# Weird Tales/Volume 11/Issue 2/The Mist Monster

​It Billowed Up from the Depths of the Cave
The Mist-Monster
By GRANVILLE S. HOSS
THE newspaper accounts stated that Judson McSweet had gone into a cave near his cabin and in the prevailing darkness wandered too near the brink of a chasm, situated about five hundred yards inside the cavern, where he lost his balance or stepped blindly into space and fell to destruction. He may have found his last resting-place at the bottom of that pit. I think he did, but not in the manner stated by the newspapers. I am going to tell you here just what occurred. It will be just a bald statement of facts, which I quite realize will sound much like the dream of a disturbed imagination.
McSweet had extended me a standing invitation to spend some time at his place. Well knowing my weakness, he represented the hunting and fishing as excellent, holding out alluring prospects of the sport to be enjoyed. It was long ere I could avail myself of his offer, but finally feeling that my affairs were in such shape that the business could be left with subordinates for a while, I wrote him to expect me early in November.
After an all-day journey I alighted at a small mountain station, where Judson met me with a spring wagon drawn by one horse, and in this vehicle, which was already well loaded with bundles, he placed my luggage. "Been stocking up a bit," he explained. "Although there is plenty of fish and game, we can't live on that alone. I like a variety."
McSweet was a small man, round and fat, entirely bald, with a cherubic face and mild blue eyes. He was dressed in rough outing clothes, a cap and top-boots. He had suddenly retired from business some years before and bought a small tract of ground with a two-room cabin where he had since lived alone. In explanation he had always answered that he preferred being next to nature; that the simple life met all his needs and suited him far better than the more complicated existence of the town or city.
As we jolted over the rocky road through the evening gloom, I was surprized by his silence. He had always been a jolly man, full of fun and overflowing with conversation. His face now, as I glanced at him occasionally, seemed set and strained. As we came to a particularly rough stretch of road the horse stumbled and almost fell. McSweet gave a vicious jerk at the reins and lashed the beast unmercifully, at the same time giving voice to several deep curses.
"What on earth is the matter, Mac?" I exclaimed. "You are not yourself at all. I noticed it at the station and have been marveling at the change in you ever since."
"Oh, it’s nothing," he replied. "I'm all right, though I guess the devilish thing has gotten on my nerves a bit."
"What thing?" I demanded.
"I'll tell you in the morning. Here we are at the shack. We'll soon have a fire going and a supper good enough for your club. Anyway, it will be as substantial as anything they could give you there."
​He unharnessed the horse, loosing him to range at will, and we soon had the contents of the wagon transferred to the house.
After a hearty repast we sat before the stove with our pipes while he asked innumerable questions about friends and acquaintances whom he had not seen or heard of since renouncing civilization and settling in the wild spot he now called home. About 10 o'clock we adjourned to the other room, two sides of which were fitted with bunks, while a third was lined with shelves filled with books and magazines. It was apparent how he was in the habit of spending his days and evenings. We were soon occupying the bunks, and I, for one, was not long in falling sound asleep.
I arose at dawn, but early as I was, McSweet was up and busied with breakfast. "Ah, Hatton," he exclaimed cheerfully, as I appeared in the doorway armed with rod and creel, "I see we are going to have fish for dinner, but bacon must suffice for breakfast."
"Not for dinner," I replied; "I am going to put up a lunch and make a day of it, but I can promise you some good ones for tonight, if you have not deceived me about how your streams abound with them."
We soon breakfasted, and as I prepared to depart, McSweet accompanied me to the door, where he paused, saying, "Hatton, I want particularly to call your attention to that cave you see about four hundred yards before us. Keep away from it during the afternoon hours, especially after 3 o'clock, as it is dangerous. The Indians have always lived in great fear of it and those around here now say that in times past, sacrifices, both human and animal, were made to the thing they believed to dwell in its depths. They call it the Cave of the Wind Devil. I do not know what it is, but I do know that it is something evil and horrible, and to go in there at certain hours is death. The spring from which I get my water is about ten yards inside the entrance and I am very careful not to require a supply of it after a certain hour."
"But what is it?" I asked. "Surely you must have some good reason for saying what you do and are not influenced by an old Indian superstition. What do you fear and what has happened to make you speak so positively of danger?"
"Superstition nothing! No, I am not influenced by the Indian legends, but have good reasons for saying what I do. I'll tell you more this evening and maybe show you something, too, if you return at the right time. But remember what I have said and keep away from the place."
He turned abruptly into the house, and there soon issued a prodigious rattling of pots and pans, indicating that no more information was to be had at that time. Wondering somewhat, I left the cabin, following a path which lay within about twenty feet of the cave, where I paused. The place looked ordinary enough, like hundreds of others to be found in all mountain regions. It may have been the result of what I had just heard, but as I stood gazing into the cavernous depths, I felt a chill creep along my spine and a sense of deadly fear steal over me. "Tut, tut," I muttered, "this will never do. Am I letting Mac's wild talk make a fool of me?" Turning in a sort of panic, I hurried on toward the river.
It was a fine morning, crisp and cold, with a touch of frost in the air. I pushed forward vigorously through the brambles and other dead growths of summer and soon reached my destination. McSweet had not exaggerated the abundance of fish, and in a short time my creel contained some fine ones. I built a fire about noon and ate my lunch, which I thoroughly enjoyed in spite of the fact ​that it had become quite cold and somewhat dry.
About 3 o'clock I decided to return to the cabin. I had all the fish we could use, and while they were still biting, it seemed a shame to take more from the water than would supply our wants. Drawing near the clearing, I heard loud curses, then shouts, vengeful and gleeful in turn. As I hurried through the trees and around a small hill, a strange sight met my eyes. Judson McSweet was hopping about some distance in front of the cave and hurling stones into the mouth of it. "Ah you devil," he shouted, "how was that? So, you creeping monster! Right through you! There, you fiend! And there, and there, and there!"
