ravenous, man-eating jaguar, apparently
On holiday in South America late last year, we spent the night at the bottom of a canyon in some shoddy yet endearing little huts. I had gone to sleep worrying about spiders and buggy type menaces, but this was to be the least of my worries. sort of.

I woke in the dark black blackness of the darkest night I've ever seen from a dream about hungry jaguars roaming the campsite in search of HUMAN FLESH upon which to feast.

A mere moment after dismissing the dream, I heard a sound very much like that of a growling big cat, and it sounded like it was INSIDE THE HUT. I instantly had visions of a prowling jaguar ready to pounce, then of one gnawing on the bloodied corpse of my young hut-buddy. I lay petrified for several minutes, trying to settle on a course of action. Do I turn on my torch? would that scare away or entice a killer beast? WHAT DO YOU DO???

Mustering up all my resolve I flicked the switch on my torch..... NOTHING. Where did the hungry super-feline go? the "door" appeared as closed as possible. WAS IT UNDER MY BED???

No, it was not.

For as it transpired, the terrifying growls of the fluffy, bloodthirsty predator were the BLOODY DONKEYS OUTSIDE BRAYING GENTLY IN THEIR SLEEP.
(Carravanquelo, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 14:32, Reply)

polterguist tour
Now, im quite known for being rather jumpy anyway, so it probably wasnt the best idea that me and boyfriend at the time decided to spend our 1st year anniversary in Edinburgh for a few days holiday where we booked ourselves in for the underground vaults polterguist tour.

I thought I would be totally hardcore and prove the fact that I was no wus.

we were led down dark steps way, way underground edingbugh in pitch black darkness, apart from the glare of the light from the tour guides torch.

so far so good. i was pretending not to hear all the gory stories of death and how many people had left this exact tour in an ambulance!

until...

we reach the room!

it was pitch black and the tour guide decides to turn off her torch and carry on with the horror stories.

I now get quite edgy, and freak out when my boyfriend tries to let go of my hand because i was hurting him.

the tour guide carries on with the story and says she thinks she can see the polterguist at the door we just came in.

we all look, and in the shadows someone dressed head to toe in black suddenly runs past
the door.

most people rolled their eyes, half expecting it to happen.

not me!!

i screamed in absolute horror! I lost my voice, was unconsoluble for hours, couldnt sleep without the light on for days, and needed massages as I had pulled a muscle in my neck screaming...

never, ever, ever again!!

i'd never seen my boyfriend laugh so hard
(chixor, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 14:20, Reply)

Last night, about 10.30
I was sitting in front of the telly with the sound down and my head buried in a book. The news was on and it must have been the sport section...

... and suddenly I looked up to behold Amelie Mauresmo's face in full closeup.
(><(((">, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 14:06, Reply)

Nocturnal Amputee
I was having a vivid dream that I had lost my arm in a motorcycle accident somehow. My dream was about re-learning how to do everyday tasks one-armedly, such as making a cup of tea. This task was particularly harrowing for some reason as it woke me up with a gasp of horror, in the traditional bolt-upright style. Upon waking I noticed that I COULDN'T FEEL ANY OF MY RIGHT ARM - from the shoulder down was NOTHING, NOTHING!!
I jumped out of bed in a state of abject terror, only to be greeted by my twilight reflection, in which I COULDN'T SEE MY ARM EITHER!!!
I screamed like a little piggy and flailed wildly; only then was my completely-asleep-from-the-shoulder arm revealed. I had to flop it around like an elephant's trunk for a good 5 minutes before the feeling came back.
(Carravanquelo, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 14:06, Reply)

Wood
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.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:59, Reply)

I quite oftern get scared...
when the following musical horrors are usually involved: country music, soppy romance music, "boy bands", heavily commercialised pop bands that are crap and KARAKOE!



do not join in on the choruses - it only encourages them!
(mudslinger lives in a house surrounded by pussy....... cats!, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:52, Reply)

I don't know about the last time...
but i think i'm still considered fairly sacred

regards
Jesus
(Handel blah blah blah, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:49, Reply)

gave me nightmares and had trouble sleeping for a couple of weeks
after watching Stephen King's "IT" - I saw it when I was a kid - I never wanna see it again!
(mudslinger lives in a house surrounded by pussy....... cats!, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:45, Reply)

Sally Spectrum
HA! I had buried this one.

When I was about 11 or 12 I used to read those Sinclair Spectrum magazines. "Crash" or something.
They had a classified ad section, and I thought it would be very funny to put one of those lonely heart style adverts in, but PRETENDING TO BE A COMPUTER!!!

