Shongweni
My first job was in a nature reserve. One night I was the only one in camp, looking after it until some other staff arrive at about 10pm. Now Shongweni is near Durban, where it gets dark at about 6pm every night, pitch black. I was the only person in that part of the reserve, a huge area. So this was in the sticks, no light and as such was impossible to see much bar the eyes looking back at you when you shined your torch into the bush (creepy in itself). What freaked me out good and proper was when I walked to my cabin, alone, I heard footsteps behind me. Not on the path, but slightly behind me to the right. In the bush. The steps were one behind, so if I stopped, they carried on one step. I could hear the dried leaves cracking and the bushes being slightly pushed apart. I still remember the feel of the sweat on the back of my neck cooling. I walked down the path for a good hundred metres, petrified, while someone stalked me.

I have never felt fear like that.
( zulu eh?, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 20:53, 9 replies)

I work at an internet sales company
We sell customer return clothing for some mid price brands. We have two headless mannequins for the clothing, but for scarves/jewelry/hats and other accessories we have half a mannie, just a torso, arms and head with a wig on top. It sits to the side over in the photo department.

One of our photographers is incredibly creeped out by this half mannie. He spent his first few weeks of employment avoiding her gaze, before he finally tied a scarf around her head so she'd quit looking at him.

So of course, everyone else in the department has been having tons of fun. I would loosen the scarf so there would just be one eye peeking out at him. Photographer #2 would move her slightly every time the photographer #1 left the room. We all find it very amusing when he walks back into the room, and fifteen minutes later realizes he's being stared at. Just ten minutes ago I heard him holler "Jesus! You have GOT to quit doing that!" in a very high pitched voice.

Sometimes I'll pick her up and wave her in his direction saying "She's judging yoooooou!" in the creepiest little girl voice I can manage.

Admittedly the thing is fucking creepy, but there are two cubicle walls between my desk and the photo department, so I think I'm safe.
(ladydyani, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 20:53, Reply)

This Must Have Been About 2003/4
Anyhow, it was a friends' birthday and we'd ordered in some Bolivian Marching Powder. Powder was subsequently applied to noses and everything was good.

Until later, around 1.30 in the morning. I was trying to get to sleep in the front room of my friends' first floor flat which overlooked the lower high street of my town. What happened next had me quite paranoid for the next 90 minutes or so. There began a humming noise in the distance, which as it got closer began to buzz more than hum, and get much louder.

My addled mind raced.

What could it be? Police looking for people who'd been at the class A's? Aliens? It was like starring in a Twilight-Zone type personal nightmare as I shivered beneath the Window, scared to look outside and steel myself for what it might be.....Outside...

After 90 minutes of sweating like a pig in an abbatoir, I had to pull myself up over the sill and confront my tormentor.

It was a bloody street cleaning cart, wasting tax money, inneficiently trundling up and down the street, clearing up the detrious of the night before....
(caescarna Hell's Roomba, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 20:51, 1 reply)

The day I was making popcorn
and the phone rang.

This voice said

'Do you like scary movies?', so I laughed and said Yes. Then he said 'What's your favourite scary movie'. So I told him.

Bloody telephone surveys, always when I'm cooking.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 20:47, 2 replies)

Well, this, obviously.
IT'S JUST CREEPY!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=KCuG2MVTpAs
(Richard of York gained battles in vain, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 19:47, Reply)

Blokes who get creeped out by other people's breastfeeding habits even though they have absolutely no impact on their petty little undernourished lives..
Get over yourselves, you creepy cunts.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 19:33, 41 replies)

muzzvsworld's dirty phone call reminds me of our whole evening of them!
One evening the phone rang continuously, with the male caller making more and more obscene suggestions. When the then Mr Quar came in from work I let him answer it, thinking that hearing a man's voice would put the caller off. However, he went white and slammed the phone down - the caller had addressed him by name, asking if it was true that he had 'a big one'!

After that we just left the phone off the hook all night. The caller never rang back, but a few years later I realised that he was an old boyfriend, who'd never been THAT sexually inventive when we were together!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 19:12, Reply)

I'll see all your other Creepy posts
and raise you the Tales of the Unexpected credits.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oc46Gk-6qrA
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 18:47, 3 replies)

Creeps.

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 18:33, Reply)

I'll tell you what's creepy
Having a 72 year old woman squeeze your crotch and tell you to eat her asshole.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 18:30, 6 replies)

cows
and, to a lesser extent, horses. those big, bulging mad eyes, that look of dumb insanity and the knowledge that, if it wanted to, this creature could stamp you into pate.
they really are creepy.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 18:13, Reply)

On the phone a long time ago
I had a creepy call. As a young lad about 10 or 11 I got a phone call during the day. It was just my Mum and I in the house at the time.

