I receive a rare amount of stories from Wirral Globe readers about ghosts and other unfamiliar beings they’ve encountered on the roads of the peninsula previously and recently.
Some of those accounts date back several a long time, while others describe encounters that took place quite recently.
Here are only two of them.
Let me start with a really unusual encounter that took place on the approach to the roundabout where Clatterbridge Road, Thornton Common Road and Willaston Road meet.
There is a triangular road island just before the roundabout at the tip of Clatterbridge Road and on the evening of Saturday 18 May 2019, a person in his 30s called Chris from Higher Bebington was approaching this island on his method to his mother's house in Rabi.
It was about 9 p.m. and a full moon was hanging over the eastern horizon.
Before him, Chris saw the figure of a person in a striped jacket and dark pants, standing on a triangular road island, and he appeared to have something on his mind. As Chris approached the person, he saw that it was some sort of bag.
The man had his right hand prolonged towards Chris and his thumbs up. Chris often never stopped for hitchhikers, but he thought the smartly dressed one looked harmless and he just needed to know why the person was wearing a brown paper bag over his head with two holes for his eyes.
He stopped on an island, rolled down the window and asked the hitchhiker, “What's with the bag?”
“If you would kindly give me a lift, I will explain,” the person replied, and to Chris his voice sounded quite distinguished due to its clear enunciation.
Chris opened the door and a person walked in – with a ridiculous square brown paper bag over his head. The eye holes were perfectly round dark holes, and Chris couldn't see any eyes searching through them.
'Where are you going?' – Chris asked, then quickly added: “I'm just going to Raba.”
“Nowhere in particular,” the hitchhiker replied, and this answer naturally made Chris concerned concerning the stranger's intentions.
“You just said if I could kindly give you a ride, so what are you talking about?” Chris asked, concerned for his safety. Did the stranger have any weapons on him?
– Anyway, guess why I'm wearing this bag on my head? the strange traveler asked together with his thumb, leaning awfully near Chris.
“I have no idea and now you're getting out of my car,” Chris said as he drove through the roundabout, able to stop at Willaston Road.
The sinister, eloquent passenger said, “Have you heard the saying, 'If looks could kill'? Well, I can kill just by someone. My face is so terrifying that one look from me will kill you or leave you a gibbering wreck.
Chris stopped and said, “Okay, buddy, go for it. If you would like, you possibly can leave the bag untouched.
The man took the bag off his head and said, “Peek-a-boo!”
Chris saw the person's face; it was terrible, unearthly. 'Oh!' Chris thought the shock of seeing such a terrifying face would stop his heart.
It was a grotesque mass of writhing worms, their writhing bodies merging right into a nightmarish mosaic.
Bulging, staring eyes poked out of the writhing swamp, and people swollen eyes stared at Chris with an intensity that added to the terrifying shock.
The undulating facial movements had an eerie, hypnotic effect, sending shivers down Chris's spine and leaving him literally paralyzed with fear.
It was a face so terrifying, so completely incomprehensible, that Chris felt like his mind couldn't fully comprehend the phobia before him. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to make sense of the nightmare unfolding before his eyes.
Chris thought he was going to die from the effect this terror had on his heart, unlike anything he had ever known.
The man – or whoever he was – put the bag back on his head and laughed as he got out of the automotive. He left, and Chris finally got over his unprecedented trauma.
When his mother opened the door to him in her house in Raby, she immediately knew that something terrible had happened to her son.
Chris couldn't speak for a moment after which he told what will need to have appeared like a really far-fetched story, and his mother knew that Chris rarely drank alcohol so she asked him if he had taken any drugs, to which Chris replied that ' T
He was a hypochondriac and wondered if the hitchhiker was hallucinating attributable to a neurological condition.
I even have been reported repeatedly to the identical sort of hitchhiker with a bag over his head, each within the Wirral, Liverpool and parts of North Wales, often with a hood covering the hitchhiker's face as an alternative of the brown paper bag that Chris saw.
Chris went to the doctor, told him concerning the terrifying encounter, and the doctor really helpful that Chris see a psychologist to guage his mental health.
Chris decided not to hunt help from a psychologist. He examine phantom hitchhikers and discovered that psychologists often refrain from accepting first-hand accounts from individuals who claim to have encountered disappearing hitchhikers. Instead, they consistently attribute such experiences to underlying psychological aspects.
On a dark Monday, January 1, 1940, at 6 a.m., 46-year-old Robert Jones from Wallasey was returning home from a New Year's Eve party.
As the automotive drove down Cliff Road, somewhat old woman waved frantically to Robert from the side of the road.
He stopped and the woman, who was lower than five feet tall, said, “Can you take me to Breck?” I live nearby.
Robert nodded and said yes, after all, and reached behind his seat to open the rear passenger door.
The old lady got in and Robert drove away, mentioning the cold weather, however the old lady, wearing a black long coat, just sat there and smiled silently.
As the automotive drove down Breck Road, Robert turned around in his seat and asked, “Where do you live?”
He saw a small coffin lying on the back seats – but no old woman.
Robert was so surprised by what he saw that he almost skidded on the black ice and hit a lamp post. He got out of the automotive, numb with shock, and thoroughly opened the back door.
The coffin was gone – the automotive was empty.
When Robert told his mother what had happened, she stated that she had already heard concerning the old lady and “her coffin” and concluded that it was a warning of death.
She urged Robert to be especially careful, but he had three serious accidents after this terrible encounter. He almost set himself on fire by burning wood in his yard, knocked over a can of paraffin, tripped and fell down the steps in his home a number of days later, knocking out a front tooth, after which, on Wednesday, January 10, that yr at 5 p.m. at Hamilton Square railway station in Birkenhead with about 70 people and for some unknown reason the lift fell from street level 80 feet into the subway, injuring fifty of the seventy people.
Robert found himself in a mass of screaming, bloody men, women and youngsters.
Fortunately, nobody was killed, but many individuals suffered life-changing injuries. Robert escaped with a badly sprained ankle.
Two weeks later, he was driving down Cliff Road and she or he saw the old lady again, standing on the curb, exactly where he had picked her up that cold morning.
Robert Jones looked straight ahead and kept driving.
Image Source: Pixabay.com
