The realization of what I had done surged through me like a cold poison, bathing me in a mind numbing horror. I had killed a man. The mist squeezed around me like a tight fist. I knelt there, my body rigid, my frantic breaths pushing at the white veil that swirled around the body like a shroud. He blinked, once, twice, and then broke out into laughter. I shrieked and fell backwards. My flashlight fell to the ground, rolling to shine on him. He continued to laugh as his body twisted and bowed, joints popping, bone rasping against bone. He stretched as if wakening from a deep sleep and rolled over onto his knees. “Well, that was a bit of fun,” he chuckled with a smooth British accent. He gracefully got to his feet and brushed off his clothing, inspecting the damage. Muddied from the road, his blonde hair stuck up on one side like a clump of flattened weeds. His torn black t-shirt revealed a pale chest and a tear in one leg of his jeans showed a white expanse of thigh.
