Beyond the Bridge

A Short Story

My grandparent’s hometown is surrounded by mountains and woods. They have legends about those woods — superstition, I guess, or maybe a warning to keep kids in line — stories about spirits and fairies that lived in the old trees and creatures that crawled in the heart of the woods and could be heard howling every full moon. My grandparents told me no one who walked in ever came back, at least not the same. They said if I stepped into the woods, I’d lose part of myself to it. 

“Cross the river, beyond the bridge. In shadow and tree do mischievous fae live.” 

Like I said, it was probably superstition. 

I used to visit my grandparents every summer as a kid, and they reminded me every visit: “Don’t go near those woods, Lyra. Don’t ever cross that bridge. You don’t want to get lost and face whatever lives in there.” 

I’ll admit, I wondered what they meant, what actually lived in those woods. I once took a step onto the old bridge they warned me not to cross, the rickety old wood one that connects the country town to the very woods they all yammered about. But I didn’t dare take another step after that. Not that I was scared the stories were true, but the woods were still dark and creepy; I was more scared of the dark than I was of evil fairies. 

I still am.

As I stand at the edge of that same old bridge years later, I wonder if those stories were true. If crossing into the woods meant you would lose something. Lose yourself and disappear, never to come back.

I hope so. I was ready to disappear. 

That’s what I told myself. What I’ve been telling myself for years now. It was now or never.

I take a deep breath and look into the woods. It’s dark between the trees even though the sun is shining. The town was down the road behind me. My grandparent’s house was a short walk away. 

No, I said I wouldn’t look back. 

I walk to the woods. The wood bridge groans and cries beneath me, but it stands firm. I wonder how it stayed standing all these years. 

How does that saying go? Cross the bridge? One step into the grave? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. My feet keep moving me forward. I step into the woods. 

Walking in the woods, it’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Definitely not as scary as fairytales would have you believe. Sure, it’s darker than normal — maybe that’s the fairy magic or whatnot — but other than that, it’s not so bad. It would be a pretty nice walk if it wasn’t so dark and the air didn’t feel so heavy. 

Maybe it’s just me.

The path is surprisingly easy to walk on. I’m surprised there’s even a path at all — it’s thin, and the dirt’s a little soft, but better than trudging through the tall grass and rocks, so I’m not complaining.

I don’t know how long I’ve walked for, or how much longer I have to walk to find… whatever it is I’m supposed to find — Spirits? Fae? Whatever is supposed to take something from me or make me disappear — but doesn’t look like any time has passed. Not that I’d be able to tell. There’s too little sunlight to tell the difference between midday and sunset, and I left my phone at home. Not that any of that matters anymore. 

I just have to keep going. I’ll find it eventually.

The scenery doesn’t change as I walk deeper in. Or maybe I’m going crazy because it’s all starting to look the same to me. 

Maybe those warnings about fairies and creatures are true because I swear I start hearing things. Noises that weren’t there before. Things in the grass and leaves. Voices. 

I stop walking. 

“Hello?” I call out. 

“Hello. Hello. Hello,” echoes back. Just my echo, I think. 

Wait, no. That wasn’t my voice.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Hello. Hello.” That’s not my voice. Or maybe it is, but it’s different. It’s not mine anymore if it ever was.

“Who’s there?” 

“Who, who, who.”

It’s dark. It’s really dark. It’s so dark it’s suffocating. 

I start to run.

Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe it was a mistake to step into the woods, but it’s too late now. 

The voices come from everywhere. They’re so loud, so close. Whispers and laughter and screams, echoing around me. I want to scream.

Wasn’t this what I wanted? Wasn’t this what I asked for? 

Aren’t I getting everything I deserved?

I deserve this. 

The world tilts and I hit the ground. Hard. Tripped on a root, like an idiot.

“Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.”

“I know,” I tell the voices, “you don’t have to remind me.”

They keep laughing anyway. Laughing and dancing, poking and goading me, telling me to stand up. Stand up, Lyra, stand up. But I can’t. I can’t go any further, so I just stay down and cry.

“Stand up.” 

The voices disappear. Or maybe it was all him, her — whoever’s talking now — the whole time. 

“Stand up,” they say. 

Maybe it’s the fairies. Maybe they’ve finally decided to stop messing with me and just make me disappear already.

I look up, and it’s like staring into a mirror.

No, that’s not right. She’s me, but I’m not her. 

Even when I stand up, look at her face to face, I’ve never stood with the confidence that she easily has. 

“Who are you?” I ask her. Or is she asking me? I don’t know anymore. 

“Who are you?” She asks me. Or I ask myself. But I never knew the answer.

“You know. You’ve always known.” 

I shake my head. I don’t. I still don’t. I’m lost and alone, and I’m just driving myself crazy. I don’t know what I am or what I’m doing. 

“What do you want to do? What do you want to be?”

I can’t answer. The words sit on my tongue like honey, but I can’t say them. I look at my reflection; she seems to understand. She smiles. I’ve never seen my own smile before, not as genuine and happy as her’s. Is this face truly mine?

“What would you give?” 

Anything. Everything, I try to say, but I’m too tired to even try. I just want to lie down again. I wish I could. I wish I didn’t have to. I wish I could be strong on my own. I wish I didn’t have to be. I wish I could rely on myself out there like I could here.

I wish I could be you. 

It aches. It burns in my chest. I’m so tired and hurt, I can’t take it anymore even though I have to.

“Give this to me. This burden. I will take this from you.” 

I don’t recognize this voice anymore, but it’s kind. Gentle. 

All I can do is cry. 

It pats my arm. 

“Go home. It will be the same, but you will not be. Not anymore. Go home,” it tells me.

I nod and turn around. 

“Thank you,” I tell it, them, the woods. “Thank you. And goodbye.”

The walk back is much shorter than the walk in.

When I step out of the trees, the first thing I see is the bridge. Old, creaky and worn, but still standing. Beyond it is my grandparent’s house, and in the distance, the town. It all looks the same, like no time has passed since I took that first step into the woods. 

Maybe it’s the fae magic; maybe they took whatever time I spent in the woods, whatever minutes or hours from my life. No. I know what they took. The moment I turned around, the moment I said goodbye, I felt them take that weight off my shoulders. 

I stand in the sunlight and take a deep breath. It’s like the weight had never been there to begin with. 

The woods are behind me. No, there’s no need to look back. I smile — when was the last time I really smiled?

With nothing else to do, I start walking home. The bridge doesn’t creak when I cross it. The road feels nice as my feet crunch on the gravel. It’s a pretty nice walk, especially with the sun slowly setting behind me. As I get closer to my grandparent’s house, I can see my grandpa standing at the front gate. 

“Lyra! Lyra!” He waves as I walk toward him. 

“Did you have a nice walk? Didn’t go too far close to the woods, did you? Have to be careful there. Mysterious forces beyond that bridge. Best not to go searching for them. They’ll take something from you if you do. Change you.” He wagged his finger before ushering me inside the house. 

Take something from me. Change me. I smile to myself.

“You’re right, grandpa.” He laughs and pats my arm as I help him up the stairs to the porch. I can smell grandma cooking dinner inside and feel the warmth of the kitchen stove.

I’m glad they did.

Editing

After that, I tweaked some parts and made the transitions cleaner. I sent this first draft for feedback which I used to further fix up the story.