CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "I discovered a bridge in the mountains, where the footprints only ever go halfway" Creepypasta

Episode Date: March 31, 2022

CREEPYPASTA STORY►by Darkly_Gathers: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comm...Creepypastas are the campfire tales of the internet. Horror stories spread through Reddit r/nosleep, forums and blogs, rather than word of mouth. Whether you believe these scary stories to be true or not is left to your own discretion and imagination. LISTEN TO CREEPYPASTAS ON THE GO-SPOTIFY► https://open.spotify.com/show/7l0iRPd...iTUNES► https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast...SUGGESTED CREEPYPASTA PLAYLISTS-►"Good Places to Start"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7YCb...►"Personal Favourites"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEa2R...►"Written by me"- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gX6RA...►"Long Stories"- https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list...FOLLOW ME ON-►Twitter: https://twitter.com/Creeps_McPasta►Instagram: https://instagram.com/creepsmcpasta/►Twitch: http://www.twitch.tv/creepsmcpasta►Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/CreepsMcPastaCREEPYPASTA MUSIC/ SFX- ►http://bit.ly/Audionic ♪►http://bit.ly/Myuusic ♪►http://bit.ly/incompt ♪►http://bit.ly/EpidemicM ♪-This creepypasta is for entertainment purposes only-

This weekend I'm in a while I'm not as I'm not on think. Oh, that dossier that morning off must be more as I'm too

I'm too much as I'm on too much as I'm on too much as I'm on think. Have you it to move to come? Give yourself then a boost

with BioCure Maxhot Liquid. Three upheppending plants, magnesium, iceer, an energy booster to make sure to can't make sure

Macshot Liquid. Foodingsupplement forcriag-mach-mach-to-a-coteer. The bridge stands exactly 25 minutes walk from the last house of town. You have to take the path that winds around the edges of the field. Then when the root splits, you take the track less travelled. Head towards the mountains in the east until you reach the river, then follow it upstream for about 10 or 11 more minutes.

That's where it is. Beautiful and unassuming, a careful little stone structure built over the river. I discovered it for the first time in the summer And I only found it by chance It wasn't immediately obvious, the bridge My dog Bertie was the one who actually led me there I let him off the lead and he made a bee line right in that direction

I had to rush after him when I became concerned he might tumble into the river He was stupid of me really I haven't let him off leash anywhere dangerous since then don't worry. But yeah, so that's when we found the bridge. Bertie spent a happy half hour sniffing all around it and wagging excitedly, though in the summer it isn't particularly remarkable. It leads over the river to a small clearing.

Pleasant enough, nice grass, a big tree. Some tumbled rocks where it borders the base of the closest hills. I don't know what else to tell you really. It just leads to nowhere in particular Probably why it's never used And no one knows it exists But in the winter Something changes

Just under a week ago I was walking Bertie down the same route I'd opted as I sometimes do For the trackless travelled Marvelling quietly at the mountains in the snow When I felt Bertie tug at the leash I looked down at him And he looked back up at me

and he whined a little. I laughed. Silly dog, what do you want, huh? But it was clear what he wanted to do. He wanted to head back to his favourite bridge. All right, but, hell, let's do it. So I allowed him to lead us back down along the river, being careful to keep him on leaves this time.

Upon arrival, I could immediately tell that something was different. There was a certain sense in the air, an atmosphere that just fell off. So, despite Bertus' pleas, I decided to deny his pleas to go sniffing about. I don't recall what I thought exactly when I spotted the anomaly for the first time. The tracks, I mean, the footprints in the snow. I think my first thought was probably modest surprise that somebody actually knew the bridge existed.

But the real bizarrity was the fact that the footprint, only went halfway across. Regular boot-shaped footprints leading up and out to the middle of the bridge and there they just... Stopped. They just furnished as if the man was mid-step and then simply dissolved into thin air,

into wintry mist. The thoughts made me shiver, but I didn't take it particularly seriously. Though Bertie was desperate to go and investigate, I held him back, and instead we went along our way. But I couldn't stop thinking about it. I just couldn't get those unnatural footsteps out of my head. Just let it go already, I tried to tell myself.

This is so stupid. The guy probably doubled back down himself, or maybe the snow fell and covered up some of the prints. But both of these rationalizations failed to adequately explain what I saw. Did he just jump up? off, push himself up onto the side of the bridge in a single jump and then leap right off. But why would he do that? Why would anyone do that? Maybe you get whisked away the second you reach the halfway mark, whisked away to never return to some magical land. And so, a few days later,

I find myself back at the bridge. More tracks, more footprints, dear prints this time, by the look of them, and again only halfway across to that empty, unassuming, snowy clearing beyond. And I know what you're thinking. You're wondering why I haven't crossed myself to check it out already, to see what would happen. And to be honest, it's because to do so, it's stupid. Why should I cross, so I can see my footprints in the snow and push these intrusive daydreams aside? It's childish. I've no need to do such a thing. So, naturally, my story begins a day later, right here at the foot of the bridge, preparing to cross.

