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This is a question When were you last really scared?

We'd been watching the Shining. We were staying in an old church building. In hindsight, taking the shortcut home after midnight, in the mist, through the old graveyard was a bad idea.

I'm not sure what started it, but suddenly all the hairs on my neck had gone up and I was crapping myself. It was almost as bad as when, after a few cups of coffee too many and buzzing on caffeine, I got freaked out by my own reflection in the toilets.

When were you last really scared?

(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 15:43)
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This question is now closed.

the shame
At uni we did this:

Grabbed a mate from behind and put a sack over his head, and tied him up. He had no idea who we were. We were very aggressive and used strong irish accents (this was a few years ago, it was credible). We put him in the boot of the car and drove around for ages, occasionally stopping suddenly and getting out of the car and staging arguments near the boot- things like "lets just fooking do 'im now" and "no, wait until we're in the woods" and things like that. He was begging us to tell him what he had done, and that we had the wrong guy etc.

We did this for about an hour and drove to a nearby forest. We had him out of the car on his knees leaning against a tree and we made it sound like we were testing one of the young'uns - to see if he could shoot him. We held a tire wrench against his head so it felt like a gun. We acted really well, the 'young un' pretending to bottle it, until until i said "fook this" and grabbed the gun. It all went quiet and and all we could hear was his sobbing as he pissed himself.

I shouted bang as loud and as suddenly as possible and he fell over. We took the sack off him and he was still begging for his life even as he saw us. He had utterly convinced himself that he was going to die and could not understand why all his mates were standing over him.

Scared? Never seen anything like it. It was 14 years ago and he still doesnt speak to us.

Mind you, dont blame him, it was a cunt of a thing to do to someone
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 17:00, Reply)
Told this one before. Not me being terrified, but an unsuspectingo punter.

When I was a young pup I used to go to the cinema every Thursday with my then girlfriend Anne. And we always used to watch horror movies. I used to love the old gore-fests although nothing I ever watched ever scared me -except for Poltergeist for some silly reason. Odd that. Anyway. This one week we were watching a double feature and the first feature had just finished and the lights came up dimly. Now in those days we had usherettes - women who used to show you to your seats and who would serve ice-cream, popcorn etc during the intermission - and one of these duly appeared and started serving sweeties to the masses. After a few minutes I saw this strapping Geordie bloke walking up the aisle carrying two Cornettos (ice-cream cones). As he got halfway up the aisle some curtains that hid a fire door swished aside and this shambling horror burst into the picture hall. It was a fucking zombie! All green and grey with tattered clothes and patches of blood all over him.

So this freak lurched right into the path of the strapping Geordie bloke and stumbled towards him, moaning. Geordie bloke, an ice-cream in each hand, took one look at him and screamed like a girl. His face was a picture of pure shock and terror so he did the only thing a self-respecting Geordie could do when faced with a Zombie and carrying ice-cream. He kicked the horror right in the nuts with all of his strength and watched it drop like a bag of shit clutching its wounded nads. For some reason the moans sounded a lot more human now.

Now what had actually happened was that the cinema was doing a promotion for the next weeks horror flick - a Zombie movie - and they'd dressed some poor member of staff up as a Zombie in order to drum up a bit of interest. Well it worked for me. Once I realised that it was an actor and not a real Zombie, about a split second before Geordie lad rearranged his nuts, I was very interested. After I stopped laughing myself sick.....

(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 17:55, Reply)
Greek Gestapo
A few years back I was stupid enough to just let a friend book a holiday on my behalf since Iw as going with the gang for a laugh - it could have been blackpool for all I cared.

But no, it was a previously unknown Greek resort named Faliraki. Never heard of it, but fuck it. WHat's to lose? As Hunter Thompson put it: "Many fine books have been written in prison".

But a few months before the holiday Faliraki hit the headlines as being one of the worst and sleaziest resorts on the planet, owing much to an exploitative ITV documentary.

I hear a lot about how it's a lawless free-for-all with no control whatsoever, so when I got there I was surprised to find it was fairly good natured. I mean sure, there's more than a few neds about sporting this week's Beckham haircut, but the atmosphere was great so who cares?
But about a week in I got a taste of the side of the resort you're not supposed to see. It was the first of several scares of which I had no way of foreseeing.
As I stood outside a bar looking into the busy street, the carnival-like atmosphere of the busy main walkway suddenly gave way to a breif fight between two chavs. It was the usual stuff, pushing, pulling, punching, ripped shirts, kicks aimed at the downed man's head, but before he could land it, four unseen spectres shot out from all angles of the crowd, clad in army trousers, heavy boots, and blue t-shirts emblazened with "police" written in English. In a furious whipping of frantic robotic movements, the four men had downed, restrained, and cuffed the aggressor and within ten seconds of first emerging were carrying off their prey and disappearing back into the crowd in a diamond formation.
In another five seconds there was no sign that they were ever there as the gap gave way to the thralling masses and the party continued unhindered.
The brutal efficiency of the assault was as frightening as it was admirable. Jesus, I thought, you put a foot wrong here and they'll throw away the key. That guy didn't even get a moment to think. The wiser among you would simply keep their wits about you and stay out of trouble after seeing this. But I've never been one to shy away from
A few pints later I emerged at the end of the main street to see a line of cops clad in the same uniform that the strike team had worn earlier, only this lot looked ready for a riot. A crowd of police stood before four or five police jeeps sat side on to the pavement in a row looking down into the main street. Each stared with the obvious intent to intimidate, never taking their eyes off the swarming mass of drunken Brit brats on their island. And they say there's no law here? I have to get evidence of this. I should have left it there.

