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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.

I am almost 32 years of age
and am not afraid of the dark, but last night, I felt compelled to get up and switch the light on.

I was reading about the "Michigan Dogman". And some very scary stuff it is too. It's been a long, long time since I've felt so creeped out about something, and I caught myself checking over my shoulder quite a lot.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 16:09, 4 replies)
A living Hull
Not all of this happened in the dark but I reckon enough of it did for it to count here.

I went to uni in Hull in the latter half of the 90s. In my third year I lived with 4 mates in an old Victorian terraced house at the end of a long road called Ella Street. Lots of odd things used to happen in the evenings when we were all in the lounge. Doors slamming upstairs, glasses falling off the table in the kitchen while no one was in there, that sort of thing. The weird thing about it was that it never felt threatening, just as if someone were playing a trick on us. We would all see things out of the corner of our eye, usually a figure running out of the room, but usually nothing too defined.

One of my housemates swears blind she saw someone open the door to my room and walk in one morning, about 5 minutes before I got up and walked out of the other door (it was the front room so had a door to the hall and one to the dining room). The door she’d seen someone walk through was blocked on the other side by my bed and when I woke up, everything had been knocked off my bedside table.

We all went out to the cinema one night and when we got back, all of the posters downstairs in the house had fallen off the walls and each of them had landed a good distance from where they’d been stuck ,as if they’d swirled around the room. As I said, we all went out together and came back together.

The strangest incident though was when we were chatting about all of this in the lounge. The girl who had the upstairs front room was moaning about the bumps in the night keeping her awake when there was an almighty crash outside. Looking out of the window we saw her mirror smashed on the pavement. She used to keep it propped up against the window but when we went up and checked (again, we’d all been downstairs together when this happened), the window was still shut.

Strange stuff. I consider myself quite a rational person, but I can’t work out how some of this stuff could have been someone playing a trick, I saw strange things first hand and what confuses me the most is that it didn’t seem at all scary or menacing.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 16:06, Reply)
The wolf! I was protecting you from the WOLF.
I have always been very active whilst asleep, never quite true somnambulation (sleepwalking) but mostly mumbling, often holding conversations with Mrs Angio and occasionally sitting bolt upright.

Every now and then I end up jumping out of bed still asleep but in a panic then waking up when upright. Usually this results in me standing there, awake in the pitch black, completely confused and totally disorientated.

That's the background out of the way, now we jump back a few years - wavy lines, ahoy!

Its the middle of the night and I'm dreaming. It's a nice dream: It's a sunny day and I'm walking along the river bank by the King's Head pub in Bawburgh (a small village just outside of Norwich for all of you who haven't managed to get past the burning-torch-and-pitchfork-wielding farmers on the county boundary. We do have to keep all of the foreigners out, especially those strange Suffolk folks....)

Like I said, it's a warm sunny day walking upstream along the river bank and Mrs Angio is walking a few paces ahead of me wearing one of her summer dresses that leave little to the imagination (yes, I even ogle my wife in my dreams).

The river in Bawburgh flows from a mill pool and just before you reach this pool there is a large horse chestnut tree with low hanging branches. As Mrs Angio nears this tree, I notice a pair of red eyes in amongst the leaves of those low hanging branches.

Next thing I know, a massive wolf bursts out of the undergrowth and runs straight at Mrs Angio. I run at the wolf and manage to rugby tackle the salivating beast.

"What the hell are you doing?" shouts my VERY angry and choking wife as she punches me awake and tries to prise my arm from around her neck, "get off of me." I'm sure there were a few more choice words involved but I think you get the idea.

Once again I have awoken completely confused in the pitch black, only this time I appear to have my wife pinned to the bed in a head-lock and not in the good way.

Funnily enough, my mostly incoherent mumblings of "trying to protect her" and "the wolf" seemed to fall on deaf ears.

Personally, I think I deserved a bit more gratitude for throwing myself into harms way for her but for some reason she didn't see it that way. Probably had something to do with the lack of oxygen.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 15:52, Reply)
Honestly, I'm no fan of the dark when it comes to being inside..
At a young age I was relocated from the safety of a bedroom next to my parents' room, to a converted bedroom downstairs. These were the days when I slept in Aladdin pyjamas - long sleeve top and bottoms. Being born in '87 and Aladdin hitting the cinema in '92..it is safe to say my age was still only a single digit.

