Damn martians
Reember back in the days of old (at least for me, maybe not for some of my older, more distinguished fellow b3tans) when a music came from steros the size of small TVs? Usually a big black box made by a fine British electrical company (Goodmans anyone?) containing one LP player, one FM/AM tuner (DAB? wtf is that?) and two tape players that were supposedly killing the music industry. The whole lot cobbled together by some bored bloke in the midlands and tied to some speakers by string.
The old box that lived at my mums was a grumpy old bastard. These days I know it was well past its best, with dry joints and bad wiring causing it to crackle to life by itself and burst out static like a taxi-drivers radio.
But to a 9-year old me it is terrifying, posibly haunted, and definitely out to get me.

As if that wasnt bad enough...

Imagine, if you will a dark, rainy night some time in 1992. A small EnsignJack has his pajamas on, and is laid on the floor of the warm living room, having been given something to read by his dear old mum, who is sat behind him watching Coronation Street. What has he been given? The original, 1970s LP version of Jeff Wayne's Musical The War of the Worlds. Yes, the one with two great black discs, full song lyrics, amazingly detailed artwork and condesed version of the the story.
The wee EnsignJack reads the story enraptured. Amazed at the artwork, relieved by the engineer's plan for a Brave New World, heartbroken by by the loss of the Thunder Child, and utterly terrified of the giant alien warmachines. Heatrays melting everything they touch, the red weed spreading across London, and the incessant, victorious UUUUUHHHHLLLLAAAA of the aliens as the cubstomp the human race.
He makes it to the end of the tale, cheering to humself as the mighty alien war machines fall to humble bacteria and on to the epilogue, a modern-day NASA is sending its mission to Mars.

Wide-eyed, adrenaling pumping and fearful that the alien menace wasnt as defeated as he thought it was, he closes the the LP case.
It was then that the bastard stereo decided to spring it's trap. It had watched the small boy read, transfixed with fear and excitement, and as he finished the story it switched itself on and let out a full-volume burst of static that was a mix of a lion's roar, a broken taxi radio, and of course UUUUUUHHHHHLLLLAAAAAAA...

I. Hit. The. Fucking. Roof.

I jumped up, running around the living room gibbering "They're coming! They're coming!" like a chav that been told thy're being investigated of being a disability cheat. I ran to the window, certain that I would see green flares coming down from the sky as more of the alien invaders arrived (of course, there was nothing there).
I hysterically ran upstairs, certain that my eyes were deceiving me and that another window would show the truth, but there was nothing but rain and inky blackness.
I ran back downstairs, still beside myself in fear and launched myself onto the sofa, hysterically crying my eyes out and certain this was the end of everything I new and loved.

It took mum nearly three hours to calm me down and convince me that there was no aliens, that I was just being a "daft sod".

Epilogue 1:
Next day, mum decided that she'd had enough of the old stereo and handed me a screwdriver so that I could "play" with it.
I happily took that fucker apart piece by piece, torturing it with as much maliciousness as a 10-year old could manage (in later years, this level of torture would again occur in the Hostel films. That hunting group has nothing on the pleasure I got from taking that fucker's tapedeck out and showing it to the one still in there)

Epilogue 2:
2005, sat in a cinema watching the Spielberg version of The War of the Worlds. The whole thing brings the events of 15years ago back to me, in a semi-Vietnam flashback.
But this time, there is no gibbering, no hysteria. I leave the cinema dignified with my friends and immediately buy a round at the nearby refreshment establishment. I feel better.
(CaptnJack isn't really called Jack!, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 12:30, Reply)

The Borg.
Need I say more?
(Petite chien is going to do science to it, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 12:29, 5 replies)

I was only trying to be friendly.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 12:23, 1 reply)

There I was, walking down the street
minding my own business when Hades pops up out of the ground in front of me.

"I'm here for your soul, mortal" he said.

I stood there for a moment terrified at who I was looking at, then I realised something.

"I don't believe in you" I said.

Hades was in the process of reaching out one hand to grab my soul when he stopped and stared at me.

