It was a stormy evening (quite literally) on Lake Huron in a small pop-up camper, relentlessly shaken by a vigorous autumnal wind, and I was a boy yet to the hit the "double digits". Being unable to play outside due to the torrential downpour that evening, my father had decided it would instead be a good idea to rent a movie and "stay in" for the evening. As such, we went out and drove a good 20 minutes to the closest strain of civilization - a gas station (yes, in those days you could rent movies just about anywhere, including gas stations) - to look at their tapes. After mulling over the somewhat slim selection for a few minutes, my father had decided to go with John Carpenter's The Fog for our cinematic venture that night and, as they say, the rest is history. Despite the fact that I am in my 30s now, I still actutely remember watching that movie on our tiny and portable TV, engrossed and horrified all at once while the film's length went on. By the end of it I was so awe-struck and terrified that I laid in my bed for at least a couple hours before falling asleep, imagining that every large gust of wind that shook our camper may very well have been Blake and his spectral caravan, and ardently hoping that wasn't the case. Many years have passed since that fateful night but The Fog's impact still remains with me to this day, for it was that very experience that planted the seed within my bosom that has since grown into a well-nourished and ever-blossoming love affair with horror. I guess it's safe to say there was something in the fog after all, no?