47. A Light Blue Nightmare

It’s raining. A cold rain that should be snow but that feels colder somehow. I’m wearing a coat and hat and gloves, but pretty much everything that could be soaked is completely drenched. I get off my bike and then look at my watch. It’s a little before midnight.

The area is the same as it was last time I was here. Really dark. Like underground dark, or deep in a cave dark, the kind where every step makes you a bit worried.

I wait for a couple of minutes, hearing the sound of the rain hitting the trees and dripping onto the forest floor. The wind blows the rain sideways and rustles around leaves just to make sure it’s really truly creepy out here.

Why can’t I just be playing a video game like any other guy my age?

I take out my flashlight and find the trail leading toward the bridge. It’s muddy, and I’m careful not to slip.

It takes me a few minutes to make it across the bridge. I walk slowly, so as not to make any noise and to make sure I hear anything or anyone. But there’s nothing.

Heavy stones line the sides of the bridge. The beam of my flashlight moves across their wet surface.

When I get to the middle of the bridge, which isn’t that far away, I just stand. I can feel my heart beating like it’s in the back of my throat. I wait and listen, wondering if someone’s going to come out of the trees or rush across the bridge to attack.

But through the howling wind I hear something faint.

Faint but terrifying.

Okay, that’s it. Get back on the bike and get out of here.

The sound starts to intensify, but I refuse to believe what I’m hearing.

Yet the desperate screaming sounds just like a baby’s cry.

I feel a terrible burning feeling crawl over my skin.

The baby’s cries get louder. And they’re coming from below.

Underneath the bridge.

So that’s what I’m looking for? The thing that’s different for everybody?

I scan both edges of the bridge, and then I look over one of the stone walls to see down. I see a small stream but nothing else.

The baby sounds real and terrified and wailing.

I don’t think about it any longer. I rush to one end of the bridge and then head down the sloping hill next to it. I make sure I don’t slip and slide the rest of the way. It’s not far to the bottom. It’s not a huge bridge. Just big enough to do its job back when it had one to do.

The half-oval opening underneath is black, and raindrops are dripping from it. The baby must be nearby, but I can’t find it. I jerk my flashlight back and forth and can’t see anything.

Then I spy something underneath the bridge.

Along one of the dark walls.

Something light blue.

A blanket.

This is not happening. Maybe I’ll wake up any minute.

I rush to the blue blanket and pick it up, and the first thing I think is how light this baby feels. It wiggles and moves and continues to scream.

“Shhhh—it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m right here.”

I don’t know what to say to a screaming baby found underneath a dark, desolate bridge at night. The few times I’ve held a baby in my life, I haven’t known quite what to do.

For a minute I gently rock the baby as I look into the darkness underneath the stone structure.

There are at least half a dozen figures standing on the opposite side of the bridge, near the opening.

At first I just see their legs, then their bodies. Some are wearing overcoats, others are in heavy gray or black coats. All of them look wet with rain. Some wear hats while others have long hair, like a pack of bikers or hunters or something.

Yet even as I shine the flashlight on their faces, I can’t make out any expressions.

All I see are eyes.

Not shining or red, but just holes that are darker than this night.

They all face me, just standing there, maybe twenty yards away.

Then I see something behind them, something flickering, kind of like the way a fire gives off floating embers that drift off into the night. These floating orange and red things hover behind them.

I feel not only cold but sick, like I might pass out or throw up or throw up while passing out. All the while the baby continues to wail.

Do I sprint back up the hill, or do I stay here until the figures leave?

I think this for about two seconds. Then I rush out of there, being careful because now I have a life in my hands.

My body is shivering, but I’m not worried about me.

How’d this baby get down there?

I start up the hill, then slip and regain my footing, then carefully walk up the bank.

I hear breathing sounds behind me. Somehow amidst these screams that could wake the dead, I hear breathing, sucking sounds behind me.

Maybe the screams did actually wake the dead.

Then I hear something else. A moaning sound. Like the sickly breathing is turning to a bunch of moans.

I wipe my doused face with a wet arm, since my other arm has the baby. The rain is coming down harder, the baby’s screams getting louder.

When I get up by the road, I see another figure. No, several.

Across the street.

They’re everywhere.

If I’m supposed to die, then I die. If they want the baby, they’ll have to take it from me. If I’m not meant to leave, then that’s that. Shaking and shivering and soaked, I climb up on my bike and try to start it with this baby in one arm.

I get the bike started, then slowly begin to ride away from the side of the road.

A figure in a leather overcoat is walking toward me.

I see holes for eyes and that’s it. Somehow the face is missing everything else.

Of course that could just be an illusion. A mask or a bandana or something.

It holds out a hand, and I look to see what it’s holding. A weapon? Some weird occult thing?

But no.

It’s a baby’s rattle.

And I swear—it’s just—

Red and covered with blood, and did I ever look to see what baby I’m holding?

With one arm locked as tight as possible around the screaming baby, the other arm locked on the handle of the bike, I get away from this hellhole.

The sound of the motorcycle engine isn’t enough to cover up the wailing on the ride home.