My name's Michael, and this story is dedicated to Shaky. But you don't care about that, you're here about the Rider.

It came one night while I was drinking down at Lefty's Tavern. Same shit, different day. Crappy country song outlasting its welcome on the jukebox. Couple of guys stumbling through a pool game. Lefty bitching about how sooner or later they'd close the place down. Me in my usual spot, drinking a beer in relative peace.

I say relative because I'd just stolen a car. Yeah, it's no big deal compared to anything Red Skull or Thanos have done, but still. All my less respectable buddies had some story about Daredevil or Spider-Man or some other guy busting their ass over something minor. I hadn't had my turn yet and wasn't exactly looking forward to it. I didn't think anyone saw me, sure, but there could've been some new guy with invisibility who followed me and was waiting for a chance to strike. You never know in this city.

Anyway, I'm sitting at the bar, drinking my beer, and I notice this one guy looks sketchy, even for Lefty's. Looked like he was about ten seconds away from pissing himself, jumping at everything like he had one of those symbiote things on his ass.

So, I'm sitting there, looking at this guy and inventing a story for what's after him, when I hear a bike pull up. Now, normally that wouldn't be a problem, but it was about one in the morning and I was a little on edge already for aforementioned reasons. I shot Lefty a look, thinking maybe it was one of his "special deals".

He shrugged and kept a close eye on the door.

The shifty guy stared through his glass. He tried to take a sip, but he was shaking so bad it sloshed all over him.

I took another look at Lefty, just in time to watch him go pale. He whispered, "Holy shit, there's no way…"

I looked back at the door and saw light seep into the place from under the crack. At some point Lefty slipped into the back and the guys playing pool snuck off somewhere. Only guys left were me and the guy I've lovingly nicknamed Shaky. I got that feeling you get at the bank when the guy next to you keeps reaching into his coat and fiddling with something- trouble's coming, and it's tougher than you are.

Then the Ghost Rider kicked the door open.

A lot of rumors about the Ghost Rider. Some say it's a demon. Some say it's an angel of vengeance. There's a really good one that says it's a Hell's Angels biker trying to find the guy that screwed it over. And of course, there's the naysayers that're convinced it's all a gimmick, like Mysterio.

The stories are weak shit compared to the real thing. Seeing it in person makes you shit your pants like you downed a box of laxatives. When it walked into the bar, it didn't say nothing. Just stood in the doorway and let the smells of burning leather and brimstone fill the place.

Despite the desperate urge to book it, I sat motionless, taking the Rider in. The stories kept flashing through my mind- it eats people, it can rip your soul out through your eyes, its chains damn you to Hell, sometimes it likes to rip out your heart and take a bite just to mock you.

Shaky, meanwhile, was sweating like a pig when the farmer's feeling like bacon. Ghost Rider looked around a bit, and its eyes- no, not its eyes, the dents where its eyes should be- settled on Shaky.

"Luke Finnigan."

I froze, too scared to even piss myself. Ghost Rider's voice has something about it that makes you feel small. It could be chatting with you about the weather, but you'd still feel like you'd conjured something straight out of The Exorcist and it's waiting for the opportune moment to kill you.

Shaky turned slowly and whimpered, "Y-yeah."

"You're going to Hell."

Shaky whipped around and grabbed me. Next thing I knew, I was at the Rider's feet. Shaky was busy blubbering something about how he wasn't that bad a guy, but I was too concerned with the Rider to hear what he was saying.

I saw a documentary on special effects once, and they all had one thing in common. They're convincing from far off, but if you get in there and squint you can see the little imperfections they left in to save a few bucks and a few minutes. Having been sprawled out on the floor only a few inches away, I can safely confirm the Rider isn't some edgy Mysterio. It's a goddamned flaming skeleton.

I remember the Rider stopped for a second to look at me. It was just a second, mind you, I'm not so bad a guy I deserve a full stare down, but it was enough to make me the most terrified I've ever been in my life. Yeah, alien invasions and monster attacks and whatever are bad, but at the end of the day the Avengers or Doctor Strange or whatever have it handled. On that bar floor, it was me and the Rider, and the only thing that was keeping me from being a shriveled husk was if it was feeling particularly vengeful.

Lucky for me Shaky was apparently a nasty piece of work. After staring that thing in the eye socket long enough to flash through my whole life twice, it turned away and made a beeline for him. As it strode by me, its boots just a few inches from my face, I could feel the heat coming off its body. It's a little thing about the Rider that people don't usually mention. When you get too close, it's like standing next to an open flame.

