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The Story of Her Holding an Orange: Part Five


Estimated reading time — 9 minutes

Formalities first: If you’re just joining my diary of horror, please read part onepart twopart three, and part four.

I have become almost indifferent to what’s going on to me. Since my first story, so much shit happened/was discovered that I became dulled down to the point of almost not giving a fuck. Put that attitude together with the fact that nothing happened (until yesterday) to us since Rose’s break-in, and you have one dude who doesn’t give a shit anymore. I suppose everyone reaches that point at some time. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism.


Anyways, yesterday (Wednesday), I had a day off from work. My girlfriend decided that she wanted to get away from everything for a little while. She went to her friend’s house in our town for few days. I like to alleviate my stress by working out. I had a day off and wanted to do a bit more than just lift weights, so I decided to go on a long bike ride. 50 miles to the next city. It was really cloudy in the morning, so I decided to take nothing with me but a couple of bucks for the bus ride back. (also, ATT&T sent me iPhone 5, and I definitely didn’t wanna take that if it was going to rain). So I went on the bike trip with nothing but my Trek and few dollars.

About 30 miles into the trip, I got on this bike trail that led almost to the end of my destination. It is a 22 mile trail. I did this trip once in July and the place was packed. Hundreds of fucking cyclist everywhere, could barely move. This time, the trail looked deserted. Nobody on it. And weather became shittier and shittier. Heavy fog set in. I almost felt as if I were in a cloud, it was so moist, but without the actual rain. My shirt was dripping with water, and visibility was shit, but I decided to keep going. Few miles into the trail, I started noticing benches on the side, something I haven’t noticed before. Cool idea since the road is so long, I guess you need a break sometimes. I kept riding though. Visibility was 15 feet at best. About 7 miles into the track, I thought I heard laughing. I squeezed my breaks and slid for few feet. I listened. Nothing. Well, I know what you think, and you’re right. I’m a fucking idiot. Going for a long trip on a secluded track when I have some crazy cunt following me. Plot of a cliché horror movie. I know. And I regret doing what I did. But my reasoning was that nobody ever physically attacked me, so the worst-case scenario would be I am offered another fucking orange.

I got back on the bike, did few pedal strokes, and heard the laughing again. It was coming from ahead. Fuck it, I’m biking through. Fog decided to have mercy on me and increase the area visibility to about 25 feet. That’s when I saw someone sitting on the bench ahead. I lied to myself saying that its normal for a biker to sit on the side and rest. That’s what it is probably, right? You and I both know that no, it wasn’t a biker sitting there. It was a man. He wore a black suit. No hat or cane though, so I felt a little better. I switched my shit into the highest gear and started pedaling Armstrong style. As I was passing him, he started laughing again. There was nothing around him. No newspapers, no phone, no bike. Just sitting, hands on his knees, not even looking at me. Just looking ahead. And just as I am passing, this fucker starts laughing hysterically. I got fucking scared. It was then that I noticed an orange right next to him on the bench. Then he looked straight at me. Rose encounters were scary as hell, but this man, this man was on a whole new level. I just kept pedaling. I heard the laugh one more time as I was riding away from him. Next 12 miles or so took me about 45 minutes, in other words, I wasn’t slowing down. I got to the town where I wanted to catch a bus and another shock was waiting for me. I arrived at the bus station at 4:10 pm. Last bus was leaving at 4:30. The way these schedules work, this bus would take me to a small town at the beginning of that trail, where I’d catch another bus to home. Well, I come at the bus station and I see that bus only has two bike racks and they’re both taken. Yup, let’s cut the artistic description shit and jump to the point: driver said it was against the rules to put a bike inside the bus. It was the last bus and if I wanted to go back home that night, I’d have to bike to the other town and arrive before 7:00pm, when the last bus for my place leaves. I had 2 and half hours to do 20 miles. Either that or spend the night there. I only had $10 on me so…yea. Bike back you stupid shit. And good luck with that laughing man on the trail.

I wish I could tell you that I persuaded the driver to let me in. I wish I stayed there that night. Could have maybe tried to pay for the hotel by giving them my credit card number? Could’ve tried. No, I decided to bike, and I got what I deserved.

Two miles into the trail, I saw something on the ground about 20 feet ahead. I remember thinking how clean they kept this track, so it was strange that the trash would be just obviously laying around. I slowed down. It was a GI Joe action soldier toy. Looked pretty new. Oh well, some kid dropped it while biking with his family. Keep pedaling son. A mile later, another object ahead. Basketball. I stop. Pick it up. Drop it. Eyes full of tears. When I was in about eight grade, there was a basketball 3 on 3 tournament in my school. I was so fucking excited for that shit, man. I gathered the best team I could find. If we’d win, we’d go to an even bigger tournament and maybe win some money. We arrived at the court and realized that only two teams signed up in our age category. We were full of joy because that meant that even if we lost, we’d win some kind of award. We lost, well actually got destroyed by the other kids. But, since we ended in second place, we got a $50 gift card each for a store equivalent to a Foot Locker here. We all ran to that place. My friends all picked shoes and jerseys, but I picked this basketball. It was so unique: it was painted like a chess board-64 squares, 32 black and 32 white. They called me crazy for spending my gift card on it but I loved it. At least for few days until I realized that the colors on it give me headache when it spun and that designers of this ball were stupid assholes. So I threw it in the river when I crossed one of the bridges near my house. And now, now I was holding that same ball, 5000 miles away from home, in the middle of the woods on some bike trail that only I knew I’d be crossing that day. I froze, dropped the ball, and just wanted to yell. You get mad at some point, you know, you get mad that your life isn’t as normal as other people’s. Why cant I worry about shit like whether my NFL team is gonna go to playoffs or whether I’m gonna get a raise? Why do I have to go through this? What did I do? Well I could contemplate about life or I could get the fuck out of these woods and try to catch that bus. I chose the latter. So I kept biking, carefully. After few miles, another thing. A page out of newspaper. It got wet from a light drizzle. I picked it up. It was an article about me. When I just came to the US, the school I played ball for published an article about my life in their paper. There it was, in my hands. I dropped that shit and decided not to stop anymore. I biked by a bike I owned when I was living in Bosnia, I biked by my old Iron Maiden shirt, and by a picture of my family in a broken frame. I biked by a dead cat that was identical to the cat I had when I was 15. The faster I biked, the items from my life became more and more common on the road.


