[WorldUrbanLegend] The donkey lady
In the south of San Antonio, a secluded bridge known as the "Donkey Lady Bridge" stood in the heart of a quiet forest. To the untrained eye, the bridge seemed ordinary, but around it lay an atmosphere of fear and unease that no one could ignore. No one dared linger around it for too long. Even in daylight, the moment you crossed it, you couldn't shake the feeling that something—or someone—was always following you.
Yet, some still ventured to the bridge. These were thrill-seekers, drawn to the dark and mysterious stories that surrounded it. Some were skeptics, dismissing the tales as mere myths, while others sought the adrenaline of a haunted experience. What they didn’t know, however, was that the "Donkey Lady" still roamed the area.
Clare hadn't believed the urban legend when she first heard it. But something about the story intrigued her, and when her friends suggested they visit the bridge for a thrill, she agreed. They planned to stop near the bridge, honk the car horn, flash the lights, and taunt the legend. It was all in good fun.
"This place gives me the creeps," Jessi remarked as they approached the bridge.
Clare laughed it off. "It's just an old story. Don’t let it get to you."
But as they reached the bridge, something unsettling washed over them. When the headlights illuminated the bridge, Clare could swear she saw something standing far in the woods beyond. At first, she thought it was just a tree, swaying in the wind. But as she focused, the figure seemed to take shape—human-like.
"Did anyone else see that?" Clare asked, her voice hesitant.
Jessi, who was closest to the window, smiled nervously. "It’s just your imagination."
But then, the figure moved. Slowly, deliberately. It stood at the end of the bridge, and Clare could hear a sickening, almost agonizing sound coming from the creature’s feet—like the sound of hooves scraping the ground.
"Did you hear that?" Clare whispered.
Jessi was about to dismiss it when the figure suddenly took a step forward. Clare froze. The figure’s shape grew clearer, and she saw it—no, she felt it—a woman. Burnt and disfigured, her face was a grotesque mess of scarred flesh. Her hands and feet were twisted into hoof-like shapes, sharp and unnatural. Her dark, charred skin seemed to pulse, and blood trickled from beneath it.
"Is that... really the Donkey Lady?" Clare whispered, her voice barely audible.
The figure didn’t move much more, but its eyes—the eyes—stayed locked on them, as if it were staring straight into their souls. Then, it spoke.
"Leave... leave this place... or you’ll become like me."
The voice echoed in Clare’s mind, deep and resonant, sending a chill down her spine. She glanced back at her friends, who were already locking themselves in the car. Without a word, they drove away, their hearts pounding in their chests.
Months passed, but the memory of that night never left Clare. Then one day, they heard that one of their friends had gone missing near the bridge. They had last been seen heading toward the very place Clare feared. After that, no one dared to approach the bridge. The legend of the Donkey Lady had been proven true. No one dared to test it anymore.
San Antonio residents still avoided the area, speaking of the "Donkey Lady Bridge" in hushed tones. Was the legend real, or just a story? Who could say?