Everyone remembers having a nightmare when they were little - and running into their parents' bed and spending the night curled up between Ma and Pa where it was safe and monsters couldn't get you, right? Well, imagine a pitch black staircase and hallway between you and your parents. Imagine having a nightmare, softly padding out of your room and freezing a few paces into the hall, gazing into the oblivion of the stairs. Imagine nightmares about monsters in your room, scary noises and shifty shadows - I spent many nights in purgatory between the staircase and my room, depending on what the nightmare featured.

Eventually I was entrusted with a lamp - so as I got older and my nightmares were deeper, darker and generally more realistic - I started sleeping with the lamp on all night long. Not long after this was discovered Ma and Pa fitted a light outside my room which gently illuminated the hallway to the stairs..and that's about it. That light stayed on every night for the best part of 10 years as I slept with my bedroom door ajar. Eventually a light cast into my room became annoying, as did the standby light on the TV and a digital clock so I started closing the door and turning the TV off at the mains. I was finally getting over my fear of the dark - bar the odd moment of panic as other b3tans have described (short noises which are unfamiliar and hard to locate, a flickering shadow perhaps).

Or so I thought! You see, the current Mrs. Mango lives in one of those older, town-house style houses whereby the bathroom (and thus, the toilet) are situated downstairs often at the back of the house. If I wake up in the middle of the night, I smuggle my phone out with me and use the soft-light from the keypad and screen to guide my way down the stairs and into the living room as not to wake her dear old Ma. The floors are as thin as paper so I try not to switch the light on in the living room. Entering the kitchen, my first obstacle, the light switch is on the other side of the room. Now if anyone was awake, due to the cardboard floors, they may think I was practising coal-walking. I gently walk down the stairs and into the living room, where by pace speeds up a little. In the kitchen it goes a bit pear shaped - plod, plod, plod, plod-plod-plod-plod-plod, plod. I have a door, small hall and another door before hitting the bathroom where there is glorious light and Glen - my new found friend - the room heater. Glen sits high on the wall and wags his pull-cord tail when I'm around - or so I like to think. Their house is freezing in winter, so I sneak a moment or two with Glen to ensure I don't give Mango Jr. frostbite if you know what I mean.

Anyway! Cue going to see I Am Legend at the cinema. Reasonable film by the way, but the scene where Will Smith chases his dog into that bank and finds those zombie things huddled in the corner of the dark room..eep! Yes, dear reader, those images stayed in my mind. The stairway, the living room and the kitchen were still taken at my usual pace, but this time I would freeze at the door leading into the hallway. It was blacker than black in there, with about 4' of space to the left of the door where anything could have been lurking. I had to spend what felt like forever psyching myself up to open the door and hurl myself into the bathroom. And then do it all again when heading back to bed - even though I'd just gone through the hallway where nothing was, I couldn't shake those images or the deep-seeded fear of the dark.

I may have practised coal-walking to the bathroom, but the way back was a 100m sprint against Olympic champions. As soon as I opened the bathroom door to head back upstairs, I was off like a rocket. Thud-thud, slam, thud-slam, thud-thud-thud-thud-thud, slam, thud-thus-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-slam-boing. As soon as the bedroom door was closed behind me I dived into bed, often causing Mrs. Mango to sit bolt-up right semi-shrieking 'what was that' to which I would downplay my sheer horror, apologise for my less than gentlemanly bed-entering approach and cuddle up to her (I believe it is more accurately described as 'cling on to dear life') until I fell asleep again.

I definitely get more paranoid and on edge if I'm stressed, or feeling down and out. I guess it's regression. Mrs. Mango is petrified of thunder storms. Day or night - she hates them. I hold her close all night long, even after she falls asleep, because it makes her feel safe. But I'm a horrible, horrible man sometimes - and tease her about it. Ironic with my own childish fears. She got revenge one day by following me to the bathroom and hiding in that hallway. Had I not just emptied my bladder I would have surely emptied it on the spot as she jumped forwards shouting 'boo.' I saw the funny side after a couple of days. She's learned well, she has :)
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 15:48, 2 replies)
Moments after shooting my load.

I slid out of bed and did a sexy little dance in the dark in front of my girlfriend, Liz, culminating in me pulling the used spunksack off my sticky middle wicket with a gooey plop and spinning it in the air for a bit like a horny cheerleader twirling a rancid, salty, cum-splattered floppy baton. Liz told me to stop pissing about and get back in bed, so I chucked the scumbag over my shoulder and dived back between the sheets, safely nuzzled between her small but perfectly formed chesticles.

