Day 409

The bridge wasn't meant to be crossed.
Its not that it was designed to be uncrossable, it was there as a means of escape.
Those who are able to see it from the village's side are not meant to use it.

The other side is nothing more than a rumour now.
Thick fog covers the bridge and shows no signs of abating any time soon or ever.
Before the bridge was finished all that could be heard from the other side were screams.

They seemed to fall down the cliffs between the two areas but some lingered.
Such cries would pass over the foggy space and into the village.
On those days the cattle would go missing, only to be found strung up outside bedrooms.

The people thought it was lost souls who had climbed from the depths in search of peace.
They made the bridge hoping that it would somehow appease the dead.
Construction took almost twenty years and cost dozens of lives.

They called it "Deep Madness", that feeling when you're suspended in the fog and little else.
Nobody knew how to explain it, that desperate urge to jump into the nothingness.
Needless to say the screaming was the worst during the building.

The brave ones who went to finish the final stretch never came back.
Neither did the screaming, at least it never came to the village.
It still lingered around the bridge, right up to the threshold.

Some days when the fog rose over the bridge and close to the village you could almost see people.
They had no faces and yet they were familiar somehow.
Children would run to them, thinking those shapes were their missing parents.