The Witching Hour Anthology

14. Witch's Crossing

"I love you, Daryl," Amy whispered, licking her numb lips. The air seemed to reach arctic temperature. She rubbed her hands together and warmed them with her breath, the steam thick as smoke. Amy noticed her pale skin had flushed a bright pink from the cold, quickly sparking a realization that it was a bit brighter out. She looked up to find a full moon.

This brought to mind the second part of the urban legend-the real reason people crossed the bridge. If a traveler made it past the bridge, they would end up in a different place. Amy had felt nothing different, yet the moon had swelled in size and the black sky was currently decorated by hundreds of shimmering stars, blazing like fiery diamonds. The frogs and the crickets had ceased-or disappeared. There was only silence.

Wheezing breath broke Amy from her daze. In the corner of her eye, something leaned against a tree. The figured slouched into a sitting position with a pained cry. The wheezing sped up with a frantic pitch at the end of each exhalation. Amy clenched her jaw to stop her chattering teeth, bracing herself as she turned her head.

It was still too dark for a proper view, but even in the distance, Amy could tell the figure was a woman. Both arms wrapped around her belly, legs writhing as though she was in excruciating distress. Amy approached, slowly at first, but after noticing her blonde hair, she quickened her steps. The woman didn't budge.

"Blondie?" Amy asked. The woman's head jerked toward her, face expressionless. She put her arms at her side, revealing a gaping wound across her stomach. Glistening blood streamed from torn viscera. Her eyes met Amy's. The woman puckered her mouth, seemed ready to speak, only to spread her lips into a wide smile. The bloodstained grin remained as her head slumped to the side, body utterly still.

There was no mistaking it. This was Blondie. Veronica had told Amy the truth. She turned from the corpse and continued to her destination. Despite the rush of excitement from her certainty, a shudder wracked Amy's entire body. The grisly death didn't seem real. Perhaps it was an illusion.

"Who dies with a smile?" Amy asked herself, shaking her head. "It's impossible."

* * *

Three days ago, Amy received a call from Veronica around three in the morning. Despite being wide awake, she was annoyed that her friend would bother her at such an hour. Last year, Veronica had developed a bad habit of calling Amy on her way home from waitressing at the local diner. The stories of drunken weirdos were entertaining the first few times, but quickly grew tedious.

"Amy?" Veronica shouted into the phone. She frantically repeated the name several times.

"What is it?" Amy asked, barely managing to mask her agitation with a concerned tone.

"I don't know where to begin," Veronica said with sigh.

"What?" Amy asked after a long silence.

"Meet me at the front door," her friend said, hanging up before Amy could protest.

Veronica pulled up five minutes later, getting out of her car with a cigarette dangling from her lips. She sat next to Amy on the front steps, taking one last puff from the cigarette before grinding it under her heel.

"What's the matter?" Amy asked.

"A girl walked into the diner tonight at around one. The place was completely empty, besides me and my boss. He told her to take a seat at a table. She stumbled past him all the way up to the counter and sat on a stool in front of me. Scared the hell out of me. She had rings around her eyes so dark, I thought they were bruises. She did have few of those on her cheeks and chin. Someone gave her a thrashing."