The Runaway Motorcycle

Written by Jane Lee.




 

My name is Jane. I was born and grew up in Sabah, Borneo. I have been reading the stories here and decided to write my own experience. I’m not a very good writer so here goes.

It happened in 1998 when I was 16. I was on the phone with my then best friend Mel. But first let me describe my house. I lived with my parents, siblings and grandfather in a two-storey house. My grandfather’s room is at the ground floor while me, my siblings and parents’ room were on the second floor. Our house was located at the top of a hill and at the front house next to the road was my grandfather’s small rubber plantation. This road was the only road used in our village and because our house was at the hilltop, and there were no houses nearby. It was quite lonely and the tall rubber trees added to the eerie feeling.

Now back to my story. It was around 8pm when my best friend called me on the house phone (back then we didn’t have cellphones) to discuss about our coming exam. The phone was on the ground floor’s living room and next to the phone was a window which overlooked the road. I liked to look out from the window while talking on the phone. During this time I was alone in the living room as both my parents were praying the rosary on the second floor living room and my grandfather was asleep. My brother was showering, and my younger sister was in her room.

While I was on the phone with my best friend, I could hear a motorcycle sound coming from the bottom of the hill. So as always, I looked out the window to see who it was. The motorcycle sound was quite loud, as if the rider was having trouble handling the machine. When the motorcycle was in view and it reached the front of my house, it suddenly gave a loud roar and flipped on its rear tire, throwing the rider off. The rider stood up immediately and ran towards me in horror while screaming for my grandfather for help.

At this point, my grandfather and parents were rushing to the door as they heard the distress call from the rider.

The scary and weird thing was when my grandfather and parents went out to the front veranda, the rider (which was my uncle) just came up running from the bottom of the hill. I ended my phone call with my best friend and frantically told my parents I saw clearly my uncle falling from the motorcycle and running towards the house screaming for help. But my uncle, shaking with fear, said it was not him.

He told us that when he was on his way home, after passing the village cemetery, he felt his motorcycle getting heavy as if the motorcycle was running on its own. At first my uncle tried to control the motorcycle thinking it was broken but when it started going up the hill on its own, my uncle felt scared and jump from the motorcycle at the bottom of the hill and watched in horror as his motorcycle went up the hill on its own as if someone was controlling it.

When my uncle finished telling us what happened, my sister, pale-faced, told us that she saw the motorcycle run on its own before falling – as she could see the road from her room window. After hearing my sister, my poor uncle asked my father to send him home using our car, leaving his motorcycle on the road.

The next morning my father went to take the motorcycle and put it in our garage for my uncle to collect when he was ready. My grandfather said that maybe, my uncle crossed a playful spirit while passing the cemetery and the spirit decided to give my uncle a joy ride. Until now, I’m still puzzled about who I saw that night riding my uncle’s motorcycle.

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