Do you have any "true" creepy stories?
Discussion
HTP99 said:
When I lived at my parents, my bedroom was in the extension, it was always cold, no matter how high the heating was.
Pictures move in the dining room at my parents house, they have to be constantly re-adjusted so that they are level; only in the part that is in the extension though.
One night when at my girlfriends; now wife, I had an hysterical phone call from my sister, the shower in my parenst en-suite had turned itself on and the sliding door to the en-suite was moving, she could hear it moving when downstairs; the en-suite is in the extension.
Sounds like an episode of cowboy builders. Pictures move in the dining room at my parents house, they have to be constantly re-adjusted so that they are level; only in the part that is in the extension though.
One night when at my girlfriends; now wife, I had an hysterical phone call from my sister, the shower in my parenst en-suite had turned itself on and the sliding door to the en-suite was moving, she could hear it moving when downstairs; the en-suite is in the extension.
Baz Tench said:
Earlier this year, Two things happened in my house in fairly short succession. 1) was playing some old vinyl from years ago on New Year's Eve just gone and felt something blow on my elbow (had a t-shirt on). Managed to compose myself (not easy) and asked 'them' to do it again, held my arm out, and it happened again.
Had some 'white noise' a few weeks afterwards, totally randomly off my desktop as I walked past it. Again, I asked for the repeat and I was duly abliged, plus a couple of other more minor experiences.
I had the house 'cleansed' a few months ago, and have had nothing happen since.
I await the aggressive critics, but the truth is, it's the truth.
Idiot, someone was offering to blow you and you gave it your elbow. Had some 'white noise' a few weeks afterwards, totally randomly off my desktop as I walked past it. Again, I asked for the repeat and I was duly abliged, plus a couple of other more minor experiences.
I had the house 'cleansed' a few months ago, and have had nothing happen since.
I await the aggressive critics, but the truth is, it's the truth.
Edited by Baz Tench on Friday 1st May 20:50
Edited by rhinochopig on Tuesday 5th May 15:04
Pistonheads is traditionally a savage audience for this sort of topic.
So far we've had some old houses that are cold. Obviously the first thing to think is that thye must be haunted, rather than old houses with really thick walls and no insulation.
Then we have a police chase going past when people are discussing a famous robbery, and some drafts.
Yup, I'm convinced. I used to be really sceptical too...
Then we have a police chase going past when people are discussing a famous robbery, and some drafts.
Yup, I'm convinced. I used to be really sceptical too...
I think you can easily spook yourself silly at basically nothing. Something I posted on a fishing forum some years ago;
When we were boys, perhaps nine or ten years old, my friend and I set out on our bikes one summer evening after school to reconnoitre a fishing pond we had heard about. We cycled through the new houses and into the country park. The path was hard packed sandy gravel, and we rode quickly through grazing land and down over the dirty old river - across the bridge where later that summer I would find out what happens if you put the front wheel of a bicycle into a pothole at speed, and where a schoolmate would find out why throwing stones at young anglers who carry catapults is inadvisable.
Over the bridge, the footpath followed the meandering of the river, the cloying pong of Himalayan balsam mixing with the hint of detergent from the water. The river valley park was a relatively small patch of open countryside hemmed in by busy roads, housing and and industry, but in the early evening it was quiet and still and as we cycled on I started to feel a little uncomfortable. We reached the woods in which the pond lay, dismounted and heaved our bikes over the stile and began to walk uphill through the woods, wheeling our bikes, and the feeling of apprehension grew. I don't remember any particular source for the anxiety, no imagined bogeyman or specific fear, only perhaps that the quiet was disturbing.
Whatever it was, I had not realised that I was not the only one feeling it. We were almost at the water when my friend turned to me and, without exchanging a word, we turned tail and ran, dragging our bikes over the stile, mounting them and pedalling like fury until we were well clear of the place. We never could explain to ourselves or each other what had caused that disquiet and subsequent panic, only that whatever it was had scared the bejeezus out of us. I think perhaps we were subconsciously picking up cues from each other, like nervous pack animals starting at nothing. We fished there many times afterwards, and never had that same feeling there again.
