Cross Roads Novels & Stories

So we can head to a garden or the parts of the forest that have trees with the most fruit. When we approach another crossroad, there's a road to the left, to the right, one in front of us, and the road back where we came from. They're not exactly curb crossroads, they are still covered with bushes, and looking like bush tracks. There's a bad aura at this point.

"Let's go meet the devil." The wind swept across the road as they approached the worn rusted signs that marked where highway 49 crossed Highway 60. It was dark, except the moon which was bright and full tonight. Jake couldn't shake the feeling they looked as if they were recreating a Cinderella video. They could have been any band from the sunset strip in the day, only that Jake's oddly light blond hair being natural and not dyed set him apart. They'd left the car on the side of the road as they walked into the crossroads. It was the loneliest place Jake had ever seen. On either side of the road lay what he assumed were cotton or corn fields. But he couldn't tell in the dark.

He laughed to himself and steeled himself even more. After what felt like a few years of walking to him he finally saw it. The crossroad. The roads were dusty yellow with a few cracks travelling through them. The man stood on the left side of the road where at the edge of it stood an old wooden sign post that threatened to fall at any moment. The signs were pointing towards a direction with the names on them. The forwards, left, right arrows read ‘NOWHERE’, while the last arrow which pointed towards the road that he came from read, ‘MAYBE SOMEWHERE’.

"Let's go quickly! We're already behind." Said Sandro then turned and walked. Rene followed the man's long strides from behind, they took a winding road and crossed several stone bridges in a city full of bridges and canals. This area has no vehicles that can pass, like other areas, because this location is located on small islands that are joined by stone bridges to cross. There were several gondolas passing by the canal under the stone bridge they crossed. A beautiful and romantic city, unfortunately they have to hurry and are haunted by an Alpha Tomas.

he said, starting the engine, “I know where to find it.” My gaze fixed ahead as the car pulled away from the curb. A few minutes, my car slowed to a stop beneath an elevated bridge with overhead beams that create a dark ceiling, contrasting with the brighter daylight visible further down the street; I waited as I watched pedestrians crossing at a zebra crossing, cars moving through the intersection, Small shops and buildings with various signs lined the street, which made the surroundings lively,

But it turned out that his expectation was wrong. After driving for a while, he arrived at a crossroads. The red light was light brightly. This was one of the busiest intersections in the city. Once stuck at a red light, it was like waiting for an eternity. Fred let out a long breath. He stretched his body a little. Fortunately, he still had a bottle of beer and some snacks in his car.

The white carpet had no light to reflect, and so may as well have been dark gray. When they reached the outskirts of the village of East Haddam, they slowed their pace. This was the trickiest part of their journey—crossing the bridge that spanned the river. The odd-looking bridge was half metal swing bridge and half arched steel span, giving it two distinct shapes. The girders of the immovable section curved up in a graceful arch, while the swinging section rose to a triangular point many feet higher than its cousin.

He turned away from the main street, however. “Where are we going, daddy?” She wondered, surprised by the sudden direction change. “To confirm a suspicion of mine,” Talen replied. “The NES are coming in from Rideten.” “I guess, because the other entries into the town cross the river.” “There are only three roads that cross the mountain and forest. The Old Main Road which was the original road in and out of the region, Fraser’s Pass, and the underpass which I paid a hefty amount of money to build fifty years ago,” he added ruefully.

The sun, relentless and unforgiving, beat down on the dusty path leading from the servants’ quarters to the main house. I was ten, and the path was etched into my memory, every pebble, every crack. It was a route I knew intimately, yet one I was rarely allowed to fully explore. My world was largely confined to the small, neat rooms behind the imposing mansion, a world of hushed conversations and the ever-present scent of cleaning products and warm food.

“It’s just a road, Camile. Relax.” The headlights cut through the pitch black as I drive on. Low branches start to scrape the car’s roof, and a few rain drops speckle the windshield. The road finally ends in a vacant lot, protected by an extensive barbed-wire fence. There’s a rusty sign stuck in the ground: DANGER! DO NOT CROSS. We look at each other. The infamous instruction sign. Camile grips the grab handle on the car roof so hard her fingers have gone purple, as if we’re heading to a slaughterhouse. I drive around the lot to park the car at a safe distance in case someone shows up.