Smoke, as it is known in America, was once feared across the savannas and dense forests of central and western Africa, where it was called by many names: the Mvula Wekufa (Rain of Death) or Nzuzu wa Pepo (Spirit of Smoke). Long before written history, Smoke was already an entity of dread, emerging from the shadows of hearth fires and the thick mists that rolled through villages at dawn. Though its true origins remain unknown, some legends suggest it was born from the hatred and anguish of ancient spirits who were wronged, coalescing into a formless, shadowy existence. Others say it was summoned by forgotten shamans to serve as a weapon against their enemies, only to slip from their control.

For centuries, Smoke haunted the people of the African interior, striking terror into those who whispered its name. As an invisible demon, it preyed upon the vulnerable—slipping into homes unnoticed, strangling its victims in their sleep, and leaving nothing behind but the faint scent of burning wood and the eerie knowledge that something unnatural had visited. While it could not be touched or killed by mundane means, those who survived its attacks spread warnings: "Do not leave your fires unattended. Smoke is watching."

Villagers sought to appease or ward off the spirit through rituals, sacrifices, and protective charms. Some believed Smoke was a punishment for moral failings or greed, while others saw it as a predator that fed on fear and suffering. Over time, these fears became woven into folklore. Smoke’s shapelessness made it a perfect stand-in for any unexplained tragedy, and its legend grew.

Decades passed before Smoke stirred again, its slumber broken not by grand rituals or supernatural intervention but by the fragile, fractured mind of a man in Kentucky. William “Billy” Graves, a reclusive schizophrenic living in a decaying two-bedroom house in a remote corner of Appalachia, became the unexpected catalyst for Smoke’s revival. Billy’s mind was fertile ground—an endless loop of paranoia, hallucinations, and unspoken fears.

Drawn to the chaotic energy of Billy’s psyche, Smoke found refuge in his home. Specifically, it made its lair in the musty, cluttered closet of Billy’s bedroom. Here, surrounded by old coats and forgotten mementos, Smoke began to reconstitute itself, feeding on Billy’s fear and delusions. The man believed the strange noises and shadows in his closet to be manifestations of his illness, but in truth, Smoke was testing its strength, slowly regaining its shape.

In its current state, Smoke is a shadow of its former self—literally and figuratively. While it retains the ability to manifest as a gaseous, semi-physical entity, its powers are far more limited than they once were. However, Smoke is patient. It bides its time, feeding off Billy’s growing paranoia and the occasional visitor’s unease. The spirit’s presence has made Billy’s home an eerie, almost sentient place, with cold drafts, inexplicable creaks, and the faint smell of burning wood hanging in the air.

For now, Smoke’s ambitions are modest. It has no grand plans to reclaim its former glory—yet. But as it watches the world through the cracked closet door, it dreams of spreading its influence once more. America, with its patchwork of urban legends, abandoned homes, and forgotten corners, offers Smoke the perfect opportunity to become the terror it once was.