Monk-ey Business
Contrary to my absolute insistence of a couple of days ago, I have had many spooky and unexplainable incidents in my life. But the one that still sits solidly in my mind, even 11 years later, is the one that I shall tell you about today.

Are we sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

I was barely seventeen, and I once killed a boy with a Fender Guitar. I don’t remember if it was a Telecaster or a Stratocaster, but I do remember that it had a heart of chrome and a voice like a horny angel...

Hang on a minute, I’m getting myself confused with Meatloaf again.

Anyway, I too was barely seventeen, though had not committed any sort of foul atrocity (unless the incessant self gratification can be counted as such). It was my first (and only) season in panto (oh yes it was!), and we were mid way through rehearsals (at which my character, Sergeant Spring was coming along nicely). As we finished up, a few drinks were suggested at the local. Yes, I was underage, but life in small-town Essex was very different then, and so we made our way over to the pub.

A few pints of Caffrey’s later, and talk turned to spooky tales. It was suggested, I forget by who, that we take a drive out to the Monastery near Tiptree. Whoever suggested it was insistent that you could hear the monks chanting, and that sometimes they stood by the road, their cowls hanging low over their faces.

And so we leapt in to a 1983 Ford Fiesta, and our adventure began.

We arrived at the head of the lane that leads down to the Monastery. It was 11.30pm. It’s a winding road, so it took about 10 minutes to get to the Monastery gate. We sat there for a minute or two, messing about, and then carried on to the end of the lane to turn around. This particular lane ends in a Graveyard. Once again, we sat and messed around for a bit, until someone opened the car door.

Instantly, the atmosphere in the car changed. Not to fear, as such, but there was certainly a sense that we should be making our way home. The car was put in to reverse, we turned around, and started driving back.

Looking back over my shoulder, I saw in the road light sources that appeared to be following us. I thought it was another car – until I realised that there had been no other cars along that road, and beyond that there were no roads joining it that another car could have turned in from. And, as soon as they had appeared, they were gone again.

The driver had seen this too, and (as I believe is the parlance) put the pedal to the metal. We exploded from the top of the lane, safe as houses. It was 11.45pm.

Now, let’s do some maths. 10 minutes down to the Monastery. 5 minutes from there to the graveyard. Double that to include the journey back. Add another 5 minutes for messing about time. 35 minutes. Yet the whole journey had, according to watches and clocks, taken 15 minutes.

Where the hell had the other 20 gone?

Over the next few days one of the girls in the car insisted that she’d channelled a spirit at the graveyard which had caused all the weirdness (in fact, she claimed he had a hat that had goat horns in it and he was running about her house cackling and such), which is clearly histrionic bollocks. But I would still very much like to know what happened to those 20 minutes, or if we just had a group hallucination.

I think I’ll plump for the latter!
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 10:55, 7 replies)

LIKE A BAT OUT OF HELL
doo be doo be doo doo.

Arse. That bloody Meatloaf confusion again. Always fucking happens on Thursdays.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 11:18, closed)

Haha
Hey there, MM! All well?
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 11:36, closed)

I am fine thank you
a slight yeasty stiring in my stomach, but otherwise all is well. How does this morning find your fine self sir?
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 11:59, closed)

Fine thanks...
Just looking forward to the weekend! :)

I may regret this but... Yeasty?
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 14:32, closed)

Only
in the sense of varied alcoholic beverages that are waging war in my stomach today. Although they are strangely steering clear of my brain.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 15:04, closed)

.
20 Minutes lost? You were drinking...maybe it seemed like longer than it was.

Lights? Pissed off a torch-weilding security guard maybe? Copper? Local busybody? You WERE a car full of lads sitting in a graveyard, after all.
(Musuko, Thu 3 Jul 2008, 18:19, closed)

Not meatloaf...
...Jim Steinman.
The two albums he released as himself are brilliant.

But Meatloaf made it famous.
(paof2 Nude might not be rude, but rude could be nude..., Thu 3 Jul 2008, 20:37, closed)