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This is a question The Occult

The Occult. Accidentally opened a portal to another dimension? Tell us your tales of the ethereal.

(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 10:32)
Pages: Popular, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Ghostly problems.
I once decided I would visit a maze. Immediately as I entered I was pursued by ghosts! Luckily there were some pills I found lying around which allowed me to eat them!
(, Wed 14 Sep 2016, 17:47, 1 reply)
An old man stands naked in front of a mirror, eating Sue.
He is a ghoul.
(, Tue 13 Sep 2016, 20:20, 2 replies)

(, Mon 12 Sep 2016, 14:58, 6 replies)

(, Mon 12 Sep 2016, 7:52, 3 replies)
My friend Bob had something haunting his mother's house, where he lived in between jobs and/or girlfriends. Several times a year, in the quiet of late night, a moaning sound would come from the third floor. It was faint, and repeated searches of the two bedrooms would turn up nothing before the sound stopped.

His mother usually rented out those two rooms to a boarder. One of them was rather superstitious, and the moaning caused him to pack his belongings and leave, never to return. He abandoned almost three months of prepaid rent in the process. His mother was very religious, so she requested an exorcism to resolve this. Her denomination didn't do exorcisms, but they did send a minister over to pray for the house and to bless it. (Meanwhile, Bob and I were in the basement burning sacred herbs and chanting along with punk rock music.)

Neither technique worked. The moaning sound was noticed again a few months later.

About a year later Bob and I spent a rainy day repainting the third floor rooms and were in the process of blessing them with vegetal oxidation when we heard the moans. Nothing in the room we occupied. Nothing in the adjacent room.

Bob says, "I think the sound is coming from outside the house!"

We raced down the stairs to the back door and outside. The moans were louder and we could ascertain a direction.

The north side of the house had few windows, as is common in New England, and the telephone line led directly from the pole to the a point near the center of the north wall. We watched as a strong and steady gust of wind pushed a tree branch up against the telephone wire and sawed back and forth with the wind like a huge violin bow. The north wall became a giant sounding board.

The next morning I stopped by to help Bob exorcise the moaning spirit with a pruning saw on a pole borrowed from a neighbor.
(, Mon 12 Sep 2016, 4:41, 1 reply)
WHAT did you call me?

(, Sun 11 Sep 2016, 11:21, 2 replies)
Whilst some 35 years ago.....
We'd set off on a day hike across the Pennine Way with a plan to stay at the YHA in Mankinholes near Hebden Bridge, and then return home the next day. Armed with a Silva compass and an OS map, the plan was to follow the way to Lumbutts, where the way tracks right to Stoodley Pike, using that as a way point and then descend off of the moor. As I said - plan.

This was October, and the weather was not good with worse coming in from the Yorkshire side. Knowing we wouldn't make it Lumbutts before darkness and the weather arrived I could see in a valley a church with a bright blue clock face (it showed 18:45), so we came off the peaks descending into the valley when the bad weather hit.

Never got to the village with the blue faced clock tower, picking up a minor road that would lead us to Mankinholes.

When we got to the YHA, we described our route we'd followed a trail towards the valley floor with a blue clock faced tower to the keeper. The YHA keeper asked us to show him on the map - and he showed us that there were no villages in that area that would have been visible, let alone one with a clock tower.

Brigadoon? Perhaps, but for me it just confirms that Todmorden and surrounding area is just fucking weird.
(, Sun 11 Sep 2016, 8:22, 8 replies)
i'm not exactly a believer
but some weird stuff has happened at my parents' house. it's built on the site of an old public bath house and it's the only residential house that's ever been there. my family are the only people to have lived in the house, so no dead owners floating round.
that said, electrics seem to constantly be fucking up. i know an appliance switching itself off could easily be put down to some kind of fault, but actually unplugging itself? this has happened with the hoover(nobody in the house but me), the iron(dad upstairs on his own) and several times with kitchen appliances and various family members.
then there's the voices.
every now and then, usually when it's quiet and the t.v is off, you can hear someone talking in the hallway or halfway up the stairs. it's always a man's voice, but it's very rare that you can make out the actual words. i've gone down the hall before now and felt like i was walking through a jumbled conversation, which was a bit freaky. this has also happened to my cousin, also in the hall.
i've had a disembodied voice on the stairs quite clearly say "excuse me". oddly, that didn't bother me at all.
there definitely seems to be something going on, but as far as the occult is concerned, i'm really not ready to call it that.
(, Sat 10 Sep 2016, 16:08, 2 replies)

(, Sat 10 Sep 2016, 0:48, Reply)
Come with me, yes come with me,
To Dark Towers.
Who can tell what we shall see
In Dark Towers?
Dust and cobwebs everywhere,
Footsteps on the winding stair,
Mystery is in the air,
In Dark Towers.