I was reminded of this incident one evening a couple of weeks ago. My club has a nice little section of the Thames on its books, actually a backwater from the main stream. It's very lightly fished, and though I have seen evidence of the presence of other anglers, I've never seen another soul actually fishing it. One of my favourite swims sits on a bend, where the river drops away to a good depth under a tangle of overhanging trees. At this time of year, getting to it means treading a path through shoulder high rushes which whisper and rustle in the wind, but allow you to sit in splendid isolation from the world. I had taken my stalking chair and I set it up to sit low amongst the rushes and plonked a swimfeeder into the bottom of the swim. The river was alive with small fish, dace and bleak, and my maggots were being busted on the drop. I switched to a large lobworm, and caught a succession of hand-sized perch, waiting for a big perch or chub to snaffle my bait (and secretly hoping that the club card's suggestion that the stretch held barbel was more than mere hearsay).
The evening wore on. A decent chub emerged lazily in front of me, took something out of the subsurface current, submerged again. A pair of swans and their cygnets made their way along the margins, probing the weed, a kingfisher flew through the swim, perching briefly in the tree opposite me, and all along that same apprehension I remembered from all those years ago steadily grew. I reasoned with myself. Told myself not to be stupid, that I am a rational, grown-up human being, that I don't believe in bogeymen and that the only creatures in the area that could harm me were the bulls a couple of fields away. And yet, I couldn't shake it, because this was not something coming from the rational, sensible, self-mastered part of the brain. This was coming from the part of the brain evolved long before that and devoted principally to the avoidance of being eaten, and this primitive, instinctive, reptilian thing had decided that I was In A Bad Place and was going to make every damned hair on my body stand up straight until I did something about it.
Perhaps it could hear the whispering reeds, perhaps it didn't like the idea of being hemmed into dark water by deep cover or perhaps the gathering gloom and the smell of Himalayan balsam had just randomly tripped some ancient circuit breaker like the quiet riverside woods of more than twenty five years previously. I don't know. I do know that I packed up hurriedly as the moon rose and the dark came down, pushed my way out through the rushes and reeds, rolled under the electric fence and trotted across the open field feeling like a man pursued - acutely aware that being spooked was absolutely ridiculous yet completely unable to shake it.
Back inside the car, gear thrown roughly into the boot, I slammed the door, locked it and laughed at myself. Ludicrous, scared of nothing, what a baby. I felt for my phone to call home and say that I wouldn't be long and couldn't find it, and the brief moment between losing the phone and finding it in an unexpected pocket was long enough to confirm one thing - if I had left it on the bank, wild horses would not have dragged me back to look for it!
It's a strange feeling. Even thinking about it now sends a shiver down my spine. I can understand how people come to ascribe that feeling to supernatural experiences, and I wonder if there is something tangible about the places people think to be haunted which triggers that instinctive lower brain function to whisper sharply of nameless fears and give the adrenocortical axis a good poke with a pointy stick. If I were a superstitious person, that's one bit of river I'd be avoiding for good.
When we were boys, perhaps nine or ten years old, my friend and I set out on our bikes one summer evening after school to reconnoitre a fishing pond we had heard about. We cycled through the new houses and into the country park. The path was hard packed sandy gravel, and we rode quickly through grazing land and down over the dirty old river - across the bridge where later that summer I would find out what happens if you put the front wheel of a bicycle into a pothole at speed, and where a schoolmate would find out why throwing stones at young anglers who carry catapults is inadvisable.
Over the bridge, the footpath followed the meandering of the river, the cloying pong of Himalayan balsam mixing with the hint of detergent from the water. The river valley park was a relatively small patch of open countryside hemmed in by busy roads, housing and and industry, but in the early evening it was quiet and still and as we cycled on I started to feel a little uncomfortable. We reached the woods in which the pond lay, dismounted and heaved our bikes over the stile and began to walk uphill through the woods, wheeling our bikes, and the feeling of apprehension grew. I don't remember any particular source for the anxiety, no imagined bogeyman or specific fear, only perhaps that the quiet was disturbing.
Whatever it was, I had not realised that I was not the only one feeling it. We were almost at the water when my friend turned to me and, without exchanging a word, we turned tail and ran, dragging our bikes over the stile, mounting them and pedalling like fury until we were well clear of the place. We never could explain to ourselves or each other what had caused that disquiet and subsequent panic, only that whatever it was had scared the bejeezus out of us. I think perhaps we were subconsciously picking up cues from each other, like nervous pack animals starting at nothing. We fished there many times afterwards, and never had that same feeling there again.
