Charleston Bridge

By: @Lymmerik

Charleston Bridge is my only way home from the city. Late one night, I rounded the curve approaching the bridge; an elderly woman was walking with a cane.

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She was struggling, carrying a bag of flour under her free arm. I looked in the rearview mirror and back to the road, she was gone.

I pulled over by the bridge. Leaves crunched under the bridge.

"Hello?"

I retrieved a flashlight from my car and went under the bridge. Nothing! Goose bumps invaded my spine.

"Hello...you ok?"

Was she walking back up to the road on the other side of the bridge?

I walked back up to the road on my side; she wasn't there. I drove home.

Night after night, the same experience...until...

Again, I followed the old lady carrying her sack of flour under the bridge. I pointed my flashlight under the girders of the bridge to the horrific discovery that the sacks of flour...were goats. Six alive, one with its throat cut, hanging from the bridge like chandeliers.

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She visits me up here every night. I plead for mercy. I've been hanging here for a week now; last night she took the last goat.

Thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings!

@Lymmerik