At this point, my story is becoming more unbelievable than any cheesy movie you’ve seen. Feel free to express all your disbelief, call me a liar. I would. I would call bullshit 3 stories ago. I wish I was fucking with ya’ll. I wish I was doing this for entertainment. I am doing this to get help, advice, to set my mind at ease, at least for a minute.


So I am flying down the trail. About two more miles and I am out of these woods of hell. It’s getting dark. Dark and more foggy. And then, and fucking then, I hear the laugh. Only this time, it is a child. Or not. I slow down, scared of what’s coming. I see a silhouette sitting on the bench ahead. The same bench where that man was. Laughing again. Not the kind where some criminal mastermind laughs at the evilness of his plan. Playful laugh. I guess you can call it giggle. Only it is not a child. It is a woman sitting there. She is dressed in white. It is Rose.

I pressed my breaks so hard I was surprised I didn’t fly over the wheel. She was sitting there, legs crossed, looking straight ahead of her, not at me, and laughing. Then she turned towards me, tilted her head, smiled with the many-times-described grin, and said: “Sit.” This was the first time I got scared to the point that my extremities gave up for a second. Other encounters with her, I was in my home, or at least in somewhat of a safe place. This…This was in the woods. And as I type this, I realize even more how fucking stupid it was of me to embark on this trip at a time like this. Maybe subconsciously, I wanted to meet her again. Meet her and bring an end to it. I regained some courage, and got off the bike. I put the bike down slowly and noticed a photo of me and my first girlfriend laying on the road. It was wet and looked burnt. Fuck if I’m stopping now. I’m gonna talk to her. I walked over. She was still smiling, not moving at all.

“Sit.” In my language. In child’s voice.



“ You’ve been a very stubborn boy, Milos”

“I am not a boy. I don’t want to have anything with you people. Why cant you leave me the fuck alone? What do you want from me?” It felt liberating to be able to express all of the frustration and scream at the cunt that caused my girlfriend and me so much pain.

“No need to yell Milos.”

“No, there IS a need to yell. You’re fucking with my life!”


“I only want you to come with me.”

“First tell me what you want. And then I’ll decide.”

She took an orange sitting next to her, and offered it to me.

“It is not your decision to make.” Her voice changed to a more adult one, but still not appropriate for a woman her age.

“It is my life you fucking bitch!”

She lost her smile.

“You know Milos, all this goes far back. You have no power over this. You WILL come.” She yelled that word, “will”. Like yelled it at me. I stepped back, ready to knock her the fuck out. She got up.

“I will fight you people. I’ll call police, I will…”

“You can’t do anything.” She cut me off. “Who do you think I am? You think the police can help you? You think your friends can help?”

“What the fuck are you? A cult? You want me as a sacrifice?”

She started laughing. She laughed while never closing her eyes, never taking them off of me.

“You silly boy.” Her voice switched to a child’s version again. “You have so much to learn about us.” She stepped towards me.

At that point, I honestly believed I was dealing with something other than a human being. I will admit, after I got home and cooled down and thought logically, I went back to my theory of it being a cult. But at that moment, right then, I believed I was encountering something else.

“I will ask for help from others then.” I said, not knowing what I even meant.

“Church maybe?” She said it in a way like when I child is imitating your voice just to irritate you. ”You think your gods will save you? Ask your priest about me. Ask and then decide.”

I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about, but I decided I had enough. It was time to run. At the same moment, she stepped back, sat back down, and started looking at the orange. I ran back to the bike, got on it and started pedaling like the devil himself was behind me. As I passed her, she started laughing uncontrollably, still looking at the orange.

I got on the bus at the last moment. I was a wreck during the ride and when I got home. I called the guy from the police station, told him what happened, and he said he’d contact the local police and ask them to go check the trail out. I expect nothing. I spent the whole day thinking about what happened. How could she/them get all my stuff that I am sure didn’t exist anymore? Was that really the same cat I had 12 years ago? How? And what did she mean by “ask my priest”? So many questions and exactly zero fucking answers. I am mentally drained. I didn’t tell my girlfriend about this, because this would probably cause her to have a nervous breakdown. I might have one myself. I am a broken man tormented by something I am not familiar with. I am lost.

Credit To – Milos Bogetic

NOTE: This is the fifth in a series of several popular Reddit posts documenting some seriously creepy experiences. We are publishing them here with express permission of Milos Bogetic aka inaaace, the original poster. The story is in multiple parts, and will be published completely over the next few days – much like what I did with the ‘Bedtime’ series earlier this year. After the stories have all gone up, I’ll edit each post with links to the other parts.

The OP has finished the book that he promised during his successful kickstarter project.

You can find the paperback and Kindle e-book versions here: The Story of Her Holding an Orange by Milos Bogetic  – full disclosure: our referral link is included.

I know that this will not be new material for all of you, but for those of you who – like myself – don’t use Reddit, I wanted to post it so that you guys could enjoy it as much as I did after having it brought to my attention. Thanks again to Milos for letting me post it, and enjoy!


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