Chapter 5: Bridge to Nowhere

  Scene 1: Operation: Ghost Trail

  The stars were still out when Josie Mae Dupree slipped out the window, boots landing soft in the dew-wet grass. Crickets chirped like they had no idea they were part of something bigger now, and the air held that still, breathless hush that only came just before sunrise.

  She landed in a crouch, backpack already on, and crept along the side of the house. Mama’s radio hummed low through the kitchen window—Gospel Hour, as always—but nobody stirred. Not yet.

  She ducked through the gap in the fence and made a beeline for the meeting spot behind the back field, where the shimmer had once hovered and where the real world seemed to fray at the edges.

  She wasn’t the first.

  Cricket was already there, sitting cross-legged on a flipped-over bucket, her flashlight covered with red cellophane. “Welcome to Operation: Ghost Trail,” she whispered, flashing a crooked grin. “Would you like a pre-dawn pickle?”

  Josie blinked. “Why... do you have pickles?”

  “Because I come prepared, General.”

  Bo arrived next, dragging a cooler tied to a rope like a makeshift sled. “I got snacks, bug spray, and three reasons this is a bad idea, but I’m here anyway.”

  Kenji followed with a duffel full of rope, a backup flashlight, and what looked like homemade walkie-talkies. “Batteries are fresh. Don’t drop ‘em in the water.”

  Tadpole appeared almost silently, as if the trees themselves had sent him. His boots were already muddy, and he had a branch tucked under one arm like a makeshift staff.

  Last to arrive was Lila Rae, with a compass around her neck, two notebooks, and a thermos of cold sweet tea. “Mama thinks I’m at Cricket’s, and Cricket’s mama thinks she’s at mine.”

  Cricket raised her flashlight in mock salute. “Swamp deception: achieved.”

  Josie scanned the group, heart full and chest tight with that kind of electric thrill that only shows up when you know you’re about to step into something bigger than yourself.

  They were all here.

  All in.

  “You sure about this?” Bo asked, his voice low. “I mean, last chance to turn back and blame all this on a heatwave hallucination.”

  Josie smiled, slow and steady. “We’ve got a trail, a bridge that ain’t supposed to exist, and a map that’s led us this far. We’re followin’ it.”

  “Ghost gators be damned,” Cricket added cheerfully.

  They stepped off the grass and into the woods as the first streaks of dawn peeled across the sky—soft pinks and oranges brushing the tops of the trees. The bayou exhaled around them, alive with sound and scent, and the world behind them faded into sleep while the path ahead whispered:

  This is where stories begin.

  Josie took the lead, map tucked close, boots quiet on the trail.

  And just like that, the Mudpuppy Patrol disappeared into the morning mist—six shadows chasing something that might never be found, but certain it was worth trying anyway.

  Scene 2: The Trail Beyond the Map

  The trees got thicker the farther they went.

  What had started as a narrow deer trail was now barely a crease in the undergrowth. Vines draped from high limbs like faded curtains, and palmetto leaves slapped softly at their legs with every step. The sunlight filtered in sharp and golden, catching on floating specks of dust and pollen until it looked like the air itself was glowing.

  Josie held the map in both hands, stopping now and then to match the symbols with the land around them. A spiral mark scratched into a tree trunk. A rock formation that looked like a turtle’s shell. All things they’d seen drawn in rough lines and faded ink. All things that shouldn’t still be here—and yet were.

  “Still think this map’s just decoration?” Josie asked, not turning around.

  “Nope,” Bo muttered, swatting a mosquito. “Pretty sure it’s leading us into a horror movie.”

  “I brought garlic powder and a slingshot,” Cricket said cheerfully. “We’re covered.”

  Tadpole moved at the back, quiet and steady, eyes scanning the trees. Kenji kept checking the compass on his keychain, though it had started spinning again and refused to point north.

  “Magnetic fields must be off,” he mumbled.

  “Or the swamp’s got its own rules,” Lila Rae said, scribbling notes in the margin of her notebook as she walked. “Like it don’t care what the rest of the world does.”

  The woods began to change.

  The trees grew older, taller, with bark so dark it looked scorched. Moss blanketed the ground, thick enough to muffle their footsteps. Even the sounds of birds had faded. No frogs. No squirrels. Just the breath of the swamp and the creak of branches far overhead.

