b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » The Dark » Page 5 | Search
This is a question The Dark

17,000 writes: Everything bad happens in the dark. Tell us your stories of noises and bumps in the night, power cuts, blindfolds and cinema fumbling.

(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 15:49)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Remember when you were little
and it was dark, and you needed the loo?

Remember how you used jump 10 foot to door from your bed, run to the loo and then run back to bed jumping another 10 feet from the door to the bed so the scary underbed monster couldn't grab your feet all the while inside you feel like you are going to explode with fear which is tinged with a little excitement. And finally getting in bed and hiding under your covers laughing triumphantly that you've beaten the underbed monster once more.

I caught my 4 year old doing this the other night. It was about 2am and I heard his little feet stampede across the landing, a little giggle while he was having a wee and finally the leap to success, I had to investigate it so I got up and listened in through his door only to hear him do a little giggle under his covers and then I heard a triumphant little whispered "Yessssssssssss" and I imagined him punching the air at the same time.

I can't explain why, but I felt incredibly proud and amused that my son has finally experienced this bit of his childhood, another right of passage of childhood.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 11:46, 5 replies)
Its not funny but it is.
During the 80's our family used to live in london, and one evening during a storm we were hit by a blackout. My father had just transferred to "The department of energy" so knew exactly what to do, instructing us kids to feel our way round the house, switcching off lights and appliances so "When the power came back on, it wouldn't blow the fuse."

The hours passed until it was impossible to see what time it was from the clock on the wall, my sister was in hysterics being afraid of the dark so no one was going to sleep either.

So, tired, bored and with a headache froma screaming sister I decided to amuse myself. I got my colouring book and pens and went to the only light source i could think of I hadn't checked. Opening the fridge door I was amazed by how bright that little bulb could be. settling down on the floor and colouring in my book until my father came in to find me. He didn't even get a whole word out of his mouth before the swearing started and he didn't even pause for breath for about 5 minutes.
Turns out the blackout only lasted a few minutes, but with nothing switched on we couldn't tell.

My dad moved jobs shortly after and went to the department of transport where he signed the form to allow the application of the newbury bypass.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 10:53, 2 replies)
We had only a couple of hours in which to see Dylan at the funeral home before the coffin had to be closed.
Everyone who could be there looked at his handsome face for the last time and left in tears. He was so young.

I stayed a long time, ruffling his hair and tellng him that I loved him and was not angry with him. His hair was the longest I'd ever seen it - he was growing it, it seems, for the first time.

After a while, I realised that I was still there because I couldn't leave. I couldn't leave him alone there without anyone he loved to hold his hand or whisper that it was all right, I'm here and you're safe.

This was a problem which I needed to solve. So I called Rob the funeral director in and explained, and he understood.

Dylan was never afraid of the dark as a child - well, a little, but he was very brave - so I kissed and hugged him for a last time, then stood by the door and said, goodnight Dyl, I'll see you in the morning, and Rob put out the lights, one by one, just on cue. I couldn't see Dylan any more then and quietly closed the door and tiptoed away, just as when he was a little boy.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 9:14, 16 replies)
Crapuscular (sic) night
My finger went through the bog roll.

I didn't realise until the next day. I got shit on my finger when I turned on the tap.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 8:57, Reply)
Like several other b3tans ...
I have a few stories of children's night terrors to regale.

My 5yo daughter sufferered from them with rotten, red-eyed consistency for exactly 18 months. There was a bewildering array of innocent imaginary monsters, the likes of which Tim Burton with a head full of acid, couldn't imagine.

Dream bugs ... the size of a penny. If they were red, they were bringing a bad dream. If they were green, they were bringing a good dream. She once placed a used cupcake paper on her nightstand. When questioned, she replied that it was a meteor detector. And she was convinced that a purple fucking dinosaur lived under the stairs. Then, by complete coincidence, some idiot in-law gave her a Barney doll. She damn near shat herself, right under the Christmas tree, and burst into tears.

But the piece-de-la-resistance was her fear of being chopped to tiny pieces by her ceiling fan. I would loving soothe the poor child with words of "For the love of God child! It's bolted to the bloody ceiling. You're fine. Get over it." It was just as effective as singing lullabies for 2 hours at 1:00am.

(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 8:22, 2 replies)
People can be dark too....
Flakes of snow curled lightly down from the forbidding sky, bringing an icy, wintry chill to the normally summery landscape.
We hide in the darkness of our caverns, fearing the bite of the wind and the sting of the snow as it pounds into our faces, fearing even the dimmest of light that blinds us…here, underground we must stay, until it warms again, or the snow stops falling. We claimed the Southern end of the mountains a long time ago. We have refused to give these mountains up to the peasants’ miles below us.
We wait for many hours, after hurrying back to our caverns at the scent of the storm and bloodbaths ahead, to prepare and ready ourselves for the battle that is ahead.

