The Corpse Bridge

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Dusk was falling on the Corpse Bridge by the time Jason Shaw reached the river. The broken stone setts felt slippery under his boots after a heavy shower, and the walls ran with moisture in the fading light. He shivered and shook the rain from his hair as he checked his watch one more time. He was going to be late.

Jason had come out unprepared for a downpour. He’d been in such a hurry, and the autumn weather was so unpredictable, that he’d been fooled into thinking a light jacket would be enough, and he’d left his waterproofs in the Land Rover. So when the shower started he’d stopped to shelter under a sycamore tree while the water drummed on the earth all around him and turned the river below into a seething foam. But it was the end of October and the leaves were almost gone from the trees. Within seconds his hair was plastered to his skull and water dripped inside his collar as rain cascaded through the branches. He decided he’d get less wet if he returned to the path and just hoped for the shower to ease off. By the time the sky cleared he was soaking.

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