Image of Monique Ferguson, provided by the author. by: Monique Ferguson, Author
Part Two: The Mark
The days that followed their harrowing encounter on the bridge passed in a haze for Alex, Addison, and Matheo. Sleep became a luxury none of them could afford. Each time Alex closed his eyes, he saw her—the figure in white, her veil billowing like smoke as she surged toward him. The memory of her bone-chilling scream echoed in his ears, a haunting melody that refused to fade.
At school, the trio kept to themselves, avoiding questions about why they seemed so on edge. But the truth was harder to escape than the whispers that followed them down the hall.
Part Two: The Mark
The days that followed their harrowing encounter on the bridge passed in a haze for Alex, Addison, and Matheo. Sleep became a luxury none of them could afford. Each time Alex closed his eyes, he saw her—the figure in white, her veil billowing like smoke as she surged toward him. The memory of her bone-chilling scream echoed in his ears, a haunting melody that refused to fade.
At school, the trio kept to themselves, avoiding questions about why they seemed so on edge. But the truth was harder to escape than the whispers that followed them down the hall.
Image of "Chillers from Albert County: The Phantom of Covered Bridge Lane", provided by the author. “It wasn’t real,” Matheo muttered one afternoon, breaking the silence as they sat huddled in the corner of the library. “It couldn’t have been.”
“Are you seriously saying that after what we saw?” Addison shot back, her voice low but trembling. “We all heard her. We all saw her.”
Matheo shook his head, his jaw tight. “Maybe it was someone messing with us. You know, a prank. People do that kind of stuff all the time.”
“Then explain this.” Alex pushed back his sleeve to reveal a faint bruise encircling his wrist. The mark was pale but distinct, as though icy fingers had gripped him tightly. “I felt her grab me. That wasn’t a prank.”
Addison paled, glancing around the library as if expecting Eleanor to appear among the shelves. “We shouldn’t have gone there. We shouldn’t have said her name.”
Matheo opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips as a sudden chill settled over the room. The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
“Did you feel that?” Addison whispered, her voice barely audible. Alex nodded, his stomach twisting. The air around them seemed heavier, colder, as though they were no longer alone.
Matheo tried to laugh it off, but his voice wavered. “It’s just the A/C or something.”
But deep down, they all knew better.
That night, Alex lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His room was bathed in darkness, save for the faint glow of his phone on the nightstand. He couldn’t stop thinking about the bridge—about Eleanor. The stories always said she haunted the bridge, but what if that wasn’t entirely true? What if they’d brought something back with them?
The faint hum of a melody drifted through the room.
Alex bolted upright, his heart pounding. He grabbed his phone and shone the weak flashlight beam around the room. It was empty.
But the humming continued.
He scrambled out of bed and pressed his ear to the window. The street below was deserted, the only movement the swaying of tree branches in the wind. The sound wasn’t coming from outside—it was inside the house.
“Hello?” he called, his voice shaking.
The humming stopped.
He backed away from the window, his pulse racing. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real,” he whispered to himself.
Then he saw it—a faint shadow at the foot of his bed. It wasn’t distinct, just a wisp of something pale and shifting. But it was enough.
“Eleanor?” he croaked.
The shadow tilted as if turning its head toward him. The air turned icy, and Alex’s breath puffed out in clouds. The hum returned, louder now, and filled with sorrow.
“Why did you call me?” the voice whispered, low and mournful.
“I—I didn’t mean to,” Alex stammered. “I’m sorry.”
The shadow moved closer, and for a moment, Alex could make out the faint shape of a figure in white. He stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall. “Please, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The figure stopped, its head tilting again. “You woke me,” it said, the words echoing in the room like a distant breeze. “Now I must find him.”
“Find who?” Alex asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
But before he could get an answer, the figure vanished, leaving only the lingering scent of damp wood and the faint creak of a bicycle wheel.
“Are you seriously saying that after what we saw?” Addison shot back, her voice low but trembling. “We all heard her. We all saw her.”
Matheo shook his head, his jaw tight. “Maybe it was someone messing with us. You know, a prank. People do that kind of stuff all the time.”
“Then explain this.” Alex pushed back his sleeve to reveal a faint bruise encircling his wrist. The mark was pale but distinct, as though icy fingers had gripped him tightly. “I felt her grab me. That wasn’t a prank.”
Addison paled, glancing around the library as if expecting Eleanor to appear among the shelves. “We shouldn’t have gone there. We shouldn’t have said her name.”
Matheo opened his mouth to argue, but the words died on his lips as a sudden chill settled over the room. The fluorescent lights above flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
“Did you feel that?” Addison whispered, her voice barely audible. Alex nodded, his stomach twisting. The air around them seemed heavier, colder, as though they were no longer alone.
Matheo tried to laugh it off, but his voice wavered. “It’s just the A/C or something.”
But deep down, they all knew better.
That night, Alex lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His room was bathed in darkness, save for the faint glow of his phone on the nightstand. He couldn’t stop thinking about the bridge—about Eleanor. The stories always said she haunted the bridge, but what if that wasn’t entirely true? What if they’d brought something back with them?
The faint hum of a melody drifted through the room.
Alex bolted upright, his heart pounding. He grabbed his phone and shone the weak flashlight beam around the room. It was empty.
But the humming continued.
He scrambled out of bed and pressed his ear to the window. The street below was deserted, the only movement the swaying of tree branches in the wind. The sound wasn’t coming from outside—it was inside the house.
“Hello?” he called, his voice shaking.
The humming stopped.
He backed away from the window, his pulse racing. “This isn’t real. This isn’t real,” he whispered to himself.
Then he saw it—a faint shadow at the foot of his bed. It wasn’t distinct, just a wisp of something pale and shifting. But it was enough.
“Eleanor?” he croaked.
The shadow tilted as if turning its head toward him. The air turned icy, and Alex’s breath puffed out in clouds. The hum returned, louder now, and filled with sorrow.
“Why did you call me?” the voice whispered, low and mournful.
“I—I didn’t mean to,” Alex stammered. “I’m sorry.”
The shadow moved closer, and for a moment, Alex could make out the faint shape of a figure in white. He stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall. “Please, I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
The figure stopped, its head tilting again. “You woke me,” it said, the words echoing in the room like a distant breeze. “Now I must find him.”
“Find who?” Alex asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
But before he could get an answer, the figure vanished, leaving only the lingering scent of damp wood and the faint creak of a bicycle wheel.
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