"Oh" he said with a look of disapointment on his face and then promptly vanished back into the Earth.

I stood there for a few seconds wondering if what I saw actually happened then shrugged my shoulders and carried on walking.
(ParaSitius is an Optimistic Pessimist, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 11:57, 2 replies)

Is that banjo music I hear?
A warm, sunny day and a couple of Electric Woodbines all conspired to make a walk in the woods seem like a fine idea. What better way to relax than the gentle susurrus of the wind in the leaves, the distant call of the woodpigeon, and the gentle warmth of dappled sunlight on my pale and jaded skin?

So I set off, up a tree-lined path which started near my house. As I approached the main body of the woods, I became aware of some unusual noises ahead. A couple of cracks, or perhaps bangs. What could that be? A pleasant puzzle to idly mull over, as I strolled along. A puzzle which was suddenly and brutally resolved as I reached the woods, as two guys appeared, one each side of the gate, carrying shotguns. Well, some kind of gun, anyway -- this being the UK, I'm hardly an expert. They were rather scruffy, and looked a bit surly, but being English I did what we always do when faced with a situation we don't know how to handle - I ignored it and hoped it would go away. So I continued on, walking between them through the gate, essentially ignoring them even though I was acutely aware of them staring at me.

As they passed out of sight behind me, I heard the one sound you really don't want to hear in this situation: a gun being pumped and a round chambered. But still I pressed on, walking normally and turning onto the main path, expecting a blast of buckshot to violate my flesh at any moment. My heart was pumping and my brain screaming, but as the seconds dragged past I began to think I had, perhaps, made it.

Until a third man stepped out of the bushes directly in front of me, swinging what looked like a motorcycle chain and smacking it into his hand rhytmically.

This, apparently, was it. I was about to be beaten to a bloody pulp, or perhaps strung up and used as target practice - or worse - by these three armed thugs. My heart was pounding like a Gabba fan on a three-day amyl frenzy, and my vision was starting to tunnel. I think I continued stumbling forward merely because the signals from my brain were completely scrambled by the abject, bowel-loosening terror of immanent, painful death.

...which, of course, never came. The guy with the chain turned out to be walking his dog, and the lads with the guns - which were probably air-guns, truth be told - wandered off down the path. I have no memory of getting back home, but I think I hid under the duvet for some hours.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 10:31, 2 replies)

Well this is a story not just of fear but allso trust. The family and i took a breack to disney land paris yea {iknow why its full of ripoffs}£14.00 FOR TWO HOT DOGS and no onions. anyway i digress. Coach to the the park where upon the driver stops the coach any body whant any booze yes please i,ll take a case 30 bottles me sorted 1hour to park 15 bottles left more beer another case .Arrive at park find room go for meal see bar. Arrr beer £7.00 a pint now i know why coach driver sells beer have case in room.Finnish meal back to room beer bed sleep mourning load beer in bag 10 bottles should do breackfast plus a few bottles just to oil the engine for the ride's a head ha ha where in the park. fuck no beer allowed in park hello dear daughter my beloved one give me you'r water bottle now but dad no darling trust me it's for a good cause empty beer to water bottle aaa drink safe now for the rides daughter look dad that ride there my mate's say it's great she's only 12 ok let's go in cue two feet from ride wankers it's the f,ing thing breack's twenty minuets later on we go.O fuck the clamp come's down on to my chest fuck me thats tight i can't move then an atendent arrive's and push's it tighter now trepidation turns to fear, the fear to terrified. i,ve put my trust in a 12 year old on a ride iknow fuck all about. Arrrr where move,ing nice and slow up the mountain not to bad stops i can see day light fuck when we where queing i could see that bit thats when you herd the screems Fuck shoot in to space no fucking lights pitch black {wheres fucking riddick when you need him} can't see my hand in front of my face might have help't if i,d have open'd them fuck that tossed from one side to other will this ride ever end then it came to me do as the do in plane put head betwen legs and kiss ass good by,fuck the clamp won't let me [them sneaky basterd ride designers every one's a sadist}THEN IT'S OVER thank fk clamp relised and can breath what the fuck i'm wet how the water bottle beer shakee shakee fizzy fizzy top off beer daughter dad you've wet your pants 500 french person's lauging at the english man who was terrified and trusted his 12 year old. So what have we learnt Do not get pissed in disneyland paris do not put beer in water bottles and most of all trust a 12 year old they will terifie you
(todj, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 9:11, 15 replies)

