11 wrz 2011


This is a story that happened to my uncle when I was growing up in rural Philippines.

My uncle worked in a sugarcane mill. His occupation required him to work until the wee hours of the night, but thankfully he was one of the few people that

owned a motorcycle at the time. This was before the roads in the area were and everybody went to sleep at 9PM. He would ride towards home every night around

midnight, snaking through the rice fields, past a stone bridge, and eventually get home dead tired. Sometimes I'd hear the distinct grumble of his engine as

he got home.

Legend has it that a young mother and her baby died, somewhere on his route to and from work. They fell off the stone bridge. They drowned. All people could

tell me about the story was that the woman was walking home at night with her baby when she fell in the water.

One morning I saw my uncle. He was talking with some of my relatives about what had happnened to him a few hours ago on his way home from work. I noticed his

motorcycle, the front wheel is mangled. It had been already been a few hours but his hands were still shaking as he spoke. On his way home, around 1AM, he

drove past the stone bridge like he always did. This was before there were street lights, in total darkness, with only the light from his motorcycle. But

this time was different. The motorcycle felt obviously...heavier. He said that a rider knows how his motorcycle handles, and his carriage was definitely

heavier as he passed the stone bridge. He said even the engine struggled. When asked, he said he didn't look back. I mean, would you?
Anyway, he was so freaked out that he lost control and crashed. He was alright though, and the motorcycle was repaired. However, it turned out that there

were a few more accounts of the "ghost that hitches a ride home" happening to other motorists. Over the years, you kept hearing about more motorist accidents

occuring in the region. Some people didn't believe them, but some people, like me, did. I remember that morning when my uncle showed me his motorcycle after

the crash. The front was smashed, there's mud on the tires, and the morning dew had made the motorcycle cold to the touch. The seat of the motorcycle,

towards the end, was drenched. It didn't rain that night, and no, it wasn't pee.


I hope you guys enjoyed my story. I live in Canada now but I still talk to my uncle from time to time. I spoke to him recently, which inspired me to write

this up to share. After all these years, I asked him again about the incident. I simply asked him what made him lose control of the motorcycle. Was it just

plain nerves? Did the shift in weight cause him to veer off to the side?

"Well," he said. "I heard a baby cry."

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