There is a bridge in
Davidson, Wisconsin.
The name of the bridge is ‘Martin’s Bridge’.
The bridge is named after the man who built the bridge, Robert Martin.
Martin’s Bridge isn’t much of a bridge, just a series of two by fours in a row, connected with metal links, and then two metal chains about three feet above that for support.
Robert Martin built the bridge so that the workers of Martin Quarry could easily get across.
One night, when the quarry first opened, there was a horrible storm. Robert Martin being the leader he was he made sure that everyone got to safety before he did. Robert Martin was getting the last group across when the bridge started shaking.
“What’s going on?” one of the workers asked.
“It must be the wind.” yelled Robert Martin. “Hurry up!”
The shaking became more and more violent. The last worker got across in time to turn around to see Robert Martin go over the chains and into the quarry below.
The others saw this too and proceeded to run to their cars.
“What are you doing? Did you not see what just happened to Mr. Martin? We need to go help him.” The last worker across the bridge yelled.
“It is a 75 feet drop. No one can survive that. The storm is getting worse. I am going to safety, it’s not like he is going any where. We will come back in the morning when the storm is over.” The first worker across said.
The last guy across realized he was right and ran to safety with the others.
The next morning when the storm let up everyone was talking about Robert Martin’s death. ‘What a tragedy’ everyone said. ‘What a horrible accident’ the newspaper said. ‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy” the television said.
It didn’t take long after Robert Martin’s death that Martin’s Quarry closed. It was a good business; it was the workers who really closed it. No body wanted to take over his shoes as boss. Some workers didn’t think it was right to go on without him. Some workers were just plain too scared to go back, afraid they were next.
Over time the quarry filled with rain water and people went swimming in it. They planted trees and turned it into a reserve/park. People had forgotten about Robert Martin and his tragic death that night. It was time to remind them.
It was a summer night almost ten years later. A Boy Scout troop was camping out in the park. They had spent the day swimming and playing on the bridge. That night they built a camp fire and sang songs. After the troop leaders went to bed, the boys snuck away to play on the bridge.
“It was a dark, stormy night. Robert Martin was just helping his men to safety when all of a sudden the bridge started shaking uncontrollably. AND HE FELL TO HIS DEATH!” said one Boy Scout in the middle of the bridge with a flash light on his face.
When he started talking about the bridge shaking the bridge actually started to shake.
“Stop It!” said another Boy Scout who was standing with the boy with the flash light in the middle of the bridge.
He turned and was turning in circles to see two boys on both ends moving the bridge.
I imagine Robert Martin loves that he has become nothing more than a folk tale.
“Relax, we were just joking around.” said the Boy Scout with the flash light.
“Yeah everyone knows he jumped.” yelled one of the boys on the side of the bridge.
I am sure the hero Robert Martin loved that comment even more.
It was time to make my move. They are vulnerable.
The bridge started to shake..
“Guys come on we scared him already.” said the boy with the flash light.
“It’s not us!” yelled all four boys on the side.
They were just standing there scared.
The two boys on the bridge tried to run to safety, but the shaking only got worse and they too were flown from the bridge into the dark quarry below.
Another tragic accident has occurred.
Over the years another 37 people have falling victim to the bridge in the past 25 years. Not any more are they seen as accidents.
Rumors spread that it was a jealous relative of Robert Martin. But their wasn’t any family. Some said that a deranged- psycho path from the mental institute in Two Rivers. But no one was reported missing. Others say that it was a series of passer bys who did it. It couldn’t be one of their neighbors. Then others said it was the faulty construction of the bridge that was to blame. Still others said it was 40 tragic accidents. A rumor got started that it was a cursed bridge. Their was always the few who wouldn’t say one way or the other.
“Come on, scared of the big, bad bridge?” a teenage girl asked walking through the woods to Martin’s Bridge.
“Of course not it’s just a bridge. My leg is starting to cramp, that’s all.” said the second teenage girl trying to catch up to the first.
You should be scared of the big, bad bridge.
“You want her to win the bet?” asked the first teenage girl.
“No” said the second teenage girl.
“Me neither. I don’t want high school to start off like that.” The first teenage girl said. “So let’s go to the middle of the bridge, take the picture and go home.”
“Yeah, this park gives me the creeps.” The second girl said and they started walking again.
Under a full moon, in the middle of the night number 41 and 42 walked on to me and with the flash of their camera I started shaking.
No one can stand the shaking of Martin’s Bridge.
Two weeks after those two girls death they cut me down to lay forever at the bottom of the quarry. They weren’t going to loose any more people. I like it down here with all of my special friends.