Standing on a street corner I pulled out a disposable camera and aimed it at the crowd of cops, the nearest of which was the only one who looked out of place - his weedy appearance and curly hair and glasses gave him an air of insecurity. He looked like a former bank teller who'd just started his first night on the force, so when he saw me raise the camera in their direction, I was obviously going to ignore his call for me to stop.


"Sorry pal," I smiled too late.
Looking back it's probably the stupidest thing I've ever done.

Knowing I had committed a minor infringement I disappeared in to the crowd and walked at a brisk pace along the main road. It was about thirty seconds later that I became aware of the cop car which was drawing up alongside me as the uniformed thugs spilled out and surrounded me before it had even stopped.

I knew I was fucked. Raising my hands by sign of submission, I expected a stern talking to at the very least, but little more for such a small folly. Before I could open my mouth to apoliogise the ground was rushing up towards me and I felt the cold impact of the pavement on the left side of my face as my hands were yanked agonisingly half way up my spine and cuffed. Seconds later I was in the back of the meat wagon and heading at high speed out of the busy district. Stunned, I tried desperately to get my bearings, feeling only the bite of the cuffs as the tight metal dug painfully into the bone of my wrists. I was sure that if I could see my hands they would already be turning blue.
"The cuffs are too tight", I told the backs of the two heads in front of me.
Ignored, I repeated it louder and with further clarity, but was met only with stony silence once more.

After a few moments the passenger turned to face me. Somewhere in the last minute the banker had transformed into some kind of raging tormentor, shouting furiously in clear English: "Why do you disobey me? Why? Do you think I'm stupid? Huh? Huh?". Each word was emphasised with a shaking of the right hand held level with his head, the back of his increasingly clenched fist facing me. the fist tightened as his rage grew, and it was then that I noticed that we weren't going anywhere near the police station. I can't describe the fear I felt knowing that there was a high likelihood that all that would remain of me in a few hours was a bloodied corpse found in a ditch on the edge of town. The best I could hope for was just night in some rat-infested cell and a deportation order, but we had already passed the police station, so I knew it looked grim.
The growing violence in the cop's words was becoming clearer and clearer as he began spitting out angry words like a machine gun. I could see it in his eyes I was seconds away from a beating, the gesturing hand now a tightly-balled fist waiting to crash into my skull like a cannon. "You make me look stupid. You think you're better than me? I should teach you respect!"
I was sat defenceless in the back of a cop car, hands cuffed - if he hit me now I had no way of stopping him.
Then it came, not a blow, but an unexpected question: "What do you do?"
Bewildered and fearful, without thinking I blurted out: "Journalist".

His eyes flickered, there was a thought snaking it's way through his mind, he turned to the driver and uttered a few sylables in Greek and the car screeched to a halt and did a U-turn in the road.

Relief washed over me when I noticed the familiar main streets again, busy with potential witnesses. Thank fuck, I may get out of this yet. And all this because of the word "journalist".

The car arrived back at the corner I'd taken the picture and they helped me from the car. I felt a rush of blood back into my hands as the cuffs were removed, and bringing them in front of me I could see the bruises forming already at my wrists.

My camera film was exposed to the light before the chief cop handed it back to me. Smiling, he had now retained his banker's persona, but his English skills had suddenly deteriorated into that of Manuel from Fawlty Towers.
"This misunderstanding," he grinned "This no happen often in Faliraki."

I remembered: Journalist.
Advantage: Me.

Adopting the stance of a crooked plumber about to give an inflated estimate, I put a hand on my hip while the other scratched my chin and I tutted: "I don't know. That's how it looks to me. I'm going to have to write this. My editor wanted to trash the island but I said 'no' it's a beautiful place, there's no trouble here.' But no . . . ."

My ego allowed me to stick around long enough to accept several more apologies before I headed back to the hotel, shaken by how close I'd come to death, a thorough beating, or both.

The message is clear: Don't upset the Greek Gestapo.

Length? I'm lucky it wasn't ME getting a length in jail.
(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 11:28, Reply)
Waiting for a taxi in a dodgy little cabbie office/waiting room in Northampton, bout 3:30 AM. Pished as a newt.

Fella bursts in wearing a white shirt which is drenched with his own blood as he appears to have a fucked up broken nose which is leaking claret like a barrel with a hole in it.

Fella strides up to the bored looking cabbie boss behind the manditory scratched glass screen with a little hole in it like at the post office.

And what does the bloody man say? You'd think something like: 'Help, call the rozzers, I've just had my face smashed in.' But no... this fella says something that was both bizzare and oddly terrifying. He says:

'You got a bit of wood, mate?'

Now, this didnt really make any sense. And what happened next was a bit Twin Peaks. Without changing his bored expression the cabbie boss fella reaches down behind the counter and brings out a great big 4 x 4 and hands it over to blood boy.

Who, armed with a great big lump of tree, goes outside and starts beating the shit out of someone with it.

I swear I thought I was tripping, but seven pints of Stella really dosnt make that happen.
(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:59, Reply)
The funniest and scariest moments of my life happened together...
A few weeks back it was a friend of mines birthdays and to celebrate we decided to go out around Sheffield. At the time, said friend had a severe cold that he was insisting was flu, and as a result wasn't having too much fun. Noticing this, we decided that to cheer him up we should go to a strip club, and that since it was his birthday we'd buy him a dance.

