Ever wondered why the early hours of the morning are so still, so silent, and yet so ... creepy? The Witching Hour isn't just when the bars close; it's an archaic belief that sinister forces emerge between the hours of midnight and 3am, growing heig...
What causes the people drawn to Witch's Crossing to disappear? When her friend Daryl goes missing, Amy intends to find out.
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Amy left her car at the stroke of midnight. She doubted anyone would look twice at a beaten-up station wagon parked so close to Witch's Crossing. The starless night sky provided ample cover just in case. She stepped off the road and onto the sloping hill Veronica had described. The thin crescent moon was her only source of light. The air's chill was even worse. Though the wind was mild, it felt as though a frost emanated under the dry leaves. Their constant crunch beneath her feet, mingled with the chirping crickets and croaking frogs, spared her from a dreadful silence.
"The frogs and bugs aren't scared," she managed to whisper from her trembling lips, barely hearing her voice over the nighttime cacophony. "Still, I wish I brought a flashlight."
Amy paused at the bottom of the hill, the river's trickling waters audible over the increasingly loud insects. Witch's Crossing was only a few dozen paces away.
The urban legends based off the spot fell in and out of fashion, always returning whenever a spate of disappearances occurred in the area. Her friend, Daryl, had visited the location in his teens, back when the popular trend was to toss a silver dollar in the river before crossing the bridge during the hours between midnight and three in the morning. Without the toll, a witch dragged you into the water. That witch was Callista, who Amy had come to the woods to find.
With her help, she could find Daryl. He had been missing for the last forty-eight hours because of Amy. The witch could make things right.
The bridge's wooden planks were rickety with gaps large enough to trip over. Amy stopped at the river, rummaging her pocket for the silver dollar. According to her cell phone, ten minutes had passed so far. If Witch's Crossing was halfway from Callista's house, she'd be back in her car by one. At least its heater was toasty.
Amy removed the silver dollar from her pocket, inspecting its glint under the scant moonlight. She tossed it into the river. After it sunk in with a loud plop, she crossed the bridge, not bothering to grab onto the rope railing. It seemed more unstable than the planks and a sure way to plunge into the river. On the other side, she smiled, amused by the silly legend's quaintness. Daryl had described it as a toll, but Amy knew the power silver had over evil. Her smile faded as she reflected on that last detail. Regardless, she carried on.
