Hi guys,

I've been meaning to tell this story for years. It's something that happened to me and a group of mates back in 1993 at Wolverhampton Wanderers Football Club in England. I'm now in my fifties, and I can still remember some of the strangest little details like they happened yesterday.

Before I start, I should probably explain that I'm what I'd call an optimistic sceptic. I'd absolutely love ghosts, spirits and all that weird shit to be real, but I'm not convinced they are. Even after what happened to us, I still don't know what to believe. Anyway, here goes...

THE HOUSE PARTY

It's 1993. I'm eighteen years old, I've just left sixth form, and I'm living in Wolverhampton in the English Midlands. At the time, I was doing occasional cash-in-hand work at Wolverhampton Wanderers Football Club, helping out with various odd jobs during the summer and on match days. A mate of mine had an uncle who was the club's commercial manager, so we occasionally got roped into doing whatever needed doing.

One night, I'm at a house party with a bunch of mates. We're all your typical early-nineties long-haired reprobates, listening to Cypress Hill, the Beastie Boys, grunge, that sort of thing. Two friends of mine, Sheriff and Neil, start telling us about some weird shit that's been happening at the football ground. They'd spent the day clearing out an old ticket office inside the John Ireland Stand at Molineux, Wolves' stadium. The ticket office was no longer in use, having been replaced by a newer one, and had essentially become a dumping ground for old club stock, police barriers, signs and general rubbish.

Now, the layout of this place is important. The ticket office was effectively a concrete building inside the football stand. It had its own flat roof, and if you went outside through the rear fire exits, you could actually look up and see the roof of this internal building. The main ticket office had desks, glass partitions and the usual stuff you'd expect. But through a single door on the left was another room: a completely windowless, square concrete room with double fire doors at the back. And for some utterly ridiculous reason, the light switch was right at the far end of this room, next to those fire doors. Meaning that to turn the light on, you had to walk all the way through the pitch darkness first. Whoever designed that deserves a medal.

Anyway, Sheriff and Neil reckon things have been flying around this room all day. And Neil shows us a mark on his stomach, claiming a bloody can opener had flown across the room and hit him. Naturally, we're all thinking, yeah, bollocks. We've had a few drinks, and this sounds like complete nonsense. So myself and three other mates, Cush, Rob and Mark, decide we're going down there the next day to see this supposedly haunted room for ourselves.

THE FIRST VISIT

The following day, Cush drives us into town and we park at Molineux. As we're walking around towards the John Ireland Stand, Sheriff and Neil come running around the corner, looking absolutely terrified. Of course, we assume they've spotted us arriving and are putting on an act. We're convinced this is some elaborate wind-up.

So we go inside. The old ticket office is pretty much as described. A bit decrepit, full of junk, but nothing particularly unusual. Then we see the door to the back room, and immediately I'm thinking, oh, fuck this. Not because I believe there's a ghost in there, but because it's absolutely pitch black. I'm convinced somebody is hiding in there, waiting to jump out or throw something at us. We shine a torch around. There's nobody there. Just an old sink, an empty fish tank, various bits of rubbish and a little cupboard area off to the left containing a toilet.

So I come up with what I think is a foolproof plan. We'll all go inside, and I'll go in last, keeping my hand on the door handle. That way, if somebody tries anything stupid, I can immediately open the door and let the light from the ticket office flood in. Simple.

We all shuffle inside. I'm the last one through. I pull the door shut behind me, keeping my hand firmly on the handle. And the instant that door closes... SMASH! Something hits the wall right next to my fucking head. I mean, right next to it.

We absolutely shit ourselves. Every single one of us bolts out of that room, through the ticket office and straight outside into the street, all shouting, "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?"

After a minute or two, we start trying to rationalise it. Surely somebody must be hiding in there? But then we realise something. If somebody had deliberately thrown something that close to my face, they could have seriously injured me. That's a pretty fucking extreme practical joke.

So we go back inside. The door to the dark room is still open, and the light from the ticket office is shining through. And there, on the floor, is a smashed mug. Not a little teacup. A proper, heavy British tea mug. Something had apparently thrown it across the room, hard enough to smash it against the wall.

Now we're starting to get a bit confused. But we're teenage lads, so naturally, rather than doing the sensible thing and leaving, we decide to investigate further. There are loads of old mugs, spoons and other bits lying around. I grab a handful of spoons and chuck them into the dark room, towards the rear fire doors. They clatter onto the floor. Nothing happens. I don't even know what I expected. Maybe something would throw them back?

Anyway, we shine the torch into the room. And there are five spoons, perfectly lined up, parallel to the door, evenly spaced like piano keys. Now, I know how ridiculous that sounds. But that's exactly what I remember seeing. We hadn't arranged them. We'd just thrown them in. And yet there they were. At this point, none of us really knows what the fuck to think.

GETTING PAID TO WORK IN A HAUNTED ROOM

A couple of days later, Sheriff asks if I fancy coming back to Molineux to help with some work. Apparently, they need people to stuff envelopes for season ticket renewals, and the work is in that same old ticket office. Well, obviously I'm going. I want to know what the hell is happening in there.