Twenty minutes later, we are all in a particularly famous strippers drinking away and having a good time. Now, at this particular club are two twins who do the exact same routine at the exact same time. Why not thinks I, and so me and birthday boy are led off by the wallet by the twins for a private dance.

Sat on my hands I gazed upon their half naked bodies gyrating in the dim light of the small room, their firm and perfect breasts pulsating as they danced and touched each other in a way that would make their mother blush. They split, they came toward us still moving identically. Then, with their shaven mimsies not a meter from our faces they stripped completely. I remember thinking "This is worth any money" before hearing a sickeningly familiar noise from the side of me. ACHOO! Followed by one of the twins jumping back in horror shouting "You dirty fucking bastard!" and running out of the room.

I turned to my mate in utter confusion to be faced with him looking at me dead pan and saying "I greenied up her bucket". This was the single funniest moment of my life, that is until three of the biggest, meanest looking bouncers I've ever seen in my life entered. These guys looked like genetic experiments gone wrong, and probably had more DNA in common with pit bulls than other humans. For some reason, they didn't seem to find it nearly as funny as I did, and my uncontrollable laughter only served to anger them more. That was scary
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 17:46, Reply)
Never mess with people on a porn forum.
A few years ago I went through a phase of watching internet porn, and my favourite site was "Free6". One day out or sheer boredom I went on the site forum, it was the same format as the B3ta main board and people were posting porn images and generally discussing porn in quite a sedate manner.

Now here's the thing, I noticed all the log-in names were along the lines of "BigGuy32", "PornKing69", i.e. all blokes. I had just seen that film "Road Kill" where 2 brothers pretend to be a sexy woman called "Candy Cane" and wind up an irate trucker.

So monkey-see-monkey-do, I signed in as "Candy". I typed "Hi boys, i'm a bit new to porn and a bit nervous about the whole thing, but I like what I see". Straight away I was getting messages but they were from the German punters..."Fichst du Candy?", "Sprechen sie Deutsch?"...etc. Bollocks said I, and went to find my old German dictionary to aid my wind-up antics.

I was only gone a few minutes, but when I got back to the computer what I saw made me stumble backwards...the forum had gone mad, there were pages and pages of:-

Yo Candy!
DO you fuck?
Send photos
Do you suck dick?

and it went on like this and the board was moving so fast there wasnt time to read what people were saying, and then it turned nasty...


People were posting images of their cocks, much of what was said was in German but I knew enough to tell it had got nasty. I quickly disconnected and turned my computer off. As I sat there I realised my heart rate was through the roof and I was quite shaken, I had tapped into something very dark and sinister and to this day I have avoided internet porn.
(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 10:45, Reply)
It was a few years ago
During the course of a fairly routine x-ray,the doctors discovered a swelling in my wife's chest.A CT scan is scheduled.Before said scan is due,we discover that she is pregnant.CT scan goes ahead which discovers large mass in chest cavity.Oh dear.Possible cancer.And up the duff.There follow 2 biopsies with a needle under local anaesthetic,which prove inconclusive.A more invasive one under general is arranged.We arrive at the hospital the day before to be told the baby could be deformed by the anaesthetic.Brilliant.(We were later told by another Dr. that this was bullshit.)So,the operation is performed and a week later its official.She has the big C.What now?
Well,she has a rare cancer and there is very,very little information about having chemo for this cancer whilst pregnant,but what they do know is that its "safe" for the baby given in the 3rd trimester.At this point she is about 4 months along.So,a decision is made to wait till she delivers before having treatment.A few weeks later,wifey starts to get short of breath and struggle to get around.The lump is growing rapidly and restricting her breathing.I badger the GP into getting oxygen for her,because she can't move from one room to the next without all but passing out.By this point,we decide she needs to start treatment,or she'll die before she gives birth.She begins chemo,which is very traumatic at the best of time,let alone when you are pregnant.Luckily,it starts to help very quickly and shrink the lump,so she can breathe again.She has a few cycles of chemo and then a break before she gives birth,to give her a chance to recover a little.My daughter is born naturally and there isn't a thing wrong with her.She is perfect in every way.I was absolutely terrified as she popped out,as we had no idea how she'd be.My wife continued her treatment and then had radiotherapy.To date,she is absolutely fine,other than the effects of the chemotherapy,which to be honest are really bad,but better than death.My daughter is at school and doing really well and there is no way you'd ever know what she went through.That is the last time I was really scared,other than periodic blips when she has her yearly check ups.
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 19:12, Reply)
A mate of mine used to work 30 miles from where he lived at the time with his parents.
One day the phone rang which he casually answered to hear his mother screaming and crying down the phone


Fuck! She's being attacked/raped/killed he immediately thought.
He Jumped on his motorbike, made it home in under 20 minutes (30 miles remember - you do the math), ran into the house with the motorbike on it's side, engine still running with the nearest heavy object he could use for a weapon.
Inside, ready to beat the assailant to death, he found his mum with an embarressed expression on her face.

"Oh... there was a spider. But the neighbour got rid of it."
"Well it was a really big one!"
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 16:57, Reply)
Took a while to get over this one!
As a general rule I try not to get scared and I'm pretty good at it. Nervous about stuff occasionally sure but not really scared.

Last time I was truly piss-myself-stupid scared was when I was 17, just before my Dad's funeral about 11 years ago. I went to see his body in the chapel before he was cremated. I walked into the room, not really sure what to expect. It was as pleasant as could be under the circumstances; long thin room, tastefully decorated, bible on a table that kind of thing. I walked up the room to my Dad's coffin and started to say my farewells. Leaning over to kiss him on the forehead before I left, my foot caught the leg of the stand that was holding his coffin (it was like an X-shaped keyboard stand and none too steady).