In the garden, in the hall,
Through the arch behind the wall,
Come and listen to the call
Of Dark Towers.

(, Fri 9 Sep 2016, 19:49, 4 replies)
I once masturbated so hard that when I came
Slimer came out of the end of my cock.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2016, 17:40, Reply)

(, Fri 9 Sep 2016, 11:43, 4 replies)
Are you fucking serious?

(, Fri 9 Sep 2016, 10:19, 8 replies)
(, Fri 9 Sep 2016, 9:53, Reply)

(, Fri 9 Sep 2016, 9:08, 1 reply)
Spooky camping trip.
One summer, when I was about 14, I went on a camping trip with my uncle Ian. This was the first time I'd been camping and was doubly excited because we were camping in the grounds of an old manor house. I had even received my own tent as an early birthday present!
Before we went to bed my uncle told me that the lady of the manor had been the inspiration for D. H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover but, sadly, she had died young so haunted the place. He also told me that, on occasion, the ghost was known to "lay with" men who spent the night on the estate and that to summon her one just had to close one's eyes and say, quietly "I'm ready for you m'lady".
Now, even then I was a skeptic and thought he was talking bollocks. But being a teenager I waited until my uncle was asleep and, just in case, unzipped my sleeping bag, got out my tiny todger, closed my eyes and whispered "I'm ready for you m'lady". I must have done this for about 5 minutes and was gradually raising my voice yet still nothing so was about to give up when I heard the zip on my tent opening. Sure enough, I soon felt hands on my thighs, my cock immediately stiffening. "Yes!" I thought "I'm going to loose my virginity to a ghost!". However, this ghostly maiden did not proceed to make love to me but, instead, I felt a mouth around my cock. The pleasure was intense and, after what was probably only a minute or two, my back was arching and I was cumming. I then fell asleep, contented and knackered.
I think my uncle must have heard something because the next morning he asked me whether I had slept well and gave me a wink.
Sadly I never went camping with uncle Ian again as he went abroad soon after. I think he's in the Philippines now.
(, Fri 9 Sep 2016, 7:10, 1 reply)
I can't hurt you - I'M DEAD
Ooh another scarey repost sweetiesz!

This from after I'd settled down after my journey through the omnivoox.



There was once this bloke in my local, used to come in three or four times a week, and sit by himself drinking. He was quite tall and thin with a mullet and beard, a rather lined face and a haunted expression. Probably late forties, early fifties. He kept himself to himself, never caused any bother so people used to leave him to his own devices - drinking, and sometimes reading the paper or a book, but mostly drinking and staring into space. So what, you may ask, pubs are full of such people. And so they are. This chap became a fixture over the years, a part of the furniture, never talking to any of the other regulars or customers, only speaking to ask for another pint and chaser. He'd only seem to come out of his shell a little when Arsenal were playing, then he'd move slightly closer to the main crowd and get engrossed in the game. But most of the time he'd sit alone, drinking, from 7pm until closing time. He never seemed to be pissed, would just appear less haunted after he left the pub after 7 or 8 pints (plus chasers).

Then one week, he didn't show. I remember one night thinking something wasn't quite right with the pub, and the landlord pointed out that Jim (not his real name) wasn't in his usual chair. So what, he's probably moved house, or died, or perhaps given up the booze. We all laughed, and then forgot about him. A few more weeks went by and it was as if he had never existed. And then one evening as I entered the bar, he was there, in his usual place, a pint and a whiskey chaser in front of him.

He looked different. Somehow smaller, as if he had shrunken inside his 80's style brown leather jacket. He kept blinking a lot, exaggeratedly, almost like a wince. He kept shaking his head and his hands, when not employed in conveying glass to lips, were clutched tightly in his lap.

Everyone felt uncomfortable but no one had the emotional courage to go up to him and ask him what was wrong. Or perhaps they didn't care. But as I thought back over the years and years of Jim coming to my local, the sadder I felt and my heart began to feel heavy with sympathy for the poor man. As I watched from the bar he put his head in his hands and began to sob quietly, his thin shoulders shaking.

That was it for me. All very well to mind your own business and take the piss, but I just couldn't leave it. So what if he told me to fuck off, at least I'd have tried. So I walked over to him with my pint and sat down opposite him. "Come on mate, it might never happen." It came out without me thinking about it, the sort of inane platitude you blurt out in serious situations when words are inadequate, like asking someone very clearly injured in a car accident "are you all right?"

He looked up at me, his blue eyes awash with tears, his lined face all red. "It won't leave me alone," he muttered. "Won't fucking leave me alone." He had a beautiful voice, deep with a slight Irish accent. I'd never noticed before.

