The young pensive brunette paced down the foggy shaded Old-April path towards the bridge. Her feet brushed against the ground, crushing dry autumn leaves and occasionally the small branch as she stormed directly. Her name was Casey. And perhaps pensive wouldn’t be the appropriate word, more so dreamy yet dejected from birth; a delicate christened flower stolen from its original purpose to emit a surreally perfect beauty and struck into a world of pursuant evil, in the form of hardship. The muffled reminisces of light that managed to seep through the dark canopy of clouds cast a dark blue shade on the world. Casey was heading home. After a long day of extraneous classroom discussions and ostensibly rehearsed conversations with single purpose friends, Casey wondered if going home would even help much. Probably not, but she was looking forward to some back stage time. Ever since Casey’s father left, life had been tougher than she’d like to admit. Her mother started working cleaning houses but someone had to make up the difference. Casey had her moment to step up, but why didn’t she take it? All she ever wanted was be normal. Only because she always knew she wasn’t. So she caved and dived into her school. And her Sister took it. Sweet, grown-up Julian; a fifteen year old drop out working full time to support what’s left of her family. But Casey didn’t want to think about it. Focusing on Julian’s misfortune wouldn’t change anything and might actually draw attention Casey’s own shortcomings. So she continued along the unkempt path that led unwaveringly through the dense forest. The sun was beginning to set and cast shooting shadows of the tall pine trees that soared as far as the eye could see which, in these woods, wasn’t very far at all. Casey began to walk more briskly. Why hadn’t she reached the bridge yet? Casey usually took the other route home, walking along the road was simple but took longer, as it wound around several times and caused her to take necessary broad detours; but the bridge was straight forward. A clear shot over the unstable river and home; all that had to be done was a quick walk down the dark, untrustworthy path. Casey began to look around nervously, but didn’t slow her pace. It was the first exit on the left, the only time the path split, couldn’t have been missed. The sun had long past set and now taken with it the last lingering haze of warmth that had remained clinging to the sidewalk and all of nature. There was an icy chill in the air and the shadows began to appear even in places they didn’t belong. Casey glanced behind her again, was she just paranoid or did she have the right to be afraid. After all, it wasn’t called Old-April path for no reason. A young girl named April had disappeared about a decade back. She had left something important to her at a playground near the school and didn’t realize it till she got home. She ran back though the cunning crackled path to retrieve it. But by that time it was already dark, and she was never seen again. But where was the bridge? Casey was filled with distress but refused to let it show in her pace, she continued to walk bristly. Casey knew there was a bridge, a short trail branching off the path that would take her over the river and quickly home. Casey wasn’t sure exactly how she’d learned about it at first but she’d been there before. Everything looked so familiar; she should have seen it by now. Everything began to appear all the more ominous as she sped her walk. The shadows crept and slithered on forever. Here and there, sometimes for no reason at all they would appear, collaborating with the moonlight; Casey thought, trying to grab hold of her when she wasn’t looking. There was some history of mental disturbance in Casey’s record but not enough for her to hallucinate boney black hands stretching out the trees to grab her. So it wasn’t the forest that freighted her, but rather something even less tangible. Casey turned her head again suddenly, searching the path behind her impending danger. She felt as though she was being followed, but then again, she often felt that. Casey redirected her attention to ahead of her; although her ears remained ever alert the path behind. The path never seemed to end. It was so misleading, appearing to be safe simple. Probably due to its directness, it never wound, never bent; it was so straight. Casey began to finally panic. She thought of turning back, but knew as she had known when she first began to wonder why she had not yet passed the bridge that it was far too late. What had happened? Another circumstance she could not control, only this time with the fear of death. After all the forest was only made as dark and sinister as the villains that must inhabit it and this time Casey swore she heard something behind her. It sounded almost like muffled screech of metal against concrete. Casey began to run. She had always believed in the method of not letting potential attacker’s catch on to your fear, but what did it matter now. When bad things actually happen, ideals and predetermined pictures of how one believes they would react in a desperate situation are thrown to the wind. Casey’s breath began to run out, her heart raced and pounded; she could feel it in every part of her body. She looked desperately left and right beside the path. Where was the bridge? Where did the path split? What was happening? Casey began question. Why did I even take this path in the first place? I never take this way home... I’ve never taken this way home. And then it hit her, like the black shadowy hands finally grabbing hold of her arm and pulling her back into the tangled shrubbery of the forest. Was it a dream? A vivid vision somehow mistaken for a memory. An abstract depiction, she could see it in her head, yet somehow ingeniously escaped its way into reality. There was no bridge. There was never any bridge…
And then she heard footsteps.