The next morning we had breakfast, showered and left heading back down to London – we were staying at my parents house for a long weekend and they drove us down to the train station. We said our goodbyes and boarded the train. Moments after the train had chugged out of Chesterfield, Liz asks: “Did you tidy up before we left?” She was terrified of leaving behind any suggestion that she was getting a good hard knobbing every night in my parents spare bedroom. I nodded: “’Course I did,” I lied. We had an early morning train to catch and the post cotial CSI-style cleanup had completely slipped my mind. I assumed she’d got rid of the evidence we were violating holy Catholic law, as the used nodder was nowhere to be seen.

Oh well, I thought, sometimes they just seem to disappear into thin air.

About an hour into the journey south I heard Bomb Track by Rage Against the Machine go off in my pocket, much to the annoyance of the floppy-haired indie cunt sat opposite. I’d received a text message. I pulled my phone out, it was from my mum. It read:

Spanky, the next time you visit can you please not deposit anything nasty on the ceiling? I’ve had your father attacking it with a broom for the last half hour with no joy – he’s too short. We’re going to have to borrow a step ladder from next door. Love to you and Liz, Mum x

“Anything important?” Liz enquired.

“Just mum and dad wishing us a safe journey...”
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 15:24, 7 replies)
The dark
I never liked the dark. untill many many moons ago ( maybe when i was 6 or something) my dad told me something that i still use to this day.

If you can't see the monsters THEY CAN'T SEE YOU
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 15:02, 2 replies)
The horror, the horror
I discovered the true horror lurking in the dark last night. I now have no fear of vampires or zombies on the landing, or monsters under the bed. The only thing I'm now really scared of in the dark is finding an upturned plug with my bare foot.

Ow, you little fucker!
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 14:54, 10 replies)
Jimbuktu's story is unfortuntely reminiscent of something that happened to me not too long ago. I lay happily sleeping, mind merrily a-wander through the wonderful realms of my subconscious. Slowly, as you sometimes do, I became aware that I was dreaming. "There's a spider on my face, but that's fine because it's only a dream" my sleepy mind decided. Sometimes, being the pathetic girly-man that I am, I have nightmares about this sort of thing that lead to me leaping out of bed and lunging for the light switch in a single graceful, balletic leap which is inevtiably ruined by tangling my legs in my chair and faceplanting into the door, but this time I knew it was a dream so there was no need for such acrobatics.

Only, for a dream it was very tactile. This sort of things happens too, from time to time - incredibly vivid sensation, combined with an awareness that you're dreaming. Occasionally you can kind of steer the dream, which can be utterly brilliant, but this time it was stubbornly sticking to the spider on my face theme, the prickly, tickling, feather-light sensation becoming more and more urgent. I became gradually less sanguine about the whole "it's just a dream" thing and started the slow climb up Terror Mountain.

I awoke the second I reached Screaming Incoherent Panic Peak. Having punched not only myself, but also my bewildered and no-longer-affectionate cat Mabel, with her stupid tickly whiskers, square in the face.

She wasn't allowed to sleep in my room after that.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 14:20, 3 replies)
Under the sea...

The first time I ever tried mushrooms I struggled to cope, I really did. I was used to acid and had a fondness for its tingly chemical talons massaging my brain and painting unusual colours and patterns all over the world, and I assumed mushrooms would give me the same sensation, just with a more organic twist, and the thought excited me no end.

How wrong I was.

Within half an hour of polishing off a mug of foul tasting, muddy 'tea' the first wave washed over me. It started in my brain and coursed through my entire being like a warped, multicoloured electrical current that surfed on my blood and appeared simultaneously to reach every extreme of my body.

No sooner had it passed and I eased into a relative comfort then the next wave broke over the shore of my being. The tide was coming in fast and I was trapped like a Chinese cockle picker, stuck on an isolated sand bank and at the mercy of a brutal and unforgiving ocean.

At the same time I found myself unable to move and equally incapable of staying still. Closing my eyes revealed terrifying visions that threatened to consume my soul, like macabre shadow puppets dancing inside my eyelids, but when open they allowed a distorted and twisted scene to play havoc with my imagination.

And then the power cut.

The music that had threatened to deafen me disappeared in an instant. The various flashing and ultraviolet lights were extinguished and, before my mind could accommodate the change, the utter darkness forced the ocean to rush from the beach as though someone had pulled a massive plug in the bottom of the sea. A warmth enclosed me, cushioning my every fibre and surrounding me with comfort like I had been wrapped completely in the world's softest cotton wool.

I somehow felt safer in the darkness.

Until my body decided it really didn't want the mushrooms to stay inside it.

Then I couldn't find the bathroom. Or a bin. Or even a sink.

I did find a corner, with a plant pot in it.