Nameless and faceless they creep through the shadows, our fears and angers, our hurts, intruding into our minds, pervading our memories and turning us against one another….
This is the battle we face. The darkness of solidity, enduring the ages past, enduring the stains of hypocrisy and hate, enduring the very earth we live on, with the fires and the floods and the disease.
Have you ever faced an almost certain death with no fear? Have you ever faced it with joy and bloodlust to bring down your enemies, tearing them apart with your bare hands and teeth while you yourself are brought down?
I haven’t…I am one of the few of my kind who does not enjoy death and killing. The weakling, the underdog, the child. That is me. That is who I am.
I am not perfect, nor am I the smartest or the bravest.
I may be the unwanted and un-needed, but I am not the hatred.
They might be…but I’m not…
We cannot ignore it, for it comes for us.
We cannot hide from it, because it knows all.
We cannot escape.
We can only fight for our lives.

We shall rejoice when you, the haters, who despise us for no reason are gone…
And then we will cry, for we have no reason for our existence anymore…
We the oppressed are no longer the needed, or the wanted, or the alive. We are dead and gone to you, not worthy of your remembrance, or love. Gods above, how I used to wish that I could be like you, happy and carefree, able to fight back and not care about the consequences of my actions… The burning fires of hell compared with the sweet bliss of heaven seem so black and white…no shades of grey to hide in, you’re either good…or bad.
And I am not always good…

The story began a long time ago…and it will end a long time from now or maybe not at all. No one knows who or what or where or how….but we do know why.
Our forefathers were prosperous and happy, carefree and well learned and travelled muchly, bringing spices and wines and skins and food, and often tales of great lands far away, of treasure and lore. Many people desired this treasure and lore, but were oft told it was just a hearthside tale from the travellers, but still numerous groups of people had their curiosity piqued by this treasure and lore. Was this treasure diamonds? Vast glittering mountains full of it? Caves full of precious jewels and monies? Was it the lore of old where we knew very little or nought of? What were its teachings, and was it even in our language? Was it magicks? Ways to live forever?
No one knew for sure, but in the end two groups left from surrounding towns and travelled to these very caves under this very mountain in search of the lore and treasure.
Nothing was ever found.
Angry, they began to fight against one another, blaming the other groups, tearing the groups apart with magic and knives and spears and then a man fell into the water….and he transformed… screaming, he hauled himself out of the river, and ripped another man’s eyes out with his bare hands and started to shred them while the other laid screaming and writhing on the floor.

The two groups were both revolted and fought against him, "Monster!" they called him, but he was wild now, tearing at everywhere he could reach on every body’s skin,, wild with rage and hurt, trying to get to the blood that he could sense pulsing through the men. He fought for hours, and then, another man joined his side and began fighting in the same manner, and then another and another.
All these men had been "sane" once. But seeing this man be attacked by so many, screaming himself hoarse for his cause, though what it was nobody was sure, caused pain in their chests, constricted them, made them gasp for breath before unleashing a cry that ripped at their throats and brought tears to their eyes. They couldn't stand to see that lone man fight, and eventually there were more “Monsters” as they were called, then men, and the men fled from here, vowing revenge on their fallen brethren.
The monsters retreated into the caves, waiting and waiting, they didn’t need to go out and fight the villagers; besides they now found the light from the sun drained their energy and burnt their skin, and left them weakened and in pain after spending so long in the cool darkness of the mountain warrens.

But the men from the villages didn’t know this, and mounted a huge attack on the cave men several months later, storming the caves, when they would have been better off smoking them out into the daylight where they would have had a better advantage. More men succumbed to the slash and tear and bite of the cavemen, and were again driven away.
The village men tried for years and years, but each time, lost more and more brave souls to the cavemen.

Then the cavemen started morphing….claws and talons, sharpened and pointed teeth, large luminous eyes to see in the darkness, slight fur on the body for warmth…all were part of the need for survival. Now we were stronger then ever before and could attack at will. But still we waited.
And now we are waiting today.
Over the years we have evolved into what we are now, and we are powerful beings indeed. But there are far fewer of us now, since they created metal tubes that go bang in the dark, things that can kill many of us at once, so now we are very few, and very angry.

We have waited for so long, it is itching our skins to fight and kill, even with me, I am finding hard not to imagine myself getting some revenge for their hatred of us. Yes, we are badly controlling of our anger and we turned savage, but that was not our fault. It was an inexplicable twist of fate that we became infected and that we survived. Our day of revenge is near, and these wintry, icy winds are bringing it to us on a silver platter.
Over by the cavern to the left of me, one of the darker ones mutters angrily to himself, blaming the whole world for his situation.
I’m afraid though….I don’t want to die…and I know that I can….because I’ve seen others die before me. Everyone and everything will die given the right place and time, even if that place and time is deemed too early or too late by others.

Ahead of me, I see a shape in the darkness moving towards me, and footsteps. Purposeful footsteps. Like a human. But not human. One of ours. I lift my head a look toward the shape and growl deeply through the back of my throat, glaring at this one.
Two growled words. So simple and short.

