S3/E5 | The Bridge

a good bupper. What's his name? Friend? Arrow? Arrow, straight and true and yours Max, and mine is barred, or at least that's what VOTs call me on account of my talents and proclivities. But enough about me. What you're doing in the river? Max? Jump off a train? Oh, the old railway bridge. I bet that's a story. You ain't gotta tell me. But I bet that's a story and a half. You're lucky i'm here, Otherwise you'd be a mile down river by now. Thanks for pulling me up.

I I gotta get to town. Friend, you're sharing like a cartoon dog, Warm up first smoke? Mm hmm, suit yourself. Who's your friend? Friend? You mean Arrow? No? I mean that other friend I saw two of you downstream. Hey, calm yourself, it's just us. Now. Whoever you saw he ain't my friend. Well you got a friend and Jesus friend to a preacher too. Now I ain't taking that up yet. I twisted my ankle and gotta rested a bit, So I'm biding my time here beneath the bridge like

some kind of troll. The troll, Well, I ain't much to look at, right, I live under a bridge, and I know a few things about it's crossing. What's a troll? If not that? If you say so, Mr town h. Bradberry, isn't Yeah, h little ways off, but it's a straight shot. It's the right road up there. But you're you're gonna have to climb up that embankment cross overhead. Which road is it? I don't know its name. I just know where it goes. It'll take you straight in sure enough.

I'm guessing you'd rather stay off the main track. Lots of curious folks out tonight. You might cut through the woods and the hobo camp. But either way you gotta cross. Thanks for the help, But I got a warden up there. What bridges have wardens? Wardens above, wardens below? And here's some free advice. It's the wardens above that you gotta worry about it. They're the ones calling the shots. They're

the ones with the guns and dogs no offense. They're the reason the whole damn world is in this mess, and they're awake, dust and ruin. Remember that. Now, those of us beneath the bridges, we look to the rivers and streams, friend, the old ways, the old flow. When they built the bridges, they bisected it. They linked lands that shouldn't be linked. Spread the curse of road from here to Timbuctoo. I don't think I understand what you're trying to say. Bridges are unnatural things, and they collect

unnatural energies. Friend, there are a place where boundaries were thin. They draw and loathsome souls who sometimes find sweet release in the waters. Beneath the span, there are a place of execution. To you saying, I'll tell your tale across the sea over and Hint they have a bridge between town and castle, and there the Count of Hint had his headsmen ply the trade. Now, it's a shame when a father and son both stand accused the same crime.

But that's what happened in this case, the crime was rebellion, so the acts had to fall. But the Count was a strange man. Into him, common ways were even stranger. Most perplexing of all was love, and he wondered which love is stronger, the love of a child for apparent

or apparent for a child. So the Count told the father and son he'd spare whichever of them cut the head from the other, work it out between the two of you, said naturally, the father would only have it one way, and the son reluctantly agreed, tears streaming down his cheeks. The sun lifted the blade on high. He brought it down with all the skill and precision he could muster, amateur that he was. For Then something miraculous happened. The sword shattered against his neck, Against his neck, what

could the Count do? He pardoned them both. He threw the broken blade into the waters below the bridge, where it said the heads of the executed swam and leapt excitedly, for something had occurred to break the cycle of death on that unwholesome span of brick and iron. You sure know a lot about bridges. I know a lot about

some things, and almost nothing about most things. I can't tell you who the president is, but I can tell you about the mud monster of more right, no sit for this one, friend, You're not drawn off yet by half up in Ile. There's a bridge near Moor. They say that's where a fellow drove to after he killed the whole family. Some say his family with a great, big bloody hammer. I know Ralph could think about impossible to live with. Some say the cops took chase and

he drove off the bridge. Others insist he lashed that big hammer to his own neck and just jumped into the drink. Either way, they never found the body. It sank beneath the gray waters. His face was never seen again. But you know how these things go. For hid everything that sinks the most surface, and everything thing that rises, he keep back. So they say my beard's just a

tail to keep kids away from the bridge. But they say what's left of him does rise up from the monk, a body caked in mud and clay, smelling all catfish and the crypt creeping with a pace of geology. He's slow but unstoppable, and so folks who go messing around

the bridge at night. Sometimes hear odd sounds from the water, amorous Couples who tarry too long might feel a cold clay hand on thigh, and them's that sleep beneath the bridge during the downpour may find themselves dragged into the depths. All but I've done and scared your dog. We're fine here, buddy. I gotta treat in my bag for you. One set. I gotta go, mr. I know you do, friend, Uh, I gotta advise you once more about the warden up there.