They didn't invite me back for any more mushrooms after that.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 14:11, 4 replies)
The Dark
chocolate I purchased in Germany recently:

(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 13:36, 3 replies)
Would we
be scared of the dark, or Ghosts if we didnt have eyes...

this also works for Racism too.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 13:29, 1 reply)
Caves and watersports.
I grew up near a place called Chislehurst Caves – 22 miles of unlit man made tunnels with all sorts of spooky things like haunted underground lakes and druid altars that you wander around carrying old oil lamps. Perfect place as a teenage boy to take their new girlfriend. Scare the bejesus out of her so you can put a manly arm around her and try to cop a feel. At least this was the theory I was going with one Sunday afternoon with the object of my 15 year old lust who I shall call X.

We were about half way through the tour when the guide wanted to demonstrate the size of the caves and how echoes rumble through them. He left us for a moment and disappeared around a corner. A couple of moments later there was a very loud bang, instantly followed by X collapsing on the floor with fright. At that moment I thought the date probably wasn’t going too well as I saw the look of embarrassment, fear and anger she gave me, but I was still hopeful for a bit of ‘there there, I’ll protect you’ style comforting when she calmed down a bit.

Then the guide took everyone’s lanterns away so that the only source of light was his torch. Which he then turned off to demonstrate the pitch black nature of the caves. I was pondering whether this was a good opportunity to grab a handful of boob (I was all romance back then) when the torch snapped back on. The guide was right in front of X and shouted ‘boo!’ as he lit up his face. Four things then happened in quick succession. First X screamed, then she slapped the guide, then I laughed, then she slapped me.

The rest of the tour passed uneventfully and I’d resigned myself to the fact that today might not be the day I pop my cherry. As we emerged into the light of the afternoon I noticed that a fifth thing had happened in that moment. She’d done a little bit of wee which had seeped through her jeans. That kind of killed what was left of our fledgling relationship.

I suppose the moral of this story is that although getting a girl scared might be a good way to get a cuddle when you’re a teenager, if she’s of a nervous disposition, don’t literally scare the piss out of her. Tends to have the opposite effect.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 13:14, Reply)
Occasionally, (about once a week), I molest my wife when I'm sleeping.

I don't know I'm doing it, I don't remember me dreaming about sex, but apparently I keep touching her, and on a few occasions I've woken up actually having sex with her.

She only complains because I keep her awake at night.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 13:01, 1 reply)
bad things do happen in the dark
But never to me. This is a story of a bad thing I (accidentally) inflicted on others.

I'd just moved to London and not knowing anyone I hooked up one evening with a large group of people who were going to a trance night at a club called [Club Name Removed At Request of Promoters]

Trance is really not my thing - I got quickly (very) bored and retired on my own to the darkened upstairs room of the club where I discovered two things: 1) A large quantity of ketamine in a wrap on a bench, which I foolishly ingested and 2) Large buckets of Playdoh scattered around which the mashed up denizens of the club would sit around and play with ("oooh, it feels so goooood"). Weird, but it was that kind of club.

The ketamine took hold (and, as was my custom), I needed to vom. The nearest receptacle was the bucket of playdoh right in front of me and I spent the best part of what seemed like 10 minutes copiously filling this container with a mixture of lumpy bile, half digested cornish pastie, cheap cider and (the standard) carrots (why do you always puke up carrots, regardless of whether you've eaten any or not!?). Yep, I'm classy, me.

After I'd finished, I surveyed the damage: squidy playdoh immersed in a solution that looked like goatsee's arse gravy.


I'd only got as far as thinking I should dispose of the playdoh when the ket took hold with a vengeance and I collapsed renton-like back onto the sofa, completely unable to move, the ket-elephant sitting on my chest, but being totally conscious.

For the next hour or so I could only lie there in a paranoid shame filled panic as clubber after clubber would come along, sit down, and play with the playdoh ("Oooooh, it feels ssoooo niiiice") before moving on.

I haven't been back there.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 12:40, 2 replies)
Choo wooo
I was on the train on the way to work. The train was overfull so I was stood in the vestibule with about 5 other people - making it too busy, but not touching eachother busy.

The lights weren't working. I was near the window, so I was still ok to read my book, but when we went through the tunnels it was so dark that I had nothing to do...

...other than belming, big cheezy grins, and a variety of other faces.

