Perhaps it was the cold wind blowing in his hair, perhaps it was the way the cliff seemed to drop away to nothing, but something made Joseph feel very alone, and very afraid.
He stepped away from the cliff that he had known since he was a boy, but which somehow, with the incredible fog, was ominous and unknown, and turned to face the woods he had walked through just a few minutes before.
It had been light then, with not a trace of fog. Now it was impossible to tell if it was light or dark, it was just grey.
He could have walked his way home with his eyes closed - he knew the path through the woods better than he knew any roads, somehow it was more permanent - but he felt edgy about going into the woods with the fog.
There was of course, no choice in the matter, he had to get home before supper time or his wife would get worried.
Emma was beautiful, but very rarely showed it, or herself for that matter - she seemed to prefer staying at home, tending to their dog Barkley, who was going lame, and keeping the house in general order while he tended to his growing business.
Joseph had a stall in the market, he sold mushrooms which he collected from the woods, flowers which he grew in their garden, and vegetables which he grew in their vegetable patch.
He would usually go into the market on Wednesday, although there was market on Saturday. He would arrive early in the morning and would finish about five hours past noon, before going into the tavern to make some last minute sales and to drink and sing with the local men.
It was Wednesday today, but he hadn't gone to the market - his horse was being reshoed. It didn't matter, he would go on Saturday.
The large rainfall yesterday meant that there would be lots of uncommon mushrooms in the forest, but he had come here for a different reason - he had wanted to see flood which had supposedly swept Moorton, the town at the base of the cliff.
But he could see nothing, the fog was too dense to even see the river.
He wished he had been looking for the mushrooms, since it was now too foggy to pick them. They would have to wait until tomorrow. He hoped they would keep.
He took one last look towards the cliff and then entered the woods.

* * * * *

Emma looked out of the window, expecting to see her husband return from his walk, but he was not there. She returned to peeling the potatoes – she was going to make a vegetable roast; peas, potatoes, carrots and leeks. She wished they could have had meat, but Joseph hadn’t gone into town during the day. He usually brought back a chicken or a pheasant, depending on how well his business had done.
She checked again, but he was still not there. She told herself not to worry about it – he knew the path better than anyone else, and the fog wouldn’t affect him.
Or would it?
Maybe he’d stumbled along the way, maybe he’d not seen the cliff edge, maybe he was in agony, calling her name. She had to find him.
She admonished herself. Worrying would do nobody any good. She returned to the potatoes.
She found it hard to keep her mind from straying, she always had done. Sometimes her mind would wander to thoughts of the future, with Joseph now employing their son to work the stall, while he guided people around the woods, showing them the flora and fauna. She would still be at home, no other lifestyle appealed to her, but she would be helped by her daughter, who would be able to do the things she no longer could; reaching the top of the cupboard and the bottom of the stove, and anything which Emma would surely find difficult in the future.
Most of time, though, she worried. She was constantly worrying, fearing for Joseph, because she loved him so much, and he was sometimes too carefree for his own good.
The door rattled.
Emma hadn’t seen Joseph walking towards the house. She would have. It must have been the wind.
But there was no wind.
It was quite clear that there was no wind – the leaves were still, as was the fog.
Something had knocked on the door, and it hadn’t come from the woods.
She decided to ignore it, she put the potatoes in the oven and lit the small fire which heated it. She put the other vegetables in a pan and filled it with water. She put the pan on the stove, supper would be ready in an hour.
The door rattled again, but this time, it was most definitely a knock.
It was not Joseph, he’d have called her by now, told her to stop fretting and let him in – it was so cold outside. No, it wasn’t Joseph.
So who was it? Nobody ever called, especially not towards supper time – they wouldn’t have time to make it back to town before the night, and even the road was treacherous at night time.
The door rattled insistently.
‘Who is it?’ She yelped.
Again the door rattled.
‘I’ll not let you in if you don’t tell me your name.’ She said, in as controlled a manner as she could manage.
She heard a large crash. The house shook and the door splintered.
‘Stay out of our house!’ She screamed.
Another thunderous crash, and the door opened.

* * * * *

Joseph heard the crash, he heard his wife scream.
He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, he knew his wife was in danger, although he didn’t know why.
The tree branches shot past him, he had to duck and jump over twisted bits of bramble. Roots shot up from the ground and then contorted themselves back around to the soil. Twigs raked his face, but he didn’t care.
He wasn’t far now – just a few hundred yards to the edge of the woods, and a further fifty to his house.
He tripped.
He knew he would, and as the world spun in slow motion he staggered and regained his balance, only to trip up again. His face hit the floor with a reassuring thud.
He got up, he had to help Emma.
What he saw when his house came in to view almost made him feint.