geegee
it´s kittens were in there
( SickRik float like a camembert sting like a brie, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 18:45, Reply)

My Mum may have contacted me from beyond the grave
100% true story.

My mum was always very dramatic, she would say if there is life after death she'd try to call me on the telephone. She would always say this and it became our 'pact' in a way.

Anyway, sadly she died at 44 and at her funeral, there we were in the crematorium. The coffin was at the front, the ceremony was over and the music started and the big red curtain started to pull across. Then at the most dramatic moment, a phone started to ring, really loudly. This was 1992, so the days before cell-phones. No-one answered it, it rang and rang.

I found it really annoying as it was totally ruining an otherwise emotional moment.

Apparently I was the only one who heard it.

Wish fulfillment, maybe, but who knows?

Come to think of it, Dad hasn't called once, and he's been pushing up the daisy's for 2 years now.
(Peelmytangerines, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 18:12, Reply)

After messing with the Dark Side, I got peed on.
I attended a girls boarding school. Not just any girls boarding school, but one for 'The Arts', so you can at least double the amount of girlie hystrionics because of all the arty 'thesps' and creative types.

Anyway, as you do, we would all gather to play Ouija and tell ghost stories after lights out, and get ourselves all worked up into girly panics and crying fits. It didn't help that the school was a 16th century Mansion built by King Charles II for Nell Gwyn with lots of secret passageways, rooms and general creepy spookiness.

After one such ouija session a girl was telling a particularly scary story. I decided to have a little fun and 'up the anti'. I crawled under the domitory beds commando-style until I got to the one at the end where my friend was sitting with her legs hanging down.

At the climax of the story I reached out from under the bed and grabbed her ankles, hard.

I was rewarded with a loud scream and a golden shower.

Not such a good idea after all.
(Peelmytangerines, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 17:55, Reply)

Preistly sermons in the dark
When I was 19 I went to stay with a friend in Ireland who lived in an old rectory cottage in Co. Limerick with walls about 10ft thick.

I woke in the small hours of the morning as the room had suddenly become incredibly cold. I took a quick look up under the curtains thinking that I'd left the window open and, whilst noticing that the window was firmly shut, I heard it.

There was a distinct but low muttering coming from the corner of my bedroom, I knew I was totally alone in the house, cue instant getting chillier and covers being drawn up over my head and white fear gripping my entire body.

Somehow I got to sleep and the next morning I came down to breakfast, where my friends Steve and Eddie were already sat and told of the nights happenings.

Eddie went completely white and then told me about the time he'd been looking after the house when Steve and his Mum were away. A priest came into the room and sat down beside him and proceeded to lecture him in a language he didn't recognise but could understand and then a little girl skipped into the room and skipped back out again. He'd never told anyone else and from the look on his face I knew he wasn't making it up.

Transpires that I most likely heard the priest practising his sermon in the corner of my room that night.
( 99redbuffoons Reversed the polarity of the neutron flow at, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 17:37, Reply)

Not me but a bloke i was in the army with
when i first joined up I was posted to a complete shit hole in Germany, first day and suprise sup-fecking-rise Private Splodger, what's got horns and bleeds? don't know sir! Stag on son! cheers first weekend in a new town and I'm on guard. anyhoo weekend passes quitely enough until Sunday night, coming back to the to the gaurd house/jail at main gate after patrol and the R.O.S. (orderly sergent) has one of the other new boys by the neck and is screaming at him "if you're taking the piss I'll fuckin kill you!!" the other lad Private X is turning purple and tears are flooding from his eyes. The full screw with me Shouts FFS Sarge put him down! well the ROS suddenly realises what he's doing and even in the British army strangling a private with your bare hands is frowned on, a little. The corporal then tries to calm things down and asked what happened,. Turns out the sergent had asked private X to make tea, Private X then asked if he should make the prisoner a cup, to which the sergent asked what prisoner? (there are no prisoners at all unusual as that was in itself) to which unsuspecting private replies Gibbins he's in cell three i was talking to him earlier. At which point the sergent had exploded and grabbed X and I had walked in. the corporal with me went white. clueless me ask so what? it turns out years earlier the sergent who was then a private, was on duty when a bloke called gibbins hung himself in cell three. no way he was joking, he went on to become RSM and any soldier will tell you those fuckers are born with no sense of humour. private x and me had only been on camp 72hrs and from basic training i knew he didn't have the brains to make this shit up or keep a straight face if on a wind up, so how would he know? Sergent asks him to describe Gibbins which he did Sergent looks at corporal both say thats him, thats Gibbo. we made a deal never to mention it, but i'm a civilian now so fack 'em.
no appology for length/ girth you mum loved it and your dad only cried when i stopped.
by the way we checked, all cells empty, floors still spotless from where I had mopped them out that morning
(the tartful splodger, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 17:04, Reply)