Shaky squealed and ran to the far wall of the bar. The Rider never bothered breaking its stride as it marched for the poor bastard. Any furniture that got in its way was shoved aside as the Ghost Rider got closer, and closer…

Shaky eventually got so panicked he threw a barstool at the Rider and booked it out the door. The Rider tanked the stool with mild annoyance and watched Shaky leave. It grunted with what I swear was annoyance and left the bar. Next thing I heard was a bike starting up, flames erupting, and Shaky's screaming. I didn't bother stepping out to see what happened to him.

The weird thing about New York City is even when the weirdest shit happens, things automatically spring back to normal because we're so used to it. I calmly- too calmly- sat back at my stool and waited for Lefty to come back. The other guys shuffled in slowly, poking their heads out first to make sure the Rider wasn't coming back for seconds. Within fifteen minutes, everything had gone back to how it was before it walked in, the only changes being the lack of Shaky and a thick silence.

Twenty or so minutes later, another bike pulled up. Everybody just about shit their pants. Hell, I had to keep telling myself, "It's not the Rider, it's not the Rider, it's not the Rider…" to keep from jumping out the window.

We all let out a collective sigh of relief when the guy finally walked in. Just a normal biker. Normal blond hair, normal scraggy beard. Looked like he hadn't slept in a while. For some reason, I felt like I'd seen him on a poster somewhere, but I couldn't place him.

He strolled up to the bar and sat a couple seats over from me. For some reason I looked him over again. Just a normal dude. Couldn't figure out why the hell I was spooked by him.

"What're ya havin'?" Lefty asked quietly. The biker raised an eyebrow.

"Cheapest beer on tap. You see a ghost, pal?"

Lefty's normally a sucker for gossip, but he just shook his head and poured the guy his beer.

He sighed and took a deep drink before turning to me.

"This place normally so gloomy?"

I cleared my throat. "Nah. We, uh, had an incident a little while ago."

"Incident?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

The man furrowed his brow.

"Ah."

He took another sip of his beer.

We were quiet for a few minutes. The booze must've hit me because I turned to the guy and asked "Hey, you believe in second chances?"

He finished his beer and sat in thought for a while.

"I'd like to."

"But you don't?"

"Not for everyone."

The deadpan way he said it didn't give me much hope for my future.

"Jesus. Not for everyone. Not for Shaky."

"Shaky?"

"You know how I said there was an incident?"

"Ah."

We sat quiet for a few more minutes. He ordered another beer. I switched to bourbon.

About halfway through the glass I started muttering to myself.

"I was at its feet, man. I could feel the heat coming off of it…"

"I take it the Ghost Rider was here?"

I jumped a bit, surprised he'd heard me. "Uh, yeah. You see it?"

"I've seen what it does. That's enough."

We sat in silence a little while. I finished off my bourbon and quickly ordered another one. Lefty didn't bother charging me for it. The booze finally brought me to the point where I wasn't too picky about who I unloaded on, and I started babbling to the biker.

"I'm telling you man, it was the scariest thing I'd ever freakin' seen. It was after this guy, Luke or something, I called him Shaky 'cause he must've known that thing was coming for him, and Shaky threw me at it and I'm prone at its goddamned feet, man-"

"Why so worried? You a sinner?"

I downed the last of my drink. "I mean, nothing too bad. I've hustled some people, made some bad choices, same as everybody else, you know? But after tonight, I don't know, man."

"Hmm."

He nonchalantly picked his teeth. Any other guy doing this after I've bared my soul would've pissed drunk me off, but like I said, the guy was intimidating.

"Well, apparently what you've done ain't too bad. Still, slippery slope and all that."

"Yeah, man. I don't know, I think I'll call a cab and go home. Look for a better job or something."

"Might help."

"Yeah."

He finished his beer and got up.

"Think it's about time for me to get going too. Take care stranger."

"Thanks man, you too."

This is the part nobody believes.

Guy gave me a little salute right before he left. Nothing fancy, just a two-finger wave. But for a split second, half-blinded by my drunken haze and the fluorescent lights, I could've sworn his hand was nothing but bones. Flaming bones.

Before I'd even registered it, he was out the door. I listened to him drive off as I tried to comprehend what I'd seen.

"No way," I remember mumbling to myself. "He couldn't be…"

After that night I cleaned up my act. More or less.

Got back in touch with my ex-wife. We're picking up the pieces a little, at least. Getting lunch Friday.

Got a job, a legitimate one down at the convenience store. Yeah I still pull a few hustles down at Lefty's sometimes, but never anything bigger than a couple hundred bucks.

Returned that car I stole the second I was sober enough. Dropped it off at an abandoned warehouse and called the cops on it anonymously. It never made the papers and they never came after me, so I guess God let me have that sin for free.

Long story short, things are looking up. So, thanks Shaky. All it took for me to improve my life was watching your sorry ass get dragged to Hell.