Beyond the Grave

Good evening, friend. This is your host to welcome you again through the creaking door into the Anoseiten. Come in, come in. I'm enjoying some winter sports for the couple of cold-blooded skates. Personally, I don't mind the temperature anymore. That's because I wear a snow-foe stormcoat.

Keep the cold spirit out. Yes, now I'm just a werewolf in a sheepskin-lined shroud. Oh, him? And that's how photographer Arty, yet he just passed out by taking a picture from over exposure. Let him out for our excursion beyond the grave.

We're a bit crowded. You may not be able to get around to ticket. We can accommodate you on the way out, but coming back you will have to double up with a call. The fog rolls in from the sea and begins to blanket the long narrow island, which is joined to the Florida mainland by a bridge.

In a lone house on the island, two men stand at the window, Watching the mist develop into a thick gold, obscuring the light on the mainland. Listen, the fog is getting worse. Look out there.

It's covering everything like a disgusting evil monster. It'll lift by morning. Morning. Morning. Morning. I may not be here by morning. What the devil do you mean by that? I mean, I may not be alive.

What do you want? Unless you help me. I asked you our kids a night because I was afraid to be alone. But you said before that you're a sister-in-law, Carol, and her husband, what's his name ever it would be here?

Yes, Vincent. But you're my friend, you're my closest friend. For the past week I had a feeling that death was coming here to the island. And then when the fire began to roll in from the sea, I knew it would be tonight.