  The kids didn’t talk much now.

  It wasn’t fear exactly—but something else. A sense of crossing over. Of stepping beyond where they were supposed to be.

  Josie slowed, scanning the underbrush ahead. The map showed a sharp bend just before the trail ended—but no bridge drawn. Just a single mark—a broken circle—and a faint note in faded pencil: "Where it vanishes."

  Bo bumped into her from behind. “Why’d you stop?”

  Josie didn’t answer. Her eyes were fixed on something beyond the trees.

  Through the tangle of cypress and hanging moss, lit by a narrow shaft of sunlight breaking through the canopy, stretched a shape.

  Faded.

  Sagging.

  Wooden.

  The bridge.

  It stood low over the water, shrouded in vines and long-forgotten, like something pulled from a half-remembered dream. Moss hung from its railings, and the boards looked like they hadn’t held weight in decades.

  The kids stepped forward slowly, breath caught somewhere between awe and dread.

  “There it is,” Josie whispered. “Just like the map said.”

  “And just like everyone said it wasn’t,” Lila Rae added, her voice quiet with wonder.

  They stood at the edge of the trees, hearts pounding, staring at a bridge no one was supposed to remember.

  And ahead of them—the path to everything that waited beyond.

  Scene 3: Don’t Look Down

  The footbridge stretched out ahead like a question nobody wanted to answer.

  Josie stepped carefully, one boot in front of the other, her arms out just slightly for balance. The swamp below moved slow—thick, dark water with green shimmer and no visible bottom. It was the kind of water that didn’t just swallow things—it kept them.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Behind her, the rest of the Mudpuppy Patrol followed, each of them quiet, each of them watching their feet and the gaps between boards.

  “Don’t look down,” Josie whispered.

  “I already did,” Cricket whispered back. “Twice. I regret both.”

  Kenji was just behind Bo, his shoulders tense, eyes locked on the weathered planks.

  The bridge creaked beneath them—not a playful creak, but the sound of something old and tired. The kind of tired that didn’t mind letting go.

  “Does anyone else feel like this bridge ain’t been touched since the war?” Bo muttered.

  “Which war?” Lila Rae asked behind him.

  “Any of ‘em.”

  A plank shifted under Josie’s foot. Her breath caught—but the board held. She took another step.

  Birdsong had stopped completely. Even the bugs had gone quiet. The only sounds were boots on wood and the slow slap of water below.

  Kenji’s boot landed on a moss-slick board—and then it gave.

  CRACK.

  “Whoa—!” His arms flailed as his foot plunged through the rotting wood. One leg dropped through the gap, his knee striking the next board hard. The bridge lurched.

  “KENJI!” Cricket cried out, reaching.

  Bo grabbed Kenji’s pack strap and yanked backward, hard. Tadpole rushed forward, bracing his shoulder under Kenji’s arm and hauling with surprising strength for someone so quiet.

  “Don’t move,” Josie barked, holding out her arms like a traffic cop. “Nobody else move!”

  Kenji wheezed as Bo and Tadpole pulled him free. The board he'd stepped on now hung in two soggy halves, dangling over the black water.

  “I’m okay,” Kenji panted. “I’m okay.”

  Cricket crouched beside him, her face pale. “You almost became swamp stew.”

  Josie helped him stand, hands steady. “We’re close. Just a few more feet.”

  Kenji nodded, jaw tight. “Let’s finish it.”

  They crossed the rest of the bridge slowly, carefully, skipping boards that creaked too loudly or sagged too much. No one spoke. Not because they didn’t want to—but because the air had shifted. It was like the swamp was listening.

  The final step off the bridge felt like stepping through a doorway into a place that didn’t belong to the world they knew.

  Lila Rae turned and looked back. “It’s still there,” she whispered. “But it feels like it shouldn’t be.”

  Josie adjusted her backpack and scanned the woods ahead. “We’re across now. No point second-guessin’ it.”

  Cricket touched Kenji’s arm. “Next time, we install a zipline.”

  Kenji didn’t smile, but his voice was calm. “Noted.”