An official sounding voice spoke when I answered. He asked what for my name and address I think then asked who was in the house. Being a gullible young nipper I told him. Quickly his tone changed and he then asked if I've ever seen my Mum without her knickers on.

As you would presume I hung up the phone immediately. He knew to withhold his number of course, and it never happened again. Didn't stop me getting mega paranoid that he was a nutjob who was out get us, I had seen too much T.V. for that.
(muzzvsworld, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 18:05, 1 reply)

Breastfeeding.
Not the act itself, well not when carried out by mother and INFANT.

What freaked me out was when my son was about 6 months. For his night feeds they found it comfy for mrs cloud to lie half asleep, almost flat and junior to lay sideways across her enjoying his supper.

The creepy bit was when he grew enough that his feet were resting on the mattress by her side, it looked like he was standing. I had the recurring mental image of him straightening up and walking away with blood on his chin.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 17:57, Reply)

Fistulas.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fistula

Seriously, Fistulas. They creep me the fuck out. Read and weep, my friends. Read and weep tears through the fistula in your face.

If you're really brave, google image "fistula" with safe search off. Claw your eyes from your skulls and pray to your god that he sends you a stroke to kill the part of your brain that retains the memory of fistulas seen.
( Michael Ellis contributes nothing, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 17:52, 10 replies)

Scary Dream
Between the ages of roughly 10 and about 16 I had a nightmare that occured sometimes nightly, sometimes months (and later years) apart.

It was just a number, but when I looked at it it just got bigger and bigger. It was so huge I couldnt ever see it, but I knew it was a number. I cant honestly explain what was so terrifying about it, but i used to wake up sweating and shaking.

For years I'd have the dream, and drag my quilt to my mam and dads room to sleep on the floor.

Wierd I know, but I can still see it in my minds eye some days and it gives me shivers remembering how scared I used to get
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 16:53, 13 replies)

It's always less fun, and sometimes just plain weird
If they don't struggle.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 16:24, 6 replies)

Breastfeeding
is absolutely fine. Usually.

If the child is old enough to be eating solids then I find it strange.

(edit)
By "eating solids" I was not referring to the gradual introduction of pureed foods at around 6 months, but to the point at around 24 months ( +/- 6 months or so) when supplementing a child's diet with breastmilk usually becomes superfluous. And when I say strange I mean strange/unusual, not creepy.
(end edit)

The mums I know who breastfed their sons ("it's just a quick top up", "He can't fall asleep otherwise") until they were around 4 years old but stopped breastfeeding their daughters at 1 year made me feel distinctly uncomfortable.

The mother who insisted her 8 year old son start sucking on her tit when his baby sister was born "so he doesn't feel left out" was more than a little bit creepy.
( wakeupandsmellthebacon, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 16:20, 10 replies)

St. Mary's Island, Chatham Maritime
"Chatham Maritime" is marketing bollocks-speak for what used to be the Royal Naval Dockyard at Chatham, except for the section retained as a museum. It has a cinema, an outlet mall, a few middling pubs and chain restaurants, oh and "Dickens World", the South of England's premier (i.e. only) Dickens-related theme park. It's quite a nice place, well by Medway standards at least.

Right at the northern end though, separated from the nice(-ish) pubs and restaurants by one of the old docks, lies St. Mary's Island. St. Mary's Island is a recent housing development. Lots of yuppy-tastic townhouses and "executive" dwellings, it's prime real estate and properties there go for way more than the little two-up, two-down terraces that make up 95% of the rest of the area. I'm sure St. Mary's Island is a *lovely* place to live and bring up a family.

It's also where the Royal Navy used to decommission old reactors from nuclear submarines. There are persistent rumours locally that the residents of the island are warned not to grow vegetables in their gardens.

But more than that there's something indefinably creepy about the place. We'd some summers have a drink ouside the pub across the dock from the island, but there was always something sinister about the town-houses across the water. I don't know how to describe it other than that the windows looked "dead". And whilst there was always plenty of traffic to and fro across the swing bridge to the island, you never, ever saw anybody there - no-one walking about, no-one sitting out on the balconies, not even in the best of weather.

