A Pale Figure on a Cold Night

Eerie Realm

18 Jul, 2024

Gladstone, Oregon, in Multnomah County, always carried a strange and somber atmosphere, like the remnants of a tragedy. Despite its scenic location on the riverbank, with spacious yards and beautiful trees, the town felt heavy with a lingering gloom. I attributed this to the tragic history of the area, where thousands of Multnomah people had succumbed to smallpox. Even the bustling, picturesque downtown area of nearby Oregon City exuded a sense of forlornness.

This incident occurred in the early 2000s. I lived in a small house in Gladstone and often rode my bike home late at night after working at a cinema. I avoided the easy route along the I-205 after dark due to the presence of homeless encampments and the dangers they posed. Instead, I chose a longer path that took me over a steep ridge via a well-lit residential street with bike lanes.

One particularly wet and dark winter night, the residents' garbage bins obstructed the bike lanes. Determined to reach home, I pedaled up the middle of the car lane, my breath forming a fog in the streetlights. The silence was broken only by the sound of water flowing over the asphalt and the rhythmic clicking of my bike chain.

As I struggled uphill, I looked down momentarily, and when I raised my head, I was met with a chilling sight. A figure stood motionless beside me, so close that I should have collided with him. I swerved to avoid him, my bike wobbling precariously.

He remained still, his gaze locked onto mine as I passed within inches. He had shaggy, light hair and a long mustache, his entire form a pale, ashen gray that didn't reflect the streetlights or my headlamp. He had no discernible scent or warmth, his eyes filled with a chilling desperation. He appeared frozen, his presence radiating an unnatural coldness.

The encounter lasted only a fleeting moment, yet it felt like an eternity. He could have easily grabbed me as I struggled to maintain my balance, but he made no move. Terror overwhelmed me, and I didn't dare look back to see if he was following.

That was the only time I ever conquered that hill on my bike, and it marked the last time I rode home through Gladstone after dark. While I would prefer to believe it was simply a person collecting trash who startled me, the experience defies logical explanation. The figure's sudden appearance, lack of reaction, and unnatural characteristics suggest something beyond the realm of the ordinary.

The memory of that pale figure on the cold, wet night remains etched in my mind, a chilling reminder of the unseen forces that may lurk in the shadows.