His head duly rocked from side to side and a moaning gasping noise came from his mouth. I have NEVER in my life shat my pants so much. I shot out the room into the arms of the priest who had heard my scream from outside the chapel, shaking like a leaf and crying my eyes out. Verdict of priest and (nurse) mother that gases had escaped from him when I kicked the coffin stand.

I don't give a shit what it was I will never forget that one in my life.

Old sod ALWAYS had to have the last laugh.
(, Tue 27 Feb 2007, 17:34, Reply)
Dead mans' heartbeat
I was mentoring a new student paramedic and we were sent to a patient in cardiac arrest.
The patients' rigor mortis was a sure fire clue that he was indeed very dead so needless to say there was little for us to do but wait for the police to arrive.

The student asks me what procedure do we follow if there was no rigor mortis or if we wanted to stop resuscitation etc.
I explained to him that one of the criteria is to connect the patient to the heart monitor / defibrillator and check that asystole (flatline) is present in two or more leads.
We were still waiting for the police and as it was the student’s first cardiac arrest I connected the deceased to the monitor as described and switched it on.
"Beep…beep…beep…" the unmistakable sound of a heartbeat coming though the monitor.
I nearly had a cardiac arrest myself until I realized that the monitor had detected the deceased’s internal pacemaker….
(, Mon 26 Feb 2007, 1:06, Reply)
I have been scared more recently, but this...
This happened when i was just a lad of about 11, on a perfectly normal night, in the bathroom brushing my teeth.
Job done i thought now to rinse my mouth, the Plastic tumbler that i normally fill with water, aint there.
so i just rap my lips around the cold water tap and turn it on.
Instantly i freak out and start spitting the water back into the sink.

Why? I hear you ask.

A great big bloody spider was hiding inside the tap and was then forced into my mouth by the rushing water. Oh god memories of it squirming around in my mouth and then running around like a freak after i spit it out...

still haunt me to this day.
(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 1:10, Reply)
stoned nonsense
After deciding to take a job abroad for six months, I had a going away party thrown in my honour, to which all of my friends showed up. Even my boyfriend's sisters came along to wish me well.
So what was the lasting memory I left with everyone?
A smug but eloquent speech? Nope.
Their lasting image will be of me stoned out of my tree and clinging to my bloke whilst hiding my face and screaming "Get that fucking sock monkey away from me. It's got no fucking EYES!"

I was hysterical and cried with fear.
I have absolutely no idea why.
(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 22:52, Reply)
Kids, don't you just love 'em?
Other parents will understand this:

My wife was away on business and the outpouring from my loins was running a temperature; cue a day off watching kiddies programs trying to amuse said outpouring. I took her to the quacks in the morning and was given bottle of jollop, which she was promptly fed. Come mid afternoon she is looking pale and very floppy, so I call the wife who tells me to give her an early bath. Getting her undressed I notice a rather large brownish rash on her legs and belly. I get a glass and do the test to find that the bloody thing is not blanching, so there is a high chance it could be the dreaded Meningitis.

One phone call to the doctor and I’m legging it round to the surgery with a rather floppy child. He gives her an inspection and calls the local hospital and gets an ambulance sent over very quickly.

The ambulance ride was fun, but sprog starts having some severe trouble breathing and ends up being given oxygen. We turn up at the hospital where a team of 6 medical staff is waiting with a gurney. One of the rather excited looking doctors explained to me this is the first case they have had in the hospital for six years. They rush her in, rip off her clothes and start running tests. Things start looking grim and a nurse turns to me and says they need to put her in isolation but they have one test to run prior to doing so, she grabs a swab dips it into some solution (alcohol of some sort) and she rubs it across the rash, which promptly comes off. The little bugger had only drawn on herself with felt tip in such a realistic way. Much embarrassment on my part but my heart at least stopped jumping around.

Turns out to just be a severe cold and the ambulance ride must have got her a bit excited, hence the lack of breath.
(, Tue 27 Feb 2007, 11:31, Reply)
I have a nightmare
that I'll use a cute kitten picture in a pathetic attempt to get people to click 'I like this'.

Oh dear God no, not now, not now...

(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 16:03, Reply)
A couple of months back...
Walking home from the pub around 2am, was in a glorious mood owing to the drink. I walked up past Tesco and turned the corner... There they were... 15 terrifying looking hoodied yobbo's with their glass bottles and sweary shouty voices.

In an attempt to 'blend in' and walk through them un-noticed I put my hood up myself (quite why I thought this would work escapes me). They let me walk past. I was roughly 10 feet away when it started. The broken remnants of a glass bottle flyed past my head. I picked up speed a bit, in that weird way people do to show that they're not intimitated but at the same time secretly shitting themselves.

I heard shouting, i sneaked a look behind me, they were walking at me, still shouting and throwing bottles. A bottle hit me on the back, I started running, they started running, I tried to hide in an alleyway, like people do on films. I stopped, expecting them to run straight past the alley, but alas they saw me run down there. I started running again, not knowing where I can run to, i was still a good 20 minutes from home. It was at this point a little bit of wee came out, i was absolutely terrified by this point they'll catch up with me and probably rape me then maul my face off with broken glass.

Then I had an idea, I headed up to Tesco (it was a 24 hour one after all). I finally made it inside the door, walked up to the security guard and before I could say a word, I started crying. Alcohol-fuelled sobbing about the fact I was finally safe. The police were called, they never caught the cunts but I got a free lift home.

