In March of 2012, my now husband and I were returning from a family friend’s wedding. It was late evening, dark out, around 8pm. We were happily chatting about the weekend we’d just had, and our plans after we returned home with the radio quietly playing in the background. We crossed the bridge and blinked. Suddenly there was a different car in front of us, the radio was off, and we were on the wrong side of the bridge, approaching it to be crossed again. When we turned the radio back on to break our now terrified and confused silence, 30 minutes had elapsed in a time that felt like seconds to us. We didn’t know what to do other than continue on. As we neared the town we were living in at the time, the car died. The brand new car battery that had been replaced less than 6 months before that was fried, an acrid smoky smell emitting from it. To this day, we have no idea what happened, and ever since, we avoid that bridge during the night.