Notquitewithit
Could the little boy from your story have in fact been A HORRIBLE THIEVING DWARF GHOST???

beehive.thisisbristol.com/default.asp?WCI=SiteHome&ID=7542&PageID=40238
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 16:47, Reply)

Aunty Flo
I had an Aunty Flo,from Mid Glamorgan in Wales who was very scary for a number of reasons.

1)She could be quite cruel (for example would always leave a plate of congealing lemon sherbets on the mantlepeice that we were not allowed to touch).

2)She had a scary pair of those extending scissor grabby things that was the must have accessory for all old people in wheel chairs once upon a time (especially useful for pinching young great nieces).

3)She would always call me Sarah Grant, never just Sarah (as if to enforce some sense of pride in my name) this annoyed me more than anything.

Anyhoo, she wheeled off her mortal coil when I was six and I can't say that I missed her Welsh cackle a great deal and got on with my life. For my own protection, I should interject that there are some very nice Welsh accents out there, hers was just not one of them.

I was at a friends party one night when I was 16, I didn't drink alot, a couple of swigs of Cider maybe, but that was all.

I also did not partake of any mind altering drugs.

However, I did have my first cigarette.

Later that night, just drifting off to sleep when I was lifted off my bed, flew towards the skirting board and landed back on my bed and then clear as a bell, my great aunty Flo's voice...."I saw you Sarah Grant!"

brrrrr and nattering of teeth did occur

Apol for length, but first post! Yay!
( 99redbuffoons Reversed the polarity of the neutron flow at, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 15:58, Reply)

Messing with the Dark side...
On a recent exploration trip to the moon, a friend and me were walking over the atmposphere-bereft rock when all of a sudden it became incredibly cold... you see the moon had rotated until we were no longer able to see the sun... how we laughed!
(marshall19838 Oh once my wants and wins were one, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 15:19, Reply)

Haunted Home in Bristol
My wife who is now a full time Nurse used to work nights in an Old People’s home in Clifton, Bristol. The building was a typical early Victorian 4 storey town house and properly spooky. Anyways, for weeks the wife had been telling me about an old dear who had refused to sleep in her own bed and who my wife had to keep moving from the TV lounge in the early hours, thus buggering up her back. The old dear (let’s call her Betty) kept telling the Wife (lets call her Mary) that she could not sleep in her bedroom and therefore was much more comfortable sleeping in the easy chair in front of the television.

One night Mary had to work a double shift which meant that she started in the afternoon and worked right through to 7am. At about 3am Mary did her usual rounds and checked that everyone was where they should be, sure enough Betty was in her usual position asleep in front of the TV. Mary decided not to move Betty and headed back to the staff room.

In the staff room another carer said to Mary that she looked shattered and that she should try and get an hours kip whilst it was quiet and that she should use Betty’s room as she never slept in the bed. Mary having already worked 12 hours did not argue and headed for bed. Mary fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow…… Twenty minutes later Mary was woken by a tapping at the window (this is on the fourth floor of a Victorian house)…… Mary obviously thought that this was a little odd but having seen most things in her time as a carer in an old people’s home decided to investigate and open the curtains….. There on the ledge was small boy, tapping on the window. Mary at that point turned from sensible nurse to screaming, hysterical banshee and ran for her life back to the staff room, where she slowly calmed down and called the police, who arrived and searched the building. Nothing was found but the Police interviewed Betty in the morning who confirmed that the reason she could not sleep was that she was being kept awake by a small boy who wanted to get into her room.

This all happened about 6 years ago and since then the Home has closed and been turned into Luxury flats. If you are ever in Bristol and see a cheap flat on the fourth floor a Victorian Building on Pembroke Road, please think seriously about putting in an offer.