Bertie isn't with me this time. It's just me. Jacket open at the front and allowing in the chill. I could zip it up and save some warmth, but to do so would require me to take my hands out of my pockets. And to be honest, I can't really be bothered to do that. right now. The snow-capped pine tree to my right sways gently in a sudden breeze, and I shiver, still stubbornly refusing to remove my hands from my pockets. Ahead in the snow are the prints of a fox. They pat around in a rough circle and then head to the bridge. My eyes follow them up,

the little dents in the white, and sure enough, there they cease at exactly halfway. Halfway, only ever halfway. Well, we'll see what happens with mine, won't we? I say aloud to no one. My breath clouding as I take my first steps forwards. I keep to my pace and I don't slow or turn back. Trudging forwards and crunching in the snow, my footprints deep and obvious.

Drawing closer now, closer to the middle. My heart to my confusion. starts the pound, but I don't slow down. I just keep moving forwards until I have crossed halfway. Head down, I watch my feet continue to make dutiful prints in the snow. Over the bridge, across the snow, I come to a quick stop at the other side of the embankment. There, done, I did it. I sigh with just a little disappointment. A part of me really wished that something was going to happen. Something, anything, something to add a little spark of wonder to my life. But even as I think these thoughts, I realize that something has changed.

I have crossed the bridge, but looking back over it now, I see what appears to be the clearing on the opposite side. The clearing I should have crossed to. Yes, there's the big tree, the tumbling rocks and the eastern. edges of the hill, the mountains leading away beyond. I start an alarm as I see that my footprints only descend down the nearest half of the bridge. The opposite half is layered with entirely unbroken snow. What the hell? The footprints, my footprints, and incidentally the footprint of the fox carry on down towards me, but they lead from nowhere. No, I think to myself, nowhere. Now, I think to myself, Turning around, I tried to take in my surroundings.

It wasn't immediately obvious that anything had changed, but now that I properly examine, I see that the landscape here is a complete mirror of the way it looked on the opposite side of the bridge. Still wintry, still layered in snow. The river is there, and the hills and mountains. But the trees are different, and they're all in different places. There are tracks through the snow that they're. didn't exist before. Not possible.

This is insane, I muttered to myself bewildered. Hey! Comes the sudden voice of a girl, not far from me either. I jump in surprise, and there stands the voice's source. A girl about my age, maybe a little younger, wrapped up in a teal blue woolen sweater and a grey, thready scarf. She's standing by a small pine tree with one hand on the trunk, The other she brings up to a cautious, curious wave.

She cocks her head and her antlers tip to the side. Two prominent antlers like a deer's sprouting up from the top of her head. Jesus, I shout an alarm, turning at once and tripping in the snow, staggering back to the bridge. Hey, wait, she calls out, but I do not. I sprint right across, eyes force closed by sudden blast of icy breeze. at the bridge's centre before stumbling down to the bank of the other side. Damn, when did it get so dark? I look back behind me to see the original spectacle.

On the opposite side is just an empty clearing. The clearing I was expecting to see. No girl, no mirrored world. And of course, my footprints only go halfway across the bridge, just as it was before. I sprint all the way home and spend the evening in my room with Bertie, considering the things that I have seen. My fear, once I have time to process, quickly gives way to embarrassment, then to frustrated curiosity. Why did I leave so quickly?

She seemed nice, a nice girl, with antlers. As the night progresses, I struggle to get her out of my head. I end up doodling her in the corner of one of my notebooks. What if she's trapped? What if she needs help? The thoughts go round and around as the snow falls beyond the windows. And she dances through my dreams in the night. The second that the sun has risen on the next wintry morning,

I have left the house, heading right back to the bridge with determination. Heart beating as I feel through me, something unknown, something exhilarating. the excitement of a genuine adventure perhaps I realize as a walk that is not something I've ever really felt before not in this it's purest form the pines bristle quietly in the breeze and the river runs slowly beneath the ice

when I approach the bridge I see that the night's falling snow has entirely covered my old tracks and the crossing looks untouched I take a deep breath and slide on my eyes gloves, then make my way down to it. Don't chicken out, Stan, I tell myself, you got this.

Over the bridge I go, watching carefully this time, waiting for the exact moment of the change. I hit the halfway point and that cold breeze forces me to squint and blink, and it's in these blinks that my surroundings are suddenly shifted. The view of the clearing ahead is lost, though I know now that I would still see its mirror image if I were to look behind me. In front of me is the shifted landscape, the new trees, the new tracks. And there, sitting on a branch in the tree this time, is the girl. The girl with the antlers and the teal blue sweater. We stare at each other for a moment. Then she waves at me and jumps down from the tree, landing with a nimble crunch in the snow. Hey, she says, it's you. It's you.

Isn't it? The boy from last time. Uh Yeah, uh, hey, I reply awkwardly. Still not sure entirely how to react to her. So, uh, I came back to... Yeah, you came back. Real bad timing, though. What were you thinking? She isn't smiling this time.

I don't know how to respond. Uh... Look, come on, quick. Just get over here. She runs up to me and grabs my coat, dragging me down and away from the bridge. Hey, wait, just hold on her. We have to go, all right? They're watching the bridge. They, who's?

But the sound of a sudden whistling wine, followed by a burst of flame in the snow to my right, cuts my question in half. Damn, I shout an alarm as a trail of fine cloud races through the air above her heads, finishing in a tree as that whistling wine catches up to it and bursts into a ball of fire. sending roasted pine needles raining down. The outlet girl drags me through the bushes, snow bursting in little clouds all around us as we push through, and she leads me across the nearby field. I turned to look behind me, wide-eyed at the sight that meets me there.

