I have a wonderful true haunting story about Borley told to me by "Joe's" Ex-wife. Joe lived in Foxearth and used to cycle past the site of Borley Rectory to get to work, but was always a bit nervous because of the stories he'd heard. One evening he was cycling past the rectory site in the dusk toward Rodbridge, and just as he went past the rectory gate, he heard a dry rustling sound behind the bicycle, a ghastly scraping and tapping noise like something very old and desiccated. He was too scared to turn, but the air turned chilled and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle. The noise continued and the bicycle seemed harder to peddle. He did not see, but felt, with a ghastly conviction that some entity was chasing him, trying to attract his attention, like some long-buried, but unquiet, spirit. He peddled faster, but the scraping, and rustling just increased its pace. He peddled down the hill towards the Stour, faster and faster, but with the hideous noise close behind. Now, he felt a banging around the rear mudguard of the bicycle, more and more violent as he gained speed, as if the entity was gaining on him and would, at any moment, overpower him. He was now sweating hard, and in a complete panic. He reached the bottom of the hill, at which point the road turned sharp left toward Rodbridge and Foxearth. The road here is always gravelley from the storm-water flow, and he skidded and he and his bike hurtled straight on, into the water-filled ditch. The noise had stopped, and with trepidation he looked at his bike. There, attached to the rear mudguard by its string handle, was an old paper carrier bag. As he'd gone past the Rectory site, the wind had blown the carrier bag against the bike and it had hooked itself on. He'd inadvertently dragged it down the road behind the bike!
Bunny and his friend were fighter pilots. Bunny knew all about the Borley legend. He was the cousin of a prominent local landowner. He and his friend were in the Bull in Melford one evening when he overheard an American journalist mouthing off about the fact he was about to go 'ghost-hunting' at Borley. Bunny had been responsible for some of the phenomena that were reported in all seriousness as hauntings before the war. Bunny and friend left quickly, and went off home. They dressed up in cloaks and 'ethnic masks' (I guess Balinese dancing masks). The then hid in the bushes near the gate. About half an hour later, the local taxi came up the road with the journalist in the back seat. Bunny and his friend pranced around between the bushes in the grounds. The journalist yelled out "I can see the ghost!" and, to everybody's surprise, brought out a revolver and started firing it at the two confederates. The taxi-driver panicked, turned the car around and raced the taxi back to Melford, with the journalist cursing and swearing in the back seat. Bunny and friend were left in the rectory grounds, a state of shock, having missed the bullets by a whisker. The journalist duly reported the incident as a real sighting of the genuine ghost in a New York paper. Bunny is evidently, still alive.