  And then, with the bridge behind them swaying gently in the morning breeze, the Mudpuppy Patrol stepped deeper into the part of the map where warnings lived and names were forgotten.

  Scene 4: Deeper Still

  The air changed the moment their boots hit the other side.

  The ground was firmer here, but darker—root-tangled and damp, with soft moss like velvet draped across everything. Light barely reached the forest floor. The trees grew thicker, leaning inward like they were whispering to each other and didn’t want the kids to hear.

  The Mudpuppy Patrol stood in a loose cluster, eyes scanning the unfamiliar woods.

  No trail. No signs. No birdsong.

  Only silence.

  The kind that wrapped around your ribs and made you walk a little slower.

  Bo scratched his arm and whispered, “I don’t like this.”

  Cricket whispered back, “That’s how you know we’re gettin’ close to something.”

  Josie stepped forward, brushing aside a curtain of lichen that hung from a low-hanging limb. Her breath caught. The lichen was wrapped around a branch carved with something faint—lines like waves, spirals tucked in the crook of the wood.

  Another symbol.

  Not quite the same as the one on the map, but close enough to raise the hair on the back of her neck.

  “Lila Rae,” she called softly, “bring the notebook.”

  Lila Rae crouched beside the tree, sketching the markings with careful strokes. “This one’s older. Worn. Could be decades.”

  “Or more,” Kenji added, frowning at the moss. “This place doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in... forever.”

  Tadpole scanned the woods, his voice low. “No animal tracks. No snapped branches. No frogs. It’s still.”

  And it was.

  Too still.

  The kind of still that made even Bo’s usual foot-shuffling stop. He stood quietly now, holding his water bottle like it was the only real thing in the world.

  Josie pressed forward another few steps, pushing past hanging vines and ducking under limbs. The deeper they went, the more the world felt... blurred. Not foggy, not exactly. Just—thick. Like the air had weight. Like time got slower here.

  She paused and turned back to the group. “Y’all okay?”

  Cricket gave a weak thumbs up. “Haven’t been eaten by a tree yet.”

  “I’ve got goosebumps,” Bo muttered, “on my goosebumps.”

  Kenji scanned the horizon, compass turning slowly in his palm. “That’s weird,” he murmured.

  “What is?” Lila Rae asked.

  “The needle. It’s... turning.”

  Everyone looked at him.

  “Magnetic interference?” Tadpole offered.

  Kenji shook his head. “Maybe. Or maybe whatever we’re near doesn’t like bein’ found.”

  They stood still for a long moment, surrounded by trees so old they didn’t creak anymore.

  And then from somewhere in the distance—so faint it could’ve been wind, or could’ve been nothing at all—came a sound.

  A howl.

  Not a coyote.

  Not a dog.

  Something longer. Deeper.

  The kind of sound that made your teeth ache.

  The kids froze.

  Cricket whispered, “Was that—?”

  “Run,” Josie said.

  She didn’t yell it. She didn’t have to.

  They turned as one and bolted back the way they came, crashing through vines, ducking limbs, hearts thundering in their chests.

  They didn’t know what it was.

  But it knew where they were.

  Scene 5: The Mark in the Trees

  Branches slapped their arms and shoulders as the kids tore through the underbrush, feet thudding against root-cluttered ground, every breath loud in their ears. The swamp blurred past in streaks of green and brown and shadow. They didn’t talk. There wasn’t time to talk.

  That howl—it hadn’t come again.

  But that was almost worse.

  Josie pushed ahead, heart pounding, her eyes scanning for anything familiar, any sign of the bridge. Behind her, she could hear Bo grunting, Cricket’s breath coming fast, and the rhythmic clatter of Kenji’s gear clinking as he ran.

  They rounded a wide cypress stump and stumbled into a narrow clearing—sudden and still, as if they’d burst into the eye of a storm.

  Everyone stopped.

  Dead center in the clearing stood a tall tree—older than any of the others, with bark like wrinkled leather. And carved deep into its trunk, as clear as if it had been done yesterday, was the mark.

  Not the faded, moss-choked symbol from earlier.

  This one was fresh.

  Clean.

  Sharp-edged.

  Josie took a slow step forward.

  The symbol was the same spiral with the looped tail, but there were added lines now—slashes curling off the sides like teeth. Something about it made the air feel colder, like the trees were pulling back around them.