Apologies about length etc….
(notquitewithit, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 14:33, Reply)

A wet-fart anticlimax kind of spooky story about a live radio exorcism
I didn't get as far as the spookiness, unfortunately, I'm too scared. I've always had an interest in ghosts and spooky stuff. When I was 7, I used to beg my mam to let me spend the night in a graveyard and stuff. I enjoy watching Most Haunted on TV (although this is more about laughing at the unbelieveable Derek Acorah and screeching hysterically when Yvette Fielding gets scared - when she starts crying I laugh even harder).

When I was growing up in Tyneside, I used to listen to a late night phone in show called The Nightowls. Especially at halloween because the host, Alan Robson, would get listeners to stay in supposed haunted locations with radio mics and the show that night would be made up of all these scared people - great fun. Recently, I was looking at the website for that station, and saw that you can listen to past shows, and they have one called "exorcism (scary christmas)". The show was Alan, who has since become an exorcist, in a haunted house to perform an exorcism live on the radio. At some point in the show he was about to read out incantations to make spirits manifest in the home of the listener. I'm not a believer, but I'm not an non-believer and I can't bring myself to listen to this part of the show - I'm too scared.

If anyone fancies being braver than me and wants to listen to the full show (I accepty no responsibility ofr anything, so if your house gets possessed, it is your own fault), it can be found at:

www.whatson.com/metroradio/
(mountfoc, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 13:19, Reply)

The ghost horse of Abertawe
My brother and I were camping in Wales waaaay back in the 90's sometime. After a night out clubbing at "The Zone" we decided to walk the four hundred miles back to the campsite, pissed, in an unfamiliar city, at two in the morning.

We were doing pretty well, only getting a bit lost, and after a while found ourselves walking a deserted street that hugged the side of a hill, houses on either side. Anyway, theres this break in the houses to our left (which are up the hill) with a random grassy area filling it.

And in this grass area, about 10 meters from the pavement, stands a horse.

A glowing white horse, unmoving, making no sound, in an unfenced feild in the middle of a city.

Despite there being 13 years between my brother and I, we A)think very alike, and had exactly the same thought process:

horse
white
strange
ghostly
ghost horse
fucking GHOSTHORSE
RUN
!!!11

and B)can both run as fast as each other when provoked.

And run we both did, full pelt, all the way back to the tent, where we sat wide-eyed and sober now, waiting for the ghostly whinny that was surely inevetable... it never came, and we drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Incidently, the next day we retraced our steps, and it was just a fucking white horse in a field.
( parsons* *restrictions apply, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 12:08, Reply)

Selling my soul....
After uni and a long bout of unemployment (never study an arts subject during a recession) I got a two month temporary job with a major utility company in London. After the two months was up my contract wasn't renewed (for a mixture of reasons - the job was easy as anything but I was still in an unemployment induced depression spiral and my personal hygiene wasn't exactly above reproach. And I hated everyone there, especially this fat old witch called Eve I reported to).

A month after working there I went into my building society to check my account balance. Bit pointless as I knew there was about 3p in there.

I thought to myself "I would sell my soul for those idiots to have paid me for an extra month".

They had!!

While this was quite an eerie coincidence it was hardly an unexpected one considering the general incompetence of the company I worked for. I was a bit discomfited to think I had potentially sold my soul so cheaply though.

Fortunately I later remembered that bit in Name of the Rose where Sean Connery says "Contracts with the devil aren't legally binding"

I spent most of the money on beer and curry, the rest of it I wasted.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Wed 26 Apr 2006, 11:36, Reply)

The Cup Of Christ
You know, thinking about all this spooky stuff does remind me of one time in my life when I think I did come into contact with powers not of this world. However, depending on who you ask, this should not have been the dark side tampering with reality.

My friend Mike and I really fancied a cup of tea. But upon checking out the carton in the fridge, we find that there is the most pathetic dribble in the bottom of it, barely enough to turn a cup of tea grey. Now, the shops were shut and we were determined to have our cup of tea, so I brewed one up even though it meant having to drink a very strong cuppa. Mike, ever the clown, decides that the best thing to do in the event of no milk is to bless the carton in the name of Jesus.

So I pour the tea and then add the milk (once it was properly brewed of course) making sure I had all the milk out of the carton. I put it down and examined our tea. It wasn’t black but it sure as hell wasn’t white either. Despairing, I pick up the carton of milk again and give it a little wiggle. There’s a sloshing sound.

