The Tragic End of the Story of Woodbridge

And here's the ending, contributed by Arlene.

And firmly I couldn't. Even the resonating outcry of my own voice purged an awkward fear into my heart.I held my breath as if to secure my crime in the silence. But that succumbed to the pulse pounding from my ear drums, from my unknown fate.

"Woodbridge..." it echoed within me. A seemingly harmless word metamorphisized into a gothic chanting.

"Woodbridge, woodbridge, woodbridge," it mocked me with demonic chimes.

A cold finger poked me on my shoulder. An artic touch that paralyzed all ways of my spine. God forbid that I must look back...

And I looked...

An old crone squinted at me through the wrinkled bags that hung over her eyes. A cruel sight for my own eyes. This wretched creature let her fingers crawl upon my skin as her block figure heaved guttural breaths. I searched with imploring eyes for the innkeeper, who had long fled from this coming beast. I was alone with this, this hag that snagged me like prey with her countenance of darkness.

"Tyler, Tyler Woodbridge is that you? Come, my dear husband, we're going home."

And the stranger followed her, a walking corpse...

- Read some more stories.
- Return to the front gate.
- Play with words.
- Play with numbers.

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