Unlawful entry of any organism into the wholly mechanic territory, surrender yourself at once. Blares an angry mechanical voice. Stumbling past the tree, and through the hedges come too tall and spindly beings made of a grim, dark metal. Plumes of thick black smoke are since spiraling up and out from pipes and chimneys that adorn their bodies. They comprise their bodies in an exoskeleton fashion. They grind and wear, and their necks extend out to disappear into a disturbingly fish-looking heads.

Made of a strange charred metal, though, of course. One of those metal monstrosities brings round an arm, and the tubes that connects its elbow to its body glistened bright in a sudden volcanic orange. I have to shield my face as a great breath of fire shivers from the creature's knuckles and torches the surrounding snow. I'm struck by a wave of warmth and turned back to face the way I'm going, running as fast as I can to keep up with the girl. What the hell? I shouted her, but she ignores me, instead skidding to a rapid stop. I stumble right past her and she grabs the cuff my mouth.

coat, dragging me suddenly sideways and down the edge of a steep bank, down towards the widening, iced over river below. Down we go, then round corner after corner, our feet cracking the edges of the water's ice until the ground to our left levels out, and she holds me up into the snowy shrubbery at the base of the nearest mountain. It isn't until she's brought me into the relative safety of a shallow cave that she lets me go, and I stumble down onto my ass at one. trying to catch my breath as I push myself back against the cave wall, watching her wearily.

She watches me back, and we sit for a while, just us too out of the cold and unsure of what to say. She eventually breaks the ice with, You don't have any antlers? No, I reply. I don't. So, how do you fight? Like, what do you use? Fight?

Well, I don't really get into many fights, but with my hands, I guess. Your hands? Yeah, you know, like my fists. She looks down at her own fists as if considering. Huh, weird. You must have really strong arms. I flush. Then laugh awkwardly.

Um, well, I mean, I guess. There's another pause. Why did you come over the bridge at such a dumb time? she asks me. I don't even know how to answer that, I reply. I just came over because I was intrigued. I didn't think anything was actually going to, you know, happen when I crossed. Why did you run away the last time?

She asks. I just got, I don't know, I wasn't sure what was happening. I wasn't as prepared yesterday as I was today. Yesterday? Yeah, yesterday when I first came over the bridge. She shakes her head with a little half-smobile. No, silly, it's been like four months. I tried to comprehend this.

Four months? She nods vigorously. Oh, right. Four months. I peer out to the cave entrance to the snowy world beyond. So, what the hell is going on? Where am I, and her, who are you exactly? She leans suddenly close to me, and I, and I,

and I stumble back up against the cave wall. Her eyes are large and brown, and she has a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and her upper cheeks. So does anyone have antlers where you're from? She asks. Um, no, not really. Dea do, I guess, but I don't know if that's what you mean.

Dear? She repeats, leaning back in her haunches. Weird. She peeks out the cave entrance. I think we're. We're okay now. The machine folk don't tend to bother coming out this way. They just want to protect their holy sight. I run a hand across my forehead. Holy sight. Look, could you just tell me your name? I ask her. Kalala, she replies, smiling. You? Stan, I reply. So, how come

you were watching the bridge? Well, it's kind of my job to wait for animals that come through and help them get to safety. Her smart drops. A person came through once, about a year ago. Like you, no antlers either. He was one of the first creatures to cross the bridge after I took over the watcher roll. Her mood changes and the atmosphere cools a little.

I wasn't fast enough to save him. I still think about him sometimes. He was a fully grown male. But the machine folk made an example of him. I failed. him and it's something I've worked really, really hard to never do again. What did they do to him? I asked quietly, and she sighs and looks away. They strung him up, Stan, as a warning.

I choose not to ask her to elaborate on this for now. The wind picks up outside and the sound of its rumble grows steadily louder. Come on, she says to me, take my hand. She's warm. I don't want us to get trapped in. here all day, let me take you to our hide out. I nod, and she leads me back out and into the bluster. I look around for signs of machines, but, seeing no evidence of their presence, I fall in step alongside Kalea, and together we trudged to the fields and the edges of the forest, beneath the

gentle, watchful eyes of the mountains. She tells me about herself, about this side of the bridge. She's never been across to my side, apparently, and aside from the man she was. mentioned earlier, I think I might be the second human she's ever seen. She tells me about the machines, about how the bridge and its gate between the worlds is something that the machines supposedly made themselves long, long ago, and is now regarded by these metallic beings as something of a sacred sight. The machines believe that the bridge continues to work due to its perfect balance between nature and machinery. The location of the trees and the angles at which the bridge looks out to the hills and mountains, all of critical importance.

She scoffs a little when she says this, and I look across to her. The machine folk are hypocrites in her words. Outside of the sacred zone, wherever they go, they level and landscape and dig deep holes in the ground, pumping out fumes and bile, indifferent to the people who cross their paths at best, actively hostile at worst. If they really cared Then they wouldn't use those horrible flamers She mutters

Brushing some hair behind her ear I catch a glimpse of a deep burn around her wrist As she does this Though she quickly tugs her sleeves back down I tell her about my life back home too I tell her how machines aren't people But things that people use And this is a concept she seems fascinated by

So they just do what you tell them too She asks How come? Because they have to, a reply. That's how they're designed. They don't think or anything. They don't think, she repeats. Yeah.

