Do you believe in ghosts ?

[Huskyxantia]

really?

[Huskyxantia]

[Huskyxantia]

Well that was the spooktober done and dusted I'm still to post my personal experience but don't feel ready just yet . As I was writing about the events of all them years ago , ive ended up having some pretty bad nightmares.... not nice I can say.

[myglaren]

[Huskyxantia]

Made me laugh

[CitroJim]

That'll be me then I look just like that when changing a duvet cover

[Huskyxantia]

Must admit I've climbed inside a few over the years , each corner first then a good shake ?

[myglaren]

I was taught by my Swedish girlfriend, before they became popular here.

Take them off so they are inside out, then once they are washed and dried it is easy to locate the duvet in the bottom corners and pull it over the duvet.

But just the day before seeing that, I did spend ages putting one on a duvet. I have no idea why but it took ages and three attempts. First time that has happened.

[Huskyxantia]

WHOS UP FOR ANOTHER SEASON OF SPOOKY STUFF THEN ????? ..... Drop your comments below

[Huskyxantia]

Im working on a book regarding an incident that happend yrs ago , here is part of chapter 2.... as this is the incident.. part off...

CHAPTER 2: THE NIGHT ON HUNTON HILL (1983)
​The heater inside the Ford Cortina blew a weak, lukewarm draft against the windscreen, barely fighting off the October chill creeping into the cabin. It was late on a Friday evening, and the car was packed to the gills—Ron at the wheel, Freda in the passenger seat, and the four kids crammed into the back, their breath fogging up the side glass.
​They were making the journey back from visiting family down in Chainhurst, cutting across the back lanes toward Tovil. Ron loved that Cortina. He was an experienced lorry driver by trade, a man who spent his life on the tarmac and took immaculate pride in his machinery. The engine purred like a clock, the oil pressure was spot on, and the distributor cap was checked and cleaned every weekend without fail.
​As the car crested the dark ridge leading down toward the Hunton Hill crossroads, the familiar Kent countryside vanished.
​The transformation was subtle at first. The warm amber glow of the dashboard lights felt dimmer. Outside, the pitch-black stretch of unlit road was swallowed by a sudden, unnatural bank of fog. It wasn't the light, drifting mist you’d expect off the fields; it was a thick, heavy soup that rolled out from the dense chestnut trees, heavy with an icy, biting dampness.
​Then, without a single sputter, backfire, or warning flickering on the dash, the engine died.
​The power cut out completely. The headlights extinguished in a split second, plunging the interior into total, suffocating darkness. The power steering went heavy, and Ron guided the silent, coasting Cortina to a halt right alongside the shadow of the thick woodland canopy.
​"What's happened, Ron?" Freda asked, her voice tight in the dark.
​"Ignition's cut out," Ron said calmly, pulling the handbrake up with a firm clack-clack-clack. "Probably just a loose lead. Stay put, all of you."
​Ron clicked open his door. The moment his boots hit the tarmac, a strange sensation washed over him. The night air was dry, but the moment he opened the bonnet and clicked on his torch, his jaw went slack.
​The engine bay was drenched. Cold, clear water was dripping off the battery terminals, running down the ignition coil, and pooled heavily over the distributor cap and HT leads—as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water straight over the engine block.
​Before Ron could process the wet machinery, the heavy silence of the woods shattered.
​A loud, frantic crunching of dry leaves and snapping branches tore through the tree line directly to their left. Out from the black abyss of the woods burst a young woman, her bare feet tearing across the gravel. She was wearing a pale, tattered hospital gown, damp and frayed at the hem, her chest heaving in absolute panic.
​She didn't run down the road. She threw herself straight at the Cortina, slamming her bare hands against the glass right next to Freda’s side window with a wet, heavy thud.

[Stickyfinger]

Boo