Tales of the Unexplained
Flying saucers. Big Cats. Men in Black. Satan walking the Earth. Derek Acorah, also walking the Earth...
Tell us your stories of the supernatural. WoooOOOooOO!
suggestion by Kaol
( , Thu 3 Jul 2008, 10:03)
Flying saucers. Big Cats. Men in Black. Satan walking the Earth. Derek Acorah, also walking the Earth...
Tell us your stories of the supernatural. WoooOOOooOO!
suggestion by Kaol
( , Thu 3 Jul 2008, 10:03)
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Plane Crash
I’ve had the same recurring dream since I was young – I’m entering a park, when I’m knocked to my face by a huge plane screaming mere feet above my head. The large passenger plane drops from the sky 200+ metres in front of me, skidding and tumbling into homes and businesses alike. These tall white buildings crumble in flames and dust, and then there is an explosion. The sound is deafening, and the somersaults of the jet throws up a mixture of soil, trees…and people – passengers, picnickers, housemothers, shopkeepers; seemingly thousands of dead people turning the air to a red mist. I run past a bright blue pond, a statue, past twisted metal and people soup to see what I can do, but am always met with the same horror; no life. No life anywhere. Just blood, flames and the smell of fuel and burning flesh…
I had this dream with ferocious regularity when I was still a schoolchild. I lived in god-awful Northern Michigan and had never been to a place like this park, it was only familiar owing to the regular and precise nature of its nightmare. My parents, and rightly so, put the plane crash fear down to their poor choice in driving past the scorched earth and makeshift memorial of a recent airliner crash in Detroit.
The nightmare continued through my teen years and well into my adulthood. I found myself living in the UK (having gone overseas for the first time to do so), doing bits and pieces of contract work to keep myself financially afloat. I had booked some work with dodgy Russian billionaires on Clapham Common North Side, and off I set to make stupid amounts of money. I walked out of Clapham Common Tube Station and instantly it struck me – Clapham Common was the park in my nightmare. I entered in the same location as in my nightmare and, looking around, I saw the same row of shops that had been engulfed by flames. I saw the same ponds, the same statue, the same bandstand in the distance – my heart was thumping and I was dizzy by this point. I knew exactly where to go, as I had run this journey in terror thousands of times before. I walked to my destination with the grotesque familiarity stabbing me with every step. When I got to my final destination, it was one of the tall white buildings that toppled when the plane hit it. It wasn’t Deja-vu, I hadn’t been there before or in a ‘previous life’. Clapham Common was in my future.
Now, there are the obvious explanations – the formative memory of the Detroit plane crash combined with a lost memory of a video of Clapham Common. Nonetheless, I turned down future work with the Russian billionaires and will never – ever – return to that place. I figure that if I stay away, so will the plane crash. So will all the death.
I still have the nightmare.
( , Fri 4 Jul 2008, 13:10, 3 replies)
I’ve had the same recurring dream since I was young – I’m entering a park, when I’m knocked to my face by a huge plane screaming mere feet above my head. The large passenger plane drops from the sky 200+ metres in front of me, skidding and tumbling into homes and businesses alike. These tall white buildings crumble in flames and dust, and then there is an explosion. The sound is deafening, and the somersaults of the jet throws up a mixture of soil, trees…and people – passengers, picnickers, housemothers, shopkeepers; seemingly thousands of dead people turning the air to a red mist. I run past a bright blue pond, a statue, past twisted metal and people soup to see what I can do, but am always met with the same horror; no life. No life anywhere. Just blood, flames and the smell of fuel and burning flesh…
I had this dream with ferocious regularity when I was still a schoolchild. I lived in god-awful Northern Michigan and had never been to a place like this park, it was only familiar owing to the regular and precise nature of its nightmare. My parents, and rightly so, put the plane crash fear down to their poor choice in driving past the scorched earth and makeshift memorial of a recent airliner crash in Detroit.
The nightmare continued through my teen years and well into my adulthood. I found myself living in the UK (having gone overseas for the first time to do so), doing bits and pieces of contract work to keep myself financially afloat. I had booked some work with dodgy Russian billionaires on Clapham Common North Side, and off I set to make stupid amounts of money. I walked out of Clapham Common Tube Station and instantly it struck me – Clapham Common was the park in my nightmare. I entered in the same location as in my nightmare and, looking around, I saw the same row of shops that had been engulfed by flames. I saw the same ponds, the same statue, the same bandstand in the distance – my heart was thumping and I was dizzy by this point. I knew exactly where to go, as I had run this journey in terror thousands of times before. I walked to my destination with the grotesque familiarity stabbing me with every step. When I got to my final destination, it was one of the tall white buildings that toppled when the plane hit it. It wasn’t Deja-vu, I hadn’t been there before or in a ‘previous life’. Clapham Common was in my future.
Now, there are the obvious explanations – the formative memory of the Detroit plane crash combined with a lost memory of a video of Clapham Common. Nonetheless, I turned down future work with the Russian billionaires and will never – ever – return to that place. I figure that if I stay away, so will the plane crash. So will all the death.
I still have the nightmare.
( , Fri 4 Jul 2008, 13:10, 3 replies)
ooo *click*
I've been to Clapham Common a few times, living just down the railway line from there. I immediately thought of it as you were describing your story.
I'm guessing the plane comes down near the bandstand.
EDIT: Just read the story again, and there's the bandstand! That is a truly weird dream. Congratulations.
( , Fri 4 Jul 2008, 13:17, closed)
I've been to Clapham Common a few times, living just down the railway line from there. I immediately thought of it as you were describing your story.
I'm guessing the plane comes down near the bandstand.
EDIT: Just read the story again, and there's the bandstand! That is a truly weird dream. Congratulations.
( , Fri 4 Jul 2008, 13:17, closed)
As I figure...
There are one of two outcomes:
There is no plane crash, and I go down in history as a gobby mentalist with a shitty nightmare.
OR
There is a plane crash and the feds lock me away for terrorism.
Gee whizz, I know my preferred outcome.
( , Fri 4 Jul 2008, 13:34, closed)
There are one of two outcomes:
There is no plane crash, and I go down in history as a gobby mentalist with a shitty nightmare.
OR
There is a plane crash and the feds lock me away for terrorism.
Gee whizz, I know my preferred outcome.
( , Fri 4 Jul 2008, 13:34, closed)
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