A childhood friend, with whom I wasn’t hanging out anymore, became a demon. He started spiraling down with a heavy cocaine hydrochloride habit. He became a mean and cheap street thug to fund his habit. The story goes that as a thug he did not last much. Somewhere in 1994, he was killed by the police after he and his associate perpetrated a hold-up in a gas station. He was hit in the neck by a ricocheting bullet.
In ’98 I was walking by the lonely streets of a residential district near my house’s neighborhood when I saw him, riding a bicycle.
He, with a shrieking scream, yelled my name. Needless to say that he scared the living daylights out of me. And it was a cloudy Saturday morning, I’m not talking about something that happened in the wee hours of the night.
The point is that there is no explanation for how it happened. I was walking by a block and when I came to the corner I watched to the side, to the corner to my left.
One or two blocks from the corner I was just crossing. And there he appeared! Riding his (ghost?) vehicle and creepily screaming my name.
For years, I didn’t know if the story of his death was true. Sometimes I thought it may have been just a cover for the shame that may have meant to him to be in jail at like seventeen or eighteen years.
I guessed that he could have ended in a situation like that. I also thought that once back in the streets he took advantage of me. To scare me, for me to think that the story of his death was true and that he was a ghost.
But a couple of years ago I’ve confirmed that he died, talking to a friend that went to his wake. He assured me that his death was an actual event that is verifiable.
I told my friend that I’m not a stupid person and I was not going to blindly believe that the person in question was dead until I saw proof. I asked around where he was buried. Then I went to the cemetery where I was told that he was buried.
Once in the cemetery, I went to the office and I asked for the registry of 1994 interments. I browsed the register to find the page on which his record was supposed to be. That avenue of confirmation died right then and there because I’ve found that someone had torn out the exact page that would have the alleged record of the alleged apparition’s burial.
All the other pages were undisturbed, but the one with his record was simply torn out. Still, that can’t compete with personal confirmation by another person, one who went to the wake of the person that manifested to me as a ghost.
The subject of this guy, being still around as a ghost, never did leave me and I communicated it amply to others who knew him when he was still alive. It was always a great subject of conversation.
I’m glad that I brought this subject up time and time again in conversations with others who knew him, because, one time I got something of a confirmation.
Once, a friend looked surprised when I brought up the topic once again, and he looked spooked and told me to shut up, that a few days ago he was talking about the person with someone else and a few things fell from a shelf without any explainable logical reason for them to have fallen.
Media Attribution
Ghost Rider (1984) by Albert Szukalski
By John Floyd