I'm 24.
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 20:04, Reply)
I don't scare easy.
In my 30(ish) *cough* years on this planet I've been in some hairy situations. I've been shot, fought off a crazed chav with a knife, spent 6 months as the only white person in a vey rough part of Jamaica, mugged in amsterdam, attacked numerous times late at night in London, nearly run over by a concrete mixer, almost bombed 3 times (London again) and nearly drowned more than once due to a hearty non-fear of strong tides (and being convinced as a strong swimmer I could outswim them). There's more, but you get the picture.
So you think in one of those incidents I'd have actually been a bit scared. Well, maybe after the event.
The only things that have really come close to scaring me have been a couple of ghostly incidents, but I'll save those stories for another time.

The last thing to put the fear of God into me I can sum up in two words:-
Kamikaze Waterslide

It was in Torremolinos a couple of years ago. An old friend of mine lives in Malaga and I'd popped over for the weekend. We decided on a day at the waterpark with his kids and, after trying all the different slides, there was only one left - the Kamikaze. An almost vertical waterslide, it dominated the skyline over the park and I'd eye'd it ominously, deciding that there was no way I was going near it.
My mates kids were only a couple of years old, so thankfully they were not badgering anybody to go on it.
I don't know how, but somehow my mate and me got into taking the piss out of eachother saying it looked "easy" and we didn't reckon it looked that high. We've got a history of taking the piss out of eachother and taking it too far, so a few minutes later, we're climbing the stairs to the top of the ride.
I think at this point neither of us had any real intention of actually going on the ride. This was confirmed when we stopped halfway up (it was fucking high) to admire the view. He looked at me and said in a shaky voice "We don't have to do it, if it looks to high we can just go back down the stairs".
This was something I wanted to do already, but didnt want to admit. So, alot of heavy climbing (and black spots before my eyes) later, we were at the top.
There was a small queue of kids and a group of young, bikini clad spanish girls chatting and watching the kids. It was at this point we realised that if we didn't do it, we would look like complete and utter prats to these girls and to the kids coming up behind us.
With a heavy hear, the attendant made me sit on the slide with my feet dangling over the edge. I peaked over the edge and could only see the bottom of the slide. It was so near vertical that I couldn't even see it. This was the moment that I discovered that I have vertigo (I'd never given it a moments thought before then).
The attendent explained that I had to cross my arms over my chest and cross my legs and he'd push me over.
I never thought I'd be able to peel my fingers off the rail, but somehow I was able to do it. as soon as he pushed me over, I fell like a stone, arms and legs wailing, trying to gain any purchase.
This was when I realised that my vertigo was actually a fear of falling and the only reason why I didn't leave a midair shit-trail, is that my shorts were forced up my arse by the g-force of my fall.
When I hit the bottom and somehow managed to crawl on my hands an knees away from this torture device, I was berated by the guard at the bottom for not crossing my arms and legs. If I'd had any coordination left I'd have probably swung for him.

The same thing happened to my mate who came 'falling' down after me and for weeks we'd have flashbacks and go white.
How those kids were throwing themselves off and then running straight back up for another go, I'll never know.

This was about four years ago and I still have the occasional nightmare about it.

Well, would you look at the size of that? Not bad for my first post ;P
(, Mon 26 Feb 2007, 22:09, Reply)
Well I felt stupid...
Spiders are fascinated with my bathroom. Specifically, my shower.

Now, I HATE spiders. They scare the crap out of me. I just don't like the creepy little buggers.

One morning as I was getting into the shower, I notice a nice healthy fat spider with a body about the size of a quarter. Cringe. Of course, I'm naked and I don't want to go anywhere near it. So I spend about twenty minutes spraying it with hairspray and window-cleaner. It isn't dying. So I try setting it on fire with a candle. But it's too wet to burst into flames, so it just crisps and finally falls on the floor and condescends to die.


After experiences like this, I tend to be jumpy for the rest of the day, freaking out when hair/headphones cord/anything touches me.

Which brings me round to the answer to the question: the last time I was really scared was when - after killing said spider - I had a brief moment of pure panic when something started tickling my inner thigh. Aaaah! Flail!

Oh. It's my tampon string. Right.
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 20:16, Reply)
Don't talk to "Frank"
I was watching a commercial on TV the other day to dissuade the younger generation from taking drugs. It said that if I had any questions I should "talk to Frank". Having a young teenage daughter I thought I would call and ask for his feelings on ecstasy.

Imagine my suprise at the reply:

"I feel my swollen testicles being restrained by my welling scrotum as my muscles tighten internally. My seed begins to flow and start its journey to the ultimate release. As it exits its passage I reach my plateau before slumping back, spent and satisfied"

Fucking Frank gets everywere. I was horrified.
(, Sun 25 Feb 2007, 15:16, Reply)
I am a wuss Part I
I can get panicky very easily but try to hide it, seeing as how I'm a big strong American.

I've had the shit scared out of me numerous times. If you know me, you know I'm pretty hard of hearing. The first full day I wore my new state of the art hearing aids, I was alone in the house, grading papers. I realized I could hear deep heavy breathing somewhere in the room. I froze and held my breath. It stopped. I started breathing again and the noise started up again. "Oh my God, a madman's in my house and he's watching me!!!"

I tried to turn around slowly while listening to the rapidly increasing mouthbreathing. Uh oh, I now heard furtive rustling like he was creeping towards me. I got cold from the adrenalin rush and cappillary squeeze. I thought wildly about what I had on the dining room table I could use as a weapon, then I noticed the breathing coincided with my own and the rustling only happened when I moved.

