How can something be creepy 30 years later?
I had a conversation when I was about 6. At the time it was just a kid's argument. About 30 years later I realised what it meant....

EDIT - WARNING. THIS MAY SPOIL YOUR DAY.

Wind back your clock 32 years and a 6-year-old Ugi was playing in the garden with a little girl, Caroline I think, who lived a couple of houses away. Typical kiddie conversation:

C: You poo through your willy!
U: No I don't!
C: You do.
U: No I don't. I've got one and you haven't. I should know.
C: Yes. You do. Boys do that.
U: I really don't.
C. You do. I know you do because Sarah's* daddy does.
U: I don't and Sarah's daddy doesn't either.
C: He does. Sarah told me. She said her daddy put his willy in her mouth and did a poo in it.
U: She's making it up. That's just silly.
C: She told me.
U: I don't believe you.
*wanders off to play with someone sensible*

Anyone else creeped out by this and think in retrospect that Sarah was a very unfortunate little girl?

Apologies for lack of jollies.

* I have made this name up. I don't think I actually knew the girl at the time and I certainly don't remember her name now. I regret, however, that the story is 100% true.

( Ugi , it's a game of give and cake, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 11:50, 14 replies)

Sesame Street
Where the letter 'v' is floating through space. Creeps me out.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwEkZCDoQDc&feature=related
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 11:43, 2 replies)

Great Aunt Marge
When I was a kid, every once in a while, we would stay with my great aunt Marge in Dorset.

you know those bear-skin rugs you see in films and stuff? the bear's skin is spread-eagled and the head is still attached, roaring, sort of thing? You know the ones.

She'd had that done with her cat, after it had died of old age, and kept it on the coffee table in the lounge.

It always seriously creeped me out.
(ScousersPet, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 11:38, 1 reply)

Khany
Two years ago or so, I was out on the lash with a mate of mine and a few of her friends. One of her friends had brought along his mate, who was introduced as "Khany" (his surname was Khan and it'd been turned into a nickname).

The actual drinking was fairly uneventful, until my mate decided she wanted to go home. As soon as she mentioned this, Khany said "I'll walk you home". She said "Don't worry about it, it's only half a mile or so". He then went "I'll walk you home" let me walk you home" I want to walk you home" Let. Me. Walk. You. Home." and so on, with my mate refusing each time. This was getting really creepy, but she was starting to say "maybe", rather than no, so I could see which way it was going. So I said "I forgot to meantion, Sugartits (name changed to protect the big-titted), I need to borrow that drill off your dad, can I come grab it now?", to which she replied "Yeah, come home with me and I'll dig it out for you", much to the displeasure of Khany.

A couple of months later, me and Sugartits were going out on the lash again. As I walked into the pub I was due to meet her in, I spotted something on the door that made my blood run cold. When she arrived, I said to her "did you see what's on the front door?" when she said she hadn't, I told her "There's a poster asking for help to catch some bloke who's commited a violent rape near here. The artist's sketch of the bloke is a a picture of that Khany fella". She looked and agreed. She then rang her mate (who was Khany's mate), he came down to the pub, took one look at the poster and left without saying anything.

Khany was sat in his house at the time, so he called the police and had told him where he was. he evidently gave hi a bit of akicking while he was waiting for them to arrive, which would imply he knew he'd done it, rather than thought.

Not only was Khany convicted of the rape on DNA evidence, it also emerged that he was involved in people trafficing.
(ScousersPet, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 11:34, 3 replies)

Coinky Donk? I think not*
I find it entirely appropriate that the DC comics character The Creeper is called Jack Ryder.



*Yes, I did that on purpose. Expect to see a lot of me saying things that I know people hate after last weeks question. What can I say, they shouldn't of put temptation in my path.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 11:29, 2 replies)

Another Bloody Ouija Board Story
And this is entirely true in every aspect, I assure you.

The newest building of my boarding school was 150 years old, and referred to as The New House.

