Ghost in London

The McDonald’s Man: A Poltergeist in Bethnal Green

 

A Chilling Encounter in East London

 

It was December 1989, and the chill of winter had settled over East London. The city, always alive with movement, seemed quieter near the Bethnal Green Overground Station rail line. That night, I found myself as a guest at my friend Kasan Ali’s flat on Three Colts Lane, Bethnal Green, E1. His family was away on holiday in Sylhet, Bangladesh, and he had invited me over for the night—partly for company and partly so we could watch the Godzilla TV series together.

 

At the time, I had recently moved into my first flat on Princelet Street, London E1. It was furnished, except for one essential item—I had no television. The offer to stay at Ali’s place was appealing, and I gladly accepted.

 

Little did I know that this night would mark my first unsettling encounter with the McDonald’s Man—a restless poltergeist that haunted Ali’s flat.

 

The Night of the Storm

 

After our TV session and some late-night conversations, I was exhausted and ready for bed. I left my trousers in the living room before heading to the spare bedroom. Before I could retire for the night, Ali made an odd request.

 

“Give me all your money,” he said.

 

I laughed, thinking he was joking, but he insisted.

 

“A lodger staying here might take it,” he warned.

 

At the time, I had just become unemployed and was signing on for the dole for the first time in my life. I only had ten pounds in the back pocket of my Waxman trousers, so I shrugged it off, not too worried.

 

Ali locked the main door with a multi-lock—a key the lodger did not possess—before showing me to my room. It was a double bedroom with large windows on either side. I climbed into bed, pulled the duvet over my head to keep warm, and Ali switched off the lights before bidding me goodnight.

 

The moment the door closed behind him; the chaos began.

 

A deafening howl of wind surrounded the room as if a cyclone had materialised inside the four walls. Windows slammed violently against the walls, banging open and shut with an unnatural force. The sound of a hurricane tore through the space, growing louder and louder.

 

Then, came the footsteps.

 

At first, they were slow, deliberate, and heavy echoing through the room. Then, a long pause. Seconds later, I heard the same thundering steps in the hallway outside. The storm inside the room raged on, the howling wind mingling with the terrifying stillness between the phantom footsteps.

 

I lay completely still, paralysed by fear, unwilling to lift the duvet and look. I knew what this was—poltergeist activity. Something not of this world was making its presence known, and I had no intention of acknowledging it.

 

I forced myself to sleep.

 

The Missing Money & The McDonald’s Man

 

Morning came, and I woke up in the living room, still wearing my trousers. Groggy and disoriented, I reached into my back pocket—my ten pounds were missing.

 

Before I could process this, Ali called from his room.

 

“Did you come into my room last night?” he asked.

 

“No,” I replied.

 

His voice was uneasy.

 

“Then how did I get this letter from Maizbhandari?”

 

Ali was a disciple of Syed Shafiul Bashar Maizbhandari, a spiritual figure in Chittagong, Bangladesh. A letter from Maizbhandari had mysteriously appeared in his room overnight—despite the multi-lock on the main door and the lodger being absent.

 

Ali then smiled knowingly.

 

“It’s the McDonald’s Man,” he said.

 

I stared at him, puzzled.

 

“Who is the McDonald’s Man?” I asked.

 

Ali chuckled. “He’s, my polygamy.”

 

I was even more confused. “Your what?”

 

“He likes to eat at McDonald’s. I find McDonald’s bags in the flat all the time—sometimes in the bin, sometimes in the room. My lodger doesn’t eat at McDonald’s, and neither do I. So, it must be him.”

 

Ali explained that this spirit shared his home, slamming doors, stomping through the passage, and occasionally cleaning the bathtub.

 

“He doesn’t harm me,” Ali assured me. “We live together like two people married to the same person—sometimes I clean the bath for him, sometimes he cleans it for me.”

 

I laughed. “Well, your McDonald’s Man stole my ten pounds. He owes me!”

 

The Poltergeist Flush

 

As we talked in the kitchen that morning, I sat on the worktop facing the passage. Ali stood nearby, both of us deep in conversation about the previous night’s events.

 

Then, suddenly, we heard the toilet flush.

 

I froze.

 

Ali and I were the only people in the flat. The lodger was away. The bathroom had a tiny window, far too small for a person to enter.

 

I rushed to the toilet.

 

The flush chain was still moving. Water poured into the bowl in continuous motion, as if someone had just pulled the chain and walked away.

 

I looked back at Ali.

 

“See?” he grinned. “The McDonald’s Man is harmless.”

 

The Phantom Typhoon in My Flat

 

That evening, I met with my friends for our usual music session at my flat. As I recounted the eerie events from Ali’s flat, one of my friends, Nazim Uddin, laughed.

 

“You should ask the McDonald’s Man to give you music!” he joked. “He already took ten pounds from you—maybe he’ll play the tabla for you too!”

 

Everyone burst into laughter.

 

That night, after my friends left, I followed my usual routine—ventilating the house by leaving a window slightly open in the kitchen and living room for fresh air circulation.

 

Then, as I lay in bed, it happened again.

 

The howling storm returned, coming through the living room window. It moved into the passage, swirling just outside my bedroom door.

 

The same cyclone sound, the same hurricane-like force—but this time, it did not enter my room.

 

I took a deep breath, and, in my mind, I addressed it.

 

“Hey, McDonald’s Man. Keep the ten pounds. I don’t want it back. Just leave me alone.”

 

At that very moment, the storm stopped.

 

I closed my eyes and slept peacefully.

 

The Ghost Who Never Left

 

Years passed, but I never forgot my encounter with the McDonald’s Man.

 

In January 2020, I visited Ali again and asked about the ghost.

 

“He’s still here,” Ali said casually. “Still slamming doors, stomping around. But he never harms me or my family.”

 

Ali had been living in that flat for over thirty years. His children were born and raised there. Some of them had even married and started their own families in the same home.

 

Through it all, the McDonald’s Man remained—a ghostly tenant trapped in time, haunting the flat on Three Colts Lane, forever craving McDonald’s.

 

Have you ever encountered a ghost who stole your money and flushed your toilet? Tell me your stories