They’re coming.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 7:56, 4 replies)
I've never seen a ghost. I don't think I have, anyway.

I hate these folk who attribute anything even slightly out of the ordinary to the paranormal. It's not that I don't believe in that sort of thing, it's just, well..... I've got an open mind, but I've never seen anything myself. I like to think of myself as a reasonably rational person....... as an example, about 15 years ago, I saw an odd craft in the sky that did not behave like any aeroplane I've ever heard of. While no-one will convince me it was light from venus refracted through swamp gas, I'd like to think there was a rational explanation for what I saw, even if I can't think of one, while keeping an open mind to the possibility it was.... well..... spacemen.

But about six months ago something quite odd happened to me, and it wasn't light from uranus being refracted through whatever gas I had been emitting whilst asleep.

I awoke one night laying on my side, having been asleep for about an hour. There, next to the bed, about two feet from my face sat a woman. She was kneeling or sitting beside my bed and looked for all intents and purposes like she was praying. She was wearing a headscarf and I could see her face as plain as day. I wasn't alarmed at all, everything was quite calm and then, after about ten seconds maybe, she drifted backwards into my wardrobe and disappeared.

I rolled onto my back and, although it's weird to think it now, it was then I first thought how strange this was..... a weird, headscarf wearing lady praying next to my bed.

I've had, as I might have mentioned a bit further down the page, a load of weird things happen to me whilst asleep or semi-asleep, and I suppose this was just another one of them. It's the only one I've ever felt calm during though, and, well.... I wonder.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 4:11, 3 replies)
I apologise
Turns out, after much vodka nad john smiths the dark is not a nice place
especially when walking home at 4 in the morning
for in the dark the ground has a nasty tendency to jump up and smack you in the face
three times!!!
that bastard"!
Apologies but i'm rather nottt sober
vodka's a TWAT
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 3:56, 1 reply)
A question I can "do".

I suffer from..... well, I was told it was sleep apnoea(if that's how you spell it), but it appears it isn't..... sleep apnoea is where you stop breathing in your sleep, my "thing" is much stranger, though I've had the odd bout of apnoea as well. Suffice to say I have had several weird experiences in the dark.

I sleep. A lot. And when I get too much sleep, well, things get weird. Over the years what happens to me when I sleep too much has evolved, and I wonder if anyone has similar experiences to myself. At first, it was just weird, lucid dreams..... which eventually came to a head when I dreamt there was a tornado in my back garden which came in the window and then, unfortunately, went in my ear. At that point, I woke up and couldn't move. I felt like I was pinned to the bed with this horrible rushing sound in my ear. My young brain thought something was trying to climb in there, which wasn't very nice. This developed about 6 months later into waking up and being unable to move or speak, only being able to open my eyes slightly...... one time mistaking my chair as a shadowy figure of a man, which almost scared me to death...... being still half asleep, I could see him grinning at me from across the room.

That particular little abberation stayed with me for many years, usually about once or twice every six months, eventually developing into horribly realistic dreams where I would spend half a day wandering around thinking everything was normal then waking in my bed, being unable to move, then fall asleep again and spend several more hours wandering around the house doing mundane things like reading a newspaper (which you cant do in dreams, which was one reason I kept thinking "Hey, I'm dreaming!") or making toast (yet strange things like there being a full bathroom suite in the kitchen was completely normal to me.) This would go on for what seemed to be hours but was actually only about an hour at most, interspersed with the horrible waking moments where I couldn't move.

Eventually it mellowed a little, especially after I married, though there were a few occasions where I would wake up and be unable to move, which is made even more alarming when your wife is snoring inches away and you can't alert her :(

These days it has, I suppose, calmed down. I haven't had the old sleep paralysis thing for about 6 years now, which is good..... unfortunately, these days I wake up enough to move around and even get up and go to the toilet, but I'm still half asleep and can suffer from slight panic attacks and a general sensation of weirdness until I wake up fully.

I've never woke up with a sexy lady on top of me though. At least folk who have a succubus get that much :(
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 3:48, 21 replies)
Fucking cats
Was it just me or did everyone else have a mild heart attack the first time they heard cats prowling of a night?
They sounded liked a demonic baby crying. ......

First time i heard them i was around 13, i was so scared my whole body shook and i couldn't sleep cause my heart was beating so fast. All the possiblee scenarios raced through my mind, each failing to explain what this demon child like screaming was.
Cue major embaressment the next moring when my parents explained it was just the cats in the drive way
I slept with the window closed for the next 6 months, all through a awefully hot Australian summer.

click if you think there should be some sort of international demonic cat awwarness program for kids,


(apologies for spelling, using mmy phoone)
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 2:59, 3 replies)
Living high in the north latitudes, in a truly rural area (an island, in fact), it gets very dark, very early in the winter. The walk home from the bus stop featured, after a few houses and a church, a long trek through a forested area. No lights in sight, just a sliver of stars through the firs bracketing the road. I loved this walk, the stillness and peace of a chilly winter evening, a quiet time to let ones mind wander.