In the dark nobody knows who is giggling to themselves.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 12:13, 4 replies)
My flatmate told me that he used to sleep with his bedroom window open as a child, because he wanted to get bitten by a vampire. He then confessed that he still does this. He shouldn't have told me something like that, especially not when he was just going to the cinema to watch 'Twilight'. Sparkly twat. I'm just wondering what other confessions lurk in his sparkly closet.......
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 12:06, Reply)
I sometimes talk in my sleep.
I was happily asleep when suddenly the darkness was taken away as the bedside light snapped on and I was being shaken awake by my ex angrily saying ‘What do you mean “Don’t worry, I don’t think you look anything like Homer Simpson”?’

Which is apparently what I’d turned to her and said, with my hand gently resting against the side of her face.

It was a particularly odd thing to say because, with hindsight, I realise that she actually did look like Homer Simpson.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 12:03, 3 replies)
Ode to Ted Bundy
The dark can be scary, but it’s better than light,
For fun can be had in the darkness of night,
The light is comforting, it keeps bad things away,
But playing at night is better than day.

Spy through the windows of unsuspecting women,
As they wander ‘round topless in their glistening kitchens,
Stay silent, jut watch, make sure your not seen,
Wank furiously - jackpot! She’s flicking her bean!

Be careful, she’s finished, she’s bound to get dressed,
Get caught and you’ll be labeled a dirty sex pest,
Hide in the darkness and creep away from the house,
Stealthy, like a ninja, silent like a mouse.

Look over there, there’s a gap in the curtains,
Something to look at, you’re sure, you’re certain,
Yes, what’s this, a man and his wife?
And it looks like they’re having the time of their lives.

Up next, the backstreets, to follow young ladies,
They can’t see you, it’s exciting, you’re heart-rate increases,
Just follow them, quietly, imagine them naked,
Don’t touch or grope, you’ll be instantly hated.

Cease now, no! You’re going to far,
By stopping and inviting them into your car,
“Excuse me, Love” you quietly stammer,
Hand gripped tightly to your trusty old hammer.

‘It’s dark, no one can see, I’ll never get caught’
You think to yourself as the rope gets tight and taut,
Her eyes roll backwards, ‘twas a stroll in the park,
All thanks to the fog that is the dark.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 11:24, 1 reply)
Sorley Tunnel - Devon
There's a small adventure park in Kingsbridge Devon called Sorley Tunnel that has farm animals and tractors and the like. So far so family friendly. It also has a disused railway tunnel (hense the name) that you can walk down about 1/2 a mile to experiense complete darkness.
We went a couple of years ago, we being my wife and 4 year old son and my brother and his family. All i can say is that we managed about 100 meters before all 4 adults bricked it and legged it back to the daylight - kids complaining that we didnt get to the end. We vowed to not mention this in public again.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 11:18, 3 replies)
The Uni I've just finished a glorious three years at is in a rather small city. As such, clubbing opportunities are rather limited, with the popular choice being the location officially (and rather famously) branded as Europe's worst club. With stunning locations like these, there is a general tendency to get thoroughly cunted every single time you go out. Drunker than it would be possible to be in many cities; I've watched people wearing only a mankini being carried *into* clubs, with the bouncers not even batting an eyelid.

This, combined with the dark (very dark, honest) and dank surroundings (so many people you literally can't move, wading through a sea of broken glass, sweat dripping from the mouldy pink walls) results in there only being once choice when you arrive: sling a few quaddie gin and tonics down your neck (and often yourself and the people surrounding you), and dance away to a bit of S-Club7, flailing madly, knocking people over, before heading upstairs for a piss in the sink.

However, this cesspit of drunkeness is also a prime hot-spot for picking up nubile young students. I have been caught out before in this game though. Once I was lasooed by a girl who turned out to not only be a little unattractive, but also (as I saw a few hours later, in a more private location, and after my sight had begun to return) quite incredibly hairy. We're not talking 60's porn star here. It was worse. The best way to describe it is probably to let you imagine that a particularly badly groomed Labradoodle had latched onto her flaps without her noticing. This only sets the story however - the months worth of horrendous abuse received from my friends (not to mention being known as 'Best Jungle Explorer' in the yearbook) were just the beginning.

One of the other effects of the whole charade described above was to make me a little more wary of what I was getting myself into. This all came to a head on one of the final nights before I graduated, when I staggered into the location described above to the throbbing beat of the Jackson5, quickly followed by a spot of Chesney Hawkes. In a similar situation to that which I was previously caught out, a girl - a friend of a friend - attempted to 'latch on'. Everything that follows is not really from my memory; it has been relayed by other friends who heard the whole exchange, due to me shouting it at quite an excessive volume.