I hurried toward him, my eyes fixed intently on the entrance to the cave. I could see nothing but a gray billowing mist which filled the entire opening.
As his missiles disappeared into this mass, a puff of vapor would spurt forth much in the manner of smoke on the discharge of a gun. These spurts of vapor were accompanied by a horrible odor; a sickening, dead, carrion odor. As I drew nearer, I could feel the same sense of chilly fear steal over me which I had noticed in the morning. The cloud had by now receded into the depths of the cave and by the time I reached McSweet it had entirely disappeared. He stood panting from his exertions, shaking his fist, growling inaudibly.
"What on earth is the matter, Mac?" I exclaimed. "Have you gone crazy?"
"Did you see it?" he cried. "Oh, the inhuman devouring thing! Waiting to draw me into its cold clammy maw. And listen to it! It is angry and seems to be telling me that some day it will not fail." From the interior of the cavern came a wailing and roaring sound as of a high wind sweeping over a neglected graveyard.
"I saw nothing," I replied, "but a cloud of mist. Collect yourself. Why were you throwing stones and acting in such a wild manner?"
"That was it, Hatton, what you call mist. But it is not that. No, no. It is a deadly agency of some sort which destroys and leaves no trace."
"Why do you say that? It is true the stuff smelled rather bad, but so far as I could observe it did not seem capable of much harm. It is probably a mist which rises periodically from some subterranean river."
"Mist nothing! No, there is intelligence and power there. During the first months of my stay here my only companions were a cat and dog. Poor old Tom, it got him. During the hot weather he was in the habit of sleeping just at the mouth of the cave where it was cool. One day I was sitting in the door of my cabin when I suddenly heard a number of terrified squalls from the cave. Looking up I beheld poor Tom, his head and forefeet projecting from the vaporous mass. He seemed to be struggling desperately to get out, but was gradually sucked in; his cries ceased and the cloud retreated into the cavern. I hastened to the cave but he was gone. Since then I have seen several small animals disappear in a like manner. First a rabbit, then a fox and finally a wolf. They had apparently gone to the spring for water."
"Remarkable!" I exclaimed. "Can it be that the cloud we saw is some sort of poisonous vapor which rises at intervals from the depths of the earth and overcomes whatever living thing it envelops?"
"It can't be that, no. A gas of that nature would cause death but it certainly would not be able to remove the body of the victim. No, this is an intelligent agency of some sort, devilish and deadly. A dog would not fear gas, would it? Well, I had a dog, and after the disappearance of the cat I noticed what I had failed to ​observe before; that he would not go within a hundred feet of the cave. So one day I took him by the collar and dragged him to the entrance. He whined and struggled desperately, but I persisted and after getting a few feet within the cave, released him. The poor animal gave one terrified howl and dashed out, disappearing among the trees, and I have seen nothing more of him."
"It is certainly strange," I returned thoughtfully. "You say this cloud appears at regular intervals?"
"Not exactly, no. It is likely to come out at any time in the afternoon, though I have never seen it before 3 o'clock."
"We must make a careful investigation. Whatever the phenomenon is, you may be certain it is caused by natural agencies."
"I'm afraid any investigation will come to nothing," he answered rather despairingly. "I have just about adopted the Indian belief that the thing is a devil; something superhuman, anyway."
"Nonsense!" I replied. "Come on into the house; I have a fine creel of fish here. Let's give them our undivided attention and resume discussion of this queer thing in the morning."
After an excellent repast, we talked and read until bed time, but without recurring to the thing in the cave. Neither was it mentioned the next day, and as things turned out, it was never mentioned again. I spent the next three days hunting and fishing, keeping our table well supplied. As I drew near the cabin on my return the fourth day I was startled by wild cries and screams from the direction of the cave. "Help! Help! Oh, it's got me! Oh, the cold, clammy devil! Help! Help!"
I hurried forward, soon coming to the cave. The gray vapor filled the mouth of the cavern. McSweet's head and shoulders projected from the foggy mass, a look of unutterable fear on his round face. He clawed wildly at the empty air and it was plain to be seen that he was making desperate efforts to make his way out of the billowing mass, but was apparently held fast. "Courage, Mac," I shouted; "I'm here!"
As I neared him I brought up my gun, discharging the contents into the gray mass above his head, causing putrid spots of vapor to shoot forth where the charge had entered. Dropping the empty weapon, I rushed forward to seize him by the arms, but my shots seemed to have hastened the end, for he was suddenly enveloped in the cloud, which rapidly retreated into the cave.
I got out my flashlight and followed, but all was quiet and the air clear, though there was a noticeable odor of dead and moldy matter. I continued forward until I reached what was seemingly the edge of a precipice. My spotlight failed to find the bottom, and stones dropped gave back no sound. I shouted repeatedly, but the echo of my own voice was the only reply. Judson McSweet was gone.
I remained at the cabin two days longer, hoping against hope. The cloud, now seeming to me ominous and deadly, billowed from the mouth of the cave each day but I made no attempt to investigate its nature. Of course I gave no thought to the idea that it was of supernatural origin. Could it be possible, I wondered, for some slimy horrible monster of the Jurassic age, or some other period when the world was young, to survive and have its lair in those dark depths?—that it came up into the light each day in search of food and was able to mask its movements by discharging that evil-smelling vapor, much the same as the present-day octopus, in the depths of the ocean, surrounds itself with an inky blackness when attacked? I wonder.