Suddenly the entire sky lit up! I initially thought that a car was coming down the road, but no - the light was coming from above. Was it the moon, coming out from behind a cloud? No. There was no moon, and the sky had been clear. Was it (gasp!) A nuclear bomb flash? No, it's not a flash - it's a steady, bright light emanating from on high. Could it be, however improbably, a helicopter? No. All was still utterly silent. Could it be, truly improbably, an alien craft? No, ridiculous. Could it be, even more improbably, a sign from God? Don't be daft, I told myself. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation.

Meanwhile, I'm bathed in a ethereal light, arms outstretched, gazing upwards in wonder. Then, just as suddenly, the light was gone, and all was dark again, in fact, even darker, due to the loss of my night vision. I went home with a sense of curiosity, mystery, and general wonderment.

And that's how I found out about Iridium flares, and where to track them. I've since shared the phenomenon with many friends and family, who after being driven to some random location, are directed to step out, hold their arms up, and say the magic words: Let there be light!
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 2:32, 3 replies)
It was dark.
It was dark and it was raining. Dark, dark rain. I pulled my coat around me against the rain. The rain and the wind. It was windy as well. I had to get there. Get there, before I was too late. That strange message... was it a message? And that thousand year old inscription. A prophecy. Was I going mad? Soon I would find out. They'd warned me about her, but I had to know. Just had to know, you know? You know how it is, when it's dark, and raining, and windy, in the dark windy rain. A streetlamp went out above my head. Not below it, that wouldn't make any sense. Things have to make sense. I just had to make sense of it all. And so I carried on, through the wind and the rain. And the dark. Would I be too late? Too late to stop the prophecy? Was it even a prophecy? Who can tell? Let's find out. I had to hurry, they were after me. Maybe. Who, I don't know, but they might have been, so I had to hurry, you know, just in case.

I arrived there. It was dark. The doors were shut. So I opened them. It was difficult, because they were shut, but I managed it. The handle was cold. And brass. Cold and brass. I turned the cold brass handle and opened the door. I went in. It was dark. She was there.


She was dead. I knew it. I was too late. They'd got there first. Who? The ones out of the prophecy. On the inscription. At least, that's the way it looked. I moved closer. Was she dead? Was she really dead? No. She was asleep. It was dark. Are you still reading this? Fucking hell.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 0:27, 3 replies)
This came up in my facebook newsfeed today:
Fredrick took the What Lives Under Your Bed quiz and got the result: Lady Gaga..

If that were under my bed, I'd sure as hell be scared of the dark.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 0:22, 5 replies)
My bank have a court injunction against me...
...which forces me to wait a week whenever I want to say anything about them.

I'm really, really sorry
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 23:10, 2 replies)
the blue people
as many of you may have gathered, i enjoy a bit of a drink now and then. what you may not know it that i'm also slightly agoraphobic. oh, i'm fine going outside, but if you put me in a field on my own, i'll shit myself.

one night, my friend debbie and i were drinking from a 2 litre bottle of "shit mix", basically anything alcoholic we could find, mixed together and topped up with lemonade. we were both pretty hammered, so we decided to go sit on the field behind my mum's house and smoke a few joints.
after the third joint, my natural paranoia kicked in. i began to feel decidedly uneasy, despite the fact that the lights of nearby houses were ensuring that it wasn't exactly pitch black.
"debbie" says i, "let's sit on top of the hill."
"why?" she asks.
"just because," i replied. debbie noticed the nervousness in my expression and grinned.
"you're getting freaked out, aren't you?" she teased. "OOOOooooOOOOOoooooOOOO!! scary ghosts are coming to get you!"
unfortunately, she was right. not about the ghosts, of course, but i was now well and truly freaked right out.
"STOP FUCKING ABOUT!" i yelled. "i just want to sit on top of the hill so i can see all around us."
"why do you need to see all around us?" she queried.
feeling more than a little shamefaced, not to mention drunk and stoned, i said "so i can make sure the blue people aren't coming."
debbie, of course, pissed herself laughing.
"you fucking spaz," she said, "come on, then"
we went up the hill but, unfortunately, paranoia had taken too strong a hold, forcing me to admit defeat and go home.

but who, i hear you ask, are the blue people?
zombies. stupid, pasty-faced, george romero's dawn of the dead zombies.
thats the last time i watch that film before going anywhere that puts me on a para.

zombies. FFS.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 21:43, 6 replies)
Living in the country
means that you quite often end up walking without any light. Personally, I love the feeling of walking around at 2am when there's nobody about, no light except the moon and stars and no sound but the wind.

One of my midnight walking routes takes me across a piece of common land (effectively a big, open field). Around about April last year I was pottering gently over it on a dark and moonless night at about 1am with only a little LED torch for light. I heard a snort from about thirty yards to my left.