  “Lila Rae?” Josie said, not taking her eyes off the mark.

  Lila Rae stepped forward, sketchbook already out. “That’s… that’s not from the past.”

  Kenji stepped beside her, crouching to study the bark. “Still has shavings at the base. Whoever carved this? Did it recently.”

  Bo swallowed. “You think it was Lester?”

  Cricket shook her head, voice low. “Lester’s been gone since ‘68. Either someone else is followin’ the same trail…”

  “Or someone doesn’t want us here,” Tadpole finished.

  They stood there, listening again—this time not just for danger, but for presence.

  For something unseen.

  Josie’s fingers found the edge of her backpack, unzipping the front pouch where the map had been carefully tucked—

  Her heart dropped.

  Empty.

  She unzipped the next pouch.

  Nothing.

  The map was gone.

  She spun, eyes wide. “Y’all—I dropped it. Somewhere when we ran.”

  Lila Rae gasped. “What?”

  “I—I didn’t even notice—”

  They were all speaking at once now, voices rising, panic scratching at the edges of their calm.

  Josie raised her hands. “Wait. Stop. We can go back—retrace our steps—”

  But Tadpole’s voice cut through the noise.

  “No we can’t,” he said. “Not now.”

  He pointed at the tree.

  Beneath the mark—barely visible in the mossy roots—was something small.

  Dark.

  Torn.

  Josie stepped closer and knelt. It was the corner of a map page, waterlogged and half-buried. Just a scrap. Just enough to know.

  Whatever took the map…

  …had left this behind.

  Cricket whispered, “This just stopped bein’ fun.”

  And no one disagreed.

  Scene 6: The Howl and the Hollow

  The silence returned just long enough to feel safe.

  Too long.

  The kind of quiet that makes you wonder if the whole world stopped breathing.

  Then the howl came again—closer this time.

  It wasn’t the long, lonesome cry of a wolf or the distant moan of wind through trees. No, this one bent, warped halfway through into something that didn’t sound like it belonged in the throat of any creature that should exist. It echoed from all directions, vibrating the moss beneath their boots.

  Josie froze. “That wasn’t farther away.”

  Kenji’s eyes darted through the trees. “It circled us.”

  Bo was already backing up. “Nope. Nope. Nope.”

  “We can’t go back without the map,” Lila Rae said, voice shaking.

  “Then we go forward,” Josie said. “Now.”

  They ran.

  Not like kids chasing adventure—like animals fleeing the fire line.

  Vines whipped at their arms, branches clawed their sleeves, the ground turned slick and uneven. At one point, Bo slipped and nearly took Kenji down with him, but Tadpole yanked them both upright without a word.

  Cricket, ahead of them, shouted, “There’s a dip up here—looks clear!”

  They followed her voice as the trees gave way to a wide hollow, sunken and still. Ferns grew thick here, and old stones jutted up from the muck like forgotten teeth. Mist clung low to the ground. The air felt colder.

  The group stumbled in, panting, hearts pounding.

  Then stopped.

  No paths led out.

  No bridge behind them.

  Just swamp on all sides, pressing in like the forest had changed while they weren’t looking.

  “We’re boxed in,” Kenji said, scanning the dense undergrowth.

  Josie turned in place, trying to match anything to memory. But without the map, without direction, the woods were just woods—twisting and unfamiliar. The spiral in her chest tightened.

  “We’ll find our way out,” she said. “We always do.”

  “But not if that thing finds us first,” Bo snapped. “What if it’s followin’ our scent?”

  Cricket turned in a slow circle. “You feel that?”

  “Feel what?” Lila Rae asked.

  Cricket’s voice was soft now. “The ground... hums. Like it’s buzzin’ under your feet.”

  They stood still.

  And she was right.

  It was faint. Not a sound—just a pressure. A thrum. As if the trees were breathing through the roots.

  Josie clenched her fists. “We can’t stay here.”

  Tadpole pointed toward a narrow gap in the trees—more instinct than trail. “That way.”

  No one argued.

  They didn’t look back as they slipped into the mist again.

  Only the trees remained in the hollow, swaying gently, and the echo of that howl hung in the branches—long after the kids had vanished from sight.