April Slaughter (6 page)

The community suffered a tremendous loss in the tragedy, and rumors quickly began to spread that Oscar’s restless spirit would forever guard the bridge and prevent anyone from crossing whom he felt meant to do others harm. This story has survived into the present day, and many people still believe that Oscar’s anger keeps him tied to the bridge, wandering the area to ensure the safety of others.

This story, however, is not the only reason the span is called the “Goatman’s Bridge.” For decades, people have reported encountering a creature described as being half man, half goat. On more than one occasion, visitors have heard the sound of
hooves running the length of the bridge as they walked, feeling as though they were being chased away by the Goatman himself. While no photographic evidence exists to support the claims that this creature exists, there are many who will attest that they have seen and experienced the Goatman while out at the bridge and in the woods that surround it.

It was near dusk on my first excursion to the bridge, and I was not feeling well. When Allen and I arrived, I asked him to go on ahead without me to walk around and told him I would be out to join him in a short while. I was alone in the car for only a couple of minutes when I noticed an orange light flitting about the outside of the windshield. For a brief moment I didn’t think much of it, and suspected it was merely a lightning bug. After a few seconds, however, the light suddenly stretched into a long, strongly illuminated beam that shot straight up into the air and hung there for several seconds before disappearing. The same phenomenon repeated itself twice more in the exact same pattern within the span of a couple of minutes. As it was still fairly light out, I am confident I would have seen a bug or some other source of the light.

As I exited the car, I gathered my things and joined my husband, who was already exploring the bridge. The incident with the beam of light intrigued me so much, and I wanted to share what happened with Allen before he was out of sight exploring the woods.

“I just had the strangest experience,” I said. “I don’t know what it was, but this strange orange beam of light just shot over the car.”

We spoke about the incident briefly before walking the length of the bridge onto the other side of the river with Jerry Bowers, a good friend of ours—and one of the executive board members of The Paranormal Source, Inc. The three of us were standing in a heavily wooded area just beyond the bridge when
we heard rustling noises moving behind us in the brush. It was not a windy day, and we hardly took notice of it at first, thinking it could be an animal skulking around close by. We heard the rustling again, but this time in several places at once all around us. When we went to investigate further, we could find no source for the sound.

Later in the evening, after the sun had set, we set up some camping chairs and began to take a few pictures on the bridge. Almost every photograph captured a view of just how many spiders made Old Alton Bridge their home, as it was littered with webs nearly everywhere you looked.

Allen, Jerry, and I sat down to begin recording some audio. Shortly after turning on our recorders, we began talking aloud to see if we could get some sort of response. If the bridge was indeed haunted, maybe whoever was still lurking about might say something to us.

“Is there anyone here that would like to talk to us?” I asked.

Allen and Jerry also took turns asking questions to the air. We were a bit startled when all three of us heard a woman’s voice, seemingly close to us.

“Baby,” she said.

There was no mistaking what she said, or that she had been in close proximity to us. The sound of her voice carried such a weight of sadness with it. We were lucky enough to capture this audio on our video camera.

Old Alton Bridge attracts many paranormal investigators and teams all year round, and many of them have reported their experiences with phenomena in almost every form here. Our good friend Lance Oliver, founder of the Denton Area Paranormal Society (D.A.P.S.), has shown us numerous pictures he and his team have taken at the bridge. Many of the photos show odd anomalies, such as several self-illuminated orbs, inexplicable mists, and rod-shaped lights. D.A.P.S. has also had fairly good
luck in capturing EVPs at the bridge.

On a repeat visit of ours one evening, a group of teenagers approached us and asked us what we were doing out at the bridge after dark. Allen explained to them that we were there to investigate paranormal activity and asked them if they were local to the area.

“We live not too far from here,” said one of the young ladies. “We come out here all the time and usually always have something scary happen.”

After a few minutes of chatting with the small group, they left us to our work and headed across the bridge to woods on the other side. Not fifteen minutes or so had passed when the entire group of kids came running back across the bridge.

“What happened?” I asked.

“We were out there in the woods and something came running at us from within the trees,” one of the teens explained. “We could hear it. It must have been big because it made a lot of noise and it sounded like it was running really fast toward us. We didn’t want to see what it was! It scared us so bad!”

And just like that, they were gone. We hadn’t been far from the small group of kids as they went off into the woods and we didn’t hear whatever it was coming at them from the dark.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful for us until we decided to turn on a K-II meter to see if we could get any readings on it. A K-II is an EMF (electromagnetic field) meter that registers fluctuations in the energetic environment with a series of colored LED lights. While some use the K-II by holding down the pressure trigger on the front of the device with their thumb, we had ours modified with a switch to ensure that we ourselves were not the cause of a false reading. We began to ask questions, and stated that it would be helpful for whoever wanted to communicate with us to flash the lights on the device twice to indicate a “yes” answer and once to indicate a “no” answer.

“Are you male?” asked Allen.

The lights flashed once.

“Are you female?” he asked.

The lights flashed twice.

We asked these same questions several times, and always received the same answers. If there was indeed a woman speaking with us that night on the bridge, we were unable to determine who she was or why she was there. It is interesting to note that many groups have also reported capturing EVPs of a woman’s voice on Old Alton Bridge. Some have even captured photographs of what they believe to be a smoky apparition of a woman floating across the bridge.

