Phil’s world

A para­nor­mal view

Chat It's Fate - - Contents - Phil Why­man

The fig­ure of a cy­clist sped past

The other day my wife Sara came home from work, sat down at the kitchen ta­ble, and ex­claimed that one of her work col­leagues had seen a ghost.

So, just a nor­mal dayto-day con­ver­sa­tion, re­ally!

She thought that you – dear reader – might like to read about it.

So here is the in­ci­dent… Back in April 2014, Dawn – Sara’s friend – was walk­ing to her lo­cal store with her daugh­ter Kirsty, Kirsty’s daugh­ter, and a friend. It was about 9pm …and it was dark. Their route took them through a ceme­tery, a short cut to the shop. Sud­denly, Kirsty grabbed her friend, pulling her swiftly off the foot­path. Just as she did this, a fig­ure of a man on a bike sped past Dawn into the dis­tance. After the shock, the girls laughed and joked about it, and even­tu­ally thought noth­ing more of it as they con­tin­ued their jour­ney. Soon after, they reached the far side of the ceme­tery. And stopped. The six-footh­igh wrought iron gates were locked. They’d for­got­ten that at a cer­tain time of night the gates are closed and re­mained that way un­til the next morn­ing…

No exit

There was noth­ing for it but to clam­ber over the waist-high perime­ter fenc­ing that ran ei­ther side of the main gate, even though this

was en­twined with ma­ture, thorny bushes.

So how had the biker got through?

The next day, Dawn sud­denly re­mem­bered some bizarre points about the in­ci­dent from the pre­vi­ous evening.

The cy­clist had ap­peared to have no fa­cial fea­tures at all.

He was silent, the bike was mov­ing un­re­al­is­ti­cally fast, and where did he go?

Later that day, Kirsty was brows­ing Face­book when she read a post con­cern­ing a for­mer school friend.

He had passed away the very same night of the strange in­ci­dent, hav­ing been in­volved in a bike ac­ci­dent.

Hear­ing more about the ac­ci­dent, Dawn was taken aback when she dis­cov­ered that the de­ceased man had worked in the store that they were head­ing to that night…

And their route was the same one that he would have taken on his way to work.


Was this biker per­haps the ghost of the per­son who had re­cently died as his spec­tral form sped to­wards work? Try­ing to make it to the gates be­fore they were locked? It’s a mys­tery. Well it’s time for me to get on my bike and hit the road. Un­til next month...

how had the rac­ing biker got through the gates?

Short cut: Scary ceme­tery

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