When I was a schoolboy, I decided one evening to cycle a couple of miles into the country to visit my aunt. As we chatted, a storm blew up; the winds were wild and the rain fell like a monsoon deluge. It was late by the time the storm had subsided and thick clouds made the night very dark. I had waterproofs and bicycle lights, so I set off home at a leisurely pace along the country lanes. As I cycled past familiar landmarks, I approached a large oak tree which stood at the side of the road. Suddenly, a ghostly white shape appeared at the base of the tree trunk, waving its arms and slowly moving upwards and towards me. I was terrifi ed. I realised instantly that it wasn’t an owl because I could see right through it – I could see the rough bark of the oak tree very clearly through the white, waving fi gure. I was so frightened that the hair on the back of my neck stood on end – something which has never happened to me on any other occasion. As the ghostly fi gure, still waving its arms, rose slowly up the trunk and disappeared into the branches, I nearly fell off my bike into a big puddle left by the storm. I think my heart must have stopped. But was it a ghost?
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