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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Icy-Anteater-1491 on 2024-11-25 08:03:10+00:00.
My uncle Danny loved telling stories. Most of them were harmless, silly things about his childhood, the kind of stuff that made you roll your eyes but secretly smile. But there was one story he only ever told once. It was different. He didn’t laugh while telling it, and he didn’t look at me when he finished.
He told me about the Donkey Man.
“It happened when I was around 16,” he started, leaning forward in his chair like he always did when he got serious. “Me and my buddy Clint were driving back from a fishing trip late at night. It was one of those long, empty Texas roads where the only light comes from your high beams. We weren’t even supposed to be out that late, but you know how kids are.”
I nodded, waiting for the punchline. But he just stared at his hands for a moment, then kept going.
“We saw him standing on the side of the road, just outside the reach of the headlights. A hitchhiker. He looked normal enough—jacket, jeans, bag slung over his shoulder. Clint slowed down, and I didn’t think much of it. This was the middle of nowhere. People needed rides sometimes.”
My uncle paused, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep talking.
“So, we pull up next to him, and Clint leans over to ask where he’s headed. The guy doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at us for a second. Then he smiles. It wasn’t a nice smile, though. It was… wrong. Like he knew something we didn’t.
“Clint asks again, and the guy finally climbs into the truck bed. He doesn’t say a word, just sits back there with his bag. I remember looking through the rear window at him and feeling… off. Like we’d made a mistake.”
“What happened next?” I asked, hooked.
“That’s when I noticed it,” he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. “His feet. He wasn’t wearing shoes. And where his feet should’ve been… he had hooves. Big, dark donkey hooves.”
I laughed nervously. “Come on, Uncle Danny.”
“I swear,” he said sharply, cutting me off. “Clint saw it too. We both freaked out. Clint slammed on the gas, trying to shake him off. That’s when he stood up in the bed of the truck. I swear to God, I’ll never forget the sound. He let out this horrible bray—half-human, half-donkey—and started kicking the back of the truck with those hooves.”
My uncle’s hands shook as he mimed the motion, like he could still feel the vibrations through the steering wheel.
“We didn’t stop driving until we got to Clint’s house. When we finally got out, the truck was a mess. Dents all over the tailgate, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it. Clint’s dad was furious. Asked us what the hell we hit. We didn’t know what to say.”
“And… what happened to him? The Donkey Man?” I asked, trying to hide how uneasy I felt.
Uncle Danny shrugged. “We never saw him again. But Clint’s truck? Those dents never came out. No matter how much they tried to fix it.”
I sat there, stunned. Uncle Danny didn’t say another word about it.
He passed away a few years ago, and sometimes I think about that story. Was he messing with me? Or was it something he carried with him all those years, something he couldn’t explain?