I had been so damn deaf before I was unfamiliar with hearing my OWN breathing and rustling of my own clothes. What an rsehoal.
(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 22:42, Reply)
I dislike shared houses, somewhat
Many years ago, I was seeing someone who lived in a shared house. At the time, she had two flatmates, the odd one, and the really odd one. Odd, but harmless. One offered me the use of his room while I was staying - but I didn't use it in the end.

Anyway, we became an item. A remarkably mismatched one, as the future proved, but even so. And so we continued. I'd weekend commute from my flat to her place, we'd spend weekends together, and all seemed mostly OK.

Then someone moved into a previously empty room. This chap was living in a crappy house in the Midlands, but somehow didn't seem to fit. Then his girlfriend turned up too. Both of them seemed to spend a lot of their time in their room, but out of their boxes, tripping happily, or whatever it is that drugs do to you. Every now and then they'd have a fight, but nothing major.

Then there was this one night. They were disagreeing somewhat about something. This disagreement escalated to the point where they destroyed one of the bathrooms in the house. Like totally. They smashed the bath, the cupboards off the wall, the toilet, the whole lot. The walls were shaking (as was myself and my hostess). And the fight continued. I decided to go downstairs and ask the others whether they'd called the police. I doubted it, as I had a mobile phone but no-one else did (told you it was a long time ago - pre-GSM!). We called the police anyway, but they had no means of locating me, and got the address wrong. Of which more later.

And so I headed off downstairs. But at the top of the stairs, I meet the GF. She's carrying a *huge* kitchen knife and a vast pair of scissors. She's literally foaming at the mouth, and has got the maddest eyes I've ever seen. She just didn't look human. No idea what she was planning, but it didn't look good. Now, I've done the usual near miss in car stuff, I've crashed on a motorbike, I've had a fair few moments, but this was definitely the one and only moment that I thought I was going to die. I was trapped - she was going that way, and I honestly believe she'd have killed me if I'd got in her way. I flattened myself against the wall, and she blazed past. I let her go by, then went back to our room, grabbed my other half, and dragged her out of the house. We ran down the road to the police station, and begged for help. They radioed the cars and got them turned around. The police then sent us back (oh, thanks)!

When we got there, there were four squad cars outside. He was being trucked off in one car, and the police were trying to get someone to accuse someone of something, so they'd have something to do.

Dunno what he did, but he'd knocked three teeth out of her head with something, and that stopped her. I recall one of the fire extinguishers was missing for a while.

She got hauled off by the police too, and that was almost the end of it.

Thankfully, and still terrified, me and the other half turned in for the night. That's when I found a four-inch white scratch on my stomach, and a rip in my t-shirt... That was close!

His father paid for all of the damage to the house, and a week's rent for everyone as an apology, and we never saw any of them again.

But that moment, where I looked into her eyes and didn't see a person, only an insane animal - that terror will never leave me, and that's the most scared I have ever been.

(2nd most? The American remake of The Grudge. I'm a little girl when it comes to horror movies, and I was crapping myself.)

Apologies for length, but it was very very nearly a whole lot shorter.
(, Tue 27 Feb 2007, 12:20, Reply)
Anaphylactic shock
Longtime lurker etc.

Mate of mine is a lovely girl but very sensitive to nuts, eggs and lots of other food. At her engagement party she gets wasted and decided to have some cake covered in marzipan. Marzipan=almonds=her starting to choke in the car on the way home. We're caning down some country lanes with her fella mashing the pedal to the floor, assuring me that they've got an adrenaline pen back at their place.

We get there and it suddenly comes to light that the flat keys are back at the party place. We call an ambulance, her fella asks me for my least valuable credit card and sets about breaking into the flat while I try and keep her conscious. I'm on my own on the phone to the 999 people, trying my best when suddenly she makes a nasty noise and fucking stops breathing.

I shout up to my mate, try and drag her out of the car, he comes belting down and tries to do CPR (which doesn't work because her throat's swollen shut), I'm screaming down the phone at the 999 people and go racing off to find the ambulance two streets away, while he half-drags her and smashes his way into the flat to try and get the adrenaline. The ambulance finally gets its act together, sticks her full of needles and things and stabilises her before getting her off to hospital. She discharged herself the following day and has been a damn sight more careful what she eats since. Plus she keeps an adrenaline pen in her frickin handbag instead of under the bed.

Scared? I fucking shit myself.

Length? girth? never mind that, what about the nuts
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 22:54, Reply)
Lost, redux
That reminded me of another story of being stranded...

When I was about 20 I worked in a restaurant kitchen a good distance across downtown Rochester NY from where I was living. Usually I took the bus to work, as I didn't own a car. I worked the day shift, from about 7 to 4, so it was no big deal, really.

Well, this particular restaurant doubled as a club on the weekends. This was about 1983, and we had Cyndi Lauper, Joan Jett, Hot Tuna, the drummer from Journey and some other moderately big names come through. For the bigger shows, they had me work the night shift to help out at the bar. Generally speaking, someone would give me a ride home, so it was fine with me.

One night (I think it was when Joan Jett was there) I stayed, and afterward went to go home- and no one could give me a lift. I had had this happen before- it was annoying, but if I caught the last bus downtown it was only about a four mile walk to my apartment. (At 1:00 am the hookers are even willing to talk to passers-by, so at least I wasn't totally lonely.) But this night I was just late enough that I had missed that bus- so now it was more like a ten mile walk. And it was snowing, hard.

