It was late on a dark and cold night about a week away from Halloween. Pranksters and brave souls alike were scattered throughout the forest, including Junior Carolyn Locke. She and two friends began their journey two years ago just like everyone else — on the bridge. It was late on a dark and cold night about a week away from Halloween. Pranksters and brave souls alike were scattered throughout the forest, including Junior Carolyn Locke. She and two friends began their journey two years ago just like everyone else — on the bridge.
“We were walking just past the bridge,” Locke said. “On the side … there was someone standing there in a clown mask.”
The masked man stood there in silence, eyeing down the girls as they passed by with caution. His gaze seemed to follow their trail until he was out of sight. Who knows how long he stood there, spooking other guests as they trekked into the forest. Perhaps he’s always been there, stuck in the realm of the woods waiting for thrill seekers of all kinds to pass by — patiently keeping his post until someone crept too close or wandered too far from their friends. No one can be too certain about anything around Goatman’s Bridge.
After successfully passing through, they found their way onto a trail that leads through the forest. Batting away spiders and suspicious looking plants, they strolled through peacefully. Suddenly, their light conversation stopped as the quiet night air was pierced with a distant scream. The girls slowed their pace, looking around for a sign of where the sound might have come from. A second scream, then a third one. After some speculation, Locke and her friends realized they weren’t hearing screams, but howling.
“It wasn’t animal,” Locke said. “It was like people howling. There was a difference.”
The howls went on throughout the night as they continued their journey. Keeping close to their trail as they went deeper into the forest, the darkness began to get to them. Trees seemed to turn into people. Every sound of clothes shuffling seemed to be louder than usual, and innocent bugs whizzing past ears and faces appeared to be bats. Eyes wide open and ears to the ground, the girls were determined to not let anything spook them.
One of Carolyn’s friends, a skeptic of the supernatural, shrieked as they heard rustling in bushes behind them. They whirled around, expecting around to see friend half way up a tree, but no one was there. They searched the area for a suspect.
“I’m hoping it was an animal,” Lock said. “It sounded like footsteps, like someone running but no one was there.”
The culprit behind the rustling was never found, seeming to have disappeared into the night just as it came. Have they disturbed an unstable spirit? Trespassed into the territory of the Goatman? Whatever it may have been, it was not happy the girls were there. Next time, it might not be so willing to let people pass unscathed.
