I was at a funeral and as I was leaving, walking through the graveyard, there was a freshly dug grave and the head stone had my name on it… just the name … no date of birth or death. Pretty spooky.
I have a few more paranormal stories I might add later.
Best one yet, holy fuck.
Kind of not really a ghost story but spooky nevertheless.
When I was a little kid of preschool age I used to be found by my Mum chattering away to thin air. I’d be talking, asking questions and what have you, to all intents and purposes it appeared that I was having a conversation with someone as I’d wait for a while and look as though I was listening for a response and off I’d go again babbling to the invisible other.
She put it down to me imagining a playmate, an imaginary friend if you will, as one would. I’d do this all the time. She’d hear me when I was about the house in other rooms and look out into the garden and I’d be talking to no one and gesturing as if I was playing with someone.
Then objects started getting moved around the house. She would put something down and a few minutes later go back and it was no longer there. She’d ask if I’d seen it or moved it and I’d always say, ‘it wasn’t me’. The thing would turn up somewhere else in a random spot in the house. I guess she thought that I was moving stuff around because I thought it was funny or something. She was right. It was me moving things about for a giggle. That was until…
One day my Dad was at home looking after me and his pen went missing from his desk. He’d seen me pick it up at some point that morning but he’d used it since then, had come back to his desk and couldn’t find it. He asked if I had it. I insisted that I hadn’t seen or touched it since he’d seen me pick it up earlier in the day. He looked high and low for it and couldn’t find it.
I don’t remember exactly but I can imagine he was probably getting a bit pissed off and was undoubtedly blaming me for picking it up and wandering off with it. He confronted me again and asked what I’d done with it. I got quite upset by all accounts, repeatedly saying that ‘it wasn’t me’.
He said, ‘well if it wasn’t you, who was it?’
‘It wasn’t me. It was Gocky. Gocky takes things and hides them’.
My Dad’s attitude completely changed. Colour drained from his face.
‘What did you say?’
‘It wasn’t me. It was Gocky. Gocky did it’.
My Mum had come home and walked in as this was going on and was obviously confused. My Dad was, by her account, absolutely freaked out. I was upset. I explained that Dad’s pen had gone missing from his desk and that he thought that I’d taken it but it wasn’t me. She went off to his study and came back with his pen. It was, according to her, just sitting in plain sight on his desk.
That’s a little weird. But what’s weirder and gives us all goosebumps to this day is that my imaginary friend’s name was Gocky, though neither of my parents knew this, and the reason that my Dad was so spooked was, when he was a boy, he too had an imaginary friend who, you guessed it, was also named Gocky. He’d never mentioned it to either me or my Mum and hadn’t thought about it in years until, bam! I threw Gocky’s name out and scared the shit out of him. Spooky,eh?
Fucking hell.
Just started this.
Cool, I’ll give that a listen later as it’s definitely that time of year.
I’ve been saving up some M R James classics for around Christmas. Here’re a few to be going on with…
Love those old ghost stories! Mark Gatiss is doing another this year too: Kit Harington And Mark Gatiss Teaming Up For BBC Christmas Ghost Story Lot No.249
I’ll keep eye out for that. Gatiss’ adaptation of The Tractate Middoth was good as was his Crooked House three-parter, and I’m sure he did a couple of others that are slipping my mind right now, (I’ve been up since 2am and my old brain’s had enough).
I will have told this story on here before years ago…
Christmas morning in a crazy old flat above a shop, I went downstairs to get some water. I poked my head into the living room and shouted upstairs to my wife “Santa’s been” she called back “howdya know” So I shouted “There’s Presents here” and in that instant a DVD flew off the shelf right next to me and landed on the floor 5 feet away from the sideboard. I ran back upstairs giggling like a child.
That flat was odd but always felt nice. I always felt I had people watching me when I was on my own playing my guitar. You could smell cat piss for a few seconds quite regularly and my wife saw a cat twice in there and there is no way it could have gotten in, out etc.
Loved that place but the owners were dicks.