Mike and I look at each other and giggle. I pour the milk again which makes the tea a little whiter but still terribly unpalatable. Now I’m sure I got the last of the milk out this time but when I picked the carton up to throw it away I give it another wiggle, just in case. Slosh, slosh, slosh!

We continued in this vein until we both had a perfect cup of tea and the milk was well and truly gone, all the time becoming a little more freaked out by this everlasting carton of milk. Now this was all very weird but sometimes it scares me. Why? Because some people I know have chosen to use this tea-blessing miracle as evidence of God, Jesus, eternal damnation etc when talking to me about it. I’m a pagan. Even if Jesus revealed himself to me by granting me a perfect cuppa, I’m bound for the lake of fire…

But then I knew that anyway. Peace. :)
(Mr Evian, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 9:24, Reply)

Well, I thought it was funny
Done those Ouija boards a couple of times, when i was younger, with no sucess really. I think its because im a complete sceptic in these matters - if someone does manage to do something spooky, like contact the afterlife, you can claim a million pounds from some yank. Im sure they would do that rather than sit in dark rooms making a meager living talking to people whos nearest and dearest have just died. Seems a bit 'Sparkys magic piano' to me - im magic, but tell about me and i stop working. Pish.

Anyway, my point. I knew I had one somewhere. I did a Ouija board one time - asked the question "Is anybody there?" and the glass moved to 'No'.
I thought it was properly funny and laughed for ages. The spirit didn't talk again.

Oh, also, its possible to be scared of spooky things AND not believe in ghosts. Graveyards at night are scary places anyway...
(grr_boy, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 9:08, Reply)

Ooh and another one
friend of me dads this time (never me, I am Dully McDull, number 1 Dull Street) and his mates were away at some big old house for an adventure weekend scouts or something type thing. They'd all as young lads do been trying to scare each other with ghost stories and stuff including sliding a shirt on a coat hanger down a piece of string from the top of the house to the big gate, for it had this long straught drive with a slight downhill slope, ideal for such larks. This made a fabulous wzzzzzzzzzz noise as it slid and they managed to put the wind up anyone coming up the path seeing and hearing this thing suddenly approaching. Anyways...... one young lad didn't believe in all this nonsense and flatly denied the existence of ghosts and stuff, so they concentrated on him for the rest of the night till they all turned in. The dormitary thing they were in was a long room with a window at one end and all the beds along the long walls on each side, with the sceptical laddie at one end next to the window. Everything was quiet until my dads mate wakes up and hears him gasping for breath and sounding a bit, frankly, unwell, so he looks over and sees silhouetted against the window 2 people on this chaps bed having a punch up. Someone else at this point gets up and switches the light on to reveal absolutely no-one there, not a soul. Except of course the now not-so-sceptical lad white as a sheet and a tad sweaty in his bed. Pants may well have been filled that night!
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Wed 26 Apr 2006, 7:55, Reply)

Star Wars related actually...
A few years ago,i was obsessed with Star Wars,so,for christmas someone bought me this horribly complicated Star Wars game. It had a video with it,which features Darth Vader telling you what to do. In the first bit,he is saying about the dark side and saying "there are two people in this room whos innitials are D and S".

My mum and dad are called Diane and Sean. Magical,i tell thee...

Now off to sell that game on ebay...
(Miharu, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 7:52, Reply)

Not me (again)
but my mate Norma. Her mam died and she had to sort out the will/personal possessions and stuff. They decided to sell her mams car and took a photo of it, with no-one in it, for the ads in auto trader type mags. So far so good but when the photo came back who could be clearly seen in the passenger seat but her Mother. I believe goose pimples were the order of the day.
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Wed 26 Apr 2006, 7:06, Reply)

the thing with ouija boards is

they don't work when no one's touching them.

You can say 'no one was moving the pointer', but the fact is they only work when someone has the opportunity to move the pointer.

A bit like if someone claimed to have the ability to make things disappear by magic - but it only works if you close your eyes for 10 seconds. No matter how strenuously they said it was real magic and they weren't just hiding it, the fact that it only worked when they had the ability to hide it would mean you wouldn't believe them.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 5:43, Reply)

So, there I was in a shit pub in Aberystwyth (Yoko's)
and I wandered up to the DJ of EVIL and muttered the SECRET INCANTATION.
Lo and behold, within seconds, the words "Brasso says "I'M GAY!" appeared in ghostly writing (possibly ectoplasm or some such shit) on the wall. The spookiest bit about it? Brasso was in the toilets at the time. He'd just avoided shitting himself. Or something.
(you FUCKING *BANG* BANG*BANG* AAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 3:20, Reply)

Working as a hospice nurse
I was familiar with being at dead and soon-to-be-dead people's bedsides. I got used to patients staring right through me and focusing on someone not there a foot behind me. I didn't mind a patient's long convo with dead relatives with the occasional comment thrown my way. (Like: "be careful on the way home. Ma says it's going to rain soon.")

