Horror And Mystery Stories
THE MYSTERIOUS BRIDGE
This happened to me when he was a teenager. At that time, I came home from his friend's house at about 1 p.m. Going home is a common thing and has often been done as a teenager. When I hang out with friends, I often forget about time.
There were two roads leading to the house. One of the roads was destroyed, the road was somewhat damaged and had to pass through an old bridge nearby where there was a cemetery. The other is a highway, but must be twirling first to get home. Then I decided to go through the road terabasan, to get to his house faster. Not usually he chose that path, maybe because it was late, so he wanted to hurry home.
On the way, I felt something was wrong. The streets were so quiet, there were only the sounds of owls and bats flying. Without feeling he had reached the bridge.
When I got to the middle of the bridge, my motor broke down. He tried the starter, but couldn't turn on. He tried to find help, but no one was there. Then he pushed his motor while continuing to look around.
As he was about to cross the old bridge, he noticed that there was a person standing next to the bridge. Then he greeted him and asked for help for his motorbike. But strangely enough, that person was simply silent expressionlessly. He pointed to a place near the bridge. I immediately noticed the place. He was astonished, since when was there a workshop there? He felt in the area there was only one workshop, namely at the crossroads of the highway. But because it was already night once, without a second thought omku pushed his motorcycle into the workshop.
Arriving at the workshop, omku saw someone who was repairing his bike, just directly omku asked for his motorbike to be repaired. But strangely again, the repairman was silent. I thought maybe he was busy. Om then sat in the chair in front of the workshop while paying attention to the repairman who looks still busy. Somehow, at that time, om felt the atmosphere in the workshop felt strange and gripping.
Suddenly someone patted me on the back. Om immediately looked back, and he saw the repairman turned out to be the person he met beside the bridge earlier, with a more terrible face. Om immediately ran the rides without caring about the motor.
Arriving at home, om directly gedor-gedor the door until the entire house woke up. He then told me about the incident he had experienced. Tomorrow om back to take his motorcycle accompanied by his brother and father.
It turned out that what he saw last night was not a workshop, but a grave, and my motorcycle om was parked under a big banyan tree, which the man said was a gathering place for fine creatures. Since then I never went home alone again.