Black-Eyed Betty

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is my entry for Crayysteelers3's short story contest. The theme is horror, and the limit is 10 paragraphs. Hope you like it! :D

Submitted: August 26, 2013

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Submitted: August 26, 2013

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A/N: This short story is for crayysteelers3’s horror short story contest. The limit was 10 paragraphs. It probably isn’t as original as I’d like it to be, but I hope it’s original enough :D

 

~Black-Eyed Betty~

 

I shivered as a strong wind blew against me, chilling my body to the bone. Despite the thick coat and stocking cap I wore, nothing was shielding my California-born-and-bred body against the Maine air in December. I just wasn’t used to it, which was one reason I should have said no when my new friends, Jason and Court asked me to come out here to the old Eagle River Bridge tonight. That wasn’t the only reason, though.

“It’s Black-Eyed Betty’s anniversary,” Court had told me excitedly in English class that afternoon. “It’s been 50 years since she drove her old ’57 Cadillac off that bridge, killing herself and all four of her kids. And we’re going out there tonight!”

I, of course, demanded explanation for this. Being new in Eagle River, Maine, meant I knew nothing of the legend of Black-Eyed Betty. Apparently she was a pretty big deal, especially around this time of year.

“They say she was possessed by the Devil himself,” Jason offered. “She drove right over the side of the bridge with her four kids in the car because Satan told her she had to. That’s what was in the letter her husband found, anyway. It happened December 4, 1963. Every year since then, anyone who’s tried to cross this bridge on her night, just happened to drive right off the side. Over 25 people have died on this bridge since then.”

“Only one survivor,” Court interjected. “Marlon Moss. He went over in 1989. Survived the fall. Told the cops an old Cadillac ran him right off the road. Cops asked if he remembered anything about it, and he said it was a woman, pale as a ghost, with eyes as black as coal. Cops said he was suffering from trauma and didn’t know what he was talking about. Didn’t take him the least bit serious. But everyone knows it was Black-Eyed Betty that ran him off the road that night.”

And because of that, and the fact that Court’s older brother had claimed to see her a few years back, we were sitting out here by the old bridge, waiting for a ghost that was never going to show. At least I hoped not.

The three of us sat, cutting up, having a good time. It was close to 11, and I was cold and convinced we were all out there wasting our time. And then we heard it. Court heard it, first; the sound of a low engine rumbling in the distance. He told us what we heard, and suddenly, Jason said, “I hear it, too.” I still only heard the crickets, but finally, the crickets went silent, and the rumbling filled my ears from far away.

I felt the hairs stand up on my arms as tree trunks were lit up by beams of light; headlights. The car finally came into view and I sucked in a breath as it eased its way down the road. All I could think was that this had to be a joke. It really was a ’57 Cadillac coming our way. Without thinking, I dove behind the bushes with Court and Jason right behind. They were just as out of breath and shaken up as I was.

“This can’t be real, can it?” Jason asked in a whisper. But my eyes were locked on the old car slowly creeping its way toward us; toward the bridge. The fog around the headlights gave it an eerie, ghostly feel, and the windows were down. An old Supremes song was blaring from the speakers, and as the car neared us, I could see the driver. I sucked in a breath as I saw her face; her eyes, just like Court and Jason described, were black. Her mouth was twisted in a horrible, angry scowl. It wasn’t hard to make out the figures of four little girls, either. She never took her eyes off the road as we watched the car make its way to the bridge, and then, in horror, we saw it accelerate and speed right off the side, the sound of children screaming filling the air.

I woke up two hours later to Court and Jason telling me I’d fainted. At first, I was hoping it had all been a dream, but the boys confirmed in utter horror that it was, in fact, real. We’d seen the ghost of Black-Eyed Betty, the thing we’d come out here to do. We’d done it because we wanted bragging rights; wanted to go back and tell everyone. But we never told a soul what happened. We’d seen Black-Eyed Betty, already. We’d seen her drive her Cadillac right over the side of that bridge, but it was our secret, and that’s how it stayed for the rest of my life.


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