The Crimson Crosing: A Haunted Bridge Horror Story

The dull roofs of Cinder Bay glowed silver against the cold sheen of the full moon. An eerie chill dripped from the air, holding a low and ominous mist that foreshadowed misfortunes for those who dared to venture outside.

I knew better than to leave my front door, but I was broke, surviving on cheap instant noodles, and at a grave risk of eviction in a week. Duber driving was all that stood between me and poverty, and I’d be damned if I’d missed another meal just because it was too cold outside. But reflecting on that night, an empty stomach would’ve been preferable compared to my dreadful encounter at the Crimson Crossing.

It was one of those party night Fridays, and drunk college students flocked to the Deluxe Dance Club joint; an ideal hunting ground for Duber drivers. And I was no exception. The proportion of drunk party students grew past midnight, guaranteeing more clients with the darkening of night. It was only 8 O’clock, but the queue outside the club entrance stretched for miles, and more people kept coming. I wasn’t one to complain, though, and looking at the long line of Dubers parked next to mine, I figured the more arrivals, the merrier.

Waiting for my first customer was unbearable as time ground to an agonising crawl. I shivered in my car as the cold festered in the interiors, and I rubbed against my jumper, hoping the friction would draw more heat. The car heater was a sweet temptation, though it was one I couldn’t afford, especially with fuel prices shooting for the stars. So I sighed, suffering in silence as I watched the mist plume from my lips and dissipate into thin air.

A few other Duber drivers stood by the Deluxe exit, eager to entice leaving party folks into taking their rides. They were rogues of the Duber system, eating away at chances for the rest of us to earn a living. A fire built in my chest as I glowered at them behind my windshield. I burned to give them a piece of my mind, but they were huge and rowdy. They’d beat me to a pulp before I could open my lips.

So, I grunted and pushed back against my seat, taking comfort in the heat my anger generated against the unforgiving cold. That’s when I heard the scream.

It came from the entrance. The bouncers had shoved a young brunette from the line, probably didn’t have any ID. The big oafs pushed her so hard, she fell to the ground, disappearing into the creeping mist below. I rushed to her aid, but hesitated when I noticed the rogue Duber drivers racing in the same direction. They arrived before I closed my door. One of the larger men dressed in a green jacket got to her first. He picked her off the floor and said, ‘Sorry about that, darling.’

‘Thanks,’ grumbled the young lady, tumbling onto the Duber’s chest. She wore a blue jacket over a black spaghetti top and a short denim skirt.
‘My purse,’ gasped the young lady, twisting her face in an absurd frown. ‘Where’s my purse? I must’ve dropped it.’

The lady staggered sideways and bent over, searching the mist below her. Her skirt rose higher than it should, and the three other rogue Duber drivers assembled around her. One ogled her backside and exclaimed, ‘Look at that, darling. You’ve got mud all over your skirt.’ Another Duber driver snickered and spat in his hand before saying, ‘Let me get that for ya!’ and took two big swipes at her buttocks.

The girl screamed and shot to her feet, her hand clutching her behind. ‘Ouch! That wasn’t nice.’

‘Is that so?’ taunted the third Duber driver, stepping closer and grabbing the girl by the waist. She shrieked when he yanked her hard, mushing her against his beer belly.

‘Let me go!’ the girl protested. ‘I’m warning you.’

‘Or what, darling?’ taunted the second driver, pulling her from the third driver so her back was against his chest. He snaked his hand over her neck and taunted further, ‘What’ll you do?’

The young lady kicked hard and broke free, her eyes searching the misty floor. ‘Stay away from me,’ she warned, wobbling away from the four men. ‘I’ve got pepper spray, and I’m not afraid to use it.’

The four men laughed and advanced towards her. One pulled her jacket sleeve down her shoulder, and another one grabbed her arm, pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek.

‘How about letting daddy give you a sweet ride home, darling?’

The girl slammed her fists against him as the first driver picked a purse from the floor.

“Look here, darling. I found your purse,” he exclaimed, searching it for the opening latch.

‘Give me that!’ the young brunette lashed, waving her hands in the air as she wobbled on her pointed heels.

All the while, the bouncers and queuers watched, laughing as the spectacle unfolded.

I hated not getting to her sooner, but I’m glad I did. I snatched the purse from the first Duber driver and bypassed the other three, exclaiming, ‘Darcy! Where have you been? I’ve searched everywhere for you.’

I wrapped her jacket over her shoulders and huddled her past the four giants. ‘Thanks for finding my sister, boys,’ I said. ‘I’ll take it from here.’
‘Hey!’ the biggest of the four thundered. My lungs collapsed at his call, and I didn’t dare stop for a chat. I just kept walking, and thank God, the four men didn’t give chase.

The young brunette stumbled into my arms as I whisked her away. When we made it outside my car, out of earshot of the four big Duber bullies, I held her before me and said, ‘I’m so sorry about that, ma’am. Are you okay?’

The young, quivering lady didn’t say a word. She just looked up at me, arms wrapped around her chest, and dark, mascara-laced tears trailing down her pale cheeks.
“Let me take you home,” I offered. “Do you stay far from here?”

The young lady still didn’t respond. I lifted her purse before her and asked, “Can I find your address in here?”
The young lady nodded.

I unlatched her purse and found a student ID with a picture on it.

Her name was Stacy Jameson, a first year arts student at the North Cinder College. I turned the card around and found her address.

Residence 35 along Kingsley’s.

I shuddered. That’s past the Crimson Crossing.

