamps and creeping toward me like it had eyes. I waved frantically for an auto, but none stopped. Even the drivers seemed scared to linger too long. I had no choice but to start walking toward IFFCO Chowk, hoping to catch the metro instead. The streets were deserted, and every step felt heavier than the last. The air seemed to **hum**, a low, vibrating noise that made my ears ring. Then I saw it—a shadowy figure in the distance. “Hello?” I called out, my voice trembling. The figure didn’t respond. It just stood there, shrouded in the mist. As I got closer, I realized it wasn’t standing at all—it was **floating.** My heart stopped. The figure turned, and I saw its face—or rather, the lack of one. It was just a void, an empty space where a face should have been. Then, without warning, it lunged at me. I ran. The fog seemed to close in tighter around me, and the humming noise grew louder, almost deafening. I stumbled into a park, hoping to find someone, anyone, but what I saw made my blood run cold. The fog had **taken them all.** A group of people—runners, guards, even children playing in the park—were frozen in place, their bodies half-consumed by the mist. Their faces were twisted in silent screams, their limbs stretched as if they were being pulled into another dimension. And then I realized: it wasn’t just the living. The ground beneath the park began to shift, and I saw **hands**—skeletal, decayed hands—reaching up from the earth. The fog wasn’t just taking people. It was **waking the dead.** I watched in horror as the corpses pulled themselves free, their hollow eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. The fog surrounded them, moving like a conductor guiding an orchestra of the damned. They marched toward the city, their movements slow but deliberate. I turned and ran again, this time toward a small chai stall I knew stayed open late. When I got there, the owner, an old man named Ramesh, was sitting in silence, staring at the fog. “Do you see it too?” I gasped, out of breath. He nodded slowly, his face pale. “This fog… it’s not natural. It’s the city’s curse.” “What do you mean?” I demanded. He pointed to the sky. “We poisoned the air, the land, the water. Now the city is fighting back. It’s taking everyone—living and dead. No one will be spared.” As if on cue, the fog began to thicken around us. The light from the stall’s bulb flickered, and I could hear the humming noise again, louder than before. “We need to go!” I shouted, but Ramesh didn’t move. “It’s too late,” he whispered. “Once the fog touches you, it never lets you go.” Before I could grab him, the fog surged forward, engulfing the stall in an instant. I stumbled backward, coughing and choking, but when the mist cleared, Ramesh was gone. There was no sign of him—not even a footprint. I ran blindly through the streets, the fog closing in from all sides. Every turn seemed to lead me deeper into its grasp. And then I saw them again—the **floating figures**, dozens of them now, their faceless heads turning toward me in unison. I don’t remember much after that. When I woke up, I was lying on the pavement near HUDA City Center. The fog was gone, and the sun was rising, casting a weak, sickly light over the city. But the streets were empty. Completely empty. No cars. No people. Not even the stray dogs or pigs. Gurgaon had been **swallowed whole**, leaving me behind as its sole witness—or maybe, as its next victim. Now, every night, as the smog and fog roll in, I hear the humming again, growing louder, closer. It’s only a matter of time before it comes for me too. **TL;DR**: In Gurgaon’s deadly smog and fog, strange disappearances began happening, and I discovered the fog was consuming both the living and the dead, leaving the city eerily empty. I escaped, but I know it’s only a matter of time before it gets me too.