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The Headless Cyclist

      George Dobbs was determined that the bitter weather and shortages of wartime Britain were not going to get him down. It was 1940 and the country was in the grip of one of its worst winters for years. Snow covered the countryside and, to make matters worse, the war news was gloomy.
      George wrapped himself up against the hostile night and set out from his home near Northhampton to walk to the Fox and Hounds pub for a few beers to cheer himself up.
      With his hands deep in his pockets, he struggled up the slippery slope past the cemetery when he noticed the dim headlights of a car slowly approaching, its wheels running in and out of the icy ruts. framed against the lights of the car, George saw a cyclist pedalling towards him. He too was having difficulty in steering his machine because of the snow and ice.
      At first George thought that the cyclist had no head, but he quickly dismissed the idea as being a trick of the light or the fact that the rider had muffled himself up against the cold.
      The next time George glanced up, the cyclist was still fighting for control of his machine, completely unaware of the approaching car. But before George had the chance to cry out, the car drew level with him and chugged passed towards Market Harborough.
      George could not believe it. The car must have hit the cyclist, he thought. He ran through the snow as fast as he could to the spot that he had last seen the cyclist- expecting to find the result of a terrible accident.
      There was nothing. No cyclist, no cycle and no accident. George searched both sides of the road in vain.
      He fled as quick as his legs could take him to the Fox and Hounds pub at nearby Kingthorpe. As he thawed out in the pub, he told his story.
      When Gorge told his story, there was silence, until Lid Green, who was for many years the local gravedigger, leaned across the bar.
      He said, "That sounds just like the chap I buried 25 years ago. He was knocked off his bike in deep snow outside the cemetary gates.
      "His head was torn off in the crash!"

from: The World's Greatest Ghosts
by: Roger Boar & Nigel Blundell