Haunted Tale # 4 Johnny's Jump

This week in Myth's Legends & Tales, we head out on a spooky adventure to find motorcycle related haunted tales.  We'll share one story a day until Halloween  and if you feel the urge or have a story that needs to be heard please send us a tale and we will feature your haunting experience in Myths, Legends & Tales.

Today's story is about a boy and his loving mother.  A tradgedy which no parent should have to endure and the ghostly outcome.  Enjoy, today's scary tale:

For years young Johnny would take his bike out to the Tar Pits near Waco, Texas.  He leaped over the pits while his family, fans and friends looked on with wonder.  He enjoyed nothing more than his weekend trips to the pits and every weekend his mother would grudgingly ask him to stay home this weekend.  He never did stay home and his mother always followed to pray he would make the terrifying and dangerous leap over the black tar that eternally bubbled up from the earth.  

No matter how many times Johnny's Mother watched him leap over the pits and land impressively along the far edge, she could never be comforted in the danger he put himself in.  

It was to be his 100th jump over the pits and hundreds of people came to watch Johnny attempt the only jump which he had yet to try.  The longest gap over the tar, the Black Leap.  One other rider was known to have tried that jump and when he landed the bike broke away beneath him.  Leaving him broken and hobbled for his efforts.  Johnny's mother knew this and spent the morning of Johnny's jump begging him not to try.  She begged, pleaded and prayed that he would not go to the pits that day.  Her prayers went unanswered, he pleas unbidden and her begging ineffective.  

Johnny lined up to make his jump and raced down a short hill to a small ledge which would give him the air he needed to land.  His bike roared beneath him and the ground fell away exactly as planned.  It was flawless and everyone cheered, clapped and whistled.  Johnny had done the impossible.  He brought his bike around the pits and lined up to make the jump again.  He wouldn't have anyone chalking this up to luck.  He sped away down the hill and up onto the ledge, when the dirt gave way, and instead of raising into the air he fell into the pits.  He was forty feet from any solid ground and his impact with the tar broke his legs.  He screamed as his horrified fans looked on.  

No one knew what to do to help him and he quickly sank below the tar never to be recovered. His mother, could not bring herself to watch him that fateful day and she cried night after night for losing him.  She would walk from her home to the pits every night as the sun set to pray from him and cry.  She had never missed anything so dearly as her only son.  Her heart was stricken with a pain that no being should endure and she quickly grew unhealthy and faded from the world herself. 

Though she passed on, she never stopped visiting the pits to cry for her lost son.  Even today people claim to have seen her wondering around the edges of the pits, with flowers in her arms waiting for Johnny to come home.  Her cries can be heard all along the road to the pits by those who care to listen for them.  She can be seen just at sunset and shortly after on her knees, tears dripping into the grave of her boy.  

Read other tales and the inspiration for this story HERE!

Haunted Tale #3 Desert Air

This week in Myth's Legends & Tales, we head out on a spooky adventure to find motorcycle related haunted tales.  We'll share one story a day until Halloween  and if you feel the urge or have a story that needs to be heard please send us a tale and we will feature your haunting experience in Myths, Legends & Tales.

     Today's Tale is one of an old indian haunting...  Today's tale follows a couple of bikers on a relaxing road trip which ended up becoming a spooky tale.  Enjoy and we look forward to hearing from you at MythsLegendsTales@gmail.com, with your own spooky tales from the road!

My friend Scott and I decided to take a motorcycle trip into the Anza Borrego desert in California. It was spring and just the right weather for the trip. We left Los Angeles about 8 a.m. We made to the Salton Sea around 4 p.m., had dinner and decided to push on. We rode till about 9 p.m. and I was just too tired to go on. So we pulled off the road and I told Scott to take out the sleeping bags while I made some hot tea because were spending the night there.

After we had set up camp, we kicked back and enjoyed the hot drink and the beautiful star show. It was idyllic. We had stashed the motorcycles in some creosote bushes, and when I was finished with my drink walked back to the bikes to retrieve my .45 pistol. When I returned, Scott asked me who I had been talking to. I said, "No one. Why?" He looked at me and said, "I heard voices and they were clear as a bell. So quit messing with me." I informed my friend that I wasn't messing with him and let it go.

We were on our backs looking up into the heavens when both of us heard this laughing, but not normal laughter, but something you would expect in an insane asylum. Scott said to me, "See! I told you I heard something." Along with the laughter, we could hear what sounded like whispering and more than one voice. Dang! What the heck is that? I looked at Scott and remarked that sound carries strangely in the dry desert air and it was probably a pack of coyotes. I could tell Scott wasn't buying it.

We laid back down, and after a while the sounds died down and we were on our way to the land of nod when I felt this current pass over my body, and that's about the best I can describe it. The hair on my neck and arms literally stood up. Sometimes this is felt before a lightning strike and campers are told if they feel this to get ready to jump out of the way, which is what I was about to do. My body snapped into a sitting position. I was about to tell my friend to get up. When I turned to him, he was staring at a point just past my head.

When I turned to look, there was a disembodied head floating in the air a few feet from my face! It was red, but translucent -- sorta like a balloon. It had huge, thick features and only looked somewhat human. As it floated there, minutely moving from side to side, it was staring right at me, but as though I were a bug under a microscope. My hand went for my gun I had hidden under the blanket, but my brain was telling me this would be of no use. I was literally frozen with fear. Finally, I reacted by shouting, "YOU HAVE NO POWER HERE! BE GONE!" With this, the head started spinning and becoming smaller in size until it was the size of a marble, then took off like a shot across the desert.

Scott looked as if he were going to have a cow. He looked to me and said, "That's it. Let's pack and get the heck out of here." And that's what we did. We rode down the road for another half hour, then dismounted and spent the next three hours before daybreak talking, then laughing about what had just occurred. At daybreak we headed out and came by a gas station that served food, so we had breakfast. The waitress serving us remarked, "You boys look like hell." I told her we spent the night in the desert, but didn't get much sleep. She asked us where we had camped. When I told her Ocotillo Spring, she leaned in close to me and Scott and said, "Well, see any spooks? That place has been haunted since Indian times."

Find the whole story HERE!