Man in the Fog

The man within the fog. His figure a silhouette, in his hands a giant knife. He’s wandering, staggering, but still getting closer.
As the man drew closer he began to shout, I couldn’t make out the words because they slurred together. I could tell that he was angry, probably drunk too. No more than ten feet away I was discovered by the man. He called out my name.
“Dad?” I said when I popped out for a look. I saw his face, it was my father. I felt a terrible burning in my chest, and I don’t know what happened next or how I got here.
“St. Peter, please tell me, it wasn’t my father in the fog, was it?

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