All I know is that there's no way I'd live there, and if I had to nominate a Place Most Likely To Have A Mutant Zombie Outbreak, St Mary's Island would be my choice.
(Vainomoinen went looking for the Sampo on, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 16:16, 7 replies)

Isolation in the jungle at night.
The fucking place comes alive.
Creepiest is the eyeshine from masses of spiders wherever you shine a torch and Howler monkeys which sound like the devil himself.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 16:09, 1 reply)

Milky...
milky...
(sarcastic fringehead feet of clay, buns of steel, head of lettuce, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 16:08, 4 replies)

I went to a bash in a central London pub once,
and on my mother's life I saw this eerie, creepy apparition of what looked like a freakish murderer-type man there. I wasn't the only person to have seen him, though - another attendee swore he felt this figure kiss his neck - and another said he groped his arse. It was truly disturbing in every way. Everyone who saw him commented on his piercing, hideous eyes which seemed to bore right through you. 'Boring' is definitely the word they all used.

The thing is, I went to another mini-bash at the same place sometime later.....and I saw the same terrifying vision once again. I don't know if maybe this character died on the spot where the pub now stands or what, but I have never felt more scared before or since.

I'm telling you - beware of the murderer of old Mabel's Tavern.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 16:07, 5 replies)

Top of the stairs
Me and my sister used to share bunkbeds in my room when we were around 12-13 even though she had her own room. So I wake up in the middle of the night, sweating, jittery, heart racing from what must of been a nightmare. The house is completely silent, it was a new build in the middle of summer so no groaning and creaking of floorboards, just silence and my heart pounding.
So I get up go to the toilet, come back and realise my sister isn't in the bottom bunk, so I go and check that she's in her room....no sign of her....check my mum and dads bed.....cant see her in bed with them.
So I tootle my little self back to my bed room and as I pass the top of the stairs I look down. All I can see is (what in my little mind appeared to be) a white face with a black hooded cloak around it. I thought it was my sister (no idea why she would be wearing a hooded cloak). "beth, what you doing down there", nothing, "beth get up stairs now" nothing again, just my heart pounding and this orb thing moving up and down just a little bit.
I must of been there a good 20minutes, pretty sure it was Beth, but not so sure that I'd go down and find out.

Turns out it was the freaking white painted knowle post at the bottom of the stairs, the hooded black clock was my school coat, the movement was my heart beating so fast from being scared to death it was making my eyes wobble and in turn making me think the "thing" was moving. Beth turned out to be snuggled up between my mum and dad the whole time!

Length? About 15 feet from top of the stairs to bottom.
(matt_hollywood81, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 16:01, 4 replies)

A guy I used to get about with is son-and-heir to a stately home.
An old, old building from the 15th C or so.

We used to have to turn all the lights out when done.

Taking the dogs up with us when we were done, regularly - but not always - they would bark at one particular painting.

On one occassion, one summer's evening, one of them yelped as if kicked, and pegged it to the bedroom, and lay under the bed shivering.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 15:57, 4 replies)

Geraldine.
We will call her Geraldine.
Growing up the son of a vicar, you are forced to associate with some rather...odd customers. Geraldine was such a one.
She was in her mid-forties; single, with one adopted son, a young lad with down's syndrome. Even he thought his Mum was weird.

When she did intercessions (where you ask God to look after whoever's got a tumour this week) she did them in atrocious rhyme. When she couldn't think of a rhyming word, she made one up, or misused an existing one. So once we found ourselves praying for people with 'temporal illnesses'. When we heard that one I and my fellow sneaky-comic-book-hiding choirboys imagined a star-trek style devolution virus.
But it's not the poetry that was creepy.

It was the dancing.

Oh fuck me, the dancing.

My dad agreed to let her do some dancing in church one Sunday, for reasons I will never understand, and of course she had to rehearse.
So imagine, if you dare, an empty church, just after choir practice. You've drawn the short straw of having to clear up the music, so you're the last one out.

Apart from Geraldine.

It's dark.

And Geraldine, forty something, slightly pudgy Geraldine, is in a leotard, skipping down the darkened aisles, waving handkerchieves, dancing to music only she can hear.

The only sounds are the squeak of her pumps on the marble floor and little gasps of pleasure as she trips obliviously along.

And as you try to leave as quietly as you can, she turns, and you see her smiling.
Teeth showing, wild-eyed, ecstatic, almost orgasmic.

"Join in! Let's all be joyful together!"

I fucking ran.

I feigned illness for the day itself. Apparently it wasn't that bad in the cold light of day, but holy Christ that was terrifying.
Even now, just thinking about it...brrr....
(universalpsykopath loves what you've done with your hair., Mon 11 Apr 2011, 15:53, Reply)

Dogs.....
Window.....Resident Evil.....that is all. (Not actually too bad when you look back at it)
(ProfessorNoShoes wishes he was better at Photoshop, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 15:48, 2 replies)

You're never too old to hide under the blanket.
A few years back, I had been at a friend's house watching top notch creep fest "the grudge" which had recently been released. During the evening my buddies and I had partaken in a few 'silly cigarettes' and eventually it came time for me to take the walk back home.

