Tethered

A Hurtville Horror Story by Scott Farmer
They built the bridge long after the flood drowned old Hurtville—when Table Rock Lake swallowed the valley and made way for boaters and weekend cabins. The bridge was supposed to connect the past to the future, a scenic overlook above deep water and quiet history.
But some histories don’t stay buried.
And some souls don’t let go.
The first tale came from a boy scout troop in the 1980s. They were crossing the bridge just before dawn when one of the boys stopped and looked down. He saw a girl standing on the surface of the lake, pale dress fluttering, arms raised as if she was reaching for something lost long ago.
He blinked—and she was gone.
But the boy? He never spoke again.
Locals whisper that the bridge was built over the exact spot where the old Hurtville ferry capsized in 1907. It carried nineteen people across the swollen White River that night. None survived. They say the boat was overloaded, but the truth is stranger—survivors claimed the ferry simply stopped moving, like something below had grabbed it. Tethered it.
Now, the curse clings to the bridge above like mist.
Some say you feel it first in your hands—an itch. Then your chest tightens, and your breath clouds even in summer. You feel heavy. Like you’re being pulled backward, not just by wind or fear—but by grief. By memory. By something still tied to the lake below.
Every few years, someone disappears on the bridge.
A biker. A jogger. A fisherman walking home.
They leave their phone, their tackle box, their shoes.
But no footprints off the bridge. No splash.
Just an echo—like rope snapping tight.
If you walk the bridge at night, especially under a full moon, you'll see them:
Faint figures on the far side.
Some weeping. Some whispering. Some pointing down.
And always one--
the girl with no eyes, holding a severed rope in both hands.
They say she was the ferry captain’s daughter, and she dove in after him when he was pulled under. They say she tethers new souls to her grief with strands of memory and water. And if you stop walking--
even for a second—she’ll bind your ankles, your ribs, your thoughts.
You won’t scream. You won’t run.
You’ll just slip quietly through the rail and vanish.
Tethered forever beneath the still black water of Table Rock Lake.
So if you find yourself on the bridge after dark--
Don’t slow down.
Don’t stop.
And if you hear someone call your name behind you…
Keep walking.
Some places cross water.
This one crosses into something else.
Tethered.