Does a woman’s spirit roam the area looking for her baby? Perhaps the spirit of Mrs. Washburn is searching for the children she once loved and lost. Is there a creature keeping watch over the woods that is half-goat, half-man? Is Mr. Washburn still guarding those who wish to make a safe passage across? All I know for certain is that something or someone is out there at Old Alton Bridge.

I HAVE TRAVELED ALL OVER the United States visiting some of the country’s most famous “haunts.” I have seen and experienced some rather amazing things in the years since my fascination for the paranormal first began. Having the opportunity to travel with my mentors and friends to places I otherwise would never have been able to visit has truly changed my life. While the more well-known places are definitely fun, some of my most treasured memories have been created in places rarely talked about or known at all in paranormal circles.

Sometimes, I come across a place that doesn’t have a reputation for being haunted at all, a place that speaks to me and sits quietly in the background as if it were waiting for me to discover it. I have found many of these places over the years; one in particular is the Bull Ring in the historic Fort Worth Stockyards, an
area rich in history and perfectly primed for more than its fair share of ghost stories.

Over the span of twenty-four years—from 1866 to 1890—more than four million head of cattle came through Fort Worth as drovers pushed their herds up the Chisholm Trail. The city quickly became known as “Cowtown” and was the last chance for the men to rest and gather their supplies before crossing the Red River into Indian Territory. A rough-and-tumble part of town just south of the courthouse became famously known as “Hell’s Half Acre,” as it had a reputation for attracting the more violent and lawless type of crowd.

Business was good in the Stockyards, however, despite having suffered through drought and fires that resulted in large amounts of structural damage and the death of many livestock. Success continued through both World Wars, but eventually sales slowed as trucking replaced the railways as a primary means of shipping cattle to their destinations.

The North Fort Worth Historical Society, established in 1976, sought to preserve the history of Cowtown by working to restore much of what was deteriorating in the city. That same year, the Fort Worth Stockyards National Historical District was also established. Most of what might have been lost has undergone restoration, making it one of the most popular tourist destinations in Texas today.

One sunny spring afternoon, Allen and I were visiting the Stockyards to research a couple of other locations in the area. The streets were lined with cars, and there were so many people walking the sidewalks it was nearly impossible to get anywhere quickly. We had been in town for an hour or so when we stopped into the General Store to take a look around. I bought a few little things for my kids and asked the young man at the register if he knew where I could get a cup of coffee.

“Just down the street, there is the Bull Ring. If you’re looking
for a good cup of coffee, that would be the place to go,” he said.

It took us only a couple of minutes to reach the entrance, and as we stepped inside Allen and I found ourselves instantly smitten with the place. A large wooden Dr. Pepper sign hung on the wall just behind the long beverage counter, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a section of the building that wasn’t covered in art or odd, antique trinkets.

I stepped up to order our coffees, and as the lady behind the counter was preparing them I suddenly felt the urge to ask her something.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any ghosts in this building, would you?”

She paused for a brief moment and replied, “Actually, we do.”

Honestly, I was half-joking when I asked and I certainly did not expect her to give me the answer she did.

“Really?” I asked. “Would you mind telling me about them?”

I handed her my business card and introduced myself. She told me her name was Charlene Lindstrom and that her parents, Mr. and Mrs. A.C. Cook, owned the building. They had purchased the property in 2000 and spent three years painstakingly restoring it, opening it to the public in 2003. For years the building had housed a small tailoring business run by an elderly Jewish couple, Mike and Jenny Bornstein, but now it served as a place to grab a soda or beer on-the-go, have an ice cream cone, or enjoy a nice glass of wine.

“You’re probably going to think I am crazy, but I know there is a man that lives in this building,” she said. “Bill and I have heard him walking around up here when we were down in the basement.”

Bill Mackey is a good friend of Charlene’s who helps manage the Bull Ring. As we were introduced, he began to tell Allen and me that he was a believer in paranormal phenomena and that he knew without a doubt that someone (maybe even several
people) haunted the building. Like Charlene, Bill also acknowledged that he had witnessed the presence of a man in the building, as had several others over the years. As my husband and I were growing short on time, I didn’t yet have the opportunity to inquire further about the resident spirit. I assured both Charlene and Bill that I would return soon to discuss the ghost more with them when I had more time to sit down and hear their stories.

“You have to see our basement before you go,” said Bill. “It used to be all boarded up, and I can tell you that it has a completely different atmosphere down there.”

He escorted Allen and me down the stairwell at the rear of the building into the basement. It was as if we had stepped into an entirely different time. Artwork and old photographs were everywhere, and writing on the concrete wall read, “If you can’t pay, don’t play,”—reminiscent of a time when not being able to pay off your bets might have landed you in a very dangerous situation with your fellow gamblers.

Several people were running about, preparing for a wedding reception being held in the building later that evening. We didn’t want to be in the way, so we took a few photographs and asked to set up a time when we could come back in.

“You and your team should come out to investigate the Bull Ring sometime,” said Charlene. “We’d love to have you. No one else has ever been allowed in to do that before, and I’d be interested to see what y’all would come up with.”