I got completely creeped out (although it's very comforting if you believe in an afterlife) when people would look up at the ceiling, get this look of beatific joy, THEIR FACES WOULD GLOW then they'd close their eyes and die. This has happened several times across categories of age, sex, religion, language and belief. I thought I was seeing things until I attended a death with another nurse and she asked me if I saw the glow too. It's hard to describe; sort of like a narrow spotlight in a dim room.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 2:06, Reply)

Frank used to live in our house
After some joking about how we should make a ouija board and summon up the spirit of Marc Bolan, my slighlty more enthusiastic than I housemate made a board out of some card and Crayola crayons. Using the lid off the top of the salt shaker, he got us all round to place a finger whilst he asked the questions. To be fair, I was pissed and wasn't taking it seriously, also partly due to the fact I don't believe in the occult in the slightest, so stood and watched. Eventually my mate managed to get through to some guy called Frank. Frank apparently lived in our house and was haunting it. The usual questions were asked, how did you die? Did you commit suicide? What's the afterlife like? I was smirking about how stupid they all looked and their bizarre fascination with the moving salt shaker lid. Then they asked "Frank, what is your favourite colour?". The lid crept slowly across the board from letter to letter and my housemate said each one out loud. M-A-U-V-E. Mauve. I couldn't handle it and absolutely pissed myself laughing, ruining the connection to the spirit world forever as Frank has never been available for comment since.

I've just noticed my room is painted mauve. Shit.


*first post! what's the deal about long posts? ahh fuck it, my knob's massive.
(A Good Egg, Wed 26 Apr 2006, 1:40, Reply)

dark side...

A few years ago my friends and i decided to make a ouja board. They were terrified so i decided to move the marker thing around the board giving messages. They refused to come back to my house for a month afterward. haha. fun.

My only other story involving the 'dark side' is when my brother was school he sold his soul to two of his friends, half each, and the teacher caught one of them and threw it in the bin.
(raemie, Tue 25 Apr 2006, 20:21, Reply)

my father's a right git
He used to freak me out when I was a kid, claiming that my bedroom, his old room incidentally, was haunted by the ghost of his granddad. Stories of how the elderly man would walk through the closet and smile at him put the shits right up me and gave me nightmares for years. Turns out his granddad lived and died in Cornwall and unless the bastard was of nimble foot (and owned a ghostly boat) he probably couldn't make it over to Wales in time to do that crap.

A few years later I started to hear voices. While on the computer late at night a sinister hissing would reverberate through the room, usually followed by a few unintelligible words. Now that really scared me. I almost went to the doctors and asked him if I might in fact be suffering some mental disorder, the voices were that real. I figured it out one Sunday afternoon, leaving the computer idling I sat on the window sill and had a smoke. The hissing and voices came as they did before...
Instead of panicking this time I went into detective mode. And in true Ghostbusters fashion I realised that my computer speakers, fucked up things that they are were actually picking up taxi radios. Every time a taxi would pass by my house and the walkie talkie thing would go off, my speakers would get a transmission.

Months of mental anguish wasted.
(Suddenly, zebras Safe and sound for eternity, Tue 25 Apr 2006, 19:13, Reply)

After Late Night Party...
A fair few drunk teenagers in my mates bedroom a few months back...

We were sitting around trying to start some kind of seance or whatever (I was in a bad mood for some reason so I couldn't give a monkeys what the hell was going on) and we were all sitting in silence for a few minutes, before a mate of mine decided to scare a girly mate by suddenly turning and making a wierd face...

