This morning, when I went to the baker's, it was snowing on Main Street. Just a light snow, barely clinging to the warm spring grass before disappearing. It floated white around me as I made my way home, past the woolen shop and the general store. When I reached the iron fence around the church, though, I paused. Because there, and only there, only over the old stone church and its overgrown yard of aged headstones, it was raining. A dark grey streaking rain that ran in rivulets down the brownstone facade and pooled among the cobblestones on the path. This could mean only one thing. I pulled my hood closer round my head. The prophecy was awakened.

I burst into my lonely little cottage on the far side of the village, tossing the freshly baked loaves on the table. I changed from my day dress into more practical clothing—trousers and a linen blouse. You look like a child, my mother would have said. Trousers aren't for grown women. But mother's been dead these past twelve years and thank the gods she wasn't here now to see this day fulfilled.

When rain and snow at one time fall, the curse will be awakened...

It's been close to thirty years since the old witch spoke the prophecy, so maybe no one but me had faith in it anymore. Maybe no one realized what was happening.

I peered out the window. The snow had stopped. Already a dark mist was rising from the direction of the lake, and spreading out over the fields and whitewashed houses of the village.

Old widow MacIntosh was in the street, carrying her shopping. I saw her frozen there, gazing at the quickly moving fog. In disbelief? In fear? She was one of the small-minded villagers who bound the creature, spit upon it, called it unnatural. Threw it, weighted with stones carved with holy symbols, into the deep icy lake. I was sixteen. I remember every person who was there that chilling day. Was Mrs. MacIntosh recalling that day now, too? Did she remember the prophecy? The old woman pulled her bags around her and rushed to her house, quickly closing the door.

I felt a warmth spreading in my chest, and a giddy nervousness. If this was truly the prophetic day at last, I planned to meet it head on.

Maybe, just maybe, I could save my foolish, puritanical neighbors.

Whipping open my front door, I burst into the empty street, intending to head through the village and toward the lake. But I stopped in the road. It was suddenly quite unseasonably warm outside. The dark grey fog, greyer than any natural fog to be sure, roiled and cascaded, weaving in and around the thatched cottages of the village, like it was searching. Charcoal grey foggy tendrils swirled around trees and lampposts, and there was the smell of damp earth, rotted leaves and... something else that I remembered from my youth. That was His scent. He was coming.

Someone screamed in the distance.

When rain and snow at one time fall, the curse will be awakened. He will return to slay the ones who wronged Him, until He claims what is rightfully His.

Old Mrs. MacIntosh opened her door, but dared not emerge. She peered at me in the gathering gloom. "Get back in your house, you idiotic girl!" she shouted to me.

Her same words came back to me from all those years ago. "Remove that idiotic girl," she'd hollered, as my mother and young Bill Elkins—he had hopes of marrying me back then you know—dragged me back by the arms, kicking and screaming, as the MacIntoshes, the insufferable vicar, and other half-witted villagers heaved the restrained creature into the boat. I struggled, shouting curses, as they rowed out and tossed Him into the still moonlit water.

It took a long time for me to come to my senses after that night, babbling and ranting and cursing I was, and no one in the village ever really looked at me the same after that. I was tainted. Disturbed. Maybe even cursed.

Bill Elkins and his son came out of their shed now, cattle prod and chains in hand. He caught my eye for a moment as I stood there alone in the street, my arms outstretched, feeling the vibrations in the air. He quickly looked away. There was a low rumbling sound, like distant thunder.

Despite everything that had happened, I still felt a spot of kindness for Bill. He was young then, too, and had only been trying to protect me from what he saw as a monster.

He didn't have to die today.

I rushed over to him as a few other men joined with clubs and axes and even a sword or two. The wind had picked up and begun to whisper around me. The dark fog was thick around our shins and I saw fear in some of the men's eyes. What did they see when they looked into mine, I wonder? How silly of me to ask—they never do, they always look away.

Except Bill. He didn't look afraid. He looked resolved. "Stop this!" I cried over the growing howl of wind. "He's stronger now. You can't fight Him this time. The prophecy!"

The men exchanged nervous glances as a piercing shriek rang out, hanging in the humid air. He was coming.

"Get back, woman!" one of them said roughly.

"Bill," I said, looking from him to his teenage son—so much the spitting image of Bill at that age, "don't go after Him. Protect your family."

Most of the men were ignoring me, muttering to each other and turning toward town, ready to head into a useless and unnecessary conflict.

"Go back to your homes!" I hated the pleading note in my voice. "He's here for me. He'll spare you. Leave Him alone."

"Leave Him alone! Leave Him alone!" is what I had screamed over and over that night by the lake so long ago. My words felt as useless now as they did then.

"Leave this to us." Bill tried to grab hold of my arm, but I pulled away more violently than I intended.

"Don't touch me," I hissed, and I saw the look in his eyes harden.

Muffled shouts reached us now, from somewhere near the village center.

He will return to slay the ones who wronged Him, until He claims what is rightfully His.

The shouts ceased and left an eerie quiet. I looked to the men around me. I could barely see their faces now, the fog was so thick and dark and cloying.

Everything appeared through a dark haze, like trying to look up at the surface light through murky water. My lungs were filled with the musty, wet-earth smell of Him. I felt his ever-closer footsteps in the beating of my own heart. The warm fog cradled me.

There was no more time. There needn't be more bloodshed. If only they would leave Him alone. Leave me alone.

I set off for the village center, leaving the men behind. I would find Him first, and stop the killing..

"Get her back to her house," I heard Bill say.

A couple of the men grabbed me about the arms. Their rough hands were loathsome to me.

"Get your hands off me!" I snarled and struggled and kicked. I bit one of the arms holding me and the surprised men abruptly released me.

"Dammit, she bit me!" It was Bill's old friend, Angus. He had been there that night, too, long ago, by the lake. I licked the blood from my lip and smiled.

"Demented cow!" He slapped me across the face and I staggered back, but I didn't fall. Oh no, I didn't fall.

I stood there staring at the men savagely. They didn't give a damn about me—even Bill. They only wanted to destroy a monster. There was no point in trying to save them. They had brought this on themselves.

I held my head high, turned, and walked back to my house. To wait.

At my doorstep, I looked back once to see the figures of the men move off into the heavy fog as the wind blew and the misty tendrils engulfed the cottages, turning once-white walls, an ambiguous grey.

I wondered if old widow MacIntosh believed she was safe inside her house.

I went inside and shut the door. I daren't look out the windows again, but I could still smell Him, and feel Him coming, and hear the clatter and the shouting and the screams from the village.

I closed my eyes, focused on my own breathing—in and out, in and out—as I stood there. Waiting.

Then a preternatural quiet descended. Even the wind had stopped. I breathed. I listened.

A knock came at my door. Grey mist seeped inside from beneath. I inhaled deeply—a musty, earthy, lovely scent—and opened the door fearlessly.

The village lay dark and quiet and the grey fog swirled around Him.

"My darling!" I said and opened my arms wide. "You've come back to me."

--word count: 1520--