Started 9-18-18 The Dread Bridge
Finished 9-21-18
The
Dread Bridge
The ground crackles as each
footstep lands on the gravel under him. The trees overhead form a
tunnel of greenery. Large, old, wooden boards form this rustic
bridge that lay in front of him. Some of them look old and weak, but
he knows their stable, at least stable enough to support a carriages'
weight. His heart starts racing and he's breathing rapidly. He
finds himself starting to hyperventilate. The sick feeling that
grows within his belly makes him wonder if he'll ever get across
the bridge today. He has to back away from the bridge as a carriage
rolls on through, startling him. Backing away causes him to begin to
feel better, his breathing returns to normal, his heartbeat starts to
normalize. Feeling a bit better, he tries to cross again. He feels
sick to his stomach and then starts to sweat, he has to back away for
the second time. Other people don't seem to understand his fears,
hell, neither does he. Was it the height or possibly the deep river
that flows a hundred feet below him? He's afraid to try to get a
ride across the bridge for fear of being laughed at. He will just
have to run halfway across the bridge, it's long enough that he
knows he'll have to walk the rest of the distance to the end, he's
too out of shape to make it all the way.
Closing his eyes he steadies
himself while taking a deep breath feeling the air rush into and out
of his lungs; he readies himself to run across the bridge at full
speed. He has to, if he wants to get home. It isn't an option, it
must be done. He looks around and finds that no one is creeping up
on him. Looking back to the bridge he thinks to himself 'It's
now or never!'
He runs half way across the
bridge already breathing hard, even still, he makes it a little
farther than halfway. Now he has to walk across the bridge, he can't
turn back, that would just be stupid. With his head down and a knot
in his stomach, he walks as fast as he can to the end of the bridge.
Approaching the end, his vitals began to return to normal. He walks
about ten yards past the bridge and collapses onto a cold, damp log
to catch his breath.
"Why can't I just be normal,
why do I have to be so damn scared?" Saying to himself shaking his
head in bewilderment.
"Because I need you to be
scared." Came a women's voice from inside his head.
"Great, now I'm hearing
voices too?" He says almost jokingly. "Alright, I'll bite.
Why do you need me to be afraid?"
"Because I will it to be."
The voice answers once again.
"Why?" He asks. "Why do
you want to scare me?"
"Because it delights me."
She cackles loudly.
"Why do you need to be mean?"
He asks in frustration.
"Enough of these questions, I
am not here for YOUR amusement." He hears a sigh in his head.
"Now . . . be gone I have had enough amusement for today."
Sitting on his log still trying
to catch his breath, he wonders if that had actually happened. He
looked at the bridge with the same angst that he had for the last
four seasons wondering why he was scared, what had caused his fears.
He shakes his head in exasperation and, feeling better, he gets up
and walks slowly home.
He got to his little cabin and
sat down at his homemade desk, thinking about what had happened
nearly an hour ago. He had never heard this voice before, and he's
only been afraid of this bridge for four seasons now. He had
absolutely no idea as to why he had become fearful of that stupid
bridge. This was the first time he had had a conversation with
himself. He could write about the experience; that might be just
enough to get this out of his mind and back to normal. He was good
at writing; it was his job, so to speak. He wrote for this magazine
called 'Fantasies of virtue.' It was a small publication that he
and a friend had started about seven seasons ago. It had been
largely successful due to the fact that they had other writers submit
their stories for publication. It had been arranged it so that there
were a variety of story types; but now he saw a story forming in his
mind about the day's events.
He began writing a story about a
man who talks to himself and starts going mad. This, of course, is
what he was thinking was happening to him; so he must write fast
before he DOES go mad. He would have to pen it before he goes crazy.
"Great now I'm worried that
I'm going crazy. Is there anything else I can worry about?" He
says to aloud while wondering if that voice will answer him. He
walks across his one room cabin over to the kitchen area. He lights
the small fire pit so that he can cook his dinner for the night,
rabbit . . . again. He begins to build his story, he writes long
into the night.
The next morning he awakens at
the first sign of light. He needs to bake some bread for breakfast.
