Image of Monique Ferguson, provided by the author.
by: Monique Ferguson, Author
maferguson.wordpress.com
It started with a dare, as most foolish decisions do.
“Come on, Alex. Don’t tell me you’re scared?” Addison teased, her flashlight beam bouncing off the weathered wooden planks of the covered bridge. The ancient structure loomed ahead, shrouded in mist, its dark interior swallowing the weak glow of their lights.
Alex rolled his eyes, trying to suppress the unease creeping up his spine. “I’m not scared. It’s just a dumb story.”
“If it’s so dumb, prove it,” Matheo challenged, crossing his arms. The tallest of their group, Matheo always took the lead—and often pushed them into trouble.
It started with a dare, as most foolish decisions do.
“Come on, Alex. Don’t tell me you’re scared?” Addison teased, her flashlight beam bouncing off the weathered wooden planks of the covered bridge. The ancient structure loomed ahead, shrouded in mist, its dark interior swallowing the weak glow of their lights.
Alex rolled his eyes, trying to suppress the unease creeping up his spine. “I’m not scared. It’s just a dumb story.”
“If it’s so dumb, prove it,” Matheo challenged, crossing his arms. The tallest of their group, Matheo always took the lead—and often pushed them into trouble.
Image of "Chillers from Albert County: The Phantom of Covered Bridge Lane", provided by the author. “Fine,” Alex muttered, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. He stepped onto the first wooden plank of the bridge. It creaked under his weight, the sound echoing in the stillness of the night.
“Remember what they say,” Addison whispered theatrically, her voice tinged with mock seriousness. “If you hear her humming, don’t look back.”
Alex snorted. “Yeah, sure. The ghost of some women that disappeared. Real original.”
Legend had it that over a century ago, a young woman named Eleanor was riding her bike to meet her secret lover at the old covered bridge. They planned to leave town together, fleeing the strict rules of her overbearing family and the life she longed to escape. But Eleanor never made it to the meeting.
Some claimed wild animals attacked her in the woods, leaving no trace behind. Others whispered that her father, discovering her plans, intercepted her and silenced her to protect the family’s reputation. The most chilling theory, however, was that the bridge itself held a dark curse, one that claimed Eleanor’s soul that fateful night.
Decades after her disappearance, strange occurrences began to surface. Travelers crossing the bridge at night reported fleeting glimpses of a young woman in a white dress, her figure faint and ethereal as she walked the length of the bridge. She was always looking ahead, as if searching for someone—her secret lover, perhaps, still waiting for her on the other side.
On quiet nights, locals would claim they heard the faint creak of a bicycle wheel, the gentle hum of a lullaby, or the soft weeping of a woman carried by the wind. Some said that if you were brave enough to walk the bridge at midnight, you might see her up close—Eleanor, her pale face full of longing as she searches endlessly for the lover she never reached.
No one could agree on what they saw or heard, but one thing was certain: the legend of Eleanor and the old covered bridge was a story Albert County would never forget.
The friends had heard the tale their whole lives, but tonight’s dare was Matheo’s idea of fun. They’d been bored, and the bridge wasn’t far from Addison’s farmhouse.
“Go to the middle and say her name three times,” Matheo instructed, his grin wicked. “If she shows up, we’ll come save you. Promise.”
“Gee, thanks,” Alex muttered. He stepped further into the darkness, the air growing colder with each step. The river gurgled faintly below, its sound muffled by the creaking wood and the rustling of leaves.
Halfway across the bridge, he paused. The mist clung to the beams like ghostly fingers, and the faint scent of damp wood filled the air. His friends’ flashlights flickered faintly behind him, their chatter reduced to murmurs. He was alone now, the bridge’s oppressive silence pressing in around him.
“Eleanor,” he said, his voice firm despite the knot tightening in his chest. “Eleanor, Eleanor.”
Nothing happened. He let out a shaky laugh, turning back toward his friends. “See? I told you it was just a —” A soft hum cut through the air.
Alex froze. The melody was faint but unmistakable, a lilting tune that seemed to rise from the very wood beneath his feet. He turned slowly, his flashlight trembling in his hand.
“Alex?” Addison called, her voice sharp with worry. “Are you okay?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but the humming grew louder, drowning out everything else. His flashlight flickered, then went out completely. Panic surged as he fumbled to turn it back on.
And then he saw her.
A figure emerged from the mist at the far end of the bridge. She was dressed in white, her veil trailing behind her like smoke. Her face was obscured, but her presence was undeniable—and terrifying.
“Run!” Matheo shouted, his voice cracking. Addison screamed, but Alex couldn’t move. His legs felt rooted to the spot, as if the bridge itself had come alive to hold him there.
The humming stopped, replaced by a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
“Why have you come?”
Alex’s heart pounded as the figure drifted closer. He tried to speak, to apologize, but the words caught in his throat. The air grew icy, each breath visible in the faint moonlight.
