Have any of you heard of Bowden Road? Well I lived in Huntsville, Texas about six miles away from this road and, one of my friends lived there so it was pretty much habit for me to visit every now and then. Something happened there, about twenty-four years ago that makes me cringe to this very day. Back in college the place gained itself quite the reputation; rumors went around everywhere about this road giving it the nickname Demon's Road.
One day, I went to visit my friend, Kyle, who lived on the road. We both knew about the rumors going around and I asked Kyle if they were true, but he just shrugged. I asked him why he was shrugging. He just said "I don’t know." I asked him if he wanted to look around outside. He looked pretty freaked out at the idea. I thought that the rumors were getting to him. Oh God, if I only knew why he didn’t want to go outside. Eventually he agreed to after I made fun of him for being scared. I knew that if I bugged him he would agree, since he was always the prideful type. We went out around 11:00 p.m.
We walked the road for about fifteen minutes until we found a barn. I asked Kyle what a barn was doing here. Note that no one else lived here except Kyle. He just shrugged again. "Come on let’s check it out," I told him. He followed me until we got to the door of the barn. "Should we go in?" I asked. Kyle said no almost immediately after I said that. "Too bad, we're checking it out," I said arrogantly. He tried to stop me, but I had already opened the door when he tackled me. "What the hell are you doing," I asked him. He got up and went to the door to shut it. Someone or something grabbed him and pulled him in.
Kyle was my best friend, so there was no way was I just going to leave him. I went into the barn. There were pentagrams on the walls made with blood, goat heads were nailed to the walls, and the smell was so bad I had to cover my nose. Kyle was nowhere to be found. I searched everywhere for him and found nothing. There was a back door. It was open. I figured whatever took him had exited through that side. I went out and ran as fast as I could, calling his name, "Kyle! Kyle!" No reply, I ran until every fiber in my muscles was on fire.
I came up to a cemetery, the gate was already open and I spotted a piece of red cloth torn on the fence. Kyle was wearing a red shirt, I knew it was his. I went into the cemetery and called his name, "Kyle!" I heard a high-pitched squeal like that of a pig after I called his name. I spotted a trail of blood and I decided to follow it, trying to be as calm as I possibly could in this situation. What I found was my friend, lying on the ground motionless, headless, next to a tombstone.
I cried as I ran as fast as I could. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care. Tears rolled across my cheeks as I ran away from the cemetery. I looked back and stopped running, out of breath, to see a dark figure. It got closer and closer until I could see the murderer of my friend. It looked like a man wearing a pig’s head, with a white jumpsuit covered in blood. He stood about seven feet tall. That thing was not human. There was no way in hell that thing was human. I ran, my legs feeling like jelly, not just from being tired, but also the fear that came over me when I saw that thing.
It chased me, I looked back, it was getting closer to me. The end of the road was just a few feet away. I looked back as I ran. The killer was gone; I didn’t dare stop running though. I wanted to stop, but I knew I couldn’t. I kept going until I reached home. The next day, as much as I hated the idea, I went back to find nothing. It was as if it never happened, but I knew better. I knew it all happened I wasn’t going crazy.
Please, I’m not asking you to believe my story, just whatever you do, don’t go down that road.