So it read something like... "Sally Spectrum needs Amigo with big joystick to fill her" etc etc.
I made three fundamental errors.

1: I pretended to be a female, sex-starved computer.
2: I implied that i wanted sex, and advertised this in a magazine for pubescent boys who were socially backwards.
3: At the end I PUT DOWN MY ACTUAL ADDRESS.

So the letters started coming in, most of them quite straightforward. I had one from an undertaker's assistant, and one weird one with a death metal tape enclosed. All bearable until one day my dad said "Browser, its the telephone for you. They are asking for Sally Spectrum, presumably thats you".

So I picked up the phone and a grown man said "Hello Sally, when shall I come round and fill your little hole then?" I stammered that it was a joke and he said "oh" and hung up. The phone then rang 5 minutes later; it was the Trades Descriptions department, and they were going to come round and put me in prison.

I sat in my room and cried for a few hours, but they never came round in the end. In hindsight it must have been a different department; the Computer Advertisement Authority or something, but they have't tracked me down yet.

Sorry for length of my floppy disc hard drive joystick suck cum computer slut.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:45, Reply)

didn't scare me but...
on one of my many scout camps we had to be mentors to a younger group of Cub Scouts - they had their own camp site setup just a little bit up the woods from our own camp site.

Anyways, one of my fellow scouts had brought with him a CD player (with detachable speakers!) and among his handfull of discs we some sound FX albums - one of which specialised in spooky noises.

we did the cruel thing of sneaking up to the cub's tents with the detachable speakers spread out for maximum stereo effect. Played a few selected sounds and noises (evil creature noises, chains, howls and stuff). The little peeps stopped chatting to each other to "what's that?" and "shit" and then to pure nervous silence.

We stopped the fun at that point and snuck back to our own campsite. The next morning the little cubbies looked like they didn't sleep much that night. In fack on the initial head count we noticed one was missing.

After a bit of searching we had found the missing peep curled up asleep under the back seat of the bus we travelled in. It's a wonder why they didn't have brown sleeping bags from that one.
(mudslinger lives in a house surrounded by pussy....... cats!, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:40, Reply)

living in a small country town
means you have to commute to the nearest city for entertainment. So the nearest cinemas are a good half-hour drive at an average 110km/hr to get there.

One night my mates and I were driving home late. The driver and front passenger thought it would be a cool dare to try to drive just with parking lights (not the headlights) so that all we could see was the white lines of the roadside a few metres in front of us.

Although there was no traffic at all. I was starting to get concerned about this (after all kangaroos don't have headlights so they are difficult to see and avoid) and I knew we were approaching a turn ahead.

What made things worse is that the electrics in the old Corona played up a little and blacked out for a moment long enough for us to lose track of the road. The driver did his best to correct the car's direction but got us into a fishtailing motion sliding all over the road. Everyone's asses were sliding about on the vinyl seat of the old Corona we were driving.

We slid off the road and came to a thud just narrowly clipping a tree. after the dust settled we checked our vital parts and a quick assesment of the car - as far as we could see everything appeared fine.

We all agreed that leaving the headlights on was a good idea for the rest of the trip. Upon later inspection under a street light once we got to town showed half solid chrome bumper on the rear had been half twisted off from clipping the tree. Any closer and we might not have lived!

Hey Kids! - NEVER try this at home! It is really stupid!
(mudslinger lives in a house surrounded by pussy....... cats!, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:23, Reply)

bit embarrassing to be honest.
It was winter 2005 and I was on my way to a practice room to have a jam with some mates one night. My mate Stocky picked me up and we drove to the place, which (as all the best practice rooms are) was in a pretty seedy backstreet. As we were slowing down to find a parking space I clocked this bloke on the other side of the road...years of being out on the piss have given me a pretty good trouble radar, and there was something about the way he was shouting and throwing wooden pallets around that made me think he might be worth keeping away from.

Anyway, we parked and were sorting ourselves out when he wandered up to the driver's side window. Stocky didn't notice him and was about to open his door and get out when I said "Stocky, drive...drive...DRIVE!". The bloke started shouting "OI! FUCK YOU LOOKING AT?" and we shat it and drove off.

