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When I was 18 we went to Trow Bridge in Birmingham, MI. Apparently a couple kids jumped off the overpass onto the railways below and committed suicide. Legend was that if you parked your car on the bridge, it would shake. Well, low behold, it never shook, so we said fuck it and walked down the hill to the rail tracks. We were walking and thought we saw a figure down in the tunnel a bit, but it ended up being a bum. So at this point we're kind of irritated and decided to head back. As I was walking up the hill it started to feel like my back was on fire..., literally like there were 100 icy hot patches on my back. We get to the top of the hill, pulled my shirt up and asked them if there was anything on my back. There were 3 large scratch marks probably about 5 inches in length all parallel to one another. Nobody knew what the fuck it was from because we were out in open space the whole time. The burning stopped by the time I got back in the car, so roughly 5 minutes or so. The craziest part was that by the time we got back to his house, the marks were gone.
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