Okay, think I, time for Plan B. At that hour of the morning, people are pretty charitable about picking up hitchhikers, so I go to the expressway to stick out my thumb. Only problem is, now it's lake effect snow coming down, and that means that it's blizzard conditions- and visibility is about 200 feet. I curse hard and plan to hike along the expressway to get home. (Plan C, I guess that is.)

Then I hear a godawful roar of engine behind me. I turn around and there's a tow truck coming toward me, dragging a tractor trailer (a lorry, for you Brits). It's not moving very fast as it goes by- and before I could think it through, I ran like hell and caught the handles of the doors on the back of the trailer and jumped up onto the bumper.

So now I'm riding on the back bumper of a truck which is accelerating along an expressway in the middle of a fucking huge snowstorm, and I have no idea how I'm going to get off of it without killing myself. And to make it even better, it was fucking COLD.

Fortunately the gods watch out for children and idiots. The truck got off at an exit close to my apartment, so when he stopped at the traffic light I jumped off and walked past. The expression on the driver's face as I waved to him was priceless.

By all rights I should have been killed or seriously wounded, or at least frozen.

Not as long this time, but plenty of girth to satisfy...
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 19:54, Reply)
Be prepared...
Once on a scout sleepover in the local hall (five minutes down the hill from my house), we had completed the required levels of violence and mayhem and decided to settle down for the night. After a few moments we heard some drunken thugs outside, and, being young and tough, we started yelling rude things out the windows. Which really got them wound up. So they started throwing rocks and breaking the windows (thankfully the windows were about 20 ft off the ground, so were not an entry point).

Cue us all panicking that they would get in. So in true scout style, we booby-trapped the entrances to the hall. The main one being the most obvious, we rigged it with two battering rams (fashioned from huge logs that we had around for building scoutly things), one from the side, and one from the front, with a rather impressive knife attached to it.

So, our constructions completed, we sat back and waited for the hoons to try something. Then we heard footsteps around the front entrance. We all grabbed what weapons we could, ranging from chunks of wood to knives and such.

The footsteps stopped outside the door and we heard a fumbling with the locks. We thought we were safe as we had rigged the battering rams to trigger as the door opened.

So slowly the lock unlocks and the door opens, setting the two lethal battering rams on their merry ways.

We sat, with a mixture of fear and excitement as the huge chunks of wood with knives attached made their way towards our intruder. As the door opened further, we saw the face of our scout leader come to check on us.

Great! we thought, its not thugs here to kill us after all.

Followed by even greater fear, upon realising that we were about to kill our friends dad.

So the ram from the front with the big fuck off knife attached to it is hurtling towards Lawrie. We're all transfixed, not wanting to see what comes next. As the ram closed in and death briskly approached Greg's dad, the ram from the side swung in, just in time for the front ram to embed the knife a good four inches deep.

Cue much relief, but a rather intense bollocking from Lawrie.

He was well impressed with our engineering, so close to being lethal, but just incompetent enough to be rendered, thankfully, completely impotent and useless.

Length? about 8ft, girth to kill for and a bloody great knife lashed to the end of it.
(, Tue 27 Feb 2007, 16:53, Reply)
Unexplained naked lady
In 2003 I was studying for a masters in IT at Glasgow Uni - the course was tough with constant projects to hand in and deadlines to meet. I was also going through a phase of watching lots horror films at the time.
Anyway, one Monday night I get in from Uni with an early start planned the next day to get my multimedia project handed in. Get some dinner watch some telly and head to bed.
At about three 'o' clock I wake up with a genuine sense that there's someone in the room - y'know that way that you can sometimes just feel that everything isn't as it should be. I sit up a bit and sure enough sitting on the end of my bed is a person. Pulling myself up more I can see it's a girl with long hair sitting, naked, at the foot of my bed.
Now anyone who's ever seen any sort of horror knows that unexplained naked women ALWAYS mean trouble. I'm trying to stay calm thinking about a reasonable explaination for this and finally whimper "Wh... wh... what are you doing in my room?". She says nothing then she tries to get into my bed - at this point I freak out and jump up and out of the bed and hit the light switch by which time she's under the covers. I start saying "what are you doing" and "get out of my bed" finally just repeating "why are you here!".
Turned out my flatmate had a massive row with his girlfriend and went drinking pulled this girl who was so drunk she got lost on her way back from the bathroom.
(, Tue 27 Feb 2007, 12:02, Reply)
Center Parcs, about 4 years ago...
...me and my friend had rented mountain bikes to cycle around the complex instead of walking. We'd had a few jars in the random pub there and were heading back to the chalet at about 11pm. We decided to go on an adventure - the quickest route was untracked woodland but, quite nicely, it was all downhill. We were both big lads - 6' by that point. We raced down the hill and, whilst both chatting after reaching a nice cruising speed, we heard a rustle in the bushes ahead. The bush was going absolutely fucking mental, and we were absolutely bricking it.

At that point, what must have been about 5 rabbits and a fucking BADGER raced out of the hedge at roughly 70,000mph. We didn't have time to react, we both screamed, and we both went separate directions around the bush. I went left, launched off a tree root, flew through the air and landed absolutely PERFECTLY on the track ahead. I cheered and raised my arms, before plowing over the other side and into a stream. Probably my shortest lived moment of triumph, and no fucker was there to see it.

I heard Jon still screaming, so I picked myself up. What had happened? I thought he'd done a Sonny and whacked a tree. I stumbled up the hill to see that he'd been violated by his bike seat. It took a swift kick of justice to the left arse cheek to remove him. He walked like John Wayne for the rest of the holiday.

