A dense fog consumed London; the ghastliest Barbara Baker had ever laid her eyes upon. She found herself trapped in a cloud of obscurity as feathers of white swirled around her like water flowing along the sides of a stone in a river. After passing, they remained hanging in the air for a while before slowly drifting as slow as the worn-out barges that crossed the Thames every day. She cannot see anything from fifteen feet away, not even the faded outlines of buildings, not even where the earth greeted the sky. There was absolutely nothing, save the damp cobblestones beneath her feet. Will she dare to continue walking? To remain here, She thought, was pointless.

At first, it appeared to be an endless journey, and it was like a graveyard for not a single person came into sight. She peered through shop windows hazy from moisture but there was nobody inside. Logs were brightly burning in their fireplaces, half-eaten meals grew cold on tables, and all clock faces read three o'clock for an eternity. Where did all the people go? It seemed as if there was life just a little while ago until something drove every shred of it away. Was it the Plague? Or was it, perhaps, the Lord's Second Coming?

Her contemplation was broken by the faint sound of tiny footsteps. Barbara nearly cried out in joy when she finally came across a living soul. It was a small lad mostly clothed in a depressing shade of bluish gray, poverty thriving in every crease. He was so skinny that his sleeve-cuffs nearly reached the tips of his filthy fingers, and his Gatsby hat nearly fell over his face. In his left hand, he held the end of an axe, which was slung over his shoulder, and he wrapped his right arm around a bundle of freshly chopped wood.

"I know him..." she thought. "I know that lad..."

But no matter how hard she tried to remember, she cannot recall how or where she had encountered him. Yet, she knew deep in her heart that she had known him for the longest time and he was the only person who can read her soul. She tried calling out to him but his thin face remained worn with fatigue and his lips only formed a frown. He cannot hear her voice. Barbara drew closer. The lad was ruefully looking at something on the ground with his downcast eyes.

A crooked man was on his knees, his appearance even ghastlier than the lad's for he was nothing more than a skeleton draped over with sagging onion skin. His mouth hanged open and he panted hard as saliva trickled down from the corners of his mouth before absorbing himself in a perverted rapture, licking and sucking fingers laced in blood.

"Please, don't look," Barbara said as she took the boy by the hand.

It was so cold she felt as if flames were riding up her arm, but when she tried to let go, she found her hand frozen into his. He remained fixed on the spot and he did not dare to avert his eyes from the carnage that may before him: a handsome, green bird with a scarlet chest, its limbs and head savagely torn away from its body and the feathers still rooted to the flesh. It lay floating in a puddle of blood but its splendid tail feathers, each four feet in length, remained untainted.

Fear shot through Barbara's heart. She tightened her hold on the lad as she tried to pull him away from this appalling scene. He did not move an inch-he was virtually rooted to the ground.

"Are you mad?!" she exclaimed in a pleading voice.

Suddenly, he broke free from her grasp and everything he carried plummeted to the ground, the axe landing with a resounding clatter. In a high fever of hysteria, he ran at lightning speed towards the once magnificent bird and gently stroke its plumage. His fingers were streaked in a sticky purple, a mix of blood and the dirt on his hands, as he felt the softness brush against him skin. He hung his head in silence for a while as he bitterly sobbed streams of tears like the child he was. He shot the man a venomous glare, then seized the axe and split his head open.

He died instantly.

His brains were a sickening gray mush smeared on the pavement. Barbara fingers flew to her mouth in a shrill cry of horror as the boy turned to her, breathing heavily, with a face matted with blood. He was still sobbing but were those still tears flowing from his eyes?

She ran as fast as her legs can carry her, not anymore mindful of the fog or where she was going. The only thing she wanted now was to run away-anywhere from there-and hopefully forget the barbarous killing she had just witnessed.

Newgate Prison... did she not pass it already?

There it is again!

She was running in endless circles!

People materialized from the blanket of mist giving her curious glances, their faces no different from when she passed last. Alas, she finally lost her balance and collided with an apple peddler, causing his wares to spill onto the cobbles. Barbara crashed to the ground, her chest relentlessly throbbing from exhaustion, and found herself caged in the overturned apple cart. She felt a warm wetness dripping to the side of her head. It was crimson, and whatever it was, her consciousness started to go with it as it pooled on the ground.

The last scene that burned into her memory was a hansom racing towards her. It was still quite some distance away and all who stood in its path walked a safe distance away and bore their eyes into the apple cart, as if they wanted to see Barbara being crushed and torn into pieces.

"Help..." she weakly groaned to nobody in particular. "Please, help me..."

Then, the lad reappeared nearby, still holding the tainted axe in his hands.

"He has decided to finish me off before the carriage does."

The executioner raised the guillotine blade high above his head and then--