[narrating] The Bigg City Port was in the grips of winter. It had come earlier than expected, and with it came the fog. None of us like fog, but in those days, it was worse: Tugs had no radio and no radar. Long periods of fog had a way of conjuring up old sea stories and superstitions among the boats of the harbour. I remember Big Mac returned quite late. He'd been working all day with Scuttlebutt Pete who'd been telling him old sea stories, of strange things that happened when fog was around. As he passed derelict buildings, they seemed to take on ghostly shapes. They groaned and creaked as if they were alive. As Big Mac got close to an old warehouse, he heard a whisper which grew louder….
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