In its entirety the school was an archetype of the neo-gothic style; all heavy stonemasonry, gargoyles, and long, thin windows through which the sun shone weakly. The wooden floors and panelled walls of the corridors echoed resoundingly, and were chilly even in mid summer. The ceilings were vaulted and beamed, and the whole place played quite the backdrop for a lightning strike during thunderstorms on dark winter's evenings.

Run by monks, after 9pm prayers they would patrol the corridors with their hoods up, and woe would indeed betide anyone caught by them, for punishment was invariably corporal and severe.

Thus it was the obvious setting in which to do an ouija board.

One Saturday evening, having managed to smuggle in our weekly beer and cigarette stash and take it over to the chapel, we ascended to the organ room, and set about our task.

One lad - the creative, but definitely not gay one - had rather lovingly created a board for us, carving it with his penknife, and including the Yes, No, and Goodbye as well. A glass nicked from the refectory was produced, and our pinkies duly proffered and placed lightly upon it.

We enquired if anyone was there, and, since no result was immediately forthcoming, the beers started going down, cigarettes were smoked, and silliness ensued. The ouija board was offered M&Ms, farts were lit, and generally a fun time started happening.

As the evening drew on, stories started to be told, and our mood levelled. We decided to have another crack, and once again our little fingers placed on the glass. This time the glass moved immediately, before anyone had even asked a question.

“Quem quantam”

was immediately spelled out.

“OK … “ we said, “Who did that? Was it you, Mike? You do Latin.”

“I haven’t done Latin since prep school” said Mike, “I don’t know what is.”

“Nick? You’re clever.”

Nick looked as blank as the rest of us, “Not me” he replied, sincerely.

“OK … erm … OK … who is it?“

“6” came the response, to our increasingly pale faces.

Rupert bricked it, and suddenly threw the glass across the room “FUCK. THIS.” he said, and strode out of the room.

Disturbed, we decided to split. The night was still relatively young, and Nick and I repaired to his room to smoke and listen to tunes.

Suddenly in burst Rupert, pale. “OK, this is getting a bit weird now. My curtain just blew over my desk lamp and nearly set on fire.”

“Well that’s a breeze for you” was our reply, “It’s windy outside.”

“Yes, but my window wasn’t open.”

“Alright” we agreed, “that’s quite odd. Have a cigarette and sit down.”

After smoking, we decided to find Mike again, and a comrade instructed us that he’d gone to the chapel to play on the organ (quiet at the back, you lot). Off we went to the chapel, to find Mike outside, smoking, and also looking pale. “What’s up, Mike?” we enquired, offering him a cigarette.

“In there.” He said, indicating the chapel. “there’s a tramp, and the glass is in a neat pile.”

We decided to investigate, so in we went and sure enough, there was a tramp lying on a bench at the back, snoring, and the glass was indeed in a neat pile in the middle of the floor.

Well, you might say, it’s obvious enough – the tramp had swept it up. You’re probably right.

But it was the next morning that struck us as somewhat bizarre. After mass, we found one of the older monks – the Latin teacher – and asked him, “Father, what does "Quem quantam" mean?”

“Why do you ask, boy?” he said, “It’s not something you play about with.”

“Just wondering, Sir – came across it in a book.”

“What book?” asked, a little roughly.

“Erm … a history book, Father. About the rise of The Church.”

“Well” he said tentatively, “I’m surprised it would be in there. It means “Who and how much?””
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 11:25, 39 replies)

the worst night of my life
it was at the end of a week-long stag do, and talking to the other boys after nobody really slept that night, we checked when we got home and we're pretty sure that we were all suffering from moderate to severe physical alcohol withdrawal symptoms.

Anyway, was just after we'd agreed to go in to Libya, and the Japan nuclear reactors were also on the news. We'd been watching CNN, having been pretty out of touch for a week (abroad) and was quite surprising seeing how much the world had gone to shit in our absence. Put our hangovers into perspective.

