Jason tore away, moving on sheer adrenalin. He managed one running step, and then another. All the while, the witch was growling and cursing in his ear, then seemed to be speaking to him from inside his head.
He felt pavement beneath his feet. Then he dared to look and saw the moon, rather than the rafters and ceiling of that accursed bridge. Another running step and he tripped over his own feet. Despite his best efforts to right his balance, it was clear that he was going to fall. The camcorder, the camcorder, he thought frantically. For if he fell atop it then all would be lost—the evidence that the witch had even existed.
He twisted around and turned what would have been a facedown fall into a pratfall instead, so that he landed sitting down on the pavement. His buttocks scraped on the asphalt for some distance, likely ruining the pair of pants he was wearing. That was all right, though; he had kept the camcorder with its priceless content safe and intact.
Sitting on the pavement a fair distance from the bridge, Jason allowed himself a last look into its dark interior. He heard a hissing noise, and then a low, rustling laughter. The witch appeared at the threshold of the bridge. She did indeed seem to be caged in by its confines....