"Whatthehellwasthat" is what ran through my mind just as I heard another snort and a crunching sound from my right, and a third from behind me. Not being able to place the noises ("It's not a badger, fox, deer, or bird") I raised my little torch to waist height and flicked it on.

Level with my head, and about ten yards away, were a pair of glowing red eyes.

Did you know cow's eyes glow in the dark? Because I sure as hell didn't. The cattle are there every year but the farmer moved them on about a month before normal, so I wasn't expecting them.

This has only increased my dislike for livestock.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 21:17, 5 replies)
If one day
You're at a house party in the arse end of nowhere and at 2am someone decides that what everyone should do is go for a run through a cornfield with no light remember this:

Cornfields often have ditches around them. Ditches into which it is possible to run full tilt before discovering that they're full of stinging nettles.

Still, it could have been worse. The girl behind me was wearing a miniskirt.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 21:07, Reply)
I like the dark
dear god that sounds sinister. but i actually do, spending my teens in the country and fells of the lakes i used to love walking over the hills in the moonlight. Used to wander through the woods too but that could scare me stupid. My favourite jaunt was up the Old Man (big mountain behind my house, not a generic 'old man') to watch the sun rise. Something everyone should do at least once.

Anyway! some stories from my night time jaunts. bugger the length...

1) I used to walk back form my job cleaning pots. I would cut along the lake and through some woods/campsites and along a disused railway track. I was a Fields of the Nephilim fan (touring again btw) and dressed the part. Long coat. Wide brim hat. All black.
Picture 6ft odd me wandering alone a track on a moonless night, walkman up loud and pausing to roll a smoke. I didnt hear the oncoming group who were walking back later from the pub. They didnt hear me silently rolling a fag in the gloom as they giggled about how dark it was. As the lighter flared and revealed my silouette their screams from about 3 feet away quite but the wind up me. I couldn't actually speak to apologise for a while. they seemed to be rather on edge too.

I did the same every time i could after that. sometimes with friends :D

2) further along the disused railway line was the most terrorfying 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?

Me. FFS I'm such a dickhead.

3)Bottle of scotch, few pre-rolleds, walkman. Time for a walk up the Old Man. The moon went behind some clouds and it went VERY dark. I never carried a torch due to my excellent night vision (which isnt that excellent as you will see). Ah well, i knew the route and where the drops are, shouldnt be an issue, so on i walk. I crest the summit, take a seat and wait for dawn, merrily singing along to the Nephs, Ministry, and such like. You know, growly strange songs about great cthulhu, killing, the usual stuff. As the first glimmers of dawn touched the stones around me i noticed some strange features. Rocks or hills i hadnt seen before. Hmmmm. The Sun spread its glow across the fells and revealed more. I took the headphones out and heard the gentle whispering of children. Ah. That would be the bivvying scouts i was sitting amoungst. I thought it best to leave at that point. thank god i was drunk or i would have missed standing on one of them as i wobbled away :/

the last one still makes me feel an utter bastard. Did they ask me to be quiet and i didnt hear? did they lie frozen in terror (I would freak right out NOW, let alone then!)? arg! poor buggers :(
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 20:26, Reply)
Dry throat. Dizziness and nausea. Animal from the muppets giving an exclusive and enthusiastic drum solo in my head.

And darkness. Complete and utter darkness.

"You can solve the darkness. Just open your eyes and the darkness will vanish into, um, light I suppose. Go on. Do it."

I do. I open my eyes.

The darkness vanishes and a dim light appears.

As does a wall. An inch from my face.

I jump in surprise. Towards the wall.

Dry throat. Dizziness and nausea. Animal from the muppets giving an exclusive and enthusiastic drum solo in my head.

And a throbbing agony pulsating in my forehead.

Need darkness. Please, give me back the darkness.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 19:58, 1 reply)
The Dark
Our son was scared of the dark for a long time, and eventually I got it out of him that it was (among other entities) Mothman who had terrified him. After a particularly trying day (we both have ADD) I snapped at usual bedtime ritual, and yelled at him 'If you think Mothman can be bothered to take time out of his busy schedule frightenening people in America, to fly ALL the way over to Wiltshire, just to terrify YOU, you are WRONG'
It worked.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 18:47, 2 replies)
Groping in the dark...
Right, I shall put the year at around 1992, so I'd have been about 14. And hormones were raging.

I was at the time madly in love with this girl, I shall call her Heidi, for that was her name. She was 15. (One of the few occasions with an older girl, but that's another story...) Just to put things in context at this stage we were "waiting to get our acts together".

Anyway, on this particular night we were round at a friend's house. Heidi was playing hard-to-get, so another friend (who I shall refer to as Danny, for that was also his name) came up with a bright idea...

"I'll turn the kitchen light off and you grab her and snog her" says Danny. Ok, sounds good. So we all spread out a bit... then *click* off goes the light.

So as you do, I grab hold of Heidi and I'm about to give her the biggest snog of her life. At this point... *click* on go the lights again and I see a black-sleeved hand retreating around the kitchen door.

