Rakotzbrücke (The Devil's Bridge)

Rakotzbrücke

(The Devil’s Bridge)

Whispers of mystery had long shrouded Rakotzbrücke, the legendary Devil’s Bridge in Kromlau, Germany. Stories had swirled about its eerie perfection for generations—how its reflection in the still waters formed a flawless circle. Some believed it was merely an optical illusion. Others claimed it was something more: a portal to the unknown.

Hans and Gerda Schmidt had grown up in the shadow of these legends. Their childhoods were filled with hushed tales passed down through the years, some dating back over a century. But the most chilling story was always the same—at certain times of the year, the bridge’s reflection wasn’t just a trick of the light. It was a gateway. And those who crossed it at the wrong moment were never seen again.

Most dismissed such stories as mere folklore, but Hans and Gerda couldn’t ignore the unsettling number of disappearances. Determined to separate fact from fiction, they spent months scouring old newspaper archives, compiling every recorded vanishing link to Rakotzbrücke. With each faded article, each cryptic account, a pattern emerged.

If their calculations were correct, the next opening of the gateway was near. And this time, they would be there to witness it.

Their research had uncovered a chilling pattern—the phenomenon occurred only once in winter but was far more frequent during unseasonably warm periods in the warmer months. This week, temperatures were set to spike well above normal, and Hans and Gerda were convinced that the anomaly was bound to happen again.

Armed with sophisticated audio and video equipment, Hans, Gerda, and several close friends set up camp near the bridge early Monday morning. Their goal was simple: capture undeniable proof of the anomaly.

They weren’t the first to try, of course. But they were determined to be the first to succeed.

Each member of the group would take turns operating the equipment, ensuring the bridge was never left unwatched. Gerda was first; luck would have to be on her side. She steadied the camera, framing the sublimely unsettling structure as it loomed over the river, its reflection dissolving into the rising morning mist.

Days passed as the majestic bridge stood in solemn silence. Time was running out.

By Thursday, tension had given way to celebration. The group partied, drank, and danced near the eerie silhouette of Rakotzbrücke, their initial excitement fading into the rhythm of the night. Laughter echoed through the trees—until a sudden burst of blinding white light shattered the darkness.

A collective gasp cut through the air. Hans, Gerda, and the others sprinted toward the equipment, hearts pounding.

Julio, the group’s cameraman for that night, stood motionless, his camera locked onto the event.

Then he sighed and shook his head. “False alarm.”

They followed his gaze to the source—a biker gang rolling through the woods, their headlights gleaming off the water, engines rumbling like distant thunder.

It was an illusion. The spacing of their bikes on the bridge and the reflection of their lights momentarily brought the bridge alive. From a distance, the bridge looked like a space portal had formed.

“Are you recording this?” Gerda asked Julio.

“Never stopped.”

“At least we can add it to the footage of our trip when we edit the video.”

The air deflated from their lungs. Shoulders slumped. Heads hung low.

Disappointment settled over the camp like a heavy fog.

By Sunday, hope had dried up completely. They packed some of their things one by one, muttering the same defeated refrain: “We’ll try again next year.”

Ever the optimist, Gerda climbed onto a picnic table, raising her beer in defiance.

“I want to thank all of you for coming to witness what never was,” she announced, her voice carrying over the quiet camp. “But tonight, we’re forgetting about that damn gateway. Tonight, we party like it never existed!”

A roar of approval followed, and soon, the music and laughter returned.

None of them noticed the waters beneath Rakotzbrücke begin to shimmer.

None of them saw the perfect gaseous cloud take shape inside the circle once more.

Even Julio, who found himself once again on camera duty, did not notice the bridge coming alive. It was half past midnight, and the others were still lost in their revelry at the campsite. None of them was there to witness what was unfolding.

He might have caught it sooner if not for Fraulein Gretchen. She had been eyeing him since they passed his group while hiking on Monday. Now, as the others partied, she had cozied beside him, drawn to the quiet observer behind the camera. Since he did not drink, he had no problem operating the equipment—though tonight, his attention was divided.

That night, Julio had his blanket on the ground. Fraulein Gretchen and he were making out when he caught a glimmer of light out of the corner of his eye. Standing up immediately, he checked to see if the camera and audio were working. Gretchen was still playfully fondling his ear with her lips.

“Stop, this is important. Can’t you see what’s happening?” He said to her with a stern but playful voice. “Look at it; it’s getting brighter and brighter. Come on, let’s get closer.”

