At exactly midnight, the old bridge outside our village became strangely silent. Everyone avoided it because an old man was said to sit there every night, staring into the dark river below.
One rainy night, I decided to find out the truth.
As I reached the bridge, I saw him sitting on a broken wooden bench. His clothes were soaked, but he didn't seem to notice the rain.
“Go home,” he whispered.
I asked why.
He slowly pointed toward the river. “Every night, someone falls.”
Suddenly, I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned around.
Nobody was there.
Then the old man grabbed my arm. “Don't look into the water!”
But it was too late.
A pale face appeared beneath the surface. It looked exactly like mine.
I stumbled backward as another face appeared beside it… then another.
The old man began crying.
“I built this bridge forty years ago,” he said. “My family died here when it collapsed. Since then, their spirits have been waiting for someone to replace them.”
The bridge suddenly cracked beneath my feet.
I ran toward the village while the old man remained behind.
The next morning, villagers found the bridge untouched.
But the old man was gone.
Since that night, people say a new figure sits beside the river at midnight.
And it lo
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