I'll sneak around him. It don't work like that. You crossed the bridge, you cross his gaze, and then you gotta deal with him directly. It'll look you in the eyes, and if you don't know exactly what to do, you'll be his no homecoming for max and hour. What do I do? Then there's an exact course of action, and I'll tell it to you for free. Friend of friend. Legend tells of a goatherd who crossed an old bridge every market day, and who should guard this bridge? But

a troll. Not a warden beneath, mind you, but a warden above. This troll slept atop the bridge, blocking the way with his loathsome bulk, and the slightest footsteps would waken to demand payment a single goat, which he'd gobbled down bones and all the goat hurt. Always paid up, bade up and tried not to listen too hard to the chewing sounds that followed. But then one market day he encountered not one, but two trolls. They demanded two goats, hardly fair at all, but he paid the toll. He

pinched his ears and walked on. Then one day he came to cross and encountered three trolls, and him only having three goats. You gotta goat for me to take up there, no listen. The goatherd had something better, a micah stone he picked up in the woods. It glittered and shone like silver in the light, A shimmering silver coin,

it looked like it. And so when the three trolls rose from their slumber, stretching their grotesque glenbs in the morning light, the goatherd produced this false silver, held it high for them to fathom, and then he threw it off the bridge. Wouldn't you know those three troll brothers fought and tripped over themselves to claim the coin, and all fell into the river. They washed down stream, away from their bridge and its power, where the sun turned

them into rocky aisles. I'm going you see silver, you throw it over the side. Only way you're a get at a cross friend at least tongue to put your troll talk. Well, I didn't catch the others. I'm arresting you. I wear up and nothing off, really, and you're wearing a sheet would sit around your eyes? What are you throwing the river? When I pulled up empty milk bottle? Oh lord? What was the just deg and so hurricanic gas? All the same, will be satisfied that you finally up

would kill someone. These cops are too tight. I reckon they are. Hey, stop right there, boy, this one with you? I don't know that kid. Boy you with him? No, I head over here. Now, don't make me chase you. I I'm not gonna ask again. Kid move, yes, sir. If anyone's up to something, it's him. Officer shushing. He's one of those wild boys. It looks like ship anymore that from you, And I'm not dropping you theself. I'm dropping you five miles down the road with a boot

in your grass. You got a junior kid. You aren't threatened me. He means to bust me up. Buss you up like hell like this, I'm dropping up both of you and the sticks tit, I said Tom here. I tried to warn him. I did, And now he sees what that wardens all about. He sees where compliance will get it dragged out to the county line and left

in the dark or worse. He's stuck now. But this is when he sees it, gleaming silver in the moonlight, pinned to the wardens shirt with the text police embossed across. He realizes, now I told him, true, you see silver, you shrow it over the side. Otherwise the gig is up, I said Catherine over here, kiss stop, I didn't do anything. You're all wet up. God damn. But this is the moment,

heavy swollen. It swallows up the whole night. The squad car idling there like a beast, burning twin beams into the dark, the teen in bedsheets, his nose bloody and his eyes still sooted up like a skulk arrow tugging at the policeman's pant let again. And there's that badge, glowing silver in the moonlight like a promise ful max nose. It's now or never. What the hell you doing like that the team may be bloody, he ain't out. He seizes the chance as well. The cop don't say anything,

you don't have to. His eyes are wild with rage, trickle of blood flowing down his scalp because he leans there against the side of the bridge. I think the kids seen eyes like those before. I think he knows what's gonna go next. A man like that's only gonna respond to a certain kind of way. The kids horrified, and he's even more horrified when he sees what comes rising up behind him? What what? What the hellas that?

They stare agape as the earth itself rises up A figure sculptor out of fetid muck, long and tuned in river bottom clay. It's voice nothing but a mud choke death rapp or. It wraps its dripping arms around the policeman and pulls the cop over the side of the bridge. Payment for passage. Just don't look back, don't look a back. See. I knew he had a friend out there, someone to watch. All were him in the night, a warden of the heart. Mm hm. They have we triess and temptedships is their

trouble anywhere? We should never be scared. Take it to the Lord in prayer. What a friend we have injurious Well? I was wondering when you turn up again? Half was some trick friend. You got a good kid there, yes, stubborn but full of surprises. Thirteen Days of Halloween Devil's Night, starring Carter Rockwood and Clancy Brown. Episode five, The Bridge, written by Robert Lamb, edited by Zoe Shay, Sound designed by Jesse Funk, featuring the voices of Joe Hart, Raphael

Corkill and Vinnie Belbo. And guitar playing by Joe Hart. Directed by Alexander Williams. Script supervision by Nicolas Takowski. Casting by Sunday Bowling c s A and Meg Mormon c s A. Production coordinator Wayna Calderon. Production assistants Zoe Shay and Amber Ferris. Animal recording by Ben James, closing theme by Rose Azerte. Loyalty Freak Music dot Com. Recorded at d G Entertainment in Los Angeles, California. Engineered by Gary

Forbes and Jody Abbott. Executive producers Aaron Manky, Noah Finberg, Chris Dickey, Matt Frederick, and Alexander Williams. Supervising producers Trevor Young and Josh Thane, producers Jesse Funk and rima Il Kali. Thirteen Days of Halloween was created by Matt Frederick and Alexander Williams and is a production of I Heeart three D Audio, Blumhouse Television, and Grim and Mild from Aaron Mankey. Learn more about the show at Grim and Mild dot com.

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