Not wanting to make any foolish mistakes this time round, I had a few things I wanted to clear up before things went any further. I pulled away, and questioned:
Obviously my companion was a little shocked at this:
"Excuse me, what?"
I repeated myself:

For some reason, this didn't seem to put her off. What did, however was the rest of our conversation for the evening. Every time we 'met' I would (rather pleased with my sparkling wit, I presume) shout something about smashing her back doors in. Indeed, I was later told that this was actually all I said to her all evening before she finally got fed up and went on to other males (this took a remarkably long time).

I think I get in my own way a little, sometimes.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 11:07, 4 replies)
Paramedics in the dark at the foot of the bed…
About 18 months ago I was woken up about in the pitch dark at about 5am to find to paramedics stood at the foot of my bed. Feeling slightly befuddled I thought that inviting two uniformed strangers in to the passion pit was an unusual way for my then girlfriend to spice up our sex life.

The then Ms Battered had apparently been woken from her (probably drunken) slumber by me having a full grand mal tonic clonic seizure in my sleep. And then a second one whilst she was on the phone calling an ambulance. To my knowledge I had never had this happen before (though I have since – when awake too).

Cue the paramedics asking me allsorts of questions to access how brainfucked I was – apparently the list when something like this:

Paramedic: What year is it Battered?
Battered: 1989

Paramedic: Who is the Prime Minister?
Battered: Thatcher. The bitch.

Paramedic: What did you do yesterday Battered?
Battered: Cooked an amazing roast pheasant

Paramedic: Done any drugs Battered?
Battered: Unfortunately not.

Paramedic: I think you’d better come with us…

Despite feeling pretty shite I still remember the embarrassment of being led out of my house in to an ambulance which was parked in the dark outside with it’s blue lights flashing illuminating half the road & probably annoying most of my neighbours. (Flashing lights in front of a suspected epileptic – interesting idea).

It took me a few weeks for me to be ok going to sleep in the dark again without fearing that I would have another fit. It took a similar amount of time for my then gf to decide she wasn’t prepared to carrying living with a suspected epi & to fuck off – I never worked out if that was because I wasn’t prepared to share my bed to with two blokes in uniforms or because I was apparently a “fucking wimp” for being afraid to sleep in the dark.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 10:19, 4 replies)
There is a name for it
not sure what. "I'd shit myself if only I could move" would be appropriate.

This used to happen to me occasionally but thankfully hasn't happened for a few years now.

I would wake up and find that I couldn't move any part of my body. Couldn't even open my eyes. The first time it happened, I lay there wondering if I was dead or at least, experiencing my own death. Either that or paralysed or maybe in a coma, none of which appealed to me. I tried to move my hands or my fingers, nothing. Tried to force my body to sit up or roll over, nothing. "Perhaps I can wriggle my toes" I thought and concentrated really hard on making them twitch just a little bit. After a while I succeeded in making a toe move, opened my eyes and sat bolt upright in one big spasm. It was all over, I was fine. And relieved.

This happened to me a dozen or so times but after the first time, though unpleasant, I knew I'd be OK. Just had to focus on wriggling that little toe.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 10:17, 10 replies)
If you're afraid of the dark...
I heartily recommend NOT reading House Of Leaves by Mark Z Danielewski.

I don't want to give the plot away, but there is an element of it which dwells on things which are just out of sight in the corner of your eye. If you have an active imagination, this will lead to you being able to walk around in broad daylight and still think there is something out to get you. Something which is JUST flitting out of sight behind your head. It's one thing to be afraid of the dark you can see, and can combat with electric light, it's another to know that there's something right. behind. your. head.

Right now.

If you turn quickly you won't see it, because it'll still be right behind you.

If you feel behind you it'll move out of the way.

But I'll bet you can still feel its presence behind you.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 9:52, 4 replies)
Nightmare that was real
I once had a nightmare that I was sleeping in a hay shed with friends. Outside there was a creature that used some kind of mental telepathy to rener us all immobile, after which it slowly clawed the hay bales away from around my friends and then ate them.

In my dream, I lay there, helpless and unable to move while my friends were being devoured. . . then the creature came for me. . . . It's cold claws were scraping along my arm. . . . At this point, I woke up in my room - with a dark shape over me and its claws scraping down my arm. I sat bold-upright screaming my lungs out. THE CREATURE WAS REAL AND IN MY ROOM!!!!!