Huh, she says, wrinkling her nose and thoughts. How do you know? I don't have an answer for this. I also tell her about my dog, Bertie. Her eyes light up at his mention and unbarrage of questions all about him. She doesn't recognise the word pet, but is happy to refer to him as my companion. I had a piece companion of my own once, she says excitedly. Her name was Arelli, but I had a let her go off on her own once she got too big.

I still see her sometimes, though, when she passes through. You let her go? What breed is she? Grey Wolf, she chirps. I laughed nervously. Right, I see. Maybe I could meet me. Bertie someday, she asks. Well, uh, yeah, why not? I guess I could bring him over some time.

You need to come through when their machines aren't taking part in their pilgrimage, though, okay? Otherwise, you'll have the same issue as you did today. I'm about to ask her to explain what she means by this, but as I open my mouth, we pass by a lone, higher hill, and the air chills. The sun breaks only feebly through the thick snow clouds overhead, but the next. The next. The narrow beams of winter light that have made it through glint warningly against the totem atop the hill. I left my gaze as its shadows passes across Kalela and I, and a wave of fear shivers down my spine in response. The totem atop the hill is comprised of a series of sharp, dark metal poles and scraps of metal, intricately woven to form the shape of a cross. A fixed to the cross

is a black, flamethrushed skeleton. This jaw hangs from one hand. and its rib cage is stretched and cracked wide open. Sinner and trespasser are written on signs that hang from across his limbs. Kalala looks up at it with me, and she pauses for just a moment. She robs her quick hand across her eyes and mutters something soft and quiet to herself under a breath before carrying on. She walks a little quicker than before, and the conversation dies with the mood. I struggle with a deep and foreboding paranoia as we leave the terrible shadow behind us

and we continue on and into the haze It's not much further Kalela tells me as we pass into the forest We've been walking for about 20 minutes since leaving the little cave And her mood improved when I offered her some food I brought with me Nothing special, just some store-bought cookies But she'd enjoy them so much I actually felt a little bad telling her

that he didn't have any more to give her. I'm also not really sure what to expect of this hideout she mentioned. I'm kind of picturing a Robin Hood-esque roughed-up campsite strung up between some trees, a band of merry men all with antlers hanging out in the woods. The truth, however, is quite different.

Damn, is all I can say when I first lay eyes on it, on the hideout. Here we are, says Kalea, and she spread her arms. Before us and nestled in the trees are a series of narrow wooden houses. They lean into and against each other at unusual angles, but aside from this, they look remarkably stable, and indeed very livable.

What I'm seeing is less a base camp and more an intricate little village. The inhabitants are antleture, but that's about all I got correct with my prediction. They are of all ages and they stare at me as we pass them by. There are modest market stalls here, stone wells surrounded by leaves at their bases and signposts grown into the trees. Kaleila comes a gruff voice to our right. Kalala stops and I do likewise, watching as a tall and white-set man puts down his tools and walks right over to us. He's massive and his antlers go out further and wider than Kalala's do. You're back early.

Hey, I did what I was supposed to do, Lurday, she retorts, pointing up at him. Delane is heading out to cover the watch right now. And look, you see what I did? I brought back a boy from the other side. Safely. I saved him. The man she called Lurday looked down to me and raised an eyebrow. Good, he says after a beat.

The machine folk have no respect for natural life. Every death in his valley is a stain on the spirit's own land. It's good to meet you, I say to him. My name is Stan. Hmm, he replies. Stan has been a long time since someone has crossed over the bridge. You chose a less than opportune time to pass. Behind him, a group of antler children.

I can't hear what they're saying, but one of them points to me, and the others gawk and stare. I didn't know, I tell him. I didn't know about any of this. is different on the other side. Different and dangerous. I don't blame you seeking refuge on the spirit side, but as I said, your timing was in up tune. Lurday turns and gestures to a group of his comrades.

Kalea, we're heading out to keep sight on the pilgrimage route. We would benefit from bringing along your human. You're human? I repeat. But he ignores me. Lurday, I don't know. I'm kind of responsible for his safety now, and I was going to show him around. This wasn't a request.

You're welcome to accompany us, he says. Kala looks like she's planning to say something else, then changes a mind and bites a tongue. Fine, she says, but we're keeping him out of danger. Lurde nods and he gestures us to follow. Our little group grows in size as we are joined by more of the antlet people. Each has something to say to me and I talk with them all, till eventually we head off through the wooden village

and the trees. This whole thing is crazy, I muttered to Kalela as we walk. I'm still struggling to process that this is all happening, to be honest. I don't tell her this, but I'm also finding it hard to stop thinking about the scorched skeleton, the one strung up on the cross with trespasser and sinner signs hanging down in warning. I need to get back, in all honesty. Lurde talked about my side being dangerous, but I know damn well which side I'd rather

beyond. I need to find a safe opportunity to get back, but also I shoot a look over to Kalala. Also, I'm still curious about this world. That sense of adventure remains, and I don't want to be like I was yesterday, running away at the first sign of peculiarity. So, I stick it out for now. We pass by pine trees that are ringed with little lanterns, illuminating the gently drifting snow. Like Christmas lights, I murmur out loud, which call her other questions. You know, I say, Christmas, Christmas lights. I don't know what that is, she replies. For real? Ah, it's the best, I tell her. Everyone's families get together and share gifts and have good food. Everywhere is all decorated in red and green or gold. Usually there's loads of lights.

