It was 8:45, the sky getting darker by the minute. “Bix!” wailed the girl who was all alone in the woods: she had lost her dog, Bix and was trying to find her. She desperately followed footprints in the snow, thinking someone might of found her and took her back to their house – but no. These footprints weren’t ordinary footprints. They, in fact, were leading somewhere completely different to where she thought. Then it was silent. Not a chill in the breeze, not a wisp of the wind. She looked down the path, seeing a figure coming closer. . . and closer. . . and closer. And just as she could see its face in the mist, it stopped. She could smell it’s rank breath and see it’s yellow teeth. She tried to run but she couldn’t, she just stood still. not a muscle moved in her body. She started to turn into the Fog, into dust. That is how the Misty Wood came to be. No-one has ever stepped foot in that wood again.