An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge
My friend and I were walking home after the weirdest experience of our lives. We were both soaking wet and exhausted. The cold water of the creek was making me shiver uncontrollably. The walk was silent as we both thought about what  just happened.
We were walking home from school just like we do everyday. On the walk home, we have to cross this old, creepy bridge. I think I heard someone call it Owl Creek Bridge or something like that, but I'm not sure. The bridge was super old, and it always creaked and moaned when we crossed. The wood planks were rotting, and the grey steel had turned a light shade of red with all the rust that was covering it.
Under the bridge, there was a swift flowing creek. I'm not sure why people called it Owl Creek because it was just as strong as any river I had ever seen. The distance between the bridge and the water had to be at least 50 feet. There was a rumor that one summer some teenagers were drunk, and they decided to jump from the bridge. One of the guys volunteered to jump first, and as soon as he hit the water he was dead. Some people believe that he was just unlucky and the water level was unusually low that summer, so he died when he hit the rocks on the bottom of the creek. Others believe he died from just the sheer impact of hitting the water.
My family always took about a week-long vacation in the summer to go camping alongside Owl Creek. We always went upstream where the current was calm enough to swim. My dad and I both like to go fishing right out in front of our campsite.
As we crossed the bridge, the wooden boards began to creak like they always do. Back behind us, I thought I heard a car coming, but I dismissed the thought because people rarely cross the bridge unless they live on the other side. The only people who live on the other side are my friend and his family, myself and my family, and this old, creepy man that I've only talked to once. My friend and I began to complain about how much homework we both had to do when we got home. I heard the car again and looked back this time to see and orange blur speeding around the corner. The car looked like nothing I had ever seen before. It was painted completely orange and looked like it belonged on a race track or in an exotic car show rather than up in the mountains. Dust clouds appeared as the tires of the car spun in circles while trying to gain traction on the gravel road. The tires just couldn't get a grip, and the car continued drifting. The passenger side of the car slammed into a tree that was growing a little ways off the road. The noise was nothing like I've ever heard before. The metal body was shredded easier than paper. A mushroom cloud of flames erupted from the totalled car and sent a burst of heat towards me that felt as if it was going to melt my face. To my surprise, the driver of the car climbed out the window and started to sprint in our direction. He was wearing an all black jump suit that looked like one NASCAR drivers would wear. He had on a helmet, so I couldn't see his face. My friend and I were frozen in shock as he rapidly approached us. Surprisingly, he didn't slow, and he ran right past us.
My friend and I both looked at each other in astonishment. I heard another noise that sounded just like the first car coming from around the corner. Another orange car sped around the turn, but this time there were three black SUVs in close pursuit. These cars' tires had no problem finding traction on the road and flew right past the first crashed car. They were all about 30 feet from the bridge now, and they were closing in fast. The bridge wasn't wide and only had one lane for traffic. It would be a tight squeeze if the cars tried to pass us on the bridge. My friend and I broke into a run and sprinted as fast as we could to the other end of the bridge. I knew as soon as we started running that we weren't gonna make it before the cars got to us. My friend knew it too because he quickly followed me onto the railing, and we both jumped just in time before the cars could reach us.
My stomach immediately rose to my throat as I plunged towards the creek. The tallest thing I had ever jumped off, before the bridge, was this 30 foot rock that was in a lake in Idaho where my family visited sometimes. It didn't compare to the bridge. Every muscle in my body erupted with pain as I splashed down into the water. It was the hardest impact I had ever felt in my entire life. Water gushed into my nose and ears, and pressure built inside my head as I plunged deeper into the creek. I made the mistake of having my arms spread when I hit the water, so it felt like both of them were being torn from my body. I noticed my friend had splashed down just to my right. I kicked back up to the surface, and in the distance I could hear the cars speeding away on the gravel road. My friend popped up shortly after me. The current of the creek had already carried us about 20 feet down stream. We swam to the shore as fast as we could, but we didn't make it without losing another 10 feet or so.
The first thing I did when I reached the shore was check to see if I had broken anything. Nothing hurt too bad, and it didn't feel like anything was out of place. My arms still stung from being slapped against the surface of the water.
"Are you okay?" I asked my friend.
He responded, "Yes, I think I'm alright."
I told him I was fine too, and we both stood up and got ready to hike up back to the road. I noticed both of us still had our backpacks on. Mine was heavy with water, and I emptied it before I started walking towards the hill. Both of our jeans had turned a darker shade of blue than before we jumped in the creek, and my shirt stuck to my skin because it was completely soaked. My hair was plastered to my forehead and dripping wet, but it didn't even look like my friend's hair had ever gotten wet thanks to his shorter haircut.
We made our way to the base of the hill and started our ascent. There was a lot of long, green grass growing on the side of the hill, and scattered pine trees stood tall while overlooking the road. It only took us about two minutes to get back to the top and on the road again. Loose gravel was spread around the road because of the drifting cars. Everything else looked fairly normal except for the destroyed, orange car that was still on fire at the other end of the bridge. My friend and I both decided just to forget the car and go home.
We were both exhausted, or at least I was, and we decided it would be best if we just went home and tried to forget about the whole experience. I didn't feel like I was that cold because my heart was racing, and my adrenaline was flowing, but I was shivering profusely. When I got home I knew I would be the only one there, so I didn't need to prepare myself to answer any questions about why I was soaking wet. When I got home I took a hot shower, changed into fresh clothes, and started to dry out all the homework that was in my backpack.
I decided it would be best if I didn't tell anyone about what happened. I told my friend not to tell anyone either, and he agreed. In the morning when I walked to school, the crashed car was missing, and it looked almost as if nothing extraordinary had even happened. Sometimes, still to this day, the hairs on the back of my neck stick up when I hear the sound of a car engine while crossing Owl Creek Bridge.