Officially Known as the Willow Way Bridge, locals changed the name after a school bus tumbled into the rapids a few decades ago, tainting the waters red for a whole day with the children’s blood. The locals renamed the bridge to Crimson Crossing since, with drivers avoiding it at night, driven away by horrific tales of wandering student souls that haunt the bridge at night. Despite my skepticism, recent accidents convinced me to prioritise caution.
But seeing Stacy’s teary eyes and the distant Duber bullies, I had no choice.

‘35, Kingsley Lane?’

The girl nodded.

I returned the card and purse to the girl before ushering her into my backseat. ‘Here, get in.’

The girl complied, the bewilderment fading from her eyes. I hopped into the driver’s seat and put us in gear. In my side-view mirror, the four guys strode towards us. I suspected they’d caught onto my act, but I didn’t plan on staying around to find out.

I backed out of the parallel parking spot and swerved onto the driving lane, throwing the four giants off to avoid my car.

So much for my favourite Duber spot. I’d need another after that night.

I smiled and waved past four middle fingers and a flurry of swear words as we made for the highway.

‘That was close,’ I chuckled.

‘Thanks for helping me back there,’ said Stacy. I saw her smile in my rear-view mirror as she reached for her purse.

‘Oh, that’s okay.’

‘My wallet. I can’t find it,’ said Stacy, widening her purse so she could peer through. ‘It must have fallen off.’

She grunted, pouring the contents on the backseat.

‘No, no, no,’ she whined, sifting through her stuff. ‘How will I pay for this ride?’

My stomach grumbled in response.

‘Um, that’s okay,’ I said. ‘This ride’s on the house. Let’s just get you home safe, okay?’

The words drew acid from my empty tummy as I eyed the plummeting gas gauge on my dashboard.

Maybe I’ll get a client driving back.

The thought calmed my nerves.

We rode the rest of the way in silence, and soon we were cruising over the famous Crimson Crossing. Everything seemed pretty normal, and though it was dark, we could still hear the Screaming Falls in the distance.

‘The view here is amazing during the day,’ Stacy proclaimed.

The road was straight and clear, so I made eye contact with Stacy in the rear-view mirror. ‘Oh, yeah. It’s been a while since I drove through here, though.’
‘I hope it’s not because of the local superstitions around those kids.’

‘Oh, no,’ I lied, knowing stark well that I drive around it every night just to avoid it. ‘Of course not. I don’t know people here, that’s all.’

‘Oh, okay.’ Stacy responded.

I figured the conversation was over, so I returned my gaze to the road. What I saw made me pump hard on the brakes.

‘Oh, God,’ I exclaimed.

The car screeched and swerved out of control. Stacy braced in the back, her face tight with fear. I struggled with the wheel in my hand, desperate to keep the car from spinning out of control. Meanwhile, a man in a black suit staggered towards us in the middle of the road, getting closer by the second as we sped his way. Darkened blood stained his face, though it was difficult to make out the details. I pumped harder on the brakes, but the car veered left, still sliding dead ahead. The old man was out the window now, and our eyes interlocked for a split second. There was an object sticking out of his eye, drawing blood over his face, and staining his shirt. He raised his arms in protest before the impact, and I gritted my teeth, steeling myself for the great thud.

But there wasn’t a sound.

Stunned, I checked outside the window. The road was dark and empty.

‘Where…’ I mumbled, checking out the windows.

A loud slam came from the back of my seat, jolting me forward. It was Stacy from the back seat.

‘Are you crazy? You could have killed us,’ she screamed, clutching her purse over her heaving chest.

I spun to check on her. ‘Are you okay?’

Stacy glared at me and said, ‘Yes, I’m okay. What the hell was that?’

‘I’m sorry I scared you, but there was someone on the road.’

The girl pulled back and furrowed her eyes at me, doubt brimming inside them. She scanned the bridge outside and with upturned hands, she said, ‘What the hell? There’s nobody out here.’

I turned back to the road ahead and caught my breath.

‘I’m sorry about that, ma’am. Let’s get you home safe.’

We didn’t speak again until we got to her house. She couldn’t pay, but she was nice enough to offer me coffee back at her place. Naturally, I declined. I was desperate to make money, and that rent would not pay itself. Plus, my gas pin had dropped dangerously close to zero, and I needed a quick client, at least so I could boost my gas tank.

I waved goodbye and checked my map, looking for a spot to lie low and wait for a ride request. Of course, I couldn’t wait outside Stacy’s house. That would just be creepy.

So, I drove around the curb and parked where she wouldn’t see me. I sighed, turned off the engine, and checked the time on my phone.

9.30 pm.

Not too bad, I thought. It’s a Friday night. Someone’s bound to go out tonight.

I switched to social media to kill the time, scrolling through random videos as I questioned the poor decisions that put me in this mess. That’s when a ping came from my Duber app.

Mr Stenson.

That’s strange, who would add Mr as their first name?

The user didn’t have a profile photo, but I figured what the hell? I needed the money, anyway. For gas, if nothing else.

I eased onto the road and followed the map. Only Mr Stenson’s location was right on the Willow Way Bridge. The old ghost man’s ruddy face invaded my mind, and I debated whether another thrill ride on the Crimson Crossing would be worthwhile.

Why would someone order a Duber from a bridge, anyway?

The hairs on my neck stood as I recalled the old school bus story.

It’s all in your head, a voice said. Besides, that gas tank won’t fill itself. Maybe it’s a driver with a flat tire stranded on the bridge.

Shaking my head, I drove back the way I came, and I was on the Bridge 10 minutes later. Cautiously, I slowed down, ready for surprises, but the road was empty.

Ping!

It was Mr Stenson’s message on the Duber app.