Lights, like how? Like, Electric lights, I'm artificial. I don't know how to explain it to you, but... But they're in all kinds of colours, and at night when it's dark, they're hung up to form flashing and moving patterns around houses and on trees. It's beautiful, honestly. She's fascinated by this. So, I spend the rest of the walk telling her all about it,

about all of our Christmas customs and events, and she gets more and more excited. A voice comes from her right as we walk. It's Lurde's, and to be honest, I'd kind of forgotten he was there. Don't get too attached, Kalala, he says in a low voice. You know he'll have to go back. He stops talking at once. I get it, Lurday, whatever, she mutters after a moment.

But our conversation is killed, pretty much stone dead. The breeze blows. We approach the ridge of a hill, and the general volume of the green. group drops. The talk in lowers to a general murmur and the sound of their footprints is significantly dulled. Following the lead of those at the front, we crouch behind a serious of large rocks and Lurde knocks my shoulder. I look at him and he motions for me to follow him up to the front where he points over the rocks and down to the ground below. See that? He says quietly. I take a look. Down there in the valley between the hills and mountains a dirt

track has been ground into the earth and melted away all the snow. It winds his way through the hills, and making their gradual way along it are a series of shambling beings. The machines, it's plain to see. One of them looks just the same as the beings that attack Kalala and I this morning. Another is of a similar height, but has no legs, instead churning up the snow and grass beneath caterpillar tracks, great plumes of dark smoke leak from pipes across his shoulders, as it does from the others.

The third is far larger, a shuffling behemoth that moves on four large metallic legs. If I focus, I can hear its engine whirring from all the way up here as it churns out those tarry black clouds.

If I look to the right, I can see more trails of smoke slowly approaching from behind the hills, more machines perhaps. Some of the group retrieved makeshift journals from their backs and begin making notes in her language. I can't read, noting the angle of shadows of certain rocks with little sketches.

I turned to Lurday. Where are they going? I asked him. They were all making their way to the bridge. There'll be dozens upon dozens more over the next few weeks. We got word the other day about a small farm out in the east, completely levelled by the machine folk to make way for a rest stop. He scratches his jaw. Three killed, no remorse.

Corpses left for the birds. Rest up, I reply. I don't get it. Why would a machine need to rest? Everyone needs to stop some time, Stan. Can't keep walking indefinitely. Kalela chimes in. But that's the whole point of a machine, isn't it?

To just keep going until it breaks down? Maybe it's just a repair centre or something that they've built? Third aid doesn't seem to understand. What abomination they've built in place of the farm is not hugely relevant. He reaches out for my shoulder. Stan, a female human, came across that bridge once, you know, decades ago now. I was only a very young man myself, but she was able to help us. She was able to tell us things of the machines.

She told us they would likely fail if knocked into water, and for the most part, she has proved correct. I can't tell you how many lives we've been able to save with her information. He looks out across the planes of the shambling machines. But it's not enough, and the machine folk have changed somewhat since then. I don't know what it's like on your side, but by all accounts, your dealings with these beings are numerous and deadly. It must be difficult fighting back without even any antlers to protect yourself. The wind rustles the colour of my jacket, and Kalela pulls a scarf a little tighter around the neck.

Stan, says Lurday, it's your turn now, if you would help us. Take a look at these creatures. is there anything you can think to suggest to help us here? The more machine folk come through, the greater the threat, and this is our most threatened time of year. What do you say? Will you help? Kaleela looks at me, and hell, what can I say but yes?

I nod and reply that I will. I'll try, I tell them, and a great general sense of goodwill and thanks spreads out across the group. So we spend the rest of the day, observing the machines as they trundle through the valley, all on their way to the bridge. They may well respect the locations of the trees and rocks that surround the bridge, as Kalelaela tells me they do, but out here they seem to care little for the environment. The largest of the machines that day, a massive, hulking ogre of metal, thuds past the tall,

thin tree on its root, and its pipes catch in the branches. Instead of using effort to untangle itself, the machine instead, just plods onwards, using a great hand to bring the entire tree down with a crash into the snow, rather than stop or adjust its course. The rumble of its fall echoes across the hills. They share their food with me, and I tell them stories about my side. They seem fascinated by the concepts of cars and even basic electrical appliances, but they struggle to consider them as anything other than threats.

So cars aren't dangerous, one of the people asks me. Do they ever kill people? Well, uh... I paused for thought. Not intentional. It's human error mostly. You blame yourselves for the death they cause. It's complicated.

Kalea just wants me to talk about Christmas. I tell her about mold wine and Christmas desserts, about Christmas music and bells and holly and all that good stuff, and she seems enthralled by it. I can already see the cogs turning in her head, wondering if she can emulate it here in her little village. I could show you how to make a wreath if you want, I grin at her, and she grins right back with excitement.

I would love that. Shh, Lurdy grumbles, not so loud. Sorry, she whispers, looking at me and smiling. But all the while, the gears in my own head are turning to. I'm trying, trying to think of a plan I can use to help these people, the image of the man who came before me, the black charred and broken skeleton on the cross. It's one that refuses to dissipate, and I can't help but wonder if any of their own has suffered such fate at the metallic hands of the machines.