I dreaded to ask, but I had to. "What won't leave you alone, mate?"

"The baby... the...the baby." He broke down into sobs. I summoned the landlord to bring more drinks and waited for Jim to recover.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked hesitantly.

He glared at me for a moment, then took a sip of whisky. "You won't be able to help."

"I might."

Jim shook his head. "No. You won't." He leaned back in his chair and his face creased again. "No-one can!"

After a few more sips he calmed down, though he still looked haunted. And he told me his story. Those looking for a funny story will be disappointed; those who type TLDR fair enough, or think Iā€™m making this up fair enough, but I'm not.

This is what he told me: thirty years ago, at the age of twenty-one, he'd got married to his childhood sweetheart, Rachel. He was a plumber at the time and her parents were "posh" and didn't approve of the match. But Jim and Rachel defied them and made the marriage work; within a few years he had his own plumbing business and Rachel (a teacher) was pregnant with their first child. All went well until this child was born. It was severely deformed with anencephaly (Google it but BE WARNED, the photos of babies with this condition WILL give you nightmares for the rest of your life). Babies with anencephaly never live very long and their child, a boy, lived for three hours after which it died from complications.

It was a devastating shock to the young couple, but Rachel soon recovered from it and began to talk about planning for another child. That was when the visits started.

One night, Jim was awoken by a noise from the next room - the room they were going to use as a nursery, but was now a general store-room. He got out of bed without disturbing Rachel and went into the room and turned the light on. There, propped up in a corner, was the corpse of their anencephalic baby. It stared at him with its dead, protuberant eyes. Jim froze to the spot - he says he never felt anything like it - he went cold all over and was overcome with this feeling of absolute terror.

And then the baby spoke, in a high, piping, lilting voice:

"Why are you scared of me, Daddy? I can't hurt you - I'M DEAD."

Jim blacked out. Rachel found him the next morning but he put it down to work stress, and didn't tell her what he'd seen and heard.

These visits came almost nightly after that. Jim became withdrawn, morose, and took to drinking. The drinking took over, Rachel left him, the business collapsed, and Jim began the downward spiral that led him to this pub, my local pub. He was now living in rented accommodation and claiming benefits for mental health problems. He spent a couple of months in a psychiatric ward after he tried to kill himself. He was prescribed meds but he found the only thing that helped was drinking heavily. But a few weeks ago his doctor had told him to stop drinking for the sake of his liver. Jim had complied - and the visits had started again. Always exactly the same - he'd be woken by a noise from another room, go inside, and find the baby there with its chilling statement. He'd tried not going - but then the baby would appear on the bed, or, once, inside it with him.

So now he was back, drinking again, despite the risk to his life.

After he'd finished his story he looked a little less haunted, as if the telling of it had relieved some of his pain. I told him that he was right - I could not help him - other than to suggest he goes back to his doctor or psychiatrist, because self-medicating with alcohol in his condition could only have one outcome.

He thanked me kindly for my advice though I knew he'd never take it. I stayed with him for the rest of the night and we talked about other things, mundane things like the football and the telly and antiques (on which he was a bit of an expert). When he left the pub that night he seemed almost cheerful - or rather, a shade less haunted and miserable.

I never saw him again and that was five years ago.

Wherever you are, Jim, I hope you have found some peace.
(, Thu 8 Sep 2016, 21:20, 1 reply)

.'``'. ... WooOOOooooOOOOoooOOOOOooooOOOO
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(, Thu 8 Sep 2016, 17:41, 1 reply)
Something something Ghostbusters

(, Thu 8 Sep 2016, 13:12, Reply)
Mundane Arcane
This has messed with my mind for the last year. It's incredible but also incredibly mundane.

We have a rotary clothes line - you know the thing like an inverted umbrella with a single piece of clothes line that wraps all around it. Last summer my wife hung out our little boy's duvet which had been washed. It's a synthetic 1/4 sized duvet with a kind of outer skin made from white porous material. I work from home and can see the clothesline if I look up so I know nobody could tamper with it.

A few hours later I came to take the duvet down but it was stuck to the line. On closer examination the clothes line had been woven through the outer lining of the duvet in a crude running stitch (yeah I know what that is - I made pencil cases out of felt at junior school). That was physically impossible. It had me completely stumped. There was, and is, no rational explanation how that could have happened. The pegs had not forced the line through the outer lining. It required one end of the line to have been unhooked from the base or end-arm (not near where the duvet was), physically unwound removing all the hanging clothes, threaded through the outer lining then rewound back onto the line replacing all the clothes in the same place. This would have had to happen while I was working in close proximity to it and there was no one in else in the house that day (my wife went out). I know this did not happen because the spider webs and rust on the clothes line were untouched (we live like bloody students still).

