Seeing Death

Seeing Death – JKTY

A woman named JKTY experienced this short scary story, namely Seeing Death. It is a quiet summer night in New York. A woman, returning home from Queens, drives across the Atlantic Beach Bridge. And sees Death. Death, she remembered later, was in the personage of an old man of indeterminate years. Long, gray, unkempt hair clung around his shoulders like a cape. His clothes, rough and dark, made him seem a fisherman. Saying nothing, making no movements, he gazed out into the water with stern, grave eyes. The twilight made everything—the water, sky, clouds, everything—a still, gray haze.
“I saw him and knew him instantly, If she recounted. “I don’t know where he came from. When I saw him, and I remember it so clearly, I said to myself, ‘He is Death. I am looking at Death.’ ”

Seeing Death
Seeing Death

Deep dread began pounding through her as the woman thought of her husband and three children waiting at home. She raced the car homeward, attempting to control the feeling of panic, and threat. Her eldest daughter met her in the driveway, crying that their dog had been killed by a car, late that afternoon. The mother could only respond “Thank God.”
The woman explained the frightening incident to friends and relatives including her brother, who shortly afterward moved to Wisconsin. Two years later, he visited his family in New York, having an extraordinary story of his own to tell.

Death On the Road at Night – JKTY

Late one night, after a losing poker game, he was driving home. The road crossed a darkened bridge. As he crossed, with the same apprehension his sister had two years earlier,—he too saw Death. Deeply shaken, he accelerated the car, and rushed home. When he arrived, the phone was ringing, grinding loud. He answered it, but there was only silence at the other end.
He was separated from his wife at the time, and became worried. He called her and received merely a frustrating busy signal. It was late, very late, but the sight of Death on the bridge had unnerved him. He hurried to his car, and sped to his wife’s house. He found her unconscious, crumpled on the floor, the uncradled phone at her side. She had tried to commit suicide with sleeping pills, then, desperately trying to undo her own destruction, telephoned her husband. An ambulance arrived, pumped the poison from her stomach, and she lived.
“Why I recognized the man as Death is something I’ll never know,” his sister says. “But the same thing happened to my brother that happened to me. It’s uncanny … seeing Death on the bridge.”
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