“Please,” he finally managed, his voice barely audible. “We didn’t mean to…”
The women tilted her head, as if considering his plea. Then, with a bone-chilling scream, she surged forward. The bridge shook violently, and Liam was thrown to the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted toward his friends, the phantom’s wails echoing behind him.
The three of them didn’t stop running until they reached Addison’s house, slamming the door shut and collapsing on the living room floor. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, their faces pale with terror.
“What was that?” Mason whispered, his bravado shattered. “It was her,” Alex said, his voice trembling. “Eleanor.”
The room fell silent, the only sound the ticking of the old grandfather clock. None of them noticed the faint humming that lingered in the air—a reminder that some legends are more than just stories.
“Remember what they say,” Addison whispered theatrically, her voice tinged with mock seriousness. “If you hear her humming, don’t look back.”
Alex snorted. “Yeah, sure. The ghost of some women that disappeared. Real original.”
Legend had it that over a century ago, a young woman named Eleanor was riding her bike to meet her secret lover at the old covered bridge. They planned to leave town together, fleeing the strict rules of her overbearing family and the life she longed to escape. But Eleanor never made it to the meeting.
Some claimed wild animals attacked her in the woods, leaving no trace behind. Others whispered that her father, discovering her plans, intercepted her and silenced her to protect the family’s reputation. The most chilling theory, however, was that the bridge itself held a dark curse, one that claimed Eleanor’s soul that fateful night.
Decades after her disappearance, strange occurrences began to surface. Travelers crossing the bridge at night reported fleeting glimpses of a young woman in a white dress, her figure faint and ethereal as she walked the length of the bridge. She was always looking ahead, as if searching for someone—her secret lover, perhaps, still waiting for her on the other side.
On quiet nights, locals would claim they heard the faint creak of a bicycle wheel, the gentle hum of a lullaby, or the soft weeping of a woman carried by the wind. Some said that if you were brave enough to walk the bridge at midnight, you might see her up close—Eleanor, her pale face full of longing as she searches endlessly for the lover she never reached.
No one could agree on what they saw or heard, but one thing was certain: the legend of Eleanor and the old covered bridge was a story Albert County would never forget.
The friends had heard the tale their whole lives, but tonight’s dare was Matheo’s idea of fun. They’d been bored, and the bridge wasn’t far from Addison’s farmhouse.
“Go to the middle and say her name three times,” Matheo instructed, his grin wicked. “If she shows up, we’ll come save you. Promise.”
“Gee, thanks,” Alex muttered. He stepped further into the darkness, the air growing colder with each step. The river gurgled faintly below, its sound muffled by the creaking wood and the rustling of leaves.
Halfway across the bridge, he paused. The mist clung to the beams like ghostly fingers, and the faint scent of damp wood filled the air. His friends’ flashlights flickered faintly behind him, their chatter reduced to murmurs. He was alone now, the bridge’s oppressive silence pressing in around him.
“Eleanor,” he said, his voice firm despite the knot tightening in his chest. “Eleanor, Eleanor.”
Nothing happened. He let out a shaky laugh, turning back toward his friends. “See? I told you it was just a —” A soft hum cut through the air.
Alex froze. The melody was faint but unmistakable, a lilting tune that seemed to rise from the very wood beneath his feet. He turned slowly, his flashlight trembling in his hand.
“Alex?” Addison called, her voice sharp with worry. “Are you okay?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but the humming grew louder, drowning out everything else. His flashlight flickered, then went out completely. Panic surged as he fumbled to turn it back on.
And then he saw her.
A figure emerged from the mist at the far end of the bridge. She was dressed in white, her veil trailing behind her like smoke. Her face was obscured, but her presence was undeniable—and terrifying.
“Run!” Matheo shouted, his voice cracking. Addison screamed, but Alex couldn’t move. His legs felt rooted to the spot, as if the bridge itself had come alive to hold him there.
The humming stopped, replaced by a whisper that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
“Why have you come?”
Alex’s heart pounded as the figure drifted closer. He tried to speak, to apologize, but the words caught in his throat. The air grew icy, each breath visible in the faint moonlight.
“Please,” he finally managed, his voice barely audible. “We didn’t mean to…”
The women tilted her head, as if considering his plea. Then, with a bone-chilling scream, she surged forward. The bridge shook violently, and Liam was thrown to the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he bolted toward his friends, the phantom’s wails echoing behind him.
The three of them didn’t stop running until they reached Addison’s house, slamming the door shut and collapsing on the living room floor. Their breaths came in ragged gasps, their faces pale with terror.
“What was that?” Mason whispered, his bravado shattered. “It was her,” Alex said, his voice trembling. “Eleanor.”
The room fell silent, the only sound the ticking of the old grandfather clock. None of them noticed the faint humming that lingered in the air—a reminder that some legends are more than just stories.
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