The curse of Dog Man Bridge (a creepypasta)
The bridge was built in 1861, before the war came but after the land was stolen. Its path was made from great octagonal stones, its rails of wood. Trains once roared across it, until one by one they left the tracks and plunged into the gorge below. Hundreds perished. The tracks were torn away, and the bridge was left for footsteps alone.
Then the footsteps, too, brought death. Not always swiftly. Some who walked the stones met their end the same day, but others days later, weeks, even years. A fever. A fall. A knife in the dark. A heart gone still at the supper table. Locals said it was a curse, vengeance from the people who had lost their land.
The Dog Man Bridge was closed, fenced and forgotten by order. But still it stood.
Gabriel Michael Grass Patch came to it at dusk. He was Seminole by birth, though not of this place, and a man of reason besides. He had heard the stories and told himself he would walk it to prove a point.
He set his boot upon the first stone. A weight pressed down on him — not on his body but on his heart. For a moment he hesitated, uneasy. Then he saw them: two black bear cubs, tumbling in play on the far side. They stopped when they saw him, their eyes round with curiosity.
From the thicket stepped their mother. Her stare locked him where he stood. Had he crossed, he would have walked straight between her and her young. That alone might have ended him.
The cubs came boldly to him, nosing at his boots and tugging at his jeans with playful teeth. Their mother never moved, never blinked. After a few minutes they turned back, scrambling to her side, and she gathered them in her great paws as if nothing had passed.
Gabriel backed away until the bridge and its guardians were swallowed by shadow.
Later, he asked the property owner why the bridge still stood. “Why doesn’t the mayor, or the governor, or somebody just tear it down?”
The old man shook his head. “Politicians don’t destroy what they don’t admit exists,” he said. “Easier to pretend there’s no problem at all.”
Gabriel never returned. He still did not claim belief in curses. But he spoke of Dog Man Bridge with a quiet respect, as if some places do not need belief to hold their power.
Then the footsteps, too, brought death. Not always swiftly. Some who walked the stones met their end the same day, but others days later, weeks, even years. A fever. A fall. A knife in the dark. A heart gone still at the supper table. Locals said it was a curse, vengeance from the people who had lost their land.
The Dog Man Bridge was closed, fenced and forgotten by order. But still it stood.
Gabriel Michael Grass Patch came to it at dusk. He was Seminole by birth, though not of this place, and a man of reason besides. He had heard the stories and told himself he would walk it to prove a point.
He set his boot upon the first stone. A weight pressed down on him — not on his body but on his heart. For a moment he hesitated, uneasy. Then he saw them: two black bear cubs, tumbling in play on the far side. They stopped when they saw him, their eyes round with curiosity.
From the thicket stepped their mother. Her stare locked him where he stood. Had he crossed, he would have walked straight between her and her young. That alone might have ended him.
The cubs came boldly to him, nosing at his boots and tugging at his jeans with playful teeth. Their mother never moved, never blinked. After a few minutes they turned back, scrambling to her side, and she gathered them in her great paws as if nothing had passed.
Gabriel backed away until the bridge and its guardians were swallowed by shadow.
Later, he asked the property owner why the bridge still stood. “Why doesn’t the mayor, or the governor, or somebody just tear it down?”
The old man shook his head. “Politicians don’t destroy what they don’t admit exists,” he said. “Easier to pretend there’s no problem at all.”
Gabriel never returned. He still did not claim belief in curses. But he spoke of Dog Man Bridge with a quiet respect, as if some places do not need belief to hold their power.
31-35, M