It takes about an hour to prepare and bake it, meanwhile he continues
to advance his story. He thinks that maybe yesterday was just a
fluke, that it was just in his head and that it won't happen again;
but he's undeniably terrified that it will again today. He doesn't
even feel like going to the press today, but he knows he has to.
There have only been a handful of days that he has not been able to
go to work. His fear can be so debilitating that it would prevent
him from crossing that bridge.
There was another bridge some way
down the road, however, he never felt as scared as with this one. He
continually wonders about that. He had had a carriage at one point,
well, at least a wagon pulled by a horse, but a bunch of Dwarves'
made off with it before he became afraid of this particular bridge.
He finishes his breakfast, puts
his story away and starts out to the bridge to face another day of
terror. He desperately wishes there was another way to town. The
woods seem extra quiet today. 'It's just my imagination.'
He tells himself as he gets closer and closer to the bridge; and to
that dreaded sound of someone else's voice inside his head.
"Are you afraid today?" The
voice both startles him and just about scares him to death, even
though he was half expecting to hear it again.
"What are you?" He yells
loudly into the air, almost screaming, before looking around
nervously. Afraid that someone else had heard him. No one was
around.
"Your terror." The voice
answers as if he should already know.
"Why do you do this to me?"
"It's fun." She states
cheerfully.
"Well I'm going to cross
anyway; I'm not going to be terrorized by a simple voice, so stop
me!" He challenged her as he looks at the bridge and takes a deep
breath. It helps that he doesn't feel as afraid to cross as he did
last night; some days are just better than others. He takes a step
on the bridge and then another; it was definitely easier than last
night by far. 'Maybe I just had to think about something else.'
He thinks to himself as he takes yet another, more confident,
stride.
"Not yet." She says calmly
and shows herself. She's standing before him suddenly. His
stomach rumbles in turmoil and he fears his breakfast will make
another appearance. She is not as he expected. 'This isn't in
my mind?' He questioned, but surprisingly the voice came
back.
"No, I am real; as you can
see."
'Great! Now she knows what
I'm thinking.' Thinking to himself knowing that she can hear
him anyway.
A sickly figure stands in front
of him. It's a decaying pygmy dragon Liche. He could see some
bones through the rotting yellowish flesh that seemed to be oozing a
gelatinous brown liquid. The figure bows at him.
"I am
TyAcsun. (Tee-Uk-soon). I will be your torturer for the rest of
your days." She says smiling, sort of. Her smile was a bit
sickening in itself, he could see her gums and various teeth in her
head through the rotting snout of a dragons face. He feels sick to
his stomach again. His heart beat wildly now, he cannot move, he is
frozen there speechless and paralyzed. She takes a step backwards to
allow him to look upon her whole form. His muscles relaxed enough
for him to move again. Thinking for a moment that this is some kind
of wizards trick he looks around for one; he see nothing, there isn't
even a slight breeze. It seems that nothing is moving. He was truly
and madly terrified now. He began to hyperventilate and this time
there was no stopping it. He ran back to safe ground and just heard
a wicked laugh. With his heart beating fast he turned back around he
saw that she had disappeared. Looking around he saw that no one was
anywhere in sight; and the trees swayed in the breeze as he heard
chirping birds once again.
He began to carefully walk across
the bridge, but nothing happened. He saw no sign of her, but panic
began to rear its ugly head once more. He started sweating and he
could see those little white dots that appear in your vision after
hyperventilating. He ran the rest of the way across the bridge, when
he got to the end, he took his normal break so he could recover.
"I look forward to seeing you
on your way home." The thing jested.
He made it to the press a little
later than normal but the rest of his day went smoothly just the
same. His mind would wander off to his story and decided this story
would write itself. All he had to do was write his experiences. He
had a little money, so after his duties at the press were finished he
went to one of the three armories in town. He purchased a sword and
a scabbard. When he told the owner of the shop what was happening,
he showed him some basic defensive moves. It was hardly training,
but it was something. He grimly and reluctantly walked down the
cobblestone street right out of town, where his confrontation awaited
him. He just hoped that with this new sword he could abate the
situation at least a little.