The luminous gateway had a compelling allure, almost trancelike, and it kept tugging at their interest. At the river’s edge, there was a small rowboat. They went down to the water, determined to get a closer look.

Meanwhile, the light got bright enough to grab the attention of the others partying at the campsite. Hans was the first to notice the light.

“Look, guys, the forest is beginning to light up. Must be responding to our partying,” He said playfully.

“No, I think it’s the bridge,” Gerda said as she took off, running toward Julio’s location.

The rest of the gang took off after her. There was no sign of Julio near the video equipment, and the forest glow was getting brighter and brighter. Gerda turned toward the bridge, her thoughts conflicting. She wanted her full attention to find Julio and not care about the bridge, yet the bridge was mesmerizing. Her heart was racing as the ominous light loomed large.

“Julio! Julio!” The rest of the group yelled.

The yells from her friends temporarily knocked her back to reality.

She saw a small rowboat drift through the fog on the far side of the river. Her stomach clenched. That same boat was near them when they first set up the equipment on Monday, and it hadn’t moved until now.

“Guys, get over here!” Gerda’s voice cut through the tense air. She was standing near the equipment. As they gathered around, she maneuvered the camera so everyone could see it. The camera began playback with the motorcycles, and they watched as the humming of the bikes slowly transformed the water.

“Look at the water, guys; it appears to be vibrating.”

“Would the soundwaves have that big of an effect on the water?” Hans asked.

“It must have.” She replied as she zoomed in on the water. “When I go back and view the water, it is always completely calm. Something had to stir it.”

Gerda forwarded the camera to the moment the bridge came alive, and what they saw blew their minds. As they began watching, they heard a female voice. Stunned, Gerda rewound the tape, and sure enough, there was a flirtatious voice in the background.

“Maybe Julio is at the nearest hotel.” A voice in the background whispered, drawing quiet snickers from the group.

“Quiet!” Gerda snapped as they continued watching the video.

Then they saw it.

The Gateway

“Look at the bridge! My God, it’s Real!”

“There, there’s Julio and the girl!” Hans pointed.

They watched as the two made their way down the steep slope. Julio jumped in the boat first and turned to help Gretchen aboard. Freeing themselves from the river bed, he slowly rowed toward the ominous bright light as if he were in a trans. Gretchen sat in front of him, leaning back on his chest, mesmerized by the gaseous light. They were approximately 30 yards from the gateway, and the recording stopped.

“What! What happened?” Hans asked.

“I don’t know!” Gerda replied. “No! This can’t be happening!” She shouted. She rewound the tape for a few seconds and played it back, but the same ending showed each time they watched. “Scheiße!” Gerda exclaimed. “What do we do now? We have two people missing, and the tape shows us something, only up to the point where we think they have disappeared. “What are we going to tell people?”

“We tell the truth, Gerda. This is why we came here, to find the truth.” Hans added.

“But we don’t have the truth, only partial truths that add to the folklore. This tape will open up more questions than answers, and we will be at the tail end of it searching for more clues.”

Lynn, Gerda’s best friend from London, walked over to her, put her hands on her shoulder, and turned her around so she could cry. Once Gerda’s head hit her shoulder, she began to sob uncontrollably. Lynn knew the effect the events had on her. All the time and energy she put into this led to nothing but more questions. She also knew that deep down inside, Gerda wanted to see the gateway in action, even if it was at the cost of her friend’s life, which made her feel even worse.

Lynn lifted her head. “Hey, don’t worry. You do have something far more than you ever had. We all know what happened here; most of it is on tape. I say we immediately make a copy of this tape, take it to the police, and let them investigate their copy, and we have concrete evidence to examine on our own. Next time we are here, we will be much better off than before.”

“Lynn’s right, Gerda. We now know a lot more than we ever did. We know the vibrations from the bikes kicked started the gateway, we know that we can’t stare at it because of its trans-like powers, and we know the best time to be here and get another shot.” Hans added.

“Yes, that’s right, Gerda,” the others chimed in.

One year to the day, the crew set up again. In honor of Julio, they set up a makeshift burial plot at the exact location where the camera stood last year. Gerda felt this new location was better. It was on the other side of the lake and had a better view. This time, the crew was on high alert. There was no partying this time. Their campground was just up the hill from the camera, and they could see partial spots of the lake and bridge from their tents.

As they were finishing up with their tents, Lynn ran over to Gerda. “Look at those two over there, Gerda.” She pointed.

“No! That can’t be!” They took off running over the bridge, yelling. “Julio! Julio!” A young man turned around as they approached, staring at them confused.

“Yes, how do you know my name?”