MY DOG NERVES and I stood in the almost dark inside the portal of the covered bridge. My eyes were squinting, trying to see what was coming slowly, floating through the bridge towards us from the other end. I could feel one of Nerves’ knees knocking against the side of my shoe.
The moon put a patch of silver-yellow through the open wind space in the lattice onto the deck about halfway between us and the white thing gliding towards us. The rafters above were off in the dark. The carriage-way under our feet was dark except for the patch of moon.
Mushrat Creek burbled and gurgled quietly under us. Nerves’ teeth were grinding and chattering politely beside my ankle.
Somewhere else, two crickets were arguing.
The thing took more shape as it approached the wind space. The shape of a woman. And a voice, saying words.
“Please, Father, let me in? Please let me in, Father! May I please go in? Can’t I please get in?”
She wore a moonlight-colored dress and a wide-brimmed dark hat.
There was no face showing under the hat.
Nerves stopped knocking and went stiff against me.
Then the woman turned in the moonlight and hurtled through the space and disappeared into Mushrat Creek.
Then we heard a big splash.
That is, I heard a big splash.
Nerves didn’t hear a thing.
He was passed out.
That was the first night of my new job on the covered bridge.
The next day I was fired.
But we’re going too fast.
I’d better go back a bit.