I have had an amazing idea while reading a lovely story earlier and it inspired me to do what the author did. They took a photo and wrote a short story based off of it. I love that idea so decided to give it a try. I hope you enjoy the results!
I quickly called on the most amazing photographer I know Terry Pickens to choose a random photo from his collection to challenge myself. The photo he selected can be seen below. In this challenge we wrote a story based of the photograph provided.
PHOTO BY TERRY PICKENS
The Haunting Of Mackleberry Bridge
George had grown up in the small coastal town of Mackleberry and had a fairly normal childhood. George’s father was naturally a fisherman and his mother worked at the elementary school. He had never lived anywhere else and was used to small-town life. It was a place where everyone knew their neighbors and attended the town meetings each week. They were surrounded by both ocean and forest. Mackleberry was a breathtaking and beautiful place. The people were engulfed by lots of green Hemlock and Douglas fir trees. Flowers and various plants littered the environment. Hiking and riding bicycles on the various paths that lay outstretched in curves outside the town was common practice for the locals; however, there was one path no one dared venture. It began just at the town square’s edge next to the main park.
The path led to an abandoned part of the beach cut off by a cliff. It was not the path itself that prevented people from going to that area. Oh no. The danger wasn’t the path but a bridge that laid smack in the middle of it deep in the forest. Legends going way back to about thirty years previous claimed anyone who dared cross what was named Mackleberry Bridge faced unimaginable horror upon their return.
George had been sitting in the school’s parking lot with his mate when he had first heard the tale for the first time.
“Have you heard the story of Mackleberry Bridge?” Reynold had casually asked.
“A little” was George’s stout reply.
“You know it’s cursed right? That is why nobody walks the path near it.”
George rolled his eyes at his friend’s omission and in a bored tone replied “Yeah right.”
“No it’s true” insisted Reynold.
“I don’t believe anything is cursed.”
“Anybody who crosses it will be cursed with really bad luck. Haven’t you heard of the Douglas family that lived by the pastor’s house?”
George searched through his memory until a conversation he witnessed his parents having reminded him of the time he overheard them discussing the Douglas family. They had been exclaiming what poor luck had befallen the young couple. Mr. Douglas unexpectedly drowned when he washed away with his boat during a hurricane that had struck the region fast and ferocious one winter day. The newly widowed Mrs. Douglas followed her husband to the grave not long after when the old market mysteriously burned down in a freak accident. George remembered that the couple had two daughters aged three and five.
After the funeral, they were going to live with Mr. Douglas’s mother. She had planned on raising the girls in the next town over; however, they never made it down the coast to her home. All three perished in a car wreck. The vehicle somehow had smashed into a large tree at outrageous speeds. The authorities believed the brakes failed and caused the car to spin out. A horrid tragedy the town people had said.
George turned to his friend and shrugged.
“What about them?”
“They say Mrs. Douglas crossed the bridge the day of the hurricane.”
“How could anyone know that?”
“I don’t know maybe it’s true!”
“Get real Reynold” George Scoffed.
“Oh yeah, if you think there isn’t anything to the story then cross it. I dare you!”
George sighed and turned to his friend putting out his hands for a shake.
“Fine, I am not scared.”
“Okay, tomorrow after breakfast!”
Reynold grabbed George’s hand sealing the fate of the unfortunate boy.
The next morning proved to be a cold and dreary one. George stood wrapped up in a raincoat to protect his clothes from the drizzly rain. The boys met up as soon as breakfast had been cleaned up and they could get away. George felt more nervous than he wanted to let on.
“I’m only going close enough to see you cross it” explained Reynold as the pair eyed the park from the square. He looked around nervously and shuddered into himself.
“You don’t really believe the stupid story do you?”
“I think it could be. Looked what happened to Mr. And Mrs. Douglas!”
“Let’s go. I have to babysit later”
George gave Reynold a smirk and they headed off. The two boys reached the path’s entrance several minutes later and started down it. The longer they walked and deeper into the forest they went the rain stopped. The trees protected them. George could see patches of light between openings. He really didn’t find anything extraordinary about this forbidden path. It was quieter than the ones he usually rode his bike on. There were no sounds of peddles or voices chatting. The quiet made the place slightly eerie.
“How much further?” He impatiently questioned Reynold.
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You don’t know how long the path is? Shoot man! If I am late my parents will kill me!”
“ I don’t think it’s all that long … It is not like the beach is far from us. The bridge is half way.”
George eyed their surroundings still feeling a bit uneasy and disgruntled. He had the urge to flee but absolutely would not. How would that look?
After several feet and minutes, a bend appeared before the two boys. It was at that moment they saw it. Right in front of them was Mackleberry Bridge. George had expected it to be much larger than the small dinky thing in front of his eyes. Shavings and tree branches covered the entire bridge. The path resembled a golden brown road. If it hadn’t been for the railings they might not have ever noticed it. The bridge was made out of old wood and was set upon a small empty creak that had no water. It was much more dryer in this part of the forest. George noticed the path had changed slightly after they had turned. The boys now faced a sea of redwood trees. At some point, the forest changed from Hemlocks and Douglas firs to the more kingly Redwoods. Light from the days’ sky crept in between the breaks. George thought there was something honestly majestic and inviting about the scene that laid before him.
“You are not going to chicken out are you?” Reynold wanted to know.
George shook his head and took a long deep breath.
“Well here goes nothing” he whispered.
The young boy courageously took the steps needed in order to reach the bridge. Once he was fully on it surprise colored his mind. It wasn’t shaky, creaky, or loose. The thing was very solid and steady. George made it across and looked back at his friend but saw nothing.
Reynold was paralyzed with horror and fear. George had walked across the bridge but now was no longer there. Reynold had no idea what to do! He had just watched his friend slowly fade away into utter disappearance. It happened in increments. The further George had gone on the bridge the less you could see of him. Terror and shock clouded poor Reynolds thoughts. Why had he asked his friend to cross the Mackleberry Bridge?
The clock ticked by and yet Reynold had not moved a muscle. Eventually, the absolute disaster that had occurred right before his eyes snapped the boy into action. Reynold ran for his life out of those woods never looking back.
George was never seen again. He became the face on the milk carton, the missing signs all around town, and the story to be told for years after. As for the fate of his family? Please believe me when I say you really do not want to know.
Reynold was not freed from consequences either it would seem. The boy’s family moved a year later and that is the last we know of him. There are no records of Reynold anywhere. His identity no longer can be found. It is like he never existed. There isn’t even a social security number on file. It would appear to me that nobody escaped the haunted Mackleberry Bridge.
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