Suddenly the light came on. . . My wife had got up to go to the toilet in the middle of the night. When she returned to the bedroom, she heard me moaning (having the nightmare) she walked around to my side of the bed and in the darkness she was trying to feel where I was, when her cold hands and fingernails scraped along my arm (the cold claws I felt in my nightmare were her fingernails)

I sat up for about 2 hours after that, trying to calm down before I could sleep again.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 9:48, Reply)
The foolishness of youth
It was night and outside, there fore it was also dark, and the teenage bad advice was camping with 100’s of other teenage people. Most satisfyingly, around 30% of them didn’t have willies and where rumoured to be of those mythical beings, TEENAGE GIRLS!!

The young people had travelled from all over the state to attend this bloody great camping extravaganza and much mingling was had. Late on the second night gathered around a random campfire, the very social and horny (that horny feeling only a virgin teenage male can know) bad advice was making friends with a bunch of lads from a place far far away from his home. He had chosen to make friends with this group as they had in their crew girls that where only their friends and from simple observation it appeared no one was attending their crutch caverns.

One talkative spritely young thing made a general announcement that she need to “go wee” but, didn’t want to go by herself as she was scared of the dark. As her dude friends suggested she take a torch or just fuck off in general (they where not nice boys I started to think) she appealed to bad advice to escort her to the camp area set aside for absolutions. And because he was toeyer than a roman sandal and prepared to take any and every possible chance to be in the single company of a female, he agreed.

As they trotted along the darkened bush path she gibbered at a 1000 miles an hour on random and unconnected subjects until arriving at subject of watching people piss (oh, for she was all class). A proposal was made by the bearer of nubile young breasts that if she could watch bad advice drain the vein, she would let him watch her twinkle tinkle.

After a stunned grunt in the affirmative, they stepped off the track into a small clearing and bad advice produced what to this point had only been hand cranked and released the yellow stream.

“It’s too dark” she exclaimed, “I can hear you but, I can’t see you, let me shake it for you” clearly she knew how this process worked. Her arms encircled his waist and gripping the root of the love muscle proceeded to give it a shake that sprayed drops of bladder juice in a 30 meter radius and near detached it from the body but, after a few seconds of shaking, the internal inspector rose to full and glorious attention in her nimble hands to be rewarded with a few fast yet jerky pumps. She stepped out from behind him and her shadowy outline was visible in the dark, the sound of her zip resonated amongst the tree’s and she crouched down then whistle of water under pressure through a small opening played like music to his ears but, she was right, it was too dark to see much more than outlines.

“I forgot the paper” she giggled naughtily.

“I have a tissue you can use” offered the iron rigid bad advice.

“I should just wipe it MYSELF?” she asked, with a slight harshness sneaking into her previously light sing song voice.

“well it’s not going to wipe its self now is it” offered the very logical yet very stupid bad advice, while wondering how he could ‘bust a move’ on this possibly interested sweet young thing.

She arose from her crouched position, pushed the now damp tissue back into his hand and strode back to the path and back to the fire, her fear of dark seemingly evaporating in the heat of her, in bad advice’s eyes, unexplained anger.

I often think back to that dark night of camping and sometimes I ponder what might have been but, generally, I think to myself, you stupid stupid stupid stupid boy.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 8:18, 1 reply)
The scariest things to hear in the dark
are short noises. So short you can't recognise them, and not audible enough for you to pinpoint where they're coming from.

I don't like the dark. I'm the sort of person who sytematically uses every light in every room I pass through. Anyway last night after rude goings-on, I crept downstairs to get a post-coital drink. With manliness still coursing through my system, I didn't bother with the lights and went downstairs in the dark, except for the glow of streetlights through the windows.

Our fridge is in the hallway next to the kitchen, but I just filled a glass of water from the tap. I stand there in the kitchen looking out onto the street when I hear a click. I couldn't place it, and it was an unfamiliar click. Not like when the TV 'cracks' when it cools down or when the thermostat trips on the fridge. No, this was new. By now, I was alert and peering about randomly trying to think where the noise came from. When there was another noise. I rattling noise. I put my glass down and darted upstairs and got in bed.