That night, had trouble sleeping. Finally dropped off, and I had the only nightmare I've ever had in my life. I dreamt that I was in the mountains with my family when there was a bright flash on the horizon. A moment of confusion, then absolute panic and disbelief as we realised it was a nuclear bomb. We managed to hide in a house, then somehow nip off to the South Pacific, hiding on an island chain, with bombs going off fairly regularly.

It's hard to explain how we kept surviving, and how with each miraculous survival the fear didn't subside. But it truly didn't. Every time there was the blinding light in sky, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. My blankets were drenched in sweat.

Even though it was my dream I had no idea what was happening. Who was fighting? Why? In our own hideout we had no idea of the rest of the world. Eventually our island was occupied by the Americans, and it transpired that they were fighting the Chinese. I can remember how vivid the soldiers were as they trudged ashore, stooped under their packs, how they were all really young, yet seemed like old men with what was happening, their faces gaunt and pale.

It seems really mundane, compared to R.Jimlad's tale of night terrors, but I'd never had a nightmare of any kind before, and it really really scared me. It seemed SO bloody real. The panic I felt certainly was. Waking up slowly as well meant that for a while I was mostly awake, but still thinking that the end of the world had come. It was horrible.

How the hell did people live through the Cold War? One night of that was more than enough for me. It is not hyperbole to say that that was the worst night of my life. Easily.
( kappynitty doubled your entendre on, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 11:03, 6 replies)

Not so much creepy
as just makes me shake in uncontrolled terror whenever I think about it, partly because I don't like confined spaces and mainly because it's just about the grimmest thing I've ever heard.

The Byford Dolphin Diving Bell Accident...

If you don't know what happened, have a look on wikipedia.

I live in fear that I'll stumble across the accident scene pictures.

I need to stop thinking about this now, it's making me all scratchy and anxious.

*cries*
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 10:56, 14 replies)

Phantom Cougher
A few years ago, I lived in a little bungalow that backed on to a small railway track. My sister and brother-in-law used to live in a house about 2 miles along the track that also backed onto the track.
This being a dead-straight line we used to walk to each other's houses' along the track rather than 'the road way' as it cut about a mile off the journey. Invariably we'd get pissed and couldn't drive, so we'd use the track to travel instead.
One night, it was my turn to be walking back along the track. It's a long way from any houses or street lights and so at around 1am it's absolutely pitch black.
I'd walked the first mile and coped with the slatted bridge completely blindly, when I heard a loud cough about 100 yards up the track in the direction I was walking.
Obviously, this shit me right up.
I stopped and listened - even held my breath - to see if I could hear any other noises. I couldn't. I figured that I'd probably stood on something and mistaken the sound, and so continued walking.
Again; a loud cough, only louder this time.
Now I started to *really* shite myself - all manner of thoughts going through my head: "Someone's hiding in a bush waiting to jump out and rape and murder me" etc.... (although why a raping murderer would wait in a field along a deserted (at that time of night) train track in the miniscule hope that an unsuspecting victim would just happen along was clearly beyond me at that moment.
I fumbled for my keys in my pocket and formed a make-shift knuckle-duster and sountered along the track, albeit with somewhat trepidation.
As I approached the area where I imagined the cough coming from, something rustled in the bushes....and out shot a coughing sheep at the speed of sound.
After I'd popped my heart back behind my rib cage, I actually found it quite amusing.
Apparently, sheeps coughs sound exactly like a humans.

Scary woolly bastards.
(dchurch bah, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 10:44, 1 reply)

My Grandmother told a tale
A tale of nightmarish pursuit. It happened while she was returning from the shops through the woods pushing a pram containing my infant father, and it turned her prematurely grey.

In those days prams were quite big affairs, and were ideal for carrying shopping home as well as the baby and in this case some wheeled help was very useful, since the path took her along a long and fairly rough path through these woods. Well, she'd got to a particularly dark area, deep in a gully and shaded by trees, when she heard footsteps following her, and quite close by. She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

The footsteps stopped. There was nobody on the path behind her.

Hm.