I was reminded of this incident one evening a couple of weeks ago. My club has a nice little section of the Thames on its books, actually a backwater from the main stream. It's very lightly fished, and though I have seen evidence of the presence of other anglers, I've never seen another soul actually fishing it. One of my favourite swims sits on a bend, where the river drops away to a good depth under a tangle of overhanging trees. At this time of year, getting to it means treading a path through shoulder high rushes which whisper and rustle in the wind, but allow you to sit in splendid isolation from the world. I had taken my stalking chair and I set it up to sit low amongst the rushes and plonked a swimfeeder into the bottom of the swim. The river was alive with small fish, dace and bleak, and my maggots were being busted on the drop. I switched to a large lobworm, and caught a succession of hand-sized perch, waiting for a big perch or chub to snaffle my bait (and secretly hoping that the club card's suggestion that the stretch held barbel was more than mere hearsay).
The evening wore on. A decent chub emerged lazily in front of me, took something out of the subsurface current, submerged again. A pair of swans and their cygnets made their way along the margins, probing the weed, a kingfisher flew through the swim, perching briefly in the tree opposite me, and all along that same apprehension I remembered from all those years ago steadily grew. I reasoned with myself. Told myself not to be stupid, that I am a rational, grown-up human being, that I don't believe in bogeymen and that the only creatures in the area that could harm me were the bulls a couple of fields away. And yet, I couldn't shake it, because this was not something coming from the rational, sensible, self-mastered part of the brain. This was coming from the part of the brain evolved long before that and devoted principally to the avoidance of being eaten, and this primitive, instinctive, reptilian thing had decided that I was In A Bad Place and was going to make every damned hair on my body stand up straight until I did something about it.
Perhaps it could hear the whispering reeds, perhaps it didn't like the idea of being hemmed into dark water by deep cover or perhaps the gathering gloom and the smell of Himalayan balsam had just randomly tripped some ancient circuit breaker like the quiet riverside woods of more than twenty five years previously. I don't know. I do know that I packed up hurriedly as the moon rose and the dark came down, pushed my way out through the rushes and reeds, rolled under the electric fence and trotted across the open field feeling like a man pursued - acutely aware that being spooked was absolutely ridiculous yet completely unable to shake it.
Back inside the car, gear thrown roughly into the boot, I slammed the door, locked it and laughed at myself. Ludicrous, scared of nothing, what a baby. I felt for my phone to call home and say that I wouldn't be long and couldn't find it, and the brief moment between losing the phone and finding it in an unexpected pocket was long enough to confirm one thing - if I had left it on the bank, wild horses would not have dragged me back to look for it!
It's a strange feeling. Even thinking about it now sends a shiver down my spine. I can understand how people come to ascribe that feeling to supernatural experiences, and I wonder if there is something tangible about the places people think to be haunted which triggers that instinctive lower brain function to whisper sharply of nameless fears and give the adrenocortical axis a good poke with a pointy stick. If I were a superstitious person, that's one bit of river I'd be avoiding for good.
I've had lots of things happen which some would attribute to supernatural goings on. I can explain it all with physics and coincidence. It would be nice to think supernatural existed and I suppose that is one reason why we attribute these things to supernatural but I've never found evidence to support its existence.
My dad was saying only yesterday that years ago he took me to see my great nan's grave, I was around 4 or 5. Apparently I turned to him and said 'that man is talking to me really old fashioned' and when asked what he'd said to me it was 'Jesus loves you.' Dad said on looking at the grave it was that of an old Irish gypsy. Very strange!
Yes it is weird. I think I mentioned once in a previous thread about a perfectly innocuous place near where I lived as a child that I just hated.
It was the site of an electricity pylon. Nothing scary in its self. The buzzing and stuff if anything interested me. It was at the back of a school in a break between some houses.
I hated that place.
I would later go to that school briefly before we moved away and to be honest my time at that school was not the happiest of times for me. I recall having a fight with a kid at the foot of the pylon.
I don't think it was a premonition. Just coincidence that I would have a fight there.
That was when I was 11. Years later I visited the town and for the hell if ur went back. The plyin had gone but I still got an unpleasant feeling there. Nothing huge, probably more imagined.
I think a lot of this stuff is just echoes of animal instincts we once used. Now and then the odd thing surfaces .
