The Masked Cyclist: a Halloween Tale
step-through mountain bike. The nonfunctional shifters and rusty chain emitted eerie creaking sounds as I rode through the nocturnal New England streets. My path was illuminated by moonlight, since my bicycle had no lights. Suddenly, I glimpsed something out of the corner of my eye - a moving shadow perhaps? I stopped, with a screech of my poorly adjusted brakes.
As I stood frozen in place, the Masked Cyclist moved closer and closer toward me - until suddenly we were face to face. "Who are you, and want do you want?" I managed to utter.
"But how can I help?"
"I see that you enjoy riding your bicycle, and I pity you for its poor quality and lack of proper accoutrements. If you agree to help me bring the joy of lovely bicycles to our people, I shall be able to rest. You need only tell me that you agree, and the rest will be taken care of."
"It certainly is," she replied, "I have come to thank you for helping restore the glory of lovely bicycles to our land. Once again, I see many happy ladies gliding along our streets on their comfortable, trusty bikes, and I am finally able to rest with the knowledge that things are improving."
"But there is still so much work to do," said I, "surely you are not leaving me?"
And with those words, the Masked Cyclist disappeared. I have not seen her since, but I can feel that her spirit is at peace.