As soon as we got round the corner we pissed ourselves laughing at how pathetic we were....and I still can't believe I shouted "DRIVE!"
( yes yes yes man oi mate, someone's writtten 'bum' on your neck, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:16, Reply)

Wusses R Us
Went to see Alien 3 with a mate when I was a student one afternoon, crap film I agree, but I am a complete pussy when it comes to anything scary or even socially embarassing. Anywho, the film scares the pants off me, we leave. My mate mentions he was more scared of me than the film, particularly when I grabbed him. I have no recollection of this at all, however he then pulled the sleave on his top up to reveal some pretty nasty bruising.
(analogkid, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 13:09, Reply)

On the Autobahn
That motorbike story reminded me of my travels across Europe with my old man. (BTW - the headlights routine is just the way it's done over there, if someone wants to go faster than you, you get out of their way... I'm not justifying what he did afterwards, but when in (or near) Rome...

Anyway, the year before the Italy trip, we drove to Prague, via Germany. One the way home, we left Prague at 7am on sunday morning, so we hit Germany by about 9 or 10. We were making pretty good time and the traffic was fairly light. Then I rounded a corner and all I could see was dead straight, empty, derestricted Autobahn all the way to the horizon.

I put it down into 5th and floored it, and changed back up to 6th at about 150mph. It crept up to about 183mph (I wasn't spending too much time looking at the speedo). In the distance I could see two cars in the middle lane, and I was coming up on them pretty fast - bear in mind when you're doing 180mph, you're still approaching someone doing 90mph AT 90mph... In all fairness to the other driver, he probably checked his mirror and saw a dot in the distance, so he pulled out in front of me.

I had to stand on the brakes at 183mph. Now that, my friends, was a bowel loosening procedure. Fortunately my dad's car has got incredible brakes with very clever ABS and traction control, so we drew up in a perfectly straight line, but I literally got to within a inch of the guy's bumper - I could see his eyes in his rear view mirror. I think they looked almost as petrified as mine.

All credit to him though, he knew that the best thing to do was to put his foot down and give me more space. I wish people in England drove the same way as they do in Germany.

Length? I'd be an awful lot shorter if wasn't for Mr Brembo and his four pot brake calipers.
( HoratioFellatio Taking the the out of psychotherapist, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 12:53, Reply)

China dolls...
...are scary bastards and I truly hate them. They look so evil and my stupid imagination always pictures their little china feet pattering around and their little cold hands reaching out to me. So imagine my delight on waking up in my pal's spare room after a night of heavy drinkies to see 5 of the gits watching me! Turned out my pal liked freaky porcelain dolls and collected them. Truly, truly scary!
(angelica666, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 12:43, Reply)

M 3582 XB
That's not a British number plate - It's a Spanish one, from Madrid actually (M).

In 1999 between jobs, JuanTheMan decided to take a month or two off and do a bit of a tour around Spain on his motorbike with his then GF on the back. Chilled out, we breezed between city and beach all over the place. So, one sunny day riding along the autopista E15 near Murcia overtaking a car, I was none too happy when some twunt in a red hatchback (Golf or Ibiza) steams up behind with lights flashing, trying to push us out of the way. Feck you, I thought (which is the polite form of fuck, which I'm usually far too good natured to use). I'm doing the speed limit here and you are not. He overtakes, pulls alongside and starts edging us off the side of the road! Now with GF on the back and full paniers, I wasn't going to try any funny business, but if that wasn't enough he gets in front and slams on the anchors! Well, it fair put the willys up me, (big ones at that), but thankfully after grabing a handfull of lever the bike slowed at a better rate than he did. And that was the end of it. Well, not quite.

That was 8 years ago now, but I still have that rapidly approaching numberplate emblazoned across the forefront of my mind (which is better than across the front of my forehead like Scorchio-Jim had intended).

Now, as it turns out, my now GF is from Mardid and we end up visiting quite a few times a year. Every single time I see a red hatchback I have to check the plate (I scare myself sometimes). One day, one way or another, I am going to find the fucker (not the polite form) that was driving that car and pull his fucking head clean off. Any assistance on the whereabouts of said car or driver would be greatly appreciated! Length? He'll pray he's a good fucking length away from me for the rest of his life.
(JuanTheMan "hair-color:#FF6600", Fri 23 Feb 2007, 12:28, Reply)

So, me and some friends pulling a movie all-nighter on the couch...
We'd been watching the Hannibal movies and drinking. Everything was fine, we were laughing and fff-fff-fff-ing at each other. And then I realised that Hannibal was standing behind the curtain and planning to eat my brain.
Naturally I took immediate retaliatory action, in this case hiding beneath the duvet so that no part of my body save my nose was exposed. Due to the fact that this was a small and crowded couch, some sacrifices for the greater good were necessary. I was very sad for those of my mates who were now seated on the floor and uncovered by the duvet, as this meant an inevitable and disgusting demise at the hands of Anthony Hopkins. But death comes to us all and there is no use repining.