It's nightfall back of the camp by the time we return. We didn't just stay on that hilltop all day either. We also tricked around and followed the ring. route back a little. We tried to get a vantage point of the levelled farm, but all we could see was ash and smoke. Lurde didn't feel happy taking Kalela and myself any closer, not on the first outing. It's late, I say, as the moon rises in the sky. I should really get back. Do you have to get back tonight? Kalea asks me, you can stay here, you know, if you want. Time passes differently on either side, Lurde says as he sits back in his chair by the fire. I don't know if we'd see you

again, if you were to return tonight. Tell me, what do you have for us on the machine folk? Do we know these creatures remind you of the creatures from your home? Yeah, Clairelis says to me, the orange light of the fire bright in her eyes. Do you have a plan? I pause, heart beating as I look back into her eyes. She smiles, and I look away, embarrassed. Actually, he. Yeah, I think I do. The embers drift through the air, and the antlerlop folk around the fire lean in. So, Kalila, you mentioned something to me this morning. You said that the machines dig deep holes in the ground.

Is that right? She nods, and there's a general murmur of agreement through the gathering. Do you know what that is? We have our theories, but we're not sure, no. Okay, I continue. And Lurday, these machines, the ridge is a holy sight, right? They make a pilgrimage to come here. Yes.

So they come from all around then. Pilgrims can travel halfway across the world if they want to. These machines, some of them must come from really far away. I tried to gather my thoughts, express myself as best as possible. We all see the smoke they produce, right? The thick black clouds that spiral out from their bodies. I mean, they're running on some kind of fuel. They're burning it, combustible.

like engines do and I don't see them ever carrying any bags or pulling carts. They must be topping up somewhere on their pilgrimage or they'd never make it the whole way around. Fuel, one of the folks asked me. Like would you mean? I guess, but it's like something that'll last longer, coal or oil. I struggle for a few minutes trying to explain the concept of fossil fuels to them. But eventually I bring the conversation back to the holes in the ground. These holes, I bet they're mines.

That makes the most sense. They'll be mining for coal or oil or whatever to feed the pilgrims. I bet that's what they've done to the farm too. Mines, Lurde repeats. Energy wells. Yeah, I guess. Stan, will you stay? Stay for one more night and help us turn your ideas into a clear plan.

I hesitate when my parents miss me for a night or two. Sure, I reply, I'll stay. Kalea wraps me in a hug, and I tried to laugh it off. I sleep that night in a spare room, listening to the sounds of the forest, and the sounds of Kalea humming through the wooden wall. And that next morning I'm up and awake, looking over a series of maps. The known halls, or mines, as they've started referring to them as, are marked in certain locations, and raiding parties are seen.

set up. There's only two confirmed in this entire region, says Lurde, three if you count the demolished farm, and it's likely on the new construction mine. If they finish it, I say out loud, then more machines would come through. Why wouldn't they? So we destroy them, says Lurde. There's a rustle of descent. Lurday, says one of the antled women, destruction is not to be dealt out carelessly.

The machine folk destroy and the machine folk. are inherently damaged and cruel. They suffer because of their curse and bring that same suffering to our doorsteps. To destroy goes against the plan of the spirit, says another, I cannot break a thing that was made, even if by those wretched machines.

You fools, muttered another. The machine folk are unnatural. We cannot live and let live. They mean to destroy us. They hunt us, and if they had their way, they wipe us all out of the face of the planet. I can hunt a machine that enters into our realm, says another.

If I am threatened, strike but to go out and bring down something as sentient being is built, has created? I don't know if I can. Lurday just shakes his head. If I'm said to be cursed, then so be it. This human boy has joined her ranks and will only this opportunity slip us by. I cannot wait for the wisdom of the next passing traveler in 10 or 20 or 40 years time. I step forwards.

I'm not afraid of any curse. I doubt it'll affect me anyway. Machines are different from where I'm from, so I'll help you destroy him. A little further deliberation, and that's all it takes. Armed with axes and sores, and split into smaller groups of the willing and the persuaded, we head out into the wilds. Following the maps to the locations of the mines, I've never in my life felt so elated. To be part of a mission, a mission with a real impactful purpose,

and one with a threat of real danger too. As foolish as it seems, the threat is exhilarating. It sharpens and clears my mind Like nothing I've ever experienced Kaleela is with a group She wanted to come And I told Lurday I wouldn't go without her Across the field we trek

Avoiding the paths of the trundling grinding machines And the trails of smoke and leaking fluid I've been given a white-green sweater Into woven with leaves and twigs And we hide ourselves at the edge of the machine's outpost A head lies as described a huge hole in the ground, surrounded by dark metal grid work,

caterpillar track gears and grinding cranes. Smoke pours from the cracks in the ground, and the snow is all melted, down there below. You know the plan, Lurday mutters, and to be nod, then split into groups. My heart pounce as I crawl across the edge of the hill through the undergrowth, a few surviving winter thorns scratching at my hands as I move.

This is insane, I think to myself. What am I doing? Why did I allow myself to get roped into this madness? Because you wanted to be, comes the simple response. And hell, it's right. Down below the chunter, a series of machines, roughly humanoid, though with long, rusted limbs, they creak and crunch as they move across the rough dirt ground, overseeing the transfer of metal materials, materials being moved across a series of narrow tracks in smallish carts.

