On Skeleton Road

  When I was but a young lad, I lived in a locale that was said to be haunted to the North, the South, and the East. I guess the spirits decided to leave us a way out of town should we decide the haunted life was not for us. They say the earth takes care of it's own, normally that's true. In this particular area though, the earth gives in to the spirits that lie within its borders.The supernatural activity in the area was such that new teams of reporters came in on a daily basis. Never let it be said that haunting spirits are shy. I think they rather enjoy the attention myself.

  If memory serves me correctly, it is Heartbeat Bridge that lies just to the North of Broken Ridge Hollow. That's where I lived, Broken Ridge Hollow. It was a small town, if you could call it that. There were only about 20 of us that lived there because everyone else was afraid to go near the place, except for the constant barrage of reporters that is.

  At this point in time, Heartbeat Bridge had become a major attraction on its own. More on that in a moment though. The other two locations were more widely known, and for good reason. Both were known for having a greater amount of otherworldly activity.

  Legend has it that you can hear a woman's heartbeat at Heartbeat Bridge. The story has it that she had been driving home about 2:30 one morning when a drunk driver forced her off the road right there at the bridge. Her car broke through the concrete barrier on the side of the bridge and plunged front end first into the river below. Supposedly the woman was unable to escape from her car, and spent Her dying moments in silent prayer. At least that's what the note that they found said, even though it was barely legible due to fading. Now, the only sound anyone ever hears there is Isabella's dying heartbeat.

  The next place I would like to tell you about is The Devil's Stomping Grounds. The only way to tell you about this place is to share a story that happened to some of my friends there. Devil's Stomping Grounds is located about 4 miles south of Broken Ridge Hollow in a very densely wooded area.

  My friends asked me if I wanted to go camping with them on Labor day Weekend so we could get away from everybody, and everything that is, or resembles civilization. I love to go camping, so of course, I jumped at the opportunity, until I found out where they were going that is.

  I had heard too many horrid tales from people who had spent the night, or at least attempted to spend the night at The Stomping Grounds. That's what we called it unless we were speaking to someone from out of town, and more of them dared to go to the Stomping Grounds than did locals.

  My friends went to the Stomping Grounds with the intention of staying for the entire week end. They managed staying a total of 7 hours, and when they came back, they did so empty handed; and frightened out of their minds. If what they said happened actually did happen, I can't say that I blame them.

  Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, things got very weird at the Stomping Grounds. My friends got there, and wasted no time in setting up camp. The first thing they did was start a fire so they would have light no matter what. Next, they set up their tents, and started dinner so they could get to the hard work.

  After dinner, they began cutting down trees. Each tree was at least big enough that two people would have to move them. Once they had cut down enough trees for the task, they carried them back to the camp site, and placed them end to end in a circle around the tents, and the food. They also raked over the area outside of the trees so they could see the foot prints of any pranksters who may happen upon their campsite, and inside of the trees to prove they were the only ones there. They knew they were going to prove that the Stomping Grounds weren't haunted once and for all, after all, the preparations they had taken were fail safe.

  Soon after they had finished everything, a dark, immensely thick fog began to settle. Still, they were confident that nothing was going to happen that couldn't be explained. Then it happened. Someone or something was in their campsite. Was it a person; was it an animal, what was outside of their tent?

  My friends dared to look outside of their tent. Shining their flash lights in every direction, they searched for any sign of movement. Nothing! It must be an animal in the woods they thought, so they retired to their sleeping bags once more. A few minutes later, all hell broke loose; literally that is.  They heard these ungodly; one friend described them as hellish screams. They looked out of their tent once more, this time, just in time to see one of the trees they had so carefully placed being hoisted into the air and tossed like a tooth pick. The problem was; no one was there to pick it up and throw it.

  My friends didn't waste any time after that. They didn't bother grabbing any of their supplies, and they didn't even take time to look over their shoulders. They scrambled for the jeep as fast as their feet would carry them. The only thing they were worried about was putting distance between them and the Stomping Grounds, and whatever it was that was haunting the place. For all they knew, this really was the Devil's very own Stomping Grounds, and they now wanted no part of it.

  The next day, an investigator took one of each of my friend's shoes and went to the Stomping Grounds. He found all of the trees my friends had so carefully placed, tossed away from the campsite. There were no drag marks to show they had been drug along the ground, and there were no foot prints of anyone who could have carried them. Some of the trees had shattered when they landed against other trees, so the investigator knew they had been thrown. All of the supplies had been left untouched, so the investigator packed it all into his truck to bring back to town. There was still a major problem with the whole scene. The only footprints at the site were those of my friends, and they were in a straight line from the tent, to the place where the jeep had been parked. What had taken place was definitely not of this world.

  That brings us to the East of town where Skeleton Road is. While the other two locations had become known for being haunted by strong spirits, Skeleton Road became something of a joke. That's because everyone who goes there, gets a good laugh while they are there.

  You see, it wasn't screaming spirits, or harmful demonic activity that people got to witness on Skeleton Road. No, what these folk got to see was as benign as a kitty cat gone belly up, begging for attention. Skeleton Road was a good name for the place because that's exactly what people got to see, a skeleton. It's what he was doing that kept everyone laughing.

  Everyday at the same time, you could see Bones, that's what everyone called him; come riding up the road on a bike. People got so use to seeing Bones ride by on that old one speed bike that they actually started talking to him. Bones never spoke back, and he never stopped pedaling.

  This went on for a good long while until people began wondering if old Bones, no pun intended, could see or hear. They began shouting at him, and throwing things in the path of his oncoming bike to see if they could get a reaction out of Bones, but never was there even a hint of a reaction.

  Finally it happened. It was Halloween Day that someone got a reaction out of Bones, and that someone was 9 year old Billy. He was dressed in his costume, ready to go trick-or-treating when along comes Bones. Billy, clad in his ghost costume hid behind a large juniper bush beside the road. Just as Bones got to that bush, Billy jumped out and yelled "Boo."

  Turns out Bones could hear and see after all. When Billy did his thing, Bones fell to pieces, literally! Everyone joined in and picked up the pieces of old Bones. They placed them in a cloth bag, took them to the only graveyard in town, and buried them.

  It just so happens, that the very next day, old Bag-O-Bones was back on that one speed bike, and riding up Skeleton Road. There is one major difference now though. Old Bag-O-Bones waves to everyone he passes, so, if you ever find yourself in Broken Ridge Hollow, say hello to old bag-O-Bones for me, ya hear?