Home, at the time, was an Edwardian farm house at the top of a steep hill at the end of a poorly lit cul-de-sac in the steel city. As I approached my poorly lit abode, almost the instant I set foot on the property, something happened that set my paranoia-susceptible nerves a-tingling. Although at the best of times an eerie sound, after having watched the aforementioned movie it damn right scared the cack out of me. It was a sound of an angry cat/s, long and drawn out gearing up for a fight. Which if you have seen 'the grudge' you'll know is a recurring theme and is used rather effectively.

Never-the-less, I steeled my frayed nerves and finally made it to my front door. Safe at last from my own imagination, or so I thought. As I stepped in side I instinctively flicked the light switch near the front door to illuminate the hallway. Fate however had other ideas. The bulb blew tripping the fuse box to all the lights in the house. Now I had the choice of going to the pitch-black cupboard-under-the-stairs and resetting the fuse or retreating to the safety of my bed and hiding under the duvet until morning. I chose the latter.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8R1dODSbzU
(Unbelievable Gumption Clogging your brain bits with bollocks since 1981., Mon 11 Apr 2011, 15:45, Reply)

A dream
Had a rather vivid dream where i was attempting to resussitate... Myself! Yes I was looking at myself dead slumped in what appeared to be the back of a car. I could even feel that I was all limp and cold. I looked about as old as I am now.

If that was a preminition, I am not getting in the back of a car for a while :)
(Boom- Clicks on NSFW links at work., Mon 11 Apr 2011, 15:40, Reply)

maggot boobs
I know it's fake, and the story is a bit bollocks but the picture just makes me feel weird

pic here
(phe, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 15:26, 12 replies)

Creepy but resoundingly unspooky
Creepy Jak was a bit of a creeper with clammy hands with whom I went on about three dates a few years ago. He took to showing up at my house and, if that failed, my friends' house round the corner on the off-chance I might be there; which I suppose might be construed as endearingly persistent if you're 13, but Jak was somewhere in his early twenties and claimed to have talked to ladies before. Because he lived just outside Chester and I lived in studentville, it was a fuck of a bus ride for him to stalk visit me, so I felt a kind of polite-reserved-British obligation to allow him in and offer him tea when he came round, even if I had previously been doing other, more important things (I believe there was a new Christopher Brookmyre out at the time).

If you're playing Red Flag Bingo, allow me to help you out here: he didn't drink tea (harrumph), or anything with caffeine, or indeed squash. When I first met him he told me - a propos of not very much, from what I recall - that women have it far, far better than men in this beastly modern world. He spent some time trying to convince me that in a way all religions are true ("That may be so, but I'm still an atheist." "But in a way all religions are true!"). He took me to see Rock 'n' Rolla.

So far, so vanilla; you may be assuming - as did I - that we were just monumentally unsuited and I was probably a bit intolerant of his little quirks. Fine. (He was probably a bit intolerant of my little quirks too, including as they do feminism, a preference for people to call first before they arrive on my doorstep and a marked distaste for Guy Ritchie movies.)

One evening, though, he arrived unannounced at my house as I was watching Withnail & I (it happened to have come on the telly a day or two after some Kevin Smith movie which I'd watched with the accompaniment of a carton of unspeakable cheap wine, so I was watching it with a J or two to even things up). And so - it was dark, he'd come such a long way, I was brought up to be hospitable - I invited him in and we continued watching.

If you were raised in a barn or born in the '90s and haven't seen Withnail & I, there is a scene some way into the movie in which Withnail's creepy uncle Monty, played with great finesse by Harry Potter's uncle Vernon, sneaks into Withnail's companion's room late at night and attempts to molest him. It features the immortal line "I mean to have you, even if it must be burglary."

That was the line at which Creepy Jak felt it would be most timely to make the move.

So there I am, fearing no evil, watching the attempted-gay-rape scene in a fairly enjoyable film, when this clammy hand clutches my thigh in a determined and vicelike grip. At the exact moment that Uncle Rapey announces his intention to commit rape. I suddenly realised I had to be up super-early in the morning to go to work and hustled Jak out of my house - and later, when I was feeling more composed and my friends were close by to offer manly protection, my life - instanter.

