The Laughing Bicyclist

I had recently moved into a house and was still unfamiliar with the neighborhood. One night, I stepped outside alone to smoke after playing guitar.

A faint metallic noise caught my attention. It sounded like an old, poorly oiled mechanism repeating at regular intervals. I also heard bicycle tires on the road. A man in his forties soon rode past on a badly beaten bicycle that produced an intense, high pitched squeak every time he pedaled.

As he passed my driveway, he slowly turned his head and locked eyes with me. His face reminded me of a horror movie character, but his smile was what made my heart drop. It was an enormous, jagged toothed grin that stretched from ear to ear. He continued staring at me while riding away.

I wondered whether he was circling the neighborhood and whether I could get back inside before he returned. Then I heard the metallic squeak again, followed by something worse. The man was laughing like a maniac.

I rushed for the door. As he rounded the turn and came back into view, I opened the door, ran inside, and locked it. Almost immediately, I heard him shout from outside, “Where’d ya go? Ha ha!”

I turned off all the lights, crawled to my bedroom, and waited. For a long time, the bicycle squeaked outside in short bursts, disappearing and then returning again. Eventually, the sounds stopped and the man left.

I quit smoking and stopped going outside alone after dark. Even now, I sometimes hear the same high pitched squeak outside my bedroom window. I never saw the bicyclist again, but I still remember the way he turned toward me, smiled, and seemed to know exactly where I was going.