The screaming was the most chilling thing I've ever heard, especially in the dimly lit forest. Then again, what would you do if you'd lost your anal virginity to a 4-year-old mountain bike caused by rabbits and a badger?
(, Mon 26 Feb 2007, 17:28, Reply)
Last year I was out dry-tooling the chalk at Telscombe cliffs in Sussex. You can't climb chalk like regular rock 'cos it's too soft, so you have to use ice tools (axes and crampons), and none of the routes are bolted for sport climbing 'cos it collapses so regularly there's no point.

Anyway, I'm about 40m up having passed the overhung crux, feeling pretty chuffed when the axe I'm rather relying on with my right hand levers off a chunk of chalk which immediately plummets towards the ground with me desperately trying to catch it, falling falling falling...

Not the first time I've taken a big fall so I'm not too worried on the way down, until I feel my gear placements being stripped out overhead. Cack, I was relying on them to stop death (which is bad for you), I fall back past the overhang and thank holy cock, come to a stop with about 2m clearance to the ground, eye level with my belay who's gone whiter than the rock.

Alive I thinks, only to look up and see about a kilo of ironwork (the stripped gear) screaming back down the rope towards my face (nooooo!) so I lean back quickly to avoid face to metal interface only for a large cam to whizz past my face, and smack me square in the testes. Which hurts (if you want to see how much this hurts, kick a post-pubescent gentleman between the legs and he'll tell you). I wept like a yeast infected minge. That was quite a scary experience.
(, Sun 25 Feb 2007, 17:40, Reply)
I got scared
that apeloverage had died. No posts for two whole minutes!

Oh not scared! Excited! I always mix those up!
(, Sat 24 Feb 2007, 18:47, Reply)
the scared becomes the scarer
Was walking home from the bus stop last night when I was scared shitless and jumped like a little girl as I was hit by a raw egg. Looked up to see 2 little punks on the 4th floor of a nearby council estate pointing and laughing, before they scarpered into one of the flats. After the initial shock, and after looking like an idiot just standing there shouting at what now seemed to be no one, I made a mental note of the floor level and flat location in the block, continuing home pissed off and covered in raw egg.

Got home, had cooled down, walked straight to the fridge and took out a 2 litre bottle of milk.

Cool, calm and collected I left the house with the milk, walked back to the scene of the crime, up 4 flights of stairs, and up to the door of my hoodie wearing assailants' getaway.

No prizes for guessing what happened next…

Knocked on the door, which was opened one hoodie # 1. The look on that little biatch's faces a split second before both he and the hallway inside the flat were painted in a fresh coat of cow juice was priceless: pure fear. F*cken love it!

Turned around, still cool, calm and collected and walked back home.

My only regret - not using a cool "Bruce Willis style one liner" just before nailing the bloke

Apologies - only to my flatmate who wasn't able to have weetabix for breakfast this morning.
(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 16:17, Reply)
the day i gave up road rage
Last summer I was on my old vespa waiting at a red traffic light close to Hyde Park. As the lights changed to green I stalled it. The driver behind me beeped his horn (quite scary) and proceeded to graze my foot and push me to one side as he drove off to the next set of lights (all of about 500 yards away). Feeling a little put off with the fella i went after him and pulled up in the middle lane, on his passenger side, and started to mouth a few choice obscenities to him through his closed window.

I was keeping an even distance away from his car when I looked up to see where we were going and he was heading into my lane and veering me into the back of a bus in the bus lane. I hit the brakes and he went back into his lane again. Feeling a little more enraged i pulled up beside him again and took a swipe at his side-view mirror with the spare helmet i was carrying on my arm. i misjudged the distance.

the sound of that window exploding will be with me forever. i shat myself.

I sped off into the bus lane as fast as a vespa can, looked behind and he was about 50 yards behind me, with two wheels up on the kerb, coming after me as fast as he could.
Audi vs Vespa. It wasn't looking good. I shat myself again. At the next red light I decided to do a U-turn in front of the stopped traffic and go back up the road from whence we came when I stalled it again mid turn, in gear. He followed after me with a screeching U-turn as I was trying to kick-start my scooter. he got out of his car and came running after me with a big flashing neon sign around his neck saying "I'm gonna fuckin kill you!!" written on it. I'd run out of shit by now. the bike started and I was off.....he grabbed my seat but couldn't grip it hard enough. thank-god i didn't have a rack on the back for him to hold onto. I have to hand it to him though because he kept it up for about 300 yards.

I was properly scared. I re-sprayed my scooter that night, changed my helmet the next day and didn't drive down that road again.
(, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 0:25, Reply)
yes dear, it was very funny.
Oooh about 13 years ago when still courting the now Mrs Smorgasbord, she'd driven over to York with her friend Nat and wasn't due back until late.

I'm waiting for her to arrive back and thinking she's a pushing it a bit.

All of a sudden I get a horrible feeling of fear, for no reason, for about ten seconds. Then the phone rings: it's her, obviously very upset. I'm seriously freaked.

"Christ, what's wrong? Are you OK?"

"Yeah (sob) I'm OK, (sob) It's, it's Nat, (sob) the car, It just..."

That feeling when the mixture of horror and adrenaline reaches your feet? Fuck, I was close to passing out from it.

"HA HA HA! Only joking, I'm just dropping Nat off. Back in ten minutes"

Can't believe I still married her.

Length? Irrelevant, it's still catatonic from shock.
(, Thu 22 Feb 2007, 21:14, Reply)

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