Nothing for it but to push on; and as soon as she did so the footsteps started up again. She walked a bit faster. After a moment the footsteps went a bit faster too. And by god they sounded close. She glanced over her shoulder and saw only the gloom of the forest behind her. She stopped again to listen, and a moment later the footsteps stopped too.

By the time she came out of the woods she was travelling at speed, and the footsteps were sounding like they were in desperate pursuit.

Finally she burst out of the woods and into the sunlight and the dread spectre was revealed, and it wasn't all that dreadful after all. My father had been digging in the shopping bags and had liberated two kippers which he was flapping against the sides of the pram. Going faster was more exciting, so he'd flap them harder. Stopping was boring, so the flapping stopped.

(History does not record whether the kippers were still brought out for breakfast or not).
(richardm, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 10:41, 4 replies)

Bull
My parents covered the doorbell (not the button, the actual bell) behind a dark red bull's head made of straw I think was an odd souvenir from Spain. Well, said bell was located in the upper right corner of the room close to the ceiling and its sound was a cross between a hoarse duck and a sheep in pure agony…
I can't count how often I was praying for visitors not using the bloody bell. Imagine a dead eyed, red bull head floating in a random corner in the room just waiting to scare the shit out of you with this awful shrieking sound. Aaaaawh, the memories…

Still trying to find the manifestation of all my childhood trauma amongst the random crap in the attic, but I probably burnt it long, long time ago.
(fatbob pfffft…, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 10:37, Reply)

My Uncle

( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 10:30, Reply)

Chocky.
Not so much the disembodied alien intelligence and shadowy government forces ... more the alarming bowl haircut of the main protagonist.

(On that note: dear 21st century hipsters, that trendy '80s retro haircut you're wearing ... you realise it's modelled on the haircuts that the speshul kids were given by their mums to ensure they were adequately bullied at school, right?)
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 10:12, 4 replies)

Strange But True
Strange But True was a UK TV show in the mid-90's which usually involved a half-arsed, slightly comic look at things like Big Foot, the Loch Ness Monster and other such tales, which to my 10/11 year old mind was brilliant.

And brilliant it was, until an episode aired that focussed on the 'Enfield Poltergeist' story from the 1970's, using actual footage and recordings from the time. Never before, or since, has a TV show frightened me so much.

I still can't believe they were allowed to broadcast that episode during a prime-time family slot.
( Sculpture of Man Putting a banging donk on it since, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 10:11, 5 replies)

I once saw some ladies boobs on the internet. It still haunts me now.
(robneymcplum spiced up his life on, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 10:00, 5 replies)

Kids TV: dramarama
This really, really, really creeped me out. Only things I remember are that there was an antique mirror, kids went missing, and in the end the main kid was going to smash the mirror, his friend across the neighbourhood realised that smashing the mirror was a Bad Idea and ran across town to stop him, when he got to his mates house he knocked for him and the door was answered by the main boy's mirror reflection, who talked backwards and had glossy black eyes, the kid ran away in terror and the show ended with the original kid trapped in the mirror, slowly fading away. I was about 10 when I saw that, and I didnt sleep for weeks without being terrified of mirrors. but creeped out by it now
(clinteastwoodbradfield, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 9:57, 5 replies)

A friend of mine (Bob) was really put out by the death of his dog (Max),
So much so that he almost became a different person overnight. The dog was a bloody huge thing, German Shepherd, ex police dog that 'retired' from the force along with Bob's dad. We knew that he had loved this dog and could see how badly its death had affected him. We eventually found out that it wasn't the actual death that was bothering him, but rather what happened immediately before it.

Wavy line time.....