Although this could (and probably should) have ended up with a jump, maybe a quick shout and then laughter ('aww u shouldnt have done that lol' etc), cue;

- one bloodcurdling scream
- one fit of tears (for about half an hour)
- one girl convinced that there was a dark presence in this room
- everyone else looking guilty not knowing whether to laugh or not

Honestly, just stick to what's alive... if you can whinge at necrophiliacs...

x
(I R Tomsk pyromaniacs will only inflame the situation, Tue 25 Apr 2006, 18:23, Reply)

incrediblemonkeydoctor
Your online RPG wouldn't recognise my email address (ends in '.info') as a valid address so I couldn't set up an account.

Er..ahem...not that I'm into that sort of thing, indeed I was so pissed last night.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 25 Apr 2006, 17:53, Reply)

mais oui-ja
i went to college in switzerland (long story, don't ask). it was half term. i was back in london town. boyf was still in switz, doing ouija board.. cut to me going to bed, going to sleep then waking up in absolute horror, pinned to the bed, dark as fuck, can't even move a finger "knowing" someone was in the room. lasted for what felt was forever, i was sure i was going to die, then phone rang. instantly i could move, light from outside came in & i could see again. picked up phone. it was the boyf in panic yelling "are you alright?" over & over.. turns out he'd asked ouija questions about me (it even spelt my name right, which takes some doing..) and then asked it "is my girlf alright?". ouija responds with emphatic "no".. cue night visitation of some demon.... it's all true. we don't go out any more...
( parttimebabe is almost there..., Tue 25 Apr 2006, 17:25, Reply)

Another hospital story
Worked in a nursing home in Brum round about year 2000 on nights.One evening the smokers are outside chatting and..er...smoking. I went out the other door with a white sheet and the (big bunch) of drug keys. I then leapt out and ran shouting "Whhhhoooo" and jingling the keys like mad. Everyone jumped and one guy tried to run through a plate glass door. I was proud of that.
(kitescreech still here, Tue 25 Apr 2006, 17:05, Reply)

Drunk in Wales
Our school had a field trip for 6th Form biology students to Aberglaswyn in North Wales (sorry if the spelling is wrong).We arrived, and duly sampled and quadrated our way up mountain and down dale for a week, until the final night, where the staff take us to the next village away (about 4 miles) and the pub.

Fast foward about 4 hours, till midnight, and there is me, Mick and a few other mates having a nice smoke after a good few pints in the pub beer garden. Nicely stoned. Nicely that is until the Welsh Bar police (locals) kick us out saying they don't allow non-locals in lock-ins. So out we go, and we discover everyone else has already left. Walk home consists of stone track, 1m wide, with big fall away banks on each side, one with river, other with nasty rocks. We begin the trek home. All of sudden, Pete runs passed, having stopped for a quick slash, stoned off his tits, shouting "f-ing lights are coming, were being hunted", we turn and see hundreds of yellow lights coming up the banks on both sides. In our stoned state, we all mutually cack it, and run the 4 miles home, overtaking the main party of students outside the Youth Hostel.

To calming down once in the dorm, we proceed to drink hidden bottles of White Lightning and discuss scary happenings in rural Wales. Evening ends with me being photographed in bed with Year 12 bike, the other lads smoking weed through "pooters" and the school having massive boozy party at hostel, much to annoyance of other guests.

Outcome: Turns out they were glow-worms. Harmless glow-worms. Still made a mess of my trousers. Also, the school were then banned from taking any other kids to the youth hostel. Yay for the class of 95!!
(gjb006, Tue 25 Apr 2006, 14:49, Reply)

Don't piss my mum off. Ever.
My mum's always been a bit on the demonic side. This is her story:

Forty years ago, when she was first married, she had a vile boss (gropey, sleazy, verbally abusive old shitter). One night, after a horrible day at work, she stood crying over the sink peeling spuds for my dad's dinner. In a fit of impotent rage, she stabbed one of the potatoes right through with the knife, shrieking "Die, you BASTARD!".

Feeling slightly better (and a bit embarrassed), she straightened her apron, checked the kitchen clock to see how long she had before my dad got in (it was 5.34pm), and resumed making the dinner.

The following day she got into work to find that her boss had been killed outright in a head-on car crash with a tractor on a country road that previous evening. It later transpired that his watch was broken in the impact and thus pinpointed the exact time of death: 5.34pm.

OK, it would be more sensational/ relevant if, instead of a tractor, a vast potato had rolled out Raiders of the Lost Ark-stylee and dispensed with him... but it's still a BIT spooky.
( weebear1974 discovering the joy of cat rape since, Tue 25 Apr 2006, 13:35, Reply)