Donkey Lady
This is another entry in the Modern Monsters series. So I heard you wanted to hear the story of the Donkey Lady? Well, grab a beer; you’re in for a tale. It started back in the eighties, in a little town outside of San Antonio, Texas. I was a senior in high school back, just after moving out of the worst school I’d ever been to in my life. Ever since ‘the incident’ with a kid named Larry I just had to leave then. This town was much better, well, most of the time anyway. Living in this town was a girl named Maria, we didn’t know each other very well, never talked much, but we didn’t hate each other either. She had a long face, and crazy buckteeth. One of her flaws was her stubbornness and lack of hindsight, she always saw the best in people even when it wasn’t there. One example of this was when she married to a guy named Tyrone, huge brute of a guy, a thug even. He abused her and drank a lot, and yet she was still madly in love with him. (even though a couple of drinks for herself always helped keep this loyalty alive.) Everyone in town knew, the police just couldn’t find enough evidence to ever convict him, or make her change her mind. It was just a dirty little secret to this town, almost like finding a huge wad of cash in a bush, a skeleton in the closet. Nobody has to know. They eventually had two kids, the older grew to five and the younger to three. No children at that age should have to endure this kind of parenting. I only ever saw them once or twice, but their eyes, for the love of God their eyes. They went dug into my soul, they had a look to them, like they had seen things they didn’t want to see, heard things they didn’t want to hear. Been things they didn’t want to be. Eventually, during a drunken rampage, Tyrone burned down the house and trapped the entire family inside. That was a horrific night, the flames slowly consumed the house and the faint cry of children, and the grotesque cry of Maria. It sounded like a wild horse, getting put down. We all stood outside, waiting for the ambulance, screaming support and for help. Nothing we could do. Maria had barely managed to escape herself, and according to the police, whatever was left of Tyrone, had been dead just earlier than the fire. We all visited her in the hospital, with flowers and gifts. We nearly puked when we saw her, and you may think that’s an over-exaggeration, but the fire had deformed her greatly. Her hands had fused together, leaving a revolting little gap in the middle, and even looking a little like hooves. Her skin loosened, it dangled under her eyes and aged her by a hundred years, and it was as pale as the moon. Her hair had turned grey and lifeless: It gave her the appearance of a monster, or a mule. I’d sat next to her for a second, telling her we were all sorry for what had happened to her. And then, she turned her head around to face me, and my heart sank. Her terrifying features were close up, and she gave me a look of such pure contempt and hate for humanity, a look that made her hate the human races very existence. Her eyes were surrounded by black, and they looked at me with a look of hatred and even sarcasm. “Seriously Maria, we honestly are.” I said, trying to reassure her. “We’ll, we’ll see. We’ll see.” She faintly mumbled. She barely sounded human. She barely was human. We left then, and so did our hope. Maria would never be the same again. Fast forward to about five years later and Maria had moved away a long time ago, or at least we assumed she moved away. We never heard from her again, and she was nowhere to be seen. A couple buddies and I went driving to the Old Hickory Bridge, that’s what we called it back in those days, before the next ‘incident.’ We were pissed drunk, drinking and honking our buddy’s car horn. The horn sounded like a donkey guffawing wildly. “Sounds like a freaking jackass!” I chuckled groggily. “Maria you mean of course?” My friend has replied. In any other circumstances, that would have been offensive and cruel, but when drunk of course, I found it damn hilarious. “Dude, I’m serious,” He continued. “She looked like a freaking donkey!” I heard the horn again, except this time it seemed louder and had a bit more tempo, like it was more natural. “Man, stop screwing around with the horn.” “That wasn’t me, man.” It went silent then, and the mood changed. It had went to funny, to indescribably eerie. Then, in a moment of realization, we looked out the windshield. Some eyes appeared from the darkness. The eyes, those eyes are indescribably horrible, glaring yellow orbs glaring from the shadow, giving a look of pure hatred and madness.
Suddenly, some mule like creature pounded on our roof, giving a look of an animal, but a slight sense of humanity to it. It smashed the windshield, and we screamed until our voices were hoarse. The beast was screaming with a rage about its lovelies, how she lost them to a “demon”, and raging about a flame. Then it strode off on all fours It was all very rushed, and seemed to be over in a second, and it left us in awe and suspense. The meaning of the creature’s rant had flown right over my head at the time. The beast fled over the bridge and back into the woods. A day later, one of the more fearless and stubborn guys went out with a 22 to take care of whatever attacked us after we went back to town when we thought it was safe. We warned him to be careful, and I guess we didn’t warn him enough. He was never seen again. From then on, we called that the Donkey Lady Bridge, and try our best to keep this to ourselves. After a few others were found dead, there was an attempt to destroy it, but the destruction crew were found dead and mutilated, and the problem is, the problem is the forensic crew said there was no way that one thing could have killed them, and that it must of had help from about two, two beings that seemed to leave the same traces as the main creature, but seemed much smaller, almost like two offspring. So there you go, I bet you’re glad you heard it now. Sweet dreams. Credit To – YOU CAN’T HANDLE USERNAME, tytiger10, and Bradandale Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.