Its a small world
Disney World around 1988 and a young me, probably about 10 at the time, waited for ages to jump on a river boat style ride that flows through a building that has a room set up to look like every country of the world...Including tiny, creepy, grinning little dolls who stare horrifyingly at you as you drift by. The background music is a song on a loop, "iiits a small world after allll" in a dwarfish falseto, over and over and over again.
It scared the shit out of me and I just wanted it to end, but it just kept going for what seemed like hours. Shittest,scariest ride ever, fuck you Disney World.
(technocore, Thu 12 Apr 2012, 1:52, Reply)

Yet Another Driving Story
My eldest son (just turned 4) has managed to scare the living shit out of us on a couple of occasions. Once when my wife was driving, and he was in the front passenger seat, he grabbed hold of the gear stick and managed to put the car in neutral. We were going about 60mph at the time. The gears made a horrible scronching sound and wife made the following noise:

"Whatthebloodyfuckingshitdidyoujustdo!!!!!"

The second time, I was driving, going about 70mph, and he was in the back seat.

"Mummy, why is the door open?"

We'd forgotten to put the child lock on and the back passenger door was flapping gently in the breeze.

Fortunately, on both occasions we managed to take evasive action and get things under control.
(Nitrous Nitrous, Wed 11 Apr 2012, 23:12, 5 replies)

I've blathered on several times about the spinal surgery I've had but, read on..
I have been shot at more than once, stabbed, had to check out a suspicious package under a car (in the days when certain 'freedom' elements in the Eastern Bloc were targeting western businessmen) and attacked more times than I care to recall but I have only been terrified -I mean bowel wateringly 'what the fuck am I going to do' shit scared once.
I'd had a little niggling pain in my left arm for some time, it flared up occasionally to a deep ache in all the muscles but it was, generally, bearable.
I was driving (on a very busy M6 between J6 &J7) one day when I went to change gear. I swerved into lane 2 and in my 'fuckitI'm going to die' frame of mind I tried to pull the wheel over so I could get back into lane 1.
I couldn't change gear. My left arm didn't work. Don't get me wrong, I was still holding the gearstick but no matter how I tried, my left arm wasn't going anywhere. I managed to get through the traffic, onto the hard shoulder and stall/stop. I still couldn't get my left arm to let go of the gearstick.
I looked at the offending limb and everything went dark - tbh I think I blacked out for a second out of sheer despair. All the things I loved doing, including driving, would be no longer. Playing guitar, picking up and cuddling my kids, all over. My job, which neccesitated being able to drive, gone. I have never been so frightened in my life.
I burst into great racking sobs, which is how the motorway policeman found me, tears streaming down my face and still with my left hand clamped to the gearstick.

All is now good due to some phenomenal surgeons and some (psycopathically sadistic) physiotherapists.
There are lots of great stories on here about frightening occurences but, think about what your life would be like if YOU lost the use of a limb.
That's terror.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Wed 11 Apr 2012, 18:40, 13 replies)

Fake snake.
Allow me to set the scene a little. Mrs Cloud and I were but a pair of teenage luvvydumplings. On our first holiday together and moreso our first holiday overseas without any parents.

We were obviously very active in the coitus. A few nights in, we tried out the sofa in our room and finding no comfortable position, I thought i'd try putting the cushions on the floor instead.

On removing the last seat cushion, my lady did a proper horror-movie gargle-scream. I wanted to be a bit manly so stood silently aghast while my sphincter did that puckering thing.

Of course it was fake but I couldn't tell that until i'd prodded it enough with a flip-flop to overturn it and see the beasts bean-bag underside. It still took a flight off the balcony just in case.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Wed 11 Apr 2012, 18:27, Reply)