The Green Bicycle is a short story inspired by the true, unsolved murder case that happened in Leicestershire in 1919.
Via Devana, 5th July 2007, Leicestershire, England
It had taken her months to find this old green bike. The last time it was seen hanging on the walls of a local shop, then it suddenly disappeared. She had spent months tracking it down only to find it in some farmers derelict shed. The grumpy old sod sold it to her for 10 quid, which she thought was a right rip-off.
With the sun in her back she was now cycling the squeaking vintage bike down the Via Devana – an old Roman road now known as Gartree Road – framed by fields and headgerows. Thankfully, it was a flat stretch of road, as the nearly 100 year old BSA bike had no gears and the main brake was applied by paddling backwards.
She pulled over to the side of the single track road to change the song in her mp3 player. Dead as Yesterday by Zakk Wylde just wasn’t all that inspiring whilst cycling. She searched for Eddie Vedder’s Hard Sun before she got back into the saddle, forcing the stiff peddles, moving forward one slow turn at a time.
She checked her watch, and it was close to 8pm, still light and still too stuffy. The mild breeze that was usually brushing across the Midlands’ meadows, was nowhere to be found and whereas before she had heard some cicada in the shrubs alongside the road it suddenly occurred to her that nature had gone very quiet. Too quiet.
She looked around, but the road was empty, and no farmers were working in the fields. She couldn’t help but feel a cold shower tingle down her spine, and it wasn’t from the sweat. She’d stopped to take the water bottle out of her backpack, when suddenly a figure caught her attention. She held her breath for a few heartbeats. A woman in her early 20s stood by the side of the road, an old bike leaning against a gate. It seemed to be from the same era as the green bike she was riding.
“Hi!” she said politely, whilst unplugging the earphones. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” there certainly was not a single cloud in the sky.
The girl at the side of the road didn’t reply, and suddenly a black bird caught her attention. It was a crow that circled above the silent girl’s head before it settled down on the girl’s shoulder.
“Cool, I always wanted a raven bird for a pet!” she said truthfully as she pushed her green bike a bit closer.
The girl looked at her with a sudden interest, then at the old bike, and her expression lightened.
“Do you have a spanner?” the girl asked in a curious manner.
“No, sorry, I don’t have any tools on me.” she truthfully replied.
The strange girl seemed disappointed, causing the crow to ruffle its feathers still sitting on her shoulder, as if it wasn’t sure if it should take off or stay put.
“Are you from Leicester?” she asked the girl curiously.
“I live up there.” the girl faintly pointed eastwards, towards a tiny village called Stretton.
“It’s nice around here. I took some archery lessons nearby in Great Glen a few years back.” she casually said, taking another sip from the water bottle.
“Are you from Great Glen then?” the strange girl asked with hope in her eyes.
“No… no I am from much further away.”
“Oh.” the girl said, sounding disappointed now.
“Ok, look, I might as well cut this short. I know why you are here.”
The girl tilted her head to the left, the crow suddenly took off croaking and flapping its wings angrily. “You do?”
“Yes, and I fully sympathize with you! I mean, I would be pretty pee’d off if someone did that to me, you know. Why did he kill you out here?”
For a moment she was praying she hadn’t done the wrong thing, some ghosts could get pretty mad when confronted with the truth because they were in denial.
“He was such a gentle man. We rode our bikes alongside for a bit… then… I don’t remember” she said looking around confused.
“Did he want something from you? Why did he shoot you?”
“I… I remember a crow… it was sitting on this gate, and we had stopped to chat for a bit. He was very polite, but the crow kept croaking. He suddenly pulled out a gun and shot the poor bird!” she exclaimed and looked at her with sadness in her big eyes.
“He shot the bird for no reason, and we got into an argument over it, and… then…”
“Then he shot you?”
“Yes.”
“And now you appear every year on this stretch of road and people have accidents because of you.” she pointed around, broken shrubs and tire tracks going into the fields were proof enough.
“I wish there was something I could do to help you. I know he never got convicted for what he did to you, but look! I found his bike! It took me a bloody long while.”
Much to her dismay, the ghost in front of her didn’t really respond with song and dance over the fact that she had found her actual green bike, the one that belonged to the ghost when she was alive.
“Okay. Look, I know how confused you must feel, but I think it is time for you to go home, don’t you want to go home?”
“Yes, I think I do.” she replied. “How do I do that? Can you help me?”
Good. She liked compliant ghosts like her; they weren’t as much hard work as those stubborn ones that just wouldn’t cross over into the light.
“I am glad to hear that.” she truthfully said, then pushing the green bike and letting it fall on its side next to the gate. She took off her backpack to get some lighter fluid and a packet of rock salt from it.
“It soon will be over.” she promised, as she sprinkled the salt over the green bike she’d paid 10 quid for, followed by the lighter fluid. She then opened an oversized box of matches. She loved those. They never failed to work. The flames took hold, and soon were eating away the blistering old paint, melting the tires with crackling plops.
Suddenly, the black smoke from the flames had a life of its own and formed a figure, a person to be precise.
“Oh crap!” she exhaled and took a step backwards as the ghost of Ronald Light pointed a revolver at her head, looking pretty mad.
“I so hate stubborn ghosts.” she mumbled, but before Ronald could fire a ghostly bullet her way, the crow attacked him, screeching and croaking in fury. Over and over, the bird went down on his head, which he tried to cover with his arms while screaming in pain. But the crow was more powerful and much angrier than him. In a sudden burst that made her tumble backwards, the ghost of Ronald exploded into pieces of flames, melting away like the green paint on his bike.
She turned towards the ghost of the girl, who now smiled at her. A strange light surrounded her now and as it got brighter and brighter it swallowed her up whole and disappeared like a white crow into the cloudless blue skies.
She tried to find her breath again, as this had been quite intense. It was safe to say that this had been her first roadside ghost in connection with a bicycle, and somehow mountain biking would never feel the same again.
As the rest of the green bicycle of Roland Light was slowly smouldering away, she shouldered her backpack and started walking back the Via Devana towards Stoughton. Plugging in the earphones, listening to Foreigner’s Blinded by the Light, she felt quite accomplished.
Her black 4×4 was still parked on the grassy verge where she’d left it, shaded by old trees from a nearby graveyard. Good to see you again, she said to her car.
She placed the backpack behind the passenger seat and got something else out before she locked the car up again.
Then she walked over to the graveyard nearby. It was still a lovely warm summer’s evening with the sun about to set. The air smelled of fresh cut grass as the evening breeze finally rolled across the meadows.
She hunkered down in front of a very small white marble headstone, almost overgrown by grass, it read:
In Memory of Annie Bella Wright
Died July 5th 1919
Aged 21
“I hope you can rest in peace now, Bella” she said, placing a bunch of white flowers on her grave.
When a black crow landed on the headstone, she smiled.
“Make sure she’s okay on the other side.” and the bird titled its head and croaked in response as if he had understood.

The End.