All was well until I needed to use the bathroom. Disaster! I armed myself with a large empty bottle of Caribbean Twist and left the safety of the couch.
My business completed, I crept back through the kitchen. Suddenly a crack rang out. A door slamming open. A gunshot. I didn't know and wasn't going to wait around to find out*.
Terrified but with lightning reflexes, I spun round and brained Lector with the bottle.

Except by some freak mischance, it wasn't Hannibal Lector at all, and was actually my best friend. Yeah, that kind of put a damper on the evening, taking her to A&E and all.**

* It was actually the lid of the toilet falling down. A mistake anyone could have made.

** On the plus side, I am happy to report that no one was eaten or dismembered. That should count for something.
(yes_slash_no, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 12:24, Reply)

I foolishly went to medium last year.
After cold-reading me sufficently badly to infer that I was a lonely Lesbian sports techer instead of a recently married unathletic criminologist, she assured me that the person whom I missed was nearby, and would make his/her presence known when the time was right.

I was openly laughing at her by now, so when, just at that moment, we heard the letterbox clatter and a newspaper slide through and thud on the doormat I asked, 'Oh, is that him now?'

She wasn't amused, and when I left and we found no newspaper there - it was just her and me in the house, nobody else to move it - she went a little green.

What a shock for a fraudulent medium - a real scare!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 12:23, Reply)

A precocious youth
I was advanced as a toddler - I don't know what's happened, I appear to have regressed since then. But, 30 years ago I was as bright as I only sometimes achieve now.

I was reading at two years old, reading proper books not long after that. And I had a grandma, Cissy (she died when I was still only three) who had a bottle of advocaat and a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula in her bedroom.

I used to nip in there as a nipper and take a tiny tot of advocaat, and read a couple of pages of the book each time. I don't know if Nana Cissy ever realised she had a rapidly draining bottle of booze, or a more rapidly afrit toddler in her care

Suffice to say I became terrified of being drained by a vampire and used to sleep with the blankeys drawn up around my neck in the hope that Mr Alucard would imagine I was but a severed head.

Now? I'm an alcoholic.
(Give me the cheese you cocksucker No board sig in protest., Fri 23 Feb 2007, 12:21, Reply)

I have a huge fear of pants.

No, wait - not fear, wardrobe.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 12:17, Reply)

Who needs enemies, eh?
I was at my mates house a couple of years ago watching the classic 'Nightmare on Elm Street'. I had previously seen the film aged 6 ( what was my mother thinking when she rented that one?!) and it had done some serious damage to my mental health ie. many Freddy related dreams, convincing myself he lived in our cellar etc. etc.

However at the age of 20, it didn't seem so scary, I mean he's not real is he. Anyway after a few hours of drinking and recreational drug use, it was time for bed. So off I popped into said friend's bedroom and was soon sleeping the sleep of the ketamine addled drunk. Lovely.

A while later, I'm awoken by scratching and open my eyes to see a hand sillhoueted on the wall. I think you can all guess that the hand appeared to be sporting blades for fingers. F*CK, thinks I, and then more rationally, calm down, you're in a k hole, you're hallucinating, just go back to sleep.

So I close my eyes and it works, just as i'm settling again, theres something touching my face. Eyes snap open. And I'm not hallucinating. Real live Freddy glove on my face about to gore me.

I close my eyes, start screaming and prepare to die bloodily.

And of course then the lights come on, and my so-called mate is there waving his joke Freddy glove, likely popping veins with laughing so hard. Cock.
(Ambernj1, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 12:16, Reply)

Playing the Shalebridge cradle level in Thief 3
late at night, all lights out, headphones on, noone else in the house, while stoned.

If you've not played Thief 3, its a very atmospheric game, where most enemies in the game can readily kill you, so the emphasis is on stealth. And thieving.

This particular level is set in an abandonded mental asylum\orphanage. With ghosts, blood curdling screams and strange goings on galore. Shadows everywhere too.

To be honest, if you've not played this game\level, then I doubt this sounds scary, but try it for yourself. The single scariest computer game I've ever played.
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 11:55, Reply)

I had a dream
whilst trying to work out how to do this Jack the Ripper picture. I had been looking at the mortuary photographs, researching such things on casebook.org, and that night I dreamt I was at one of the autopsies. Woke me up with a start, that one.