The cards spark and were as they pass over the iron rails and some disappearing to holes in the side of the nearest mountain. Kaleila Lurde and I set to work on the selected tree. An enormous reddish-brown pine that strikes way up towards the sky. Lurde determines the angle to carve at it, and then we simply sit and wait for the wind to rise. Two hours it takes before Lurde determines the wind loud enough for us to begin. Too long wintery hours We take turns the strike of the tree Carving out a groove on the side we want it to fall

We use saws too Carving out this chunk of tree in preparation Once the chunk is fully cut from the wood And already with arms aching We start soaring away at the opposite side It takes a long time and I lose count The number of frantic glances I make down to the mind below But after a while

We have cut away through the bulk of the tree the sound of our high shrill bird whistles across the valley on the ground. Hmm, says Lurday, the others are ready. They're just waiting on us now. Just waiting on us. So close to success, and it's here that our luck runs out. I don't know if it's me or Klaela or just freak chants, but with our final strike of the saw,

an enormous creek groaned out from the tree and ripples. all the way up the trunk. In time, perfectly, to a sudden drop in the wind. We freeze and I shoot a sideways look down to the mine to see two of the machines looking back up at us. Alert, blaze the saroniak voice. Organisms present to the facility react accordingly. Damn, I shout an alarm and panic sets in.

The machines lurch into terrifying activity, grinding and creaking as they threw themselves up against. against the rock below and begin to clamber up towards us, their black eyes shining with malice. A warning horn blares from the mine and Lurde looks back at us. Keep going, he shouts. Just keep soaring, bring this thing down. That's more than signal enough. Go.

And he takes off down the side of the snow bank, snow spraying up as he lands with a crunch on the head of the nearest machine. There's a rattling of gears as cogs and oil are sent spilt out over the snow and stone, and the other machine alters its course. Flames burst from one of his pipes and are since spraying out in a wide arc. I grabbed Clairela and bring it down to the ground as they pass by over our heads, and we feel the rush of heat. Come on, I tell her, we finish the job.

Right, she replies, grabbing her end of the saw, and feverishly we work to bring the tree down. It creaks and wavers, crackling as it slowly starts the breakaway at our cutting. And at last we break close. clean through, and with an ear-splitting crunch, the tree begins to tip. It tips in just the direction we set it to, and the air seems to vibrate as the monstrous pine comes tumbling down. Watch out, we call out into the chaos, pulling back at a burst of flames, and the colossal tree

crashes hard into the metalwork of the mine. The second, it connects. Another similarly sized tree starts to fall too from the valley's opposite side, and it falls down hard, hammering into the metalwork. grids and cranes. The first causes real damage, and great clouds of smoke and ash are sent billowing up and into the atmosphere. And the second impact is greater still. It smashes up the rail network and strikes the side of the mountain, sending enormous rocks and boulders

tummling down right into the hole, an avalanche of them, really. A great orange flash bursts from the ground, and the mine begins to collapse in and itself, taking a great deal of equipment along with it. Lurdae, Klaela calls, suddenly throwing herself down onto a stomach and putting out an arm. Below us is the man himself, covered in ash, and clambering back up the rock. I hold onto Kalea, and together we help to pull him back up onto the embankment. Great, he grins. And I can't help grinning, too.

Now, let's get ourselves out of here. Thank you for your sacrifice, Klaela moaned's to the fallen tree. and she takes a moment to rub some snowy soil across the exposed trunk we've left behind. We regroup the others in our little team and we race right back up to the base camp, careful to take a route we know won't be followed, and I'm riding the high for the rest of the day. It's all that we can talk about, and when the others rejoin us to share that they too were successful,

I'm caught up in something of a celebration. I've never felt such a sense of community, I've shared experience in my entire life. It's addicting. But I can't stay here forever. I just can't. So, the next morning, I tell them all it's time for me to go. Kalea is particularly upset, and it hurts.

But I gotta go. Thank you for your help, Stan, says Lodei. You're a fine young warrior. I beam in response. He insists. and accompanying me back to the bridge. The patrols and the watchers haven't spotted a single machine

heading towards the bridge so far this morning, so we feel relatively safe. Galala comes too. Delana and the others have been covering my shift for long enough. It's time I get back to my post anyway. She shrugs. But there is an emotion in a voice. I can hear it.

We walk as a trio through the snow, though it's not as thick as it was yesterday or the day before. there's been no new snowfall for a while we're taking a slightly different route to the one we left from Kalala and I but it isn't long before I start to recognise where we are

you know I'm really grateful you allowed me to I begin but Lurde puts out a sudden warning hand and stops something's wrong he mutters and squinting I can see a figure that might well be Delana waving frantically at us from a branch

up high in a tree. Then, in the very next second, a great arc of flame comes bursting from the bushes ahead, torching the nearby hedges and sending us jumping for our lives. One lone machine stumbles through the undergrowth and swings round its arm. Its head sparks and fizzles.

Trespassers, trespasses from beyond the sight, and for the second time, Lurde takes it upon himself to be the distraction. Go, he shouts to me. Kalelaela, get him to the bridge. and he ducks and dodges as the machine approaches, avoiding a blast of fire and then ramming his horns into the machine's side, sending nuts and screws raining down into the snow. Come on, Claire cries out, grabbing my hand and dragging me towards the bridge. An exact mirror of how she welcomed me in.