It was the site of an electricity pylon. Nothing scary in its self. The buzzing and stuff if anything interested me. It was at the back of a school in a break between some houses.
I hated that place.
I would later go to that school briefly before we moved away and to be honest my time at that school was not the happiest of times for me. I recall having a fight with a kid at the foot of the pylon.
I don't think it was a premonition. Just coincidence that I would have a fight there.
That was when I was 11. Years later I visited the town and for the hell if ur went back. The plyin had gone but I still got an unpleasant feeling there. Nothing huge, probably more imagined.
I think a lot of this stuff is just echoes of animal instincts we once used. Now and then the odd thing surfaces .
Copy and paste of my reply on the last thread like this but..
I used to work in a shop that used to be a pub, old building, lots of stories about it used to be a brothel, people killed there etc.
The stock rooms (1st and second floors) were truly creepy places to be and there was a small kitchen on the first floor with a typical sink/worktop along one wall and some tables along the other wall.
One day myself and a colleague were sitting eating our lunch and out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the tea and coffee tins on the worktop appear to "slide" a couple of feet along the worktop - no noise or anything.
I looked at my colleague who simply looked at me and said "Yes, it did, didn't it?".
Can't say I thought about it too much but I've never worked out what we did or didn't see.
I used to work in a shop that used to be a pub, old building, lots of stories about it used to be a brothel, people killed there etc.
The stock rooms (1st and second floors) were truly creepy places to be and there was a small kitchen on the first floor with a typical sink/worktop along one wall and some tables along the other wall.
One day myself and a colleague were sitting eating our lunch and out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the tea and coffee tins on the worktop appear to "slide" a couple of feet along the worktop - no noise or anything.
I looked at my colleague who simply looked at me and said "Yes, it did, didn't it?".
Can't say I thought about it too much but I've never worked out what we did or didn't see.
My dad died in 96, my sister passed away (cancer) in 09.
The week my sister died i had a very vivid dream, so vivid i remember every second of it to this day.
My sister and i were standing on a platform in a railway station, a train pulls into the station, i see dad in one of the carrages, my sister gets on the train and i go to follow her, she stops me and said " this train is not for you ", she gets on the train and sits next to dad, the train pulls away with both of them waving.
She was gone three days later
The week my sister died i had a very vivid dream, so vivid i remember every second of it to this day.
My sister and i were standing on a platform in a railway station, a train pulls into the station, i see dad in one of the carrages, my sister gets on the train and i go to follow her, she stops me and said " this train is not for you ", she gets on the train and sits next to dad, the train pulls away with both of them waving.
She was gone three days later
^^^^
I must have been around 11 or 12 and I was round at a mates house one evening.
It had gone dusk and I was getting ready to go home. He was going to let me out of the back gate - so we went out the back patio door into the rear garden and looked down towards the hedge at the far end which backed onto fields.
Both of us froze at the same time and we could both see what appeared to be something in the hedge looking back at us. It looked like a monkey's face. We just stood there staring at it. It didn't appear to move at all so we started to think it was a trick of the light.
The next thing we know - his dog came running out of the patio doors from behind us, stopped about 1/3rd of the way down the garden and started barking at the hedge. We crapped it and bolted back inside.
A couple of minutes later we ventured back outside to take another look - but whatever it was had disappeared.
Probably just a trick of the light - but it s
t us up big style and we always referred to it as "monkeyface" from that day on.
The "chilled monkey brains" scene from Temple of Doom always reminded me of that night, "monkeyface" looked similar I think.
It had gone dusk and I was getting ready to go home. He was going to let me out of the back gate - so we went out the back patio door into the rear garden and looked down towards the hedge at the far end which backed onto fields.
Both of us froze at the same time and we could both see what appeared to be something in the hedge looking back at us. It looked like a monkey's face. We just stood there staring at it. It didn't appear to move at all so we started to think it was a trick of the light.
The next thing we know - his dog came running out of the patio doors from behind us, stopped about 1/3rd of the way down the garden and started barking at the hedge. We crapped it and bolted back inside.
A couple of minutes later we ventured back outside to take another look - but whatever it was had disappeared.
Probably just a trick of the light - but it s
t us up big style and we always referred to it as "monkeyface" from that day on. The "chilled monkey brains" scene from Temple of Doom always reminded me of that night, "monkeyface" looked similar I think.
Edited by Moonhawk on Sunday 3rd May 21:24
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