I mentioned the noise to Mrs SLVA this morning (but now how I bolted up the stairs in fear of something hiding in the gas cupboard) and she said it was the ice-maker in the fridge. It has a standard icecube tray that it fills with water. The water freezes and then the tray flips over and the ice empties out into the dispenser hopper thing. Click and then rattle.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 3:16, 2 replies)
The strange house, a tale of ghostly happenings
This is 100% true
Once I lived in an old house that had been turned into several bedsits.
Most tenants only lasted a max of 6 months.
I stayed there a bloody unbelievable 5 years.
For about 3 years I was the only tenant.
But the police often visited to follow up on a complaint that passers by had seen a naked person standing in the window of the empty room next to mine.
A few weeks after I moved in I got a kitten, pets werent allowed but I found it in a bin crying under a pile of rubbish and took it home.
So one night I'm sitting on my bed in the dark watching TV, kitten by my feet.
Kitten goes mental, back arched, hissing and spitting fury.
I look towards where it is looking and see the shadowy outline of a person standing just inside my door.
There was one other tenant then, so I gritted my teeth, closed my eyes and ran through it, out of the door into the dark corridor and yelling for help.
When we both got back, there was nothing.
A few days later the landlord came round to collect the rent, I asked him if the house was haunted, he said no.
Then continued to elaborate by saying an exorcism had been done before they rented it out as the house had a 'history'
I snorted and told him it hadnt worked.
He looked at me and then without saying anything else went and stood just by my door, adopting the pose of the thing I'd seen.
'Did you see this?"
Me, 'yep thats it '
Him,. oh :(

Then there was the BF who stayed over a few times but refused to ever spend time there again after one night of severe ghostly interuptance.
He wakes to find someone sitting on his chest, long hair dangling over his face, hands squeezing around his neck, her breath rasping in his face.
I wake to find him yelling for me to stop.
After an argument that I hadnt done anything and he was probably having a nightmare we go back to sleep.
Then I wake later in a panic , facing towards the wall, my back to my BF. seeing flickering lights and feeling a struggle next to me.
I turn and see a shadow over my BF, I yell and lash out and it vanishes out towards the window.
BF gets up, gets dressed and leaves in terror vowing never to spend a night there again.
There were 2 areas in that house you just never went into after dark.
As a long time tenant I learned to never leave my room at night and ignore the flickerings inside my room.
I found that when some youngster moved in, they nearly always came to me when something odd happened, then shortly after they moved out.
If I related everything that happened in that house, and believe me, every occupant had a story, this post would be enormous.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 2:52, 11 replies)
A rainy awkeininginisation
Forgive me, am a tad stoned so this might not make much spanner!

Anyway, in College my lecturer was turning 30 and invited us all out to his MASSIVE place in Liverpool a nd about 20/30 of us showed up, after a LONG drinking and smoking session mien host said "fuck it, im off to bed just sleep where you want" so i curled up infront of his lovely warm fire thinking that i would be toasty warm all night..... a few hours of snoaring passed when all of a sudden, my cheek was dripped on, i rubbed it off, then my ear was more wet, more drippage than before, my eyes adhusting to the low light and flickering firelight where astonished to find my lecturer stood above me, cock in hand pissing over my head into the fire in an attempt to calm the fire down before he went to bed! I angrilly told hom that i was infront of the fire and after my impromptue golden shower i would continue to be so, so if theres a fire imergancy I will be hte first to know... "now fuck off and pee outside" so he did right out of the front door..... morning came, no sign of our graceous host.... 11 came, still no sign, Fuck it we all thought lets just get to college, make sure this is locked up, he might have had an early start.
ER arrived for our stupidly early 1pm lesson.... to an empty room, half an hour passed of wonderment, was he dead? was he still out drinking? had he gotten lost and was now in a hole placing lotion int the basket? NOPE the door flug open a deschevlled lecturer bounded in, rather stinking of stale beer and piss..... Turns out he took my advise of going outside a little too heart.... stargard next door to the lovely couple peeked through theeir letterbox, then naturally shoved his cock in and peed all over thier carpet, All in FULL view of a police car parked not 20 yards awy visiting a kebab house!
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 2:03, Reply)
Another bad awakening
About two years ago I was at a house party in the wilds of Essex. I had got unbelievably wrecked on pimms (is there a more middle class drink?) and passed out in the hallway under a rug.

I was rudely awoken some hours later by a couple having sex on top of me.

It took a few seconds for my drunken brain to realize what the rythmic pounding sensation was, then slightly less time than an instant to shout "Get off me you bastards".

The screaming was... unpleasant.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 0:58, Reply)
The worst way to be woken:
I have a long-standing habit of reacting badly to being woken suddenly. My sister made that mistake a few years ago - she shook me out of a particularly unpleasant dream to be rewarded with my hands around her throat for a moment before my brain caught up to my reactions.

But that's not the worst way I've ever woken up.

It was a couple of months ago when I was still at uni. Due to a few incidents the week before, I was quite on my guard even when in my room with the door locked. I woke up with a start (not from a dream) to hear laboured breathing directly. in. front. of. my. face.

I have very rarely been that scared.

The terror lasted for about half a second before I realized that it was my own damn breathing that I was hearing.
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 0:54, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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