Fifty or so yards from the bridge
he stood, motionless. His mind was racing with different thoughts.
When he finally decided that the thing had done nothing to him yet,
She hadn't actually hurt him in any way, he really had nothing to
fear. So why was he so afraid? He started forward towards the
bridge. His body reacted more harshly the closer he got to the
bridge, by the time he got there he was sweating much more profusely
than normal. He had his new short sword in its scabbard. His pulse
was on overdrive but he held steady anyway. That little sword and
the few moves he had learned gave him a surprising amount of courage.
He now stood at the edge of the bridge waiting for the next
interaction, but nothing materialized. No Pygmy Dragon Liche, no
voice, just nothing. He started walking across the bridge with his
horror by his side. He heard a carriage approaching and turned to
see how far away it was, when he turned back she was standing inches
in front of him. He gasped, jumped backwards and gracelessly
released his sword, pointing it towards her. He moved to the side to
let the driver pass him. The driver just looked down at him with a
confused look on his face, that's when he realized the driver nor
did the horse see this thing. 'Yep, I must be nuts.'
Just as the carriage was passing, the passenger inside let out a
horrifying scream.
"You see I AM real." She
says laughing manically.
"Did you see that?" The
passenger yelled franticly at the driver as he was getting off the
carriage to see what was wrong. "Standing next to that man with
the sword!" The nicely dressed man looks but only sees the man in
the middle of the bridge awkwardly holding a sword. "I swear it
was a decaying baby dragon standing next to him. It was just there,
I swear!" She was frantic in the carriage, her voice teetering on
insaneness, the driver looks at her like she is crazy, then gets back
into the driver's seat and starts off again.
"Now you see that I am not just
a figure in your head, besides, what kind of crazy do you have to be
to conjure up thoughts about me or my kind anyway?" She said
accusatorily. "Would you like to run me through?" She asked
politely. "Well . . . I await your final blow. Let's end this
shall we." She said smiling. She lifted what was left of her
decaying wings to her sides and held her head up high.
Thinking that he probably has
only one shot to rid himself of her, but knowing that this all could
be a trick but thinking that he can and should do this; strikes
forward at where her heart should be. As the sword pushed through
the tough scaly hide his blade started to putrefy. He pulled back
immediately still holding onto what was left of the sword, the hilt.
"What the-?" Standing there
in terror knowing that it is her turn. His stomach tightens and he
begins to wretch. Now on his knees spilling lunch on the bridge, he
looks up at her and she looks sorrowfully into his eyes. He knew
then he should have also invested in a shield of some kind. It's
too late now.
"Now that you have gotten that
out of your system; it is my turn. I shall not take it now." She
vanishes. "You never know when I will strike." Came that awful
voice in his head. "Now be gone with you." Silence ensues. The
thought of her killing him painfully wracks his thoughts as he walks
off the bridge. Now he's even more petrified. He begins to wonder
about how she will kill him. His stomach still in knots. Almost
every commoner knows that a regular Dragon will kill with fire, but
what does a Pygmy Dragon Liche kill with? He thought about his sword
and how it just, sort of, got eaten away. 'Maybe its acid.'
He shakes his head in dread; 'that would be most painful.'
He turns to walk away and tries
not to think about his own demise any longer. Should he continue
with his story when he gets home? Who will read it when he's gone?
He walks home in deep contemplation and worry, so much worry.
The next several days he lived in
horror, complete and total, all-encompassing horror. His friend was
noticing his lack of performance at work. He finally gave in and
talked to his friend. He talked about his initial fear and the fact
that he had never been afraid of that bridge before. Then he told
his friend about the Pygmy Dragon Liche that was standing in his way
almost every day except these last few. That's when he explained
the last encounter with her. His friend directed him to a mage who
could enchant a sword should he get another one. He explained that
the Liche was an undead creature so therefore it couldn't be
killed, but it could be destroyed with certain spells or enchanted
weapons.
