Never Cross the Broken Circle Underpass
Jamie had always found comfort in routine. As a postman for the small town of Ravensford, he made his rounds every day, delivering letters and the odd parcel, greeting familiar faces. But beyond the daily grind and the noise of jolly banter, there lingered an unease, a folklore cast in the twilight of urban myth: the broken circle underpass.
Situated on the outskirts of the town, it was a faded relic, cemented into the earth, where the town’s older district bled into suburban sprawl. The rusted remnants of street signs pontificated about the dangers that lay ahead, forgotten by all but the children who dared each other to approach it. Rumours of a local gang initiation, whispers of souls lost to darkness, and tales of supernatural forces transformed the place into the town’s own “please don’t go there”. Yet the fear was cloaked in the allure of danger, and Jamie found himself increasingly drawn to it, especially since his life felt monotonously mundane.
The day Jamie chose to confront the legend was also the day he received troubling news. His grandmother, the sole family member with whom he’d retained a warm connection, had been admitted to the hospital with pneumonia. He made a mental note to visit her after work. But first, the underpass. Just to quell the whispers in his head.
When he eventually arrived, the sun hung low in a lavender sky, casting long, ghostly fingers over the twisted remains of what had once offered passage. He recalled the elder townsfolk’s warnings: never cross the underpass when the daylight is fading. Stories drifted through his childhood memories of children who vanished, their laughter trailing into silence as they stepped beyond the threshold of the broken circle. Reports of inexplicable events filtered through the community’s collective consciousness.
Feeling unfounded bravado, Jamie edged closer, the asphalt studded with chipped stones and patches of unkempt grass. A flicker of something—irrepressible curiosity perhaps—urged him on. With a hesitant glance behind him, he stepped into the dark mouth of the underpass, a strangeness enveloping him, like a thick fog or an ice-cold breath against his skin. A metallic scent filled his nostrils. A loud thud echoed off the concrete, as if something heavy had fallen.
He paused, heart pounding, as a voice seemed to tug at the edge of his mind, drawing him forward. Ignoring the instinct to retreat, he crossed over an imperfection in the ground—a patch where the surface had cracked wide enough to swallow a small dog. In that instant, he felt something shift.
Jamie pressed further. The walls were alive with the isolation of absence, the silence pressing in on him like a weight. At the very end, he stumbled upon a tattered sign embedded into the side, barely legible through the grime. It read “DO NOT CROSS THE CIRCLE.” He chuckled bitterly. You had to be joking, he thought.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, shaking him from his stupor. It was a text from his mother: Grandma was getting worse. A sudden dread washed over him. He should have been home, not playing at foolish legends. Before he turned back, he felt an undeniable urge to touch the walls. As he pressed his palm against the rough surface, a surge of nausea pooled in his stomach. It felt ephemeral, almost electric. He staggered back, suddenly aware of a presence behind him.
You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t have come.
The thought was a phantom across his mind, urging him to flee. Ignoring it, he broke into a run, tumbling back out into sunlight, gasping for breath. Tremors coursed through him as he stumbled towards freedom, yet the air outside felt oppressively heavy, as if every breath was laced with foreboding.
Returning home, Jamie’s legs felt sluggish, as if weights were attached to his bones. The post houses he had found comforting now looked like jagged teeth gnashing in the breeze. Shaking the sense of dread, he went to the hospital.
His grandmother lay frail beneath glaring lights, her breaths shallow as she clutched his hand. “Jamie, don’t come near the circle,” she rasped. “You’ve been marked because of it.”
“What do you mean, marked?” he asked, confused yet intrigued. He had never seen her so frail, so consumed by worry. Their eyes locked as she struggled to focus.
“It sees you, Jamie. It wants you. My brother—he didn’t listen. I’m begging you to leave it alone.”
Jamie felt an icy grip on his heart. As she drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t shake his grandmother’s fear from his thoughts.
Days passed. Jamie’s routine became laced with an unsettling anticipation. He’d sit at work, peeking at the clock, craving the moment he could escape again. He avoided mentioning the underpass to his friends, but their more casual conversations of dares and bets drew him further into temptation. They laughed about the urban legend while he chewed on the inside of his cheek, lying in wait for the evening.
On Friday night, the call went round for a night out. “Let’s hit the underpass!” Matt shouted, bursting with confidence. The group erupted into laughter, stirring a giddy anxiety within Jamie. Despite the sting of panic, he felt compelled to join. This time, he needed to face it head-on, armed with the caution of his grandmother’s warnings ringing through his ears.
The moon hung high overhead, illuminating the dismal entrance to the underpass. As they approached, Jamie felt the growing sense of discomfort coiling within him, but he dismissed it. This had become a group challenge—nothing more.
They ventured into the narrowing throat of the underpass, exchanging giddy laughter that faded beneath the cracks of concrete. As they crossed into the heart of darkness, the atmosphere shifted. The temperature dropped sharply, and a distant sound fractured the laughter. A long, trembling drone that quelled their youthful bravado.
“I’ll go first,” Jamie blurted, losing his nerve. He stepped deeper into the underpass, forcing his friends to follow. They clamoured behind him, their voices dimming within an oppressive inexplicability that took root in the air.
Out of nowhere, a piercing scream shattered the silence. Lily, his friend, had stumbled and slipped, tumbling headlong towards the once-familiar circle. The ground gave way beneath her, long-since altered from a chant of innocence to a dark promise of oblivion.
“Help!” she cried, her voice perforated with sheer terror, and just like that, she was gone—one moment real, the next, erased. Jamie felt his heart plummet, eyes widening in disbelief. They rushed to the site where she’d vanished, frantically feeling for her presence, but there was nothing but static silence.
The others shouted, voices breaking as they echoed through the passage.
“Lily!” Matt cried, thrashing against the danger they had pushed through. They retreated, horrified realisation washing over Jamie like icewater: she wasn’t coming back. He could hear the remnants of her scream ringing in his mind, reverberating like an accusation.
As they fled, a figure materialised at the end of the underpass, instantly familiar yet entirely alien. It wasn’t Lily, but someone who should not have been there, someone long thought gone. His grandmother, now no longer on a hospital bed, stood patiently at the broken circle. A growl, a whisper.
“Jamie… you’ve listened too closely.”
And the water began to rise.
Jamie’s last memories of his friends echoed behind him, merging with the laughter now warped into mournful cries. The underpass closed on itself, swallowing him whole. The darkness whispered as he was pulled away, leaving only the frightened faces remaining, tinged with the horror of an irreversible truth.
Back in the town of Ravensford, whispers would sprout anew—a new legend pushed through the cracks of underpass lore, adding to the tales of the lost. An urgency entwined with fear, forever embedded in the history of the town. A chilling reminder that some circles should never be crossed, lest you find yourself on the other side, waiting.
