Mist Survival is the latest in a long line of cultural works that lean into society’s unaddressed fear of bad smoke, joining Stephen King’s The Mist, the entire township of Silent Hill and that Halloween episode of The Simpsons with the fog that turns you inside out. (For the record, the least frightening form of precipitation is hailstones, which if they were to come flying at you from out of a crypt would be more confusing than scary.) Fog – very much the Paul Chuckle to mist’s Barry – will do in a tight spot, but to really get your intestines pumping with fear enzymes, it’s just got to be a creeping layer of good old-fashioned mist entwining itself around your bare ankles like the ice-cold fingers of your restless ancestors. Mist is the last thing you want to see wafting out of a sepulchre, or coiling ominously around an abandoned log cabin on a moonlit night. Of all the different forms of precipitation, mist is by far the spookiest. This week, he's desperately trying to avoid soiling himself in Mist Survival. Premature Evaluation is the weekly column in which Steve Hogarty explores the wilds of early access.
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