Bob still lives with his folks and comes back from work. He sgoes to the living room and sees Max is sitting upright in an armchair, which Bob sees as a bit strange. Max turns to Bob and says in Scooby Doo-like english 'Alright Bob. I'm off now mate, see you soon.' He then gets up and goes and lies by the backdoor, where they found him dead minutes later.
We laughed at this when he eventually told us, but he is adamant that his death has been foretold by a talking family pet. About 12 years have passed since, but Bob has never been the same. It's not the talking dog bit the shits us up, but rather the effect it has had on him.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 9:52, 8 replies)

Near and Far / how I was afraid of an early 80s schools geography programme
One of my mother's favourite 'oh lets trot out some old shit story from the past to embarrass Hedonist in front of friends/relatives/girls' etc was my morbid fear of an 80s Geography programme called Near and Far that BBC 2 used to put on in the early 80s. Apparently when I was little, the programme used to come on the TV around lunchtime and the sinister minor key music would scare the living bejesus out of me.

Fast forward a few years and during an evening of nostalgia I looked it up on the internet and found it on TV Cream - the music is still utterly terrifying to this day. Thankfully I am not alone - there seems to be great swathes of people now in their early 30s that have been psychologically damaged by this music.

I can only imagine that it was halloween in the BBC Radiphonic Workshop when they wrote the fucker.

Watch, if you dare: youtu.be/83er9jJjciY

Also: even the countdown music is sinister!
( h3donist tryin' to play me out as if my name is Sega.., Fri 8 Apr 2011, 9:46, 2 replies)

Repost but edited for brevity and sense
I used to walk back from my job cleaning pots in a hotel in the lakes to my parents house not 5 miles away. This would be done at all times of day and night but usually it involved at least one midnight saunter. I would cut along the lake and through some woods/campsites and along a disused railway track. Along the disused railway line, in the deep dark shadows of overhanging trees was the most terrifying thing in my world:

THE GOAT HEADED POST!

This evil pagan symbol used to loom out of the gap in the trees just in time to give me the utter frights. I mean the whole jump/eep/noooo!/spreading sinking fear, fighting the urge to run (everyone knows if you give in it gets worse) etc. Every bloody time. In the daylight, however, it was simply an old sheep skull on a fence post. At night it was the face of the Beast come to rend me asunder. Who put it there in jolly humour one day not thinking about the poor soul who might have to face it nightly?

Me.

I never moved it in the daytime as i always laughed at my silliness from the night before AND YET STILL got scared stupid later that very same day. FFS I'm such a dickhead. :/
(DreddPirateBob has watched every scifi film ever on, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 9:39, Reply)

Not quite so creepy, but weird
Worked for a charity a few years back, and we used to do a minibus run picking up special needs kids in North London every saturday morning.
Justine, my colleague popped into a shop in Crouch End, and found a wallet on the floor with about thirty quid in it, but no name.
Fifteen minutes ir so later, as she was driving, she handed the wallet to me and asked me to see if I could find anything that would help us trace the owner - there were no cards or anything, but there was a negative. I held it up to the light, and the photo was the exact view that I had from our position in the van - I got justine to pull over, and we were able to hold it up to the light and lay the negative exactly over their real life counterparts. that was odd.
(clinteastwoodbradfield, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 9:37, Reply)

Pet Shop
After leaving it incredibly late before applying anywhere, I ended up doing my work experience in a pet shop, which was a complete doss & the people there were OK. On my second day we got a phone call from someone saying that a flat in a tower block had been abandoned and the animals had all been left alone (why they phoned a pet shop and not the RSPCA I still dont know)

The manager and I had a drive over there, expecting to find some new born kittens or something, but instead found a house looking like the archetypal serial killer hideout, shit on the walls, messy and dark and bizarrely full of reptiles and insects who were in a state of near stasis due to lack of heat, which were kept in anything from dirty fish tanks to plastic milk bottles and even bin bags.

we rescued them all back to the shop where they did have some tanks with heating/lights etc (and phoned the RSPCA) Despite the lack of cuteness it was still heartbreaking to see these creatures all suffering.

My job was to decant the reptiles from their various containers into better ones, making sure that I didnt inadvertantly put anything that would be food in with its natural predator.