And at this point the awful truth starts to dawn on me. By this point I had my arms around Danny... and if the lights hadn't gone back on I would have ended up with my tongue down his throat.


A couple of days later when I asked him why he didn't pull away or poke me or generally make it known that I'd got hold of him by mistake he said "I thought Heidi had grabbed hold of me and was going to snog me!"

Bastard. He knew how much I liked her!

Oh well. It was a better answer than if he'd said "because I'm gay and I want your body". Now that would have given me nightmares!

In the end I never did get together with her. Probably just as well though.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 18:16, Reply)
Not Narnia then...
I'm not very bright. I've never been very bright to be honest, I suspect I was upended and sent crashing floorways as a young 'un and that's left my brain somewhat less capable than it might otherwise have been. Of course those most likely responsible for this undue and overly hasty meeting between head and floor are quick to deny it, but they can't fool me... unless they show me shiny things, then I tend to forget what I'm talking about and they can beat a hasty retreat leaving me lost and confused, which is, quite conveniently, precisely how I felt during the episode I'm about to tell tale of...


I was younger. I know this much as it happened sufficiently long ago that I not only lived with my parents, but couldn't possibly imagine a day when I might not. I was also, therefore, more diminutive, although I can't boast grand proportions still, I was then of a size that allowed me to clamber into a space the size of, say, an airing cupboard. And that's precisely what I did.

Imagining adventures beyond my wildest dreams I shifted the piles of raw ironing aside, cleared a space for my tiny frame to squeeze into and clambered onto the shelf like a slightly arthritic monkey swinging not so freely from branch to flimsy branch. Once established in my new den I set about making sure the door would close, before commencing the task of returning to my own room and searching for a torch with which to illuminate my exciting adventures in the world of cupboard.

Instantly the darkness was complete and it caused me sufficient surprise that I jumped in fright and banged my head, increasing my slowness further. I didn't like it in the least bit and I wanted out, right out, right away. "Fuck this" I might have thought, no adventure was worth this terror; no torch no airing cupboard adventure and that was that.

So I pushed the door: nothing. So I pushed again, assuming I hadn't put enough effort into my initial shove, but still nothing. I tried again, harder still, but its stubbornness withstood my efforts and a sequence of recent events passed through my brain: I had wandered, absent-minded and filled with vacant childish joy into my mum's bedroom and spied the airing cupboard in the corner. I'd walked over to it contemplating the adventures that lay within and, stopping only to admire the magical moving me picture on the wall, I'd then lifted the catch, cleared the space and climbed in. That was it, so why was the door not... hold on, I'd lifted the catch before I could open the do... Lifted. Catch. Ku. A. Tu. Chu. Hu. Catch.

I knew I was trapped. Locked in a world of darkness and uncomfortably dry and tepid air. Surrounded by softness but enclosed by blackened terror a tear traced the outline of my chubby cheek and I began to cry.

"Muuum!" came the squeaky, useless whimper from the deepest shallows of my throat.

"Muuuuuuuuuum!" it attempted again, still to no avail. I banged the door, weakly at first but soon with more vigour, more determination and more urgency.

"Muuuuuuuuum!" I'd started to find a voice as my panic grew and my fists beat a terrified rhythm on the inside of the door.

"MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!" I wasn't going to die in there. I refused to be a local news story, a lesson learnt by other retarded children about the dangers of climbing into things with catches on the door.

"MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUM!" I almost let myself smile as I allowed myself to believe in an immanent emancipation from my laundry scented cell.


"What's all this bloody noise?" the door flew open and my Mum's lovely, angry face beamed a stupefied irritation, while my brothers danced with hopeful expectation at the beating sure to be meted out for my grotesque disturbance. Tears streamed down my face as I blinked at the rush of light, and a scene reminiscent of an earthquake victim being freed from the rubble of their once home was played out as I leapt into my Mum's unsuspecting arms and attached myself to her with a determination never to let go.

Never again did I allow myself to be seduced by small, dark cupboard based adventures, at least not without checking the closing mechanism first, but sometimes, when I close my eyes at night, the light scent of cheap washing powder drifts into my mind's nose and I'm taken back to the terror I suffered in the world of airing cupboard.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 17:12, 2 replies)
The Howling...
Many years ago I lived on a council estate in Coventry. After the council realised that many of their buildings were awful they decided to demolish them, to build new awful buildings.
So there were many empty buildings that nobody cared about in any way. My friends and I spent many an enjoyable evening roaming these buildings, being minor vandals and just messing around, safe in the knowledge that no-one would bother to stop us. (Early urban exploration?)

One evening we decide to go into a four storey block of flats, to go and sit on the roof and just doss around, as we had done many times before. Now these building has no supplies of utilities of any sort and were all boarded up, but once you were inside all the doors had been removed so you could just wander around. But it was always very, very dark inside. We'd have lighters or matches which helped light the way, but you couldn't see very much or far.

