## Section 1: Welcome to Greencastle

Picture a small town, Greencastle, in rural Indiana, an all-American nowhere where the landscape’s rhythm is dictated by the cultivated furrows of cornfields and soybean rows. Every quaint, almost clichéd, small town feature lay confined in its frame – cobblestone streets, mom-and-pop stores, chirping birds, and nodding sunflowers.

But Greencastle isn’t just ordinary; it houses an old reinforced reminder of its past – an antiquated covered bridge, strewn with time and dust, edging the rural vicinity. Locals knew it as the Edna Collins Bridge, it was, in some unspeakable sense, part of the town’s identity, a secret well-hidden from the uninitiated.

Clad in secrecy, a tragic tale echoed amidst the local folk, a tale of a young carefree soul named Edna, who lost her life to the chilly currents beneath the bridge, in the roaring twenties. Edna too, was Greencastle’s own, only now she resided in the mournful whispers of the wind and the dread-laden tales parents told their children to keep them away from the bridge.

## Section 2: Lamentations Echoing in the Night

Isn’t it peculiar? The stubborn ineffaceability of love? Not even death can obliterate a parent’s love for its child. Each night, long after Edna’s spirit had ceased to inhale the fresh morning air and her tangible presence reduced to a tombstone etching, her parents, gripped in immeasurable grief and uncertainty, would drive to the very bridge that gobbled up their daughter’s life.

Their signal, simple yet deeply hard-hitting – the mournful echo of their car horn, honked rhythmically, thrice. As though they believed their daughter, now presumably wandering in an ethereal plane, would listen and retrace her steps back home one last time.

Despite the passage of time, unusual occurrences continued to mushroom near the Edna Collins Bridge. In the bewitching twilight hours, some spoke of childish sobs that broke the silence, resonating among the timber beams and playing a mournful melody along the water course. Yet others chronicled seeing a fleeting, translucent figure of a little girl in a charming 1920s bathing suit, drenched and shivering, waiting for her parents’ call.

## Section 3: The Rites of Midnight

The stories, as stories do, spread, like a smoky shadow gradually engulfing the town. The Edna Collins bridge, previously merely an engineering artifact, transformed into a venue for daredevils and adventure-seekers. They came, some out of skepticism to challenge the supposed myth, others lured by a morbid curiosity to witness the ghostly presence of Edna herself.

The rites were uncomplicated – by the witching hour, at the stroke of midnight, one needed to drive up to the bridge and honk the car horn three times. A simple trigger to awake old spirits.

## Section 4: The Ghostly Encounter

Upon observing this midnight ritual, those brave or foolish enough reported encounters with Edna’s apparition. This childlike figure would appear – lost, forlorn, and hauntingly beautiful – her presence shimmering in the moonlit darkness before fading out mostly into nothingness.

Some hefty skeptics, once addressed by this spectral sight, were left bewildered and transformed. Their skepticism eroded away, replaced by a chilled fear, an eerie reverence of the unknown. Some left Greencastle, others stayed back, forever marked by their encounter, forever marked by Edna.

## Section 5: The Timeless Tale of Edna Collins Bridge

As the century turned twice over, the Edna Collins Bridge still stood firmly over the sleepy creek, bearing the weight of countless vehicles and the spectral history alike. Faded paint and worn timber wore the tales of the ghostly encounters, remaining as silent witnesses to Edna’s spectral dance in the veil of the night.

For those who have seen her or heard her, the experience was nothing short of bone-chilling. Regardless, the tale of Edna, forever pining for her parents to fetch her home, still lingers. A timeless legend wrapped in a timeless setting, narrated in hushed whispers beneath the brilliance of a rural Indiana sky.

Remember Edna, but tread carefully. For they say, past the midnight hour, the innocent car horn is not so innocent after all, and you may find yourself face to face with the ethereal child of Greencastle, ever-waiting, ever-pining – Edna.