After five minutes of picking up massive scorpions, a half dead python and three ice-cold geckos, I was a little bit creeped out to say the least, and the cat that lived in the pet shop chose that moment to brush against my arm, at which point I screamed like a girl and ran into the corner of the shop in a panic. I dont think I have ever been quite so freaked out
(clinteastwoodbradfield, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 9:31, Reply)

Creepy music videos
I think the video for Come to Daddy by Aphex Twin is pretty creepy. In fact, so is Windowlicker in a less obvious way.

And while I'm on the subject of videos, there's one that I can't remember who it is but it's a homeless guy in a snorkel jacket walking through a road tunnel and keeps getting hit by cars .... then getting up and carrying on walking, then bein g hit again etc. I thought that was quite creepy too. Can anyone tell me who it was or post a link ?
( Ramsay Tupper, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 9:23, 6 replies)

Shit Fairies
I went to university in salubrious Stoke-on-Trent, and in the second year lived in damp, moldy, rodent infested terraced house, a standard student digs, but due to it's proximity to two pubs, a shop, and the student union, was perfect.
Everything went well during the first semester, but when we returned home from the Christmas break, the water pipes had burst, flooding and destroying everything in two rooms, and we'd been robbed of the few worldly possessions we owned, notably a playstation 1.
Things took a more sinister turn for the worse a few weeks later, when for some reason which I can't remember, I'd decided to stay in, whilst the other three went out for a few drinks. As I sat on the broken old chair in the front room, I heard someone coming down the stairs, not normally a problem, but then I realised no one was in the house but me. Que me shitting myself for a few moments before no one appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Ugh, on that note, bed time, and thought nothing more of it.
Come the morning, everything seemed normal, I’d heard the others return a few hours later, so all good. Upon waking and walking into the front room I was greeted with possibly the most bizarre sight my then short life had ever seen. On the wall were two hand prints, not in blood, but in blackberry jam, and smeared all over the carpet and settee was alot of dogshit. Oddly, there was no trail of shit, it was just liberally smeared on the settee and carpet in the front room.
All three had come home with then girlfriends, and all swore their innocence. Shoes were checked for signs of dogshit but none was found, and hands smelt for blackberry jam, but none could be smelt. The dogshit smell stayed for weeks, and in the end we burnt the settee. The jam handprints stayed until the day we left, and became a great talking point for any new guests.
The four of us lived together in the third year, and now three of us live in South London, and still socialise most weekends. No one has ever owned up to it, and the myth of shit fairies has never been solved.
The weirdest thing, the empty jam jar was put back in the fridge.
(Hoaxy The only living boy in new cross, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 8:53, 5 replies)

Torchwood "Children of Earth"
I know Torchwood by itself isn't that creepy (oh wait, it's Doctor Who for the in-the-closet-eers :p), but combined with the opportunity presented for a 2 year old it changed face a bit lol.
The Beeb were working their way through the 5 parter "Children of Earth", and I was happily making sure that our TV Licence money wasn't being pissed in the wind by sitting down and watching the fucker. Part of the story for this thrilling outing for the Torchwood crew was that aliens had managed to tune in a frequency that made every child on Earth stand still, look blank and shout the same messages like some kind of weird alien/kid-pager. The way it was done was ok, and also at about 10pm after a few drinks I was sitting there quite absorbed by the ep while the missus was killing time on Facebook in the next room.
This one evening however saw that me daughter (2 at the time) was still awake, and decided she wanted to watch this with me. I didn't complain as I needed to teach her about John Barrowman and how to avoid actors of his kind when she grows up, so she sat there happily watching while I explained what a homo was (I am taking the piss btw :p). That was until the kids on Torchwood all froze into place, and after a few seconds all shouted "WE ARE COMING" repeatedly. Me daughter thinks this is great, jumps up in front of the telly and does exactly the same fucking thing while staring blankly at me. To a half-cut daddy who starts freaking out. "Stopppitt....please stoppit!!!!" pleads I, but she just carried on, and it creeped the living fuck out of me.
As soon as the kids shut up on the box she went back to normal, laughed and started playing with a small Pepper Pig house in the corner. She's now banned from watching sci-fi for the time being, at least when I'm around and had a drink lol.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 8:07, 3 replies)