Epilogue: I found out fairly recently that Creepy Jak's version of events had us as the couple of the century for the brief few weeks of our acquaintance; all over each other all the time, frequently leaving the local rock night early to go and do The Sex (which we did quite a lot, apparently), virtually inseparable and all the rest of it. None of this is true - for one thing I worked at the local rock night, and had I left it early to go and do The Sex with some clammy-handed chauvinist cuntflap I would no doubt have been reprimanded most severely. Also, while I may have made some dubious dating choices while young and bored, I did have the common fucking sense to restrict my sexual activities to boys I knew fairly well, trusted ditto; and who didn't show up at my house unexpectedly in order to grope me at inappropriate movie moments.

Length: I never found out, but I feel justified in assuming minuscule.
(Shinigami, Mon 11 Apr 2011, 14:49, 6 replies)

The Grey Lady
During that period of limbo between graduating uni and getting my first proper job, I was forced to join the administrational workforce in order to scrape a few pennies together. I got myself a temp job in the university’s student funding office.

It was a pretty good job. I was free to search and apply for jobs all day (as long as I got my work done) and it was pretty fun trying to catch out the students who were trying to squeeze as much extra money out of us as possible – one had even gone to the trouble of scanning, and then photoshopping, their bank statement. Top marks for creativity, just bad luck that his application was dealt with by someone very well versed in photoshop.

Those of you who have attended Coventry University will possibly know where the student centre is (by the library) and that the Gulson hospital is directly opposite. Most of the hospital has now been demolished to make way for something or other; but before it was destroyed, it used to be used as storage space for the Student Centre.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how awful hospitals are.

Even up-to-date, busy hospitals are pretty creepy. The Gulson hospital was one of those old-school, bare bones style places where the concept of anaesthetic would have been classed as a ‘new fangled medical advance’.

This hospital was empty.

The first time I heard about it was when the girls in the office were arguing over who was going to go over. No one wanted to go on their own and since I’m a bit of a hardcore horror freak I volunteered to accompany whoever needed to go.

We pushed open the double doors into a long corridor. There were a number of double doors set at intervals all the way up the corridor and I could see that one section of corridor was in complete, unnatural darkness. It could have been taken straight out of any generic horror movie.

Setting off at a trot, we made our way towards the next set of double doors and pushed through into the darkness. I looked behind and saw the words ‘Dental Ward’ written on the window. Ahead of us was a small staircase with no banister leading to a teeny pointless door – the size of the door just seemed even creepier – it was like a portal to hell.

Back out of the darkness and into another light section of corridor, we finally found the right place – an old treatment room next to a gurney and tray that had been left there as if the hospital had been evacuated in a zombie apocalypse. We got to work finding the files in the storeroom. It was ok in the store room but soon we had to leave and make the short but terrifying journey back outside.

As we made our way through the dark section and pushed the double doors, we heard a shuffling noise behind us. I looked at Nikki, she looked at me and we broke into a frantic run for the safe outdoors.

The hospital had an awful atmosphere; it was like you were being watched. For no physical reason at all, it was just the kind of place you couldn’t wait to get out of.

I only ever went back once more. I was feeling adventurous so I went alone.

This time the lights that worked were flickering in the first section. Joy.

I was determined to be a grownup about it so on I went through the flashing bit, then into the darkness. I turned and looked into one of the empty treatment rooms on my way – there were still bits of hospital equipment littered around which did not help to ease the asmosphere.
I finally reached the store room. The gurney was still sitting there begging me to question why it was still there.

I unlocked the store room and went ahead finding my files. Soon it was time to leave. I was congratulating myself on how well I’d fared in the haunted hospital on my own but my pride was to be short lived as I put the key in the door to lock the store room and turned.

Fuck

It wouldn’t turn!

I threw all my weight against it and it wouldn’t go. I double checked the right key, took the key out and tried again it just wouldn’t turn. I was starting to get panicky now as all I wanted to do was leave, I felt like I needed to get out soon or else something bad would happen. After what felt like hours, I took a slow breath and – hallelujah – it turned, it clicked, it locked.

Now I needed to get out, but I was still determined to be brave. I strode through the dark section and back into the flickering bit. The last door was in sight, beyond that, there was freedom.

Turning back to close the door, I spotted something up the corridor. Next to the gurney by the store room where I had been standing minutes previously tussling with the lock there was something weird. It looked like a dust-cloud – but nothing could have created it. The hospital was old but it wasn’t dusty. The translucent cloud just hovered there in mid-air. I was transfixed for a moment until the flashing light switched off and I broke into a terrified scramble for the outside world.

I spoke to my colleagues after this who told me that the hospital is said to be haunted by a grey lady. Is that what I saw?
(Katzilla Follow Me! @Kat_Zilla (I don't promise funnehs), Mon 11 Apr 2011, 14:46, 8 replies)