Your True
Tales
February 2004
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24
Lost Time
by Michael D.
My assistant manager today spent 45 minutes portraying a paranormal experience that happened to him around a month ago, which I shall now unfold. My assistant manager isn't the most serious of people, ever really. He constantly keeps lookout while members of the warehouse take it in turns to sit on a large compacted square of cardboard and ride it down a steep ramp. But the story he told me today was told in as much seriousness as he's ever told anything...
He was out mountainbiking with a friend around Amington, something which he'd done a few days previously and arrived home at around 1:00 a.m. after a flat tire. His friend didn't want this to happen again as he was in work at 6 the following day and had to be up by 4 in the morning. So he came round fairly early, around 6:30 and they both went out. Biking around five minutes from his house, he reached the Amington bridge and he had to get off; he couldn't cycle up the hill because he was fat, he said (and he is). But his friend is quite fit, and he too had to get off.
As they arrived over the bridge he said to his mate, "I've lost my gloves." Now these are motorbiking gloves, costing £80 for the pair, so understandably he didn't want to give them up without a fight, but he says he carried on riding with his friend anyway. He tells me he was so caught up by the fact he'd lost these gloves that he didn't think to look about himself for them. He carried on for another five minutes until he reached the co-op to get some cigarettes.
After coming out of the co-op, he said to his friend, "I've lost a glove," only having one on. This time they both searched the car park and retraced their steps to find the missing glove, but to no avail. He then retraced back to the Amington bridge where he first said he'd lost his gloves, but couldn't find them. They then both went back to the co-op and saw the glove - laying face up right in the middle of the car-park, in the floodlit area no-less. Impossible to miss for someone looking for it, he said. He thought not much of it really and carried on back home.
Arriving in his house, he saw the clock and it read 12:55 in the morning! He says he couldn't believe this. The first thing he did was go out of the house and look up the road to see if the chip shop was open, but it was in darkness, so it must have been after 11, he reasoned; still too long. The telly was showing crap, so it must have been late. His wife was in bed and all clocks read the same. He simply could not account for the time he had lost. His search, he said, must have taken no longer than half an hour, yet he arrived home around six hours after he left! At most the whole journey would have taken an hour, since he was not biking far at all. He could of, in fact, walked the bike ride in 10 minutes.
Two days later, his friend rang and siad he had experienced the same loss of time. What was odd, his friend said, was that my assistant manager, Jim, had thought about his lost glove before he lost it. On the bridge he had said, "I've lost my gloves," but was so distraught about it he didn't even think to check his hands. His friend said he saw the gloves on his hand, and thought he was just messing about and, quite frankly, didn't care. But then he actually did lose his gloves later. His explanation for this was that maybe he put one glove in his pocket to buy the cigarettes, then cycling off, it fell out.
The thing that struck him most is the journey back to the bridge, to the co-op, then back to the bridge again looking for the glove, saying it was almost as if something had forced him to do this, a higher power over him.
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