We race past the scorch bushes and past the trees and rocks, but as the bridge comes at last into view, I see that it's different. Oh, I mutter, then, Oh no. The snow across and around the bridge has been largely melted. It's clear to see, based on the burned branches and damaged bushes, exactly where the flame was wielded, and the bridge before me is nothing but a water-soaked stone. Kuala stares at it, then tries to speak.

Stan, oh no, I'm sorry, but it's not going to work. I try anyway. I run to the bridge and attempt to cross it, and of course I am able to do so, but my shoes tap against the stone, and when I reach the other side, when I reach the clearing, I'm still standing in it. If I turn around and can see Kalala still there on the opposite side, flashes of fire and burst of smoke escape up into the air behind her through the trees. I rush back across the bridge and try again, then again. But without the snow it would seem, it leads to nowhere but the clearing. It's just a bridge.

Lurdy escaped with some bruises and burns, but he apparently always does, and Claire and I simply returned to the village. I panicked a bit at first, trying to work out if the time that passed over here was inverse to the time that passed over there. Struggling to work out the mathematics of it all. But I came to the conclusion that a couple of days spent on collierless side of the bridge was still only a few hours back home, or something like that. and whilst I couldn't prove it, it was enough to keep me calm at first.

I spent my days with Kalea, waiting for the snow to fall sufficiently to heal the bridge, but for almost two weeks it scarcely snowed at all. I just became ingrained with the community. The destruction of the mines had a hugely positive impact on the region. Next, no new machines came through, though Lurde remained pessimistic, or realistic in his words. knows eventually they'll be back in machines, but for now there is peace. I help the group bring down that horrible metal cross, the totem atop the hill, with the

scorched skeleton. We bury the bones and good words are said of this ceremony. The days go quickly and the weeks blur into months. The snow does fall again, but I'm no longer in any desperate rush to get home. After all, I ended up falling for Kalala. I'm sure that doesn't surprise you. given the way I've spoken about her. And what can I say?

She's amazing. She loves me back, by the way, even though I don't have any antlers. The months pass by, but I can't help feeling painful memories of home, of my house, my friends, my family, of Bertie. It's these thoughts that build and grow inside me.

They lead to conversations with Kalea, and these conversations in my head lead the discussion about taking her back with me, just for a quick visit. Maybe I could bring Bertie back here with me, and then she'd finally get to meet him. She's skeptical at first, scared too, as she was raised on stories of the terrible, dangerous machines on my side of the bridge. But I'm able to convince her to give it a try. I remind that surely only a day or two has passed my side, and that it's almost Christmas. I get to take it to a real Christmas market.

You'll get to see the lights. I can't wait to show you. And my family will love you. I promise. They won't care about your antlers. I'll make sure of it. Oh my goodness, she replies, grinning, as we run through the snow, hand in hand.

This is crazy. I can't believe I'm going to cross the bridge. My breath clouds around her mouth, and she says it again. I'm going to cross over the bridge. I laugh, though we quietened down as we approach. careful not to get ambushed in the same manner as last time. But there are no machines here now,

and ahead through the bushes there lies the bridge, covered in snow and awaiting our arrival. I look at her and she looks back at me. Are you ready? I ask softly. And she smiles. Let's do this. I grin at her with a rush of emotion, and together we run towards the bridge.

The breeze rises as we step. step down into the snow, and looking past my feet as we run, I catch sight of a set of prints below me, right there in the snow. They look like rabbits. The rabbit prints lead up to the centre of the bridge, across the middle and through the snow, and then down the opposite side and into the clearing beyond. Hell, I can see it. I can see the rabbit that made the prince on the opposite side, watching us both with his head cocked. We're moving too quickly for me to process all this, of what it implies. But as we reach the halfway point and the breeze whistles past my ears,

Kalea's laugh is suddenly lost on the wind. In one moment I'm holding tight to her hand, and the next I'm gripping nothing but air. My view changes ahead. I trip and stumble down the bridge like an idiot, slipping and crashing down on the stone and landing with a grunt. In the grass. Just grass.

no snow. Kalela, I call out, breathing hard. But she's not there. I'm back to where I started, all those many months ago. This is the bridge. There on the opposite side is the clearing. But I can hear the gentle rush of river. It isn't frozen now.

There is no ice. The snow is melted, and all that's left of it sits in grey and clumps in the shadows of the trees. The bridge is just stone. There's no snow on it at all. No, I murmur, suddenly panicking. No, no, no. And I staggered to my feet. I try running over the bridge.

But nothing happens. I cross forwards and backwards and again and again and again as the sun sinks in the sky, then sets. And still I cross. But nothing happens. Nothing happens and I'm all alone. She's gone. My parents creep me with shock and concern, though Bertie is absolutely beside himself with joy when I stumble through the front door.

He sleeps in my room with me, but I scarcely get any sleep at all. I just watch out the window and wait for snow. I do that a lot these days, waiting for snow that never falls. The days go by, and still nothing. Weeks. Christmas coming. and goes, months roll by, we enter into spring, then summer, and she's all I can think about. The girl I left behind on the opposite side of the bridge.

I still go there, you know, with Bertie. I like to sit on the bridge of stone and imagine she's sitting on the opposite side with me. But I will wait. I'll wait for winter, and no matter how long it takes, I will. We'll see her again.