Get across the bridge, they said. If you see it and you get across it can't hurt you. It can't cross, it can't do a thing to you.

Well, he thought as he walked back across the bridge, they need to get their lore right. The headless man could, in fact, cross the bridge. It did not lose a bit of its power when it crossed and it was fully free to do what it wished.

All he had done, he thought as he kept walking, hearing the screaming of the poor woman on the other side, was that he had inadvertently led it to another victim, a unfortunate woman who was now caught up in this mess. When it took out his sword, when it struck him and then her and when it had used that thread it had, all of it felt like an insane fever dream, impossible to be real.

Yet, here he was, walking to his car with his head attached to the body of that woman, her head stitched onto his body. Unlike her, he at least had a few moments of running and dodging to have an idea of what his fate would be. She had no such time. He didn't fault her reaction one bit, but what could he do? As soon as he could stand up, the headless man was gone without a bit of a trace.

He got across the bridge and kept going to his car, realizing now that maybe he'd need to extend his stay in this place. He wanted this reversed, if not for just his sake then that for the woman whose body he now had.

He hoped he'd find a way to correct this. But he doubted it.