Anyhow, we are just getting onto the top floor when, from somewhere below us, came the most frightening sound we'd ever heard - massive howls, from god knows what. We crapped ourselves, mostly figuratively, but I'll bet a few of us came close to a bowel evacuation.

There's only one way out and between us and the exit there's something howling. We frantically did nothing, in a very panicked way. Eventually we come to the decision that we have to go downstairs and see what happens.

I am at the front of this scared bunch of teenagers - I think it's 'cos I was the biggest and we slowly make our way down through the building - the howls are getting louder and we're getting more concerned. We get to the first floor and figure that the howls are coming from one of the doors on this level.
Most of the group are wanting to get out of here, but I suffer from having to know what the hell is howling - I'm not brave, nor heroic - just have to satisfy my curiosity. (yep, I know I'd be dead first in a horror movie). More than half the group have gone to the stairs, ready to run down to the ground floor, but a few are not willing to admit their cowardice so are behind me while I approach the dark emptiness of the doorway. The howls are still going on, I can barely see anything but I still have to know.
I just enter the doorway, the howls stop and a massive dog (boxer cross I think) comes towards us, wagging its tail hugely as it is so happy to see someone (I reckon). I pat it on the head, it licks my hand and then follows us downstairs to the way we had gotten in, where it runs off into the night. Our assumption is that it had somehow got into the building and couldn't find its way out, so was expressing its unhappiness as it only could.
Scared us silly, but didn't stop us from going into these buildings until they'd all been knocked down.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 16:46, Reply)
One related to my by my siblings...
About 15 years ago, my 2 eldest siblings were members of a church youth group.

This youth group was somewhat unorthodox, as they'd meet at about 7:30 at a couple's house, there'd be 20 minutes of 'God stuff', and then the rest of the night was theirs. A really chilled environment, it was great.

From time to time, the youth would have film nights. One night it was decided to watch a group that applied to only the youngest of the group, meaning most of the rest were incredibly bored. So a deal was cut that for the next time, the elder youths would pick a film.

They chose Candyman.

This film was watched while all the lights in the house were out, with blackout curtains drawn, meaning that the only available light came from the screen itself. This of course led to people flicking paper, making the target jump a mile when it hit them, all low grade stuff. However, the mood was tense, and everyone was quite nervous as the film reached its end.

Afterwards, everyone was chattering about how much it freaked them out, even the lads admitted to being on edge. All except one lad, Gary Grace. He was never the most popular lad, and would always try to 'buck the trend' as it were.

He said "Didn't bother me at all, not one bit." This leads to mischief in my brothers mind (sadistic bastard, it's where I got it from), and he whispers in someone's ear, before disappearing.

During this pitiful show of masculinity, someone poses a challenge. "Fine Gary, if you're not scared, you won't have any problem going into the bathroom and saying Candyman five times into the mirror."

He of course accepts this pitiful challenge, walks down to the bathroom, opens the door, turns the light on, turns to the mirror and says "Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman", and turns to receive his praise.

He didn't get any. Everyone came to the same conclusion - "No, you've got to have no light on, and the door closed!" Gary gulps a little, and again agrees, a little nervously. So the light in the hall goes out, the light in the bathroom goes out, and the door is shut. Gary looks into the mirror, surveying the surroundings. He admits that the full wall mirror makes things much weirder, as he looks at the bath, toilet, shower cubicle and hamper behind him, so he can keep his bearings by the minute light leaking through the window.

He looks into the mirror at his reflection, and starts to recite loudly -

As he threw open the door, and ran out of the house screaming, past the very confused youth gathered outside. They nervously tiptoe into the bathroom, and hear a strange sound. It's my 6' 2" brother, lying on the floor of the bathroom, busting a lung laughing.

As soon as the boasting had started, he'd told his friend to set the challenge, and gone to hide in the shower cubicle, hidden by the curtain.

As Gary had reached the fifth 'Candyman', my brother pounced through the shower curtain, and grabbed him by the shoulders, setting off the aforementioned escape.

Gary was eventually coaxed back into the house half an hour later, but never came back again.


Length? 99 mins
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 16:04, 6 replies)
i am ninja
a giant mouse sized moth was flying round my room one night a few years ago. I know this becasue I woke to find i had smashed it into the wall with the palm of my hand in the pitch black.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 14:09, 3 replies)
Old Houses
my place is quite old - the main bit is 250 years old, and the extension was done in about 1910. the place creaks and moans like there is footsteps. I have learnt to ignore those.

The bits i don't like so much are the animal ghosts. There are loads of them. Theres been a jack russel in the garden at 3am whilst having a late party, which ran off into the woods. 3 people saw that and went to find it - nothing. There is a cat which sits on the end of my bed, thats so heavy it could be a small person. Theres nothing there. I have also heard one of our cats come home and meow - 24 hours after they were run over outside.

