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The Underpass

A ghost story by James Cessford



Copyright 2011 James Cessford ©

Smashwords Edition



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I did my best to avoid the underpass after Rob went missing. I was barely twelve years old at the time and the only witness. My testimony was dismissed as unreliable but I know what I saw. And at night, even now, I sometimes still see it crouching in my dreams.


The underpass was the quickest and most direct route to school, the shops, the park; almost everywhere I needed to go. It cut beneath the roundabout, joining the footbridge over the motorway with the path along the side of the river. To avoid it meant scrambling up a steep embankment into four lanes of traffic, or else walking the long way round and adding at least fifteen minutes on to my journey.

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