There is usually a good reason NOT to go into a graveyard @ night.
2 tales from my childhood including my besty Ron (as in Later). I was staying at his old's house over the weekend & so of course we had to sneak out of his room to go for a wander whilst we enjoyed our pilfered beers and cigs.
As we strolled thru Karrakatta cemo (where he ended up getting cremated) we noticed some lights in the distance, in a cemetery, on the weekend @ about 2200... So being the smart,sober & sensible teenagers that we were - we decided to investigate.
As we got closer LaterRon & I noticed many coloured lights floating @ about hip height above some of the graves. As we got closer still we saw that the lights were flickering as tho they were the spirits of the dead waiting for some tipsy teenage boys to come along so's they could haunt them. It was when we heard the weird droney,chanting that we though "Fuck this, I'm outta here" & piss-bolted.
We had come across a midnight mass in the Roman Catholic section where they light candles and place them in coloured jars on the headstones and sing hymns to their beloved deceased. When we figured this out many years later we pissed ourselves and had another beer.
The other (much shorter) 1 was a year or 2 later when Ron & I were smoking probably 1 of either of our first ever spliffs, again in the dead of night in Karakatta when a tall bloke in a long overcoat, carrying a long handle shovel strolled by and said "Good evening boys.". We did our best stunned-mullet impressions, pondered what it was about & then decided that we probably didn't really want too know afterall!
The shovel was a good 6' long.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Fri 8 Apr 2011, 6:57, Reply)

Justify my love
...play it backwards.

I'm sure it was completely unintentional on Madonna's part, but it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up!
(dchurch bah, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 6:44, 7 replies)

Someone mentioned Lemon Jelly earlier.
I have a friend who refuses to listen to 'Nice Weather For Ducks'. He finds it creepy, and was on the verge of giving me a right telling off when I put it on. How was I to know?! It's a perfectly jolly song!
( Bats, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 6:21, 2 replies)

Pink Floyd
A friend of mine and myself were sitting in his bedroom one evening partaking in some strong herbal cigarettes and transferring our mad twisted thoughts onto paper in the form of cartoons, comic strips, murals etc. In the background was the mellow sounds of Pink Floyd. Without realising the tape had finished, both of us completely absorbed in our art. I cannot remember which album it was but the tape player had started playing the other side. The music gradually filled the room ever so quietly and was building up. At this point i'd become aware of some 'noise' outside the window. It sounded like a feckin spaceship landing. I was genuinely scared as i dropped my pencil and looked at my friend saying, "What the feck is THAT?" We just couldn't work it ou. I was panicing by this time, head in hands ready to dive under the bed until i realised it was Pink Floyd
(slipmatt Thats sooper dooper, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 5:17, 3 replies)

Graveyard Woes

After leaving the pub, slightly worse for wear, I decided to take a shortcut through the graveyard. Would save me 10 minutes. So I hopped over the wall and continued my lubricated stagger. Then I heard:

"chink, chink"

"WTF was that?" I thought

Even though I don't believe in ghosts and ghoulies and 6-legged monsters and things that go bump in the night - this noise raised the hairs on the back of my neck.

"chink, chink"

There it was again. It sounded close this time. I continued walking.

"CHINK, CHINK"

Right in front of me. Behind that big gravestone. The one with the fresh grave. Heart in my mouth, I peered over the gravestone......

Squatting on the ground was a wizened old man, with a hammer and chisel, and he was marking the gravestone. A stonemason! A fucking stonemason!!

Weak with relief I said:

"Fucking hell mate. You scared the crap out of me. I thought you were a ghost! What the hell are you doing working at this time of night?"

He looked at me. Looked at the gravestone and said:

"They spelt me name wrong......."

"chink, chink"

Cheers

I thenk you. I'll be under the pier all week.....
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 8 Apr 2011, 3:47, 5 replies)