The early morning light filtered through a veil of mist as Emma drove deeper into the heart of Blackwood. The town seemed to materialize from the fog, its old buildings and narrow streets exuding a sense of timelessness. Emma parked her car in the town square, where a few early risers were going about their morning routines, casting curious glances at the newcomer.
She stepped out of her car, taking in the quaint yet eerie atmosphere. The square was dominated by a weathered statue of a stern-looking man, likely a town founder or notable figure from Blackwood's history. Nearby, a small grocery store and a café were opening for business. Emma decided to start at the café, hoping to glean some information over breakfast.
The bell above the door chimed as she entered the cozy establishment. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air. Behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with a kind face greeted her with a smile.
“Good morning. What can I get for you?” the woman asked.
“Just a coffee and a croissant, please,” Emma replied, glancing around the room. A few patrons sat at the tables, engaging in quiet conversations. She took a seat by the window, her curiosity piqued by the snippets of dialogue she overheard.
As she sipped her coffee, Emma noticed an older man reading a newspaper at a nearby table. His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly before returning to his paper. Sensing an opportunity, she approached him.
“Mind if I join you?” she asked, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.
The man looked up, his expression wary but polite. “Not at all. Please, sit.”
Emma introduced herself and explained her purpose. “I’m Emma Collins, a journalist. I’m here to investigate the stories about the Devil's Crossing. I was hoping to learn more from the locals.”
The man set his newspaper aside, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Name’s Thomas. Thomas Granger. I’ve lived here all my life, seen a lot of folks come and go, especially those curious about that damn bridge.”
Emma leaned forward, intrigued. “What can you tell me about the bridge and the disappearances?”
Thomas sighed, a mixture of frustration and sadness in his eyes. “The Devil's Crossing has always been a source of fear and speculation. People have disappeared over the years, most never to be seen again. The police did their searches, but they never found anything. Some say it’s cursed, others believe it’s haunted. All I know is, smart folks stay away from it.”
“Have you ever seen anything unusual there?” Emma asked, sensing he had more to share.
Thomas hesitated, glancing around as if ensuring they were not overheard. “I’ve seen shadows moving when there shouldn’t be any, heard whispers on the wind. Once, I saw a figure standing in the middle of the bridge, but when I got closer, it vanished. There’s something not right about that place, miss. And you’d do well to heed the warnings.”
Emma nodded, appreciating his candor. “Thank you, Thomas. I’ll be careful. But I need to understand what’s happening here. If you think of anything else that might help, please let me know.”
Thomas nodded, his expression grave. “Just remember, some things are better left alone.”
Emma left the café with a sense of unease but also determination. She wandered the streets, taking in the town’s old-world charm juxtaposed with an undercurrent of fear and secrecy. Her next stop was the local library, a grand but aged building at the edge of the town square.
Inside, the library was dimly lit and smelled of old books and polished wood. Emma approached the librarian, a stern-looking woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun.
“Good morning. I’m Emma Collins, a journalist. I’m looking for information on the Devil's Crossing and the history of disappearances in Blackwood,” Emma explained.
The librarian, who introduced herself as Mrs. Hawthorne, peered at Emma over her glasses. “The Devil's Crossing, you say? Not many folks brave enough to ask about that.”
“I need to know everything I can,” Emma insisted. “Do you have any records or books that might help?”
Mrs. Hawthorne nodded slowly. “We have some old newspapers and historical records in the archives. I can show you where to find them, but be warned—many have tried to uncover the bridge’s secrets, and none have succeeded without paying a price.”
Emma followed Mrs. Hawthorne to the basement archives, a maze of shelves filled with dusty tomes and yellowed newspapers. She spent hours sifting through the records, finding numerous accounts of disappearances and strange occurrences dating back over a century.
One article, in particular, caught her attention. It was an interview with an elderly local who claimed that the bridge was built on cursed land, a place where dark rituals were once performed. Emma’s pulse quickened as she read the details, realizing that Lucas’s theory about a cult might not be far-fetched after all.
As Emma gathered her notes, Mrs. Hawthorne approached with a small, leather-bound book. “I thought you might find this useful,” she said, handing it to Emma. “It’s a journal kept by one of the town’s founders. He wrote about strange events and his own fears regarding the bridge.”
Emma thanked her, feeling a mix of excitement and trepidation. She left the library with a wealth of information and a growing sense of urgency. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together, but she needed to dig deeper.
That evening, as the sun set behind the hills, casting long shadows over Blackwood, Emma decided to visit the town’s oldest resident, Agnes Turner. According to Mrs. Hawthorne, Agnes had lived in Blackwood for nearly a century and was a repository of local lore and history.
Agnes’s house stood at the edge of town, a quaint, ivy-covered cottage that seemed to belong to another era. Emma knocked on the door, which was answered by a frail but sharp-eyed woman.
“Ms. Turner? I’m Emma Collins, a journalist. May I speak with you about the Devil's Crossing?” Emma asked politely.
Agnes scrutinized her for a moment before nodding. “Come in, child. But be warned, the truth you seek is not for the faint of heart.”
Emma followed Agnes into a cozy living room filled with antiques and photographs. They sat down, and Emma began her questions. Agnes spoke slowly, her voice tinged with the weight of years and memories.
“The Devil's Crossing was built long before my time, but I’ve heard the stories passed down through generations,” Agnes began. “They say it was a site of worship for a dark cult, people who believed they could summon something from beyond our world. They performed rituals, sacrifices, terrible things. When the bridge was built, it was meant to seal whatever darkness lingered there. But it seems that darkness never truly went away.”
Emma listened intently, her mind racing. “Do you believe the cult is still active?”
Agnes nodded, her expression grim. “I believe so. There have been whispers, sightings of strange gatherings in the woods. The disappearances have never stopped, only slowed. You must be careful, Miss Collins. Those who look too closely often become part of the bridge’s history.”
Emma thanked Agnes for her time and wisdom, leaving the cottage with a heavy heart. The warnings were clear, but so was her determination. As she walked back to her car, she felt the weight of the town’s secrets pressing down on her. The Devil's Crossing was more than just a bridge—it was a gateway to something far more sinister.
---
That night, back at the Blackwood Arms, Emma reviewed her findings. The journal from the town founder confirmed many of Agnes’s stories, detailing rituals and strange occurrences. Emma knew she had to be cautious, but she was also more determined than ever to uncover the truth.
As she prepared for bed, a knock on her door startled her. She opened it to find Lucas standing there, his expression urgent.
“We need to talk,” he said. “I’ve found something. It’s important.”
Emma let him in, sensing the urgency in his voice. “What is it, Lucas?”
He handed her a piece of paper, covered in the same cryptic symbols she had seen before. “I found this near the bridge. It’s a warning. The cult is planning something, and we need to stop them.”
Emma studied the symbols, her mind racing. “We need more information. We need to find out who’s behind this and what their plan is.”
Lucas nodded. “I have a contact in town who might know more. We’ll meet him tomorrow. But be careful, Emma. We’re being watched.”
As Lucas left, Emma felt a chill run down her spine. The stakes were higher than she had ever imagined. The Devil's Crossing held more than just the secrets of the past—it was a living, breathing entity, waiting to claim its next victim. But Emma was determined to uncover its mysteries, no matter the cost.