Old Cornish hotel
I used to go on holiday to Cornwall to a particular hotel (about 22 years ago) which used to be a smugglers house. It sits about some cliffs and there’s a trap door in the basement leading to the caves below where the smugglers would stash their goods and ship them out.

It was a run down old place (it’s been fully renovated now and actually looks quite nice), and was looked after by an old couple. Mealtimes were the same. Full English every day with cold white toast and butter, then a roast in the evening. Very quaint.

But they were more than happy to tell us the place was haunted by an old monk who’d been murdered there (it’s always monks). The man said things would turn themselves on and off, such as his lawnmower which then ran over his hand, resulting in lost fingers. There were apparent sightings too, especially along the top floor corridor where my 8 year old cousin and I shared a room – alone.

I don’t believe in ghosts, but as a child I was so terrified that rather than heading down the corridor, I pissed into a towel instead.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 13 Sep 2012, 15:08, 3 replies)

Click...just for the last line.

( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Thu 13 Sep 2012, 18:27, closed)

Also
You dirty fucking trampy cunt
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Thu 13 Sep 2012, 18:28, closed)

Yeah...
I was eight years old though.

Anyway, pass me that towel...
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 13 Sep 2012, 22:25, closed)