I still don't know how this happened. My wife saw it too and was equally stumped. I wish we'd taken a picture to bore people with. In the end we had to rip it off the line which left a 6" tear in the outer layer.

Mundane but inexplicable. Boring but impossible. I might write a book about it or get Derek Acora (is he dead? his spirit then) to check it out.
(, Thu 8 Sep 2016, 12:06, 6 replies)
There's a ghost in my house.

(, Thu 8 Sep 2016, 7:49, 6 replies)
The Shadow Spectre
Time for a spookey repost sweetiezse:

Heard this from an acquaintance who was doing some contract work in an office in Chester. Now, Chester was founded as a Roman fort and there are lots of archeological digs going on at any one time. The office my friend - we'll call him Paul - was working in was right opposite this dig where they reckon they'd found a second Minerva shrine, there was a lot of excitment over it and during the day the office workers would watch the excavations from the first floor window.

One night Paul decided to stay late to finish some work. This was in October so it was dark outside by half 6. Now the room he was working in was a big open plan affair, with windows at the far end and a double line of tall filing cabinets in front of the windows. Paul was working at a terminal at the other end of the room, on a desk up against the wall so his back was to the room and the windows and filing cabinets were some way off to his left.

He got quite into his work and oblivious of his surroundings, as you do, but at about 7 pm he became aware of a banging sound, as if someone was running up and down between the rows of filing cabinets and punching them. This startled him, but it only happened the once so he put it down to 'building sound' and set to work again.

About ten minutes later the sound happened again, only louder. Paul tells me that he literally felt his blood run cold, as no way could this sound be attributed to any settling or shifting building noise. It sounded like someone or something was running up and down between the rows of cabinets and hitting them with a something metal.

Now these cabinets were only 4 foot high so if there was someone there he'd have been able to see them... unless they were a midget or a child... or were bending down in order to stay out of sight...

The sound got so loud that Paul closed down his PC and was getting ready to leg it - no way was he going to investigate - when the sound abruptly ceased.

Then, in the sudden silence, a figure rose up from behind the front row of filing cabinets.

At this point Paul tells me that he felt the most scared he had ever been in his entire life. He literally could not move.

This figure appeared to be the outline of a man - totally black, like a shadow come to life. Paul coud only see the torso, head and shoulders as it was behind the filing cabinets, but as he watched it walked forwards THROUGH THE CABINETS and marched down the office towards him.

Paul couldn't even scream as the spectre drew nearer. It was very definitely the outline of a man, with striding legs, swinging arms and an odd, oval shaped head. And as it came nearer to Paul, he noticed the weirdest thing of all about the apparation. He noticed that it wasn't solid at all.

It was made out of tiny black spheres about the size of a marble, arranged in the three-dimensional shape of a man.

Paul remembers seeing the hand of this shape, the fingers opening and closing as it marched closer and closer, the fingers made of individual black marbles...

It was coming straight for him but he could not move. And, as it passed by him, it paused - AND TURNED TO LOOK AT HIM with its blank, oval head. As though it had just noticed him.

At that point Paul broke and ran blindly from the room, screaming his lungs out. He can't remember much about the next few minutes but the security guards accosted him running through the foyer crying and shouting.

He refused to go back to the room, in fact refused to go back into the building, and lost the contract.

He told people what he had seen but no-one else ever saw or heard anything unusual happen in that building.

The archaelogical dig was a false alarm, they never found a second Minerva temple, instead all they found was remnants of a Roman gladius (sword).
(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 18:12, 1 reply)
Blah blah ... something about Ian Astbury ... blah blah.

(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 17:44, 3 replies)
Little know fact that Derek Acorha got sacked from Most Haunted
For advertising bio-yoghurt which was against the terms of his contract.

That's what you get for dabbling in the Yakult.
(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 17:22, 2 replies)
Mary loves dick

that is all
(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 16:36, Reply)
i often see spirits
usually in a glass with a bit of ice
(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 14:11, Reply)
a few years after my mum died, I had a bad dream about her, where she was trying to shout to me, but I couldn't hear her.

woke up to find a missed call on my mobile at about 5am. went back to sleep and dreamed about something else.

when I woke up properly, I rang the number back - it was the school my mother taught at. nobody there had my number. and nobody would have been at the school at 5am. SPOOKY SPOOKY OR MUNDANE COINCIDENCE? WHO KNOWS? WHOOOOOOOOOOOO?
(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 12:10, 2 replies)
Once I was haunted by the vengeful ghost of a probiotic fermented milk drink.

(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 10:41, 1 reply)

(, Wed 7 Sep 2016, 10:35, 2 replies)

This question is now closed.

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