I'm probably more scared of Jack the Ripper than anyone who's not an East End hooker 119 years ago has a right to be.
( dotmund .co.uk, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 11:53, Reply)

My story
last week I was sat at home eating popcorn and watching "everyone dies 5" blah blah heard a noise blah blah went to investigate blah blah nothing there "blah blah went to bed and got raped by a ghost and now the decorators are late

THE END!

Oh and length?
About 9 months I expect!
( Mrs.Sp@m, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 11:42, Reply)

the day i gave up mindless vandalism
World cup time last year. I had left work, went to the pub, watched a game and one beer led to another led to another etc as it does. So it was about 11pm and I'm cycling home through a quiet part of SE1 on my way home and I'm cycling along with no hands and my arms out straight. Like I said it was a quiet street. It was summer. i was drunk.
In a split second I came across a parked car with one of those plastic engerland flags sticking out of the side window. It was the same height as my outstretched arms and instinctively I grabbed it. i don't know why. I didn't think at all. I'm old enough to know better for fucks sake. I gave up petty vandalism over 20 years ago. [ahem]

Anyway the engine started. the driver had just got into his car. i shat myself.
He gunned it after me in his car down the road and all that money i had just spent on beer was wasted. i sobered up immediately and lost him by going through a kiddies park on a housing estate in the elephant and castle.
finally when i couldn't hear his car behind me anymore i looked at the flag, it was all old and faded and at the bottom in big blue letters it said MILLWALL. fuck i was lucky.

i support Millwall but I doubt that would have helped in the situation if he'd caught me and especially as we'd just gone down.

so i'm very sorry mate about your flag. it looked like a family heirloom
(twistngo, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 11:39, 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.

*click*

"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.
(Barry Subchimp, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 11:28, Reply)

Was about 12 watching Poltergeist
On my own in the house. In the dark. Was papping it. Suddenly, there was a massive crash in the kitchen and I almost shat it right there. I crept in there and flicked on the light. In the hallway, my brothers bike had fallen over, seemingly on its own. I crept around to the bathroom and there was no one there, so I walked back to the kitchen, slightly confused and saw beneath the stairs a six inch fucking tail hanging out of a bag of dog biscuits. I almost fell over scampering back to the living room, ran upstairs and woke up our jack russel. I crept back to the kitchen, pushed the dog in and slammed the door. There was almighty howling, scrabbling and barking and then suddenly it went quiet. I Slowly opened the door to see the dog licking its bloody lips and a fucking huge rats body, now seperated from its head.
( DumbMonkey The penis mightier than the sword, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 11:14, Reply)

I was scared...
of the verbal kicking from other B3ta members the last time I put a picture on the message board of some golfing bird kissing a large, cock shaped glass trophy..........
(smirker neverletmetellyabouttheraggamuffinbiznessandting!, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 11:13, Reply)

Hair
I have a fine head of hair. I take after my maternal grandfather. He died with a full head of the stuff. I like my hair, its good, it comes with me everywhere. I spend money on it. I am not a particularly vain person, its the only thing about my appearance I actually care about. Everything else can be a mess (and often is) but as long as my hair looks ok, bring it on. Today, as i was in a rush, i havent washed it. That is unusual. There hasn't been a day in 20 years where I havent washed my hair at least once. Yes thats a small problem. I digress...

Standing in the queue at the building society a few days ago, I could see the security monitors. When that happens i like to pass the time by trying to figure out where the cameras are. I could see the queue I was in and if i moved a bit, I could see where I was on the monitor. One camera was behind and above me and I suddenly realised I had a bald patch. A big one.

My heart dropped a couple of inches and I felt sick. I moved, the bald patch moved. Oh fuckity fuckity fuck. I'm fucked. I will now never have sex again. My life is over at 33.

It took me a while to figure out it was a trick of the light and it was the glare of the sun. As I moved to change position in the monitor, so did my perspective and thus the glare of the sun on the screen moved also.

The relief was tremendous. It was genuinely terrifying.

How crap am i??
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 10:52, Reply)

Vivid nightmares
Last night..Voorhees inspired death of my mum & dad in technicolour gore that Eli Roth would be proud of but left me woken up at 3:01am in a cold sweaty cuddling my teddy like a big wuss.

Most scary dead tie between the teenage nightmare of a shark attack ala JAWS where I awoke with paralysed legs and screaming in terror, and the me as a werewolf hunting down some poor sod in a hut in the woods. Moral of the story: I REALLY shouldn't watch horror films or anything scary at ALL.
( Lynxkitten, Fri 23 Feb 2007, 10:51, Reply)