Whap
Now, I work in local government so am especially cynical and sceptical of anything that doesn't have a governmental BVPI target attached. I heard a tale just recently that has spooked me considerably, and made me re-assess my life, career and everything.

My colleague was recounting his story about how he works as a neighbourhood warden, one of those luck-less few who have a responsibility to address incidents of anti-social behaviour whilst having no powers to support them.

He was out, late one evening, close to where an old air-raid-shelter cum gun emplacement lay next to one of the beaches...

Now the story got to how, in the years intervening since the second world war, there had been tales of the supernatural that passed from generation of schoolboy to generation of schoolboy involving the screams of torment, cold-spots and shadowy figures haunting this particular remnant of the past - and - as a schoolboy himself, once upon a time, he was fully conversant with the whole ghostly history.

So, imagine if you will, his pure terror as he heard a distinct moan emanating from the shelter one cold and misty evening. OooooOOOOoooHHH OOooOOOOOhhhhh OOOOOOOoooOOoooh but, burdened with the onset of adulthood and his neighbourhood warden remit to boot, he felt compelled to investigate.

So he crept towards the shelter, one foot in front of the other, hoping beyond hope he didn't step on a twig or, more pertinently come face to face with a vile spectre, until, faced with the broken and rusty door, he poked his head around...

To be confronted by an old bloke, keks round his ankles, cracking one off his wrinkly old Hampton into a jar.

Sweet.
(Chickenwire social lubricator extraordinaire, Mon 7 Jul 2008, 10:30, Reply)