The night air was damp. And stinky.
It was always the same on nights like this. An eerie green glow filtered through the almost slimy feeling fog that obliterated virtually everything in view. Some patches were clear, but mostly, reality had been swallowed by this murky atmospheric mist.
The Full Moon pierced the dankness, which exacerbated the glow.
The echoing drumming from the distant factory was louder on these nights, as were the groans, shrieks and growls from the nearby woods.
The factory say the fog has nothing to do with their work, but they never mention the disembodied sounds.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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