Under Bridge

Kinga’s legs moved with mechanical precision, carrying her away from the school gates and into the winding streets that led toward the old park. She wanted to scream—God, how she wanted to scream—but her mouth stayed clamped shut, her vocal cords as unresponsive as if they’d been severed. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of terror and confusion, but her body? Her body was a puppet, strings pulled by some invisible **** that had hijacked her will.

What the fuck is happening? The thought looped in her head like a broken record. One minute she’d been at her locker, mid-giggle with Wiktoria about that stupid meme, and the next... a whisper. A voice she barely recognized, slithering into her ear like cold smoke. Ralf? That creepy nerd from the back row? No, it couldn’t be. But the words had sunk in, burrowing deep, and now her feet were marching her toward the forest path, sneakers crunching over gravel as if she were on a casual stroll.

She tried to stop. Stop, dammit! Her brain fired commands—turn around, run back, call for help—but nothing happened. Her arms swung naturally at her sides, her posture relaxed, even as inside she was clawing at the walls of her own skull. Panic bloomed in her chest, hot and suffocating, like drowning in air. This isn’t real. It’s a dream. Wake up. WAKE UP! But the world stayed sharp: the distant hum of traffic, the chill autumn wind biting through her thin shirt, the faint smell of damp earth as she entered the park.

Her phone was in her bag—she could feel its weight bouncing against her hip. Grab it. Text someone. Call Mom. Her hand twitched, fingers brushing the zipper, but then... nothing. The command wouldn’t let her. It was like her body belonged to someone else now, a stranger piloting her from afar. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the path ahead, but she didn’t wipe them away. Couldn’t. They streamed down her cheeks unchecked, hot trails of helplessness.

The forest path loomed, overgrown and shadowed by skeletal trees shedding their last leaves. Kinga’s mind flashed to all the stupid horror stories she’d laughed off—girls vanishing in woods, monsters lurking in the underbrush. But this wasn’t a monster; this was her own body betraying her. Why me? What did I do? Guilt flickered, unwanted: the times she’d joined in mocking Ralf, watching as Patric dumped his books or as someone “accidentally” tripped him. But that was just school shit, right? Harmless fun. Now, it felt like karma, twisted and vengeful.

She reached the little bridge—a rickety wooden thing arching over a murky stream, half-hidden by reeds and fallen branches. Her legs carried her off the path, down the embankment, mud squelching under her shoes. She crouched under the bridge, the damp chill seeping into her bones, water dripping from the planks above like slow ****. Hide and wait. The words echoed in her head, Ralf’s voice a phantom whisper.

Time stretched into agony. How long had she been here? Minutes? Hours? Her phone buzzed once—probably Wiktoria wondering where she’d gone—but she couldn’t reach for it. Her muscles ached from the **** stillness, knees locked in a squat, back pressed against slimy wood. The forest sounds amplified: rustling leaves that could be footsteps, a distant bird call that sounded like a scream. He’s coming. What does he want? Images assaulted her—dark, twisted fantasies of ****, her body **** to do things she couldn’t even name. Terror clawed deeper, unraveling her thoughts into fragments: Please, someone find me. Please, let this end. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

But no one came. The light faded as afternoon dragged on, shadows lengthening under the bridge like fingers reaching for her. Kinga’s mind fractured further, a psychological abyss where free will had died, leaving only the horror of waiting in her own prison of flesh. The ring’s command held firm, unbreakable, and in the silence, she could only pray that whatever came next would be quick