03/12/18 Old Alton Bridge Goatman’s Bridge Today; a visit to a bridge, both infamous and unknown. Old Alton Bridge has long been cited as a place known for Satanic activity and demon sightings. We arrived at around ten pm, to find several groups of people there, most of them younger teens. C and I had two friends along for the ride with us, and once we managed to actually find the bridge (tucked in a dark alcove, miles back from the town of Denton itself, and only accessible through dark and winding roads), we walked into it and performed the much talked about ritual-knocking three times. Nothing. So I suggested we jump on the bridge three times. Maybe the Goatman was a heavy sleeper. Again, nothing. At this point we realize that a large group of the young teens is apprehensively waiting at the entrance of the bridge, watching us knock on things and jump and such. C leans in and whispers, “Hey. Wanna scare the shit out of some kids?” Of course I agreed. From what I felt, nothing in the air or presence of this bridge was demonic or even strange. It was just a little cold. The bridge itself had been vandalized-someone’s Twitter handle painted on the boards, a few half assed pentagrams. Any evil that lurked here seemed to have left long ago, trampled by flocks of Buzzfeed fans and aesthetic ghost hunter blogs. I figured we should make the most of it. We crossed over the bridge and continued on, the younger teens sort of trailing behind, taking our lead. I see a small path off the main, winding into the woods, and take a sharp left onto it. The other three follow me in. Behind us, the kids stop and chatter, anxiously whispering about how we were gonna get killed by the goatman, before the treaded onward. The group and I waited in the bushes till they passed, and then pulled a few small pranks. Screaming, moaning, and such. Even if we couldn’t find our demon, I hope we gave some people the horror experience they were looking for. We stopped the shenanigans and crossed back over the bridge on the way to the car, stopping to chat to a couple on the way back. That’s when I spotted it—right next to the bridge entrance, behind a gate. A small path, heading down toward the water. I step over the gate and saunter towards the embankment, figuring I’d take a few more pictures before we left, when it hit me. The smell. The smell is talked about a lot—the smell of decaying flesh or blood that comes with the Goatman. I wouldn’t describe it quite like that. It was definitely the smell of decay and death, but not quite human-the way that a pile of wet leaves smells, or a bouquet of flowers kept too long without fresh water, mixed with animal feces. Sharp and pungent and enough to gag on. The hair stood up on my arms, and I turned sharply, muttering about the cold and ushering the group who had come over the gate behind me towards the car. My back felt exposed; I needed to be out as soon as possible. I scurried over the gate and jogged back to the car, and we continued on our way. My blog being what it is, you’d think I’d stay, look around more, figure out where the smell was coming from, etc, etc. My brain didn’t allow that at the time, I didn’t consider it till I was about six miles away at a CVS. That smell hit me, and my body moved for me; I turned around, and I left. The few primal instincts left in me acted for me, and I was gone. We’ll return to Goatman’s Bridge, likely once the hype has died down a bit and it’s quiet at night again. Until then, take care to remember; the progression of time and technology is inevitable, but creatures older and greater than us are here, and they will continue on long after our demise. Do not doubt them, and do not underestimate them. -J