My mrs has had bizarre dreams about an animal graveyard on our land with literally hundreds of souls and - even more strangely so has my sister whom lives 200 miles away, and independently told me. We are about 600m as the crow flies from the roman burial site at Spetisbury Rings. Add to this the occasional fox sex session on the meadow, where it sounds like babies being tortured to death and it just adds to the problem. The next dream was about wasps coming up out of the ground - about 7 days later our friends dog trampled on a nest in our garden and got 100 odd stings (he was ok - vets within an hour, anti-histamine jab and steroid jab).

And there is a person ghostie whom all my family except me have spotted. An old fella, probably died in the house years ago. I notice him as just a feeling of definitely not being alone, and now can't stay up after my wife as i can feel him there. Its not threatening, just really unnerving!

Trouble is, they only really manifest after dusk. There are so many little glimpses of something moving in the peripheral vision that i am certain that something is moving.

The only sighting i was really not believing was when my wife spoke at lentgh to one of the Russian royal families whom were apparently there in the garden to talk to. This one, was just overdoing the Gordons and red wine. But, she genuinely beleived they were there at the time. Can the brain really make something up with that depth whilst being so drunk you are just about to puke?

Time to organise another summer bonfire party and see what a summers night brings this year. Lets hope i grow some hair on my balls to cope with it too.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 13:56, 4 replies)
Northern Hospitality
Midnight, Manchester city centre. Just this Wednesday, in fact. I’d been sent to Manchester for a course, and given that the course was starting at 9am, I’d insisted on an overnighter. What better way to spend it than when another b3tan? And so I spent a very pleasant evening in the pub with the esteemed Enzyme.

After we had gone our separate ways, and having chatted to the missus for a bit on the phone, I decided to wander out of the hotel for one last smoke. Leaning against the wall, my long leather coat billowing slightly in the breeze and the street lighting giving the smoke I exhaled an eerie yellow glow, I noticed a woman scurrying along the street and making a rapid beeline for... me, it would appear. A woman whom it was difficult to age – I suspect she was a lot younger than she looked, but the lines on her face and the unkempt nature of her barnet had aged her prematurely.

“’Scuse me love, you got the time?” She asked. I looked at my watch and told her it was coming up for midnight. “Ooh, blimey, it’s later than I thought”.

*Heartbeat pause*

“Do you fancy a good time then, love?”

“Er, no thanks”, said I, visibly recoiling from the single, snaggled tooth protruding from her top gum. On reflection, it offset her straggled, slightly greying hair perfectly.

“You sure? Only a tenner”, she pressed further, determined to reach some kind of trade.

“No, really. Besides, I’m married”, I offered by way of explanation. Not that it required an explanation, but I felt that my marital status would act like some kind of ‘deflect-o-street walker’ shield.

“Fair enough, love. You have a good night”, she said cheerily, and ambled off in her own merry way and leaving me to finish my smoke in slightly bemused peace.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 13:48, 14 replies)
Fraternally Yours.
My brother is a right cunt. So am I and despite the age difference (he’s 7 years older than me) we get on really well. At least we do now. Going back to 1986 though and a six year old Donky is the pain in his brother’s arse. The one who trailed round after him on family holidays, spoiling his chances and generally being an apprentice cunt. This holiday was different.

We had gone to The Lakes for a holiday in a remote cottage attached to a really old farmhouse. There were some woods nearby and a stream that ran into a huge lake where you could swim. It took a whole 20 strokes to cross that lake. No farm kids, no holiday kids and no girls (yay!). Just me and Little John spending halcyon days making dens, lighting fires and roasting dead rabbits we’d found (didn’t eat them though, they smelled funny). The nights were a bit different. Pitch black except for the rare star-filled night. And obviously with not a lot to do the parents went to the local while me and LJ spent our time torturing each other and generally being brothers. One night descended into the usual lights out, get a torch tell ghost stories and he scared the shit out of me. Literally. I had to go poo before I went to bed.

Anyway I was lying in bed with the covers pulled over my head when I heard the door creak open and a scuttling noise as if something was scrabbling it’s way across the floor. The story of the night had been “The Disconnected Hand” where one of the locals had crashed his car and to save his life he’d cut off the hand that he was trapped by – AND IT CAME BACK! I was petrified. Really. Lying there rock like and unable to move, barely breathing in case the horrible revenant heard me (how the fuck could a hand hear? Try telling a six year old). Then I felt it. The hand was on my bed, I could feel the way the fingers were stretching out then curling up as it dragged itself up the bed. I could hear the soft rasping as it made it’s way up the bed. I could hear it breathing (yeah yeah yeah, I was six FFS). It was on my chest and still moving and as it got to my throat I grabbed it and bit as hard as I could. No, I didn’t sever a finger or anything, what I did though was savage the bastard. I ground my sharp little teeth into that hand and worried it like a towny dog on a sheep. The unearthly screams that came out if it were, well, unearthly. That was when I realised maybe it wasn’t a disembodied hand. It took three rolls of sticking plaster and six weeks before the cuts and infections healed properly.

And that, dear readers, is why my brother still insists it’s thanks to me he’s an ambidextrous wanker.

(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 13:32, 3 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1