Do not trust the things under bridges, no matter what they promise you.
They dwell in the mud, in the shallow reeds, dragging themselves through the long grasses. Their necks are as the trunks of crooked trees, their eyes are serpent slits, their toes are long and grasping, and their faces are the pale white of cave creatures.
They are seldom seen. All most glimpse of them is the rustling of grass in a wind that isn’t there, the creaking of wooden boards, or the feeling of eyes watching them when they know they are alone.
The things under bridges only come to you when you are alone, when nobody else can hear their whispers. They tell you things that no human may know – the dark secrets of the night, older than the sun – and promise whole worlds if only you will take their hand.
Never take their hand.
Word Count: 149
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and Yinglan for providing the prompt photo!