After acquiring the sword and
enchantments he walked to that bridge with much more confidence in
his step. As he would soon find out, the sword was only a tool to
give him the courage to confront the Liche and cross that bridge.
But the sword was created to defeat a Pygmy Dragon Liche. He was
also informed where to strike, take her head.
He made his way most confidently
up the road, past the other bridge and all the way up to his 'Dread
Bridge', as he had referred to it as.
"Come out TyAcsun!" He
yelled. This time he didn't care who heard him. He walked out
onto the bridge without hesitation.
"You are very afraid. Yes?"
The voice was back in his head, this time it was a soft voice. A
voice you would trust if you hadn't seen what it belonged to.
"Otherwise you wouldn't have a magic sword with you this time."
That last comment got him to
think, but he looked around him. He found himself standing in the
center of the bridge. He hadn't realized that he had gone this far
onto the bridge without feeling scared of it.
"I am no longer afraid of you."
He yelled back. The sword suddenly flew out of his tight grip and
slid across the bridge. Panic flooded his senses. A lump formed in
his throat and he felt as if he was going to wet his pants. He
realized that this had to be his last stand and he wasn't going
down as a coward, he just wished he would've finished his last
story. A regret he knew he couldn't keep. He wasn't sure how
to let it go but it was time to stand tall that's all he knew now.
He stood upright and strong. He held his head high and stood with
more confidence than he had ever exuded before and he felt it too.
"What are you doing?"
TyAcsun demanded angrily.
"Well, if you're going to
kill me, then I am ready to die." He told her firmly. He shuffled
his feet preparing for her final attack, wishing he hadn't
forgotten that stupid shield . . . again. He closed his eyes and
waited. He kept on waiting.
When he opened his eyes she was
no longer standing in front of him. He looked around him but she was
nowhere to be found.
"TyAcsun!" He yelled out
into the air. "Where are you?"
He stood in the middle of that
bridge for what felt like an hour, knowing it was only a few minutes,
even still, every heartbeat felt like a minute in itself. The lump
in his throat was gone and a calm wind blew into him. He knew she
was gone. Something in him told him that he will never see the likes
of her again. He calmly walked to up to his sword that rested on the
far side of the bridge and picked it up. Looking around one last
time just to be sure the feeling had left him for good, he no longer
felt the fear that used to paralyze him so. He felt no presence
about this bridge. The shock of it all was now wearing off. He
closed his eyes and took a deep breath sucking air into his lungs
before falling to his knees sobbing fiercely, and yet, uncontrollably
laughing. He was broken, yet he was healed.
'No regrets.' He said aloud
and then opened his tearful eyes. He was indeed happy that he could
still draw breath. His breathing still rapid, and he couldn't
figure out why he was laughing, other than the fact that he just left
that bridge alive. He used his sword to hold him upright as the
flood of emotions continued its barrage on his heart. After several
minutes of hard weeping he had the strength to stand once more;
turning to face the bridge, to face his fear, but it was no longer
there.
He slowly turned around and
walked home with pride.
The years passed quickly after
that and he found his calling with his writing. Writing mostly of
the high class cultures and the futuristic world of other countries:
about things called cars, electricity, computers, and skyscrapers, as
well as other rumored devices and marvels. He builds his stories
about those communities battling magical dragons and the likes; of
unsung heroes and high class princesses. It is all science fiction
to his readers. He gets all his rumors from the royals who read and
love his work. They pay him well for his stories. His magazine
publication was handed off to his friend so that he could focus on
his writings, but now he has money. Being a published author, he has
the money for his own horse drawn carriage.
On occasion he still walks out to
his bridge and sits to reflect on the trials that he had to, once, go
through. He thinks about his irrational fear of the bridge itself
and realized it was that Pygmy Dragon Liche that instilled the true
fear into him. Sometimes he wondered if any of those events really
happened or if he had gone temporarily mad due to his fear of the
bridge. All he knew was that his confidence must have overcome his
fear. He comes here often now, but he never did change the name, it
stands, now, as a permanent reminder.
He was never afraid of that
bridge again, but he kept the name anyway;
The
Dread Bridge
Written by
Martin
L. Racay
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