This time it's me, Sheriff, and three other lads called Matt, John and Andy. The new lads have heard our stories but think we're completely full of shit. Fair enough. I probably would too.

So we're sitting in the ticket office, stuffing envelopes, and we start messing about with the dark room. Nobody particularly wants to go inside it. At one point, somebody throws an empty two-litre pop bottle through the doorway. Nothing happens. We carry on talking. And then, completely out of nowhere, the fucking bottle comes flying back out of the room. Not rolling. Not falling. Flying out, as though somebody has picked it up and thrown it.

Cue another mass evacuation. We're all running outside like excited children, simultaneously terrified and laughing our heads off. Eventually, we gather our composure and go back inside, and now we're telling the new lads, "SEE? WE FUCKING TOLD YOU!"

So we decide to try something else. We get a large roll of two-inch Sellotape and roll it into the room. And it just comes rolling straight back out. At this point, the whole thing is becoming so ridiculous that it's almost stopped being frightening. It's like something out of a bloody film. We're laughing because we genuinely don't know how else to react.

Then we hear something. Click. Click. Click. A strange ticking noise coming from inside the room. We shine the torch around, trying to work out where it's coming from. Eventually, the beam lands on the old fish tank, and what we see is bizarre. It looks as though somebody is flicking individual grains of aquarium gravel against the opposite side of the glass. One at a time. Click. Click. Click. We actually see the last little piece of gravel hit the glass and drop. And then it stops. There's nobody there. Nothing moving. Just this stupid old fish tank. What the actual fuck?

THE WORLD'S STUPIDEST GHOST INVESTIGATION

Now here's the bit I find almost as strange as the actual events. We started getting used to it. Seriously. This stuff went on for a week or two, and eventually it became almost normal. We went from being absolutely terrified to treating whatever was happening like some mischievous little bastard we could mess around with.

At one point, we developed what can only be described as the world's stupidest paranormal experiment. We'd get one of those old metal police barriers and have somebody stand in the doorway holding it in front of their face. Like something out of Jackass, years before Jackass existed. The other lads would then throw random objects into the dark room, and stuff would come flying back out, hitting the barrier. Then somebody else would have a turn. I mean, what the fuck were we thinking? But that's genuinely how we behaved. It was almost like whatever was in there, assuming there was anything, was playing along with us.

Eventually, we became so complacent that we'd just sit there stuffing envelopes, hear some weird noise coming from the room and barely acknowledge it. We were getting paid cash to do a job. Nothing had seriously hurt us. So we basically decided, fuck it, just don't go in there.

TRYING TO FIND AN EXPLANATION

Eventually, we did get brave enough to go into the room and turn the light on. And here's the disappointing part. It was just a room. A messy, windowless concrete room. No sinister atmosphere, no sudden freezing temperatures, none of the usual haunted-house clichés. Just an old room full of rubbish. Occasionally we'd hear scratching or other strange noises, but we never saw anything particularly dramatic happen while the light was on. We certainly never saw some ghostly figure floating around.

We were actually a bit disappointed. Part of me was hoping we'd discover some clever mechanism or hidden trick that explained everything. But we couldn't find anything.

Then we remembered the roof. As I mentioned earlier, this ticket office was essentially a building inside another building. You could go outside through the rear fire doors and look up at its flat concrete roof. So, naturally, we decided to try the spoon experiment again. Only this time, instead of throwing them into the dark room, we threw some spoons up onto the roof. And the bloody things came flying back off the roof at us. I genuinely don't know what else to say about that. It was mental.

THE BARRICADED DOORS

Another strange thing happened on two separate occasions. We arrived at the ticket office and found that the doors had somehow been barricaded from the inside. Old police barriers and signs had been stacked or leaned against the doors, making it difficult to get in.

Naturally, we assumed somebody had entered through the rear fire exit and arranged everything as a prank. Except there was a problem with that explanation. The rear fire doors opened outwards and could only be opened from the inside. They weren't ordinary doors you could just walk through from outside. And we couldn't work out how somebody could have got in, barricaded the entrance and then left. It happened twice.

Again, I'm not claiming this proves anything supernatural. I'm just telling you what happened and why we found it so bloody strange.

AND THEN IT STOPPED

Eventually, after a week or two, everything just stopped. No more flying objects. No more strange noises. Nothing.

I remember being asked to work in that back room on my own one day. And despite all the messing about we'd done, I was absolutely shitting myself. Because it's one thing being part of a group of teenage lads, all laughing and encouraging each other. It's quite another being alone in a windowless room where you've apparently witnessed objects flying around. But how do you explain to a grown man that you don't want to do your job because there might be a fucking ghost in there? So I went in, turned the light on and got on with tidying the room. Nothing happened. And that was pretty much the end of it.

THE PRIEST

There's one other story from around that time, although I need to stress that I didn't witness this myself. Sheriff told me that his uncle, who worked at the club, had become fed up with all the talk about strange things happening. Apparently, he arranged for a priest from the university across the road to come and have a look. According to Sheriff, the priest walked into the place, took a look around and promptly walked back out, apparently saying something along the lines of not wanting to be involved with whatever was going on in there.

Now, whether that actually happened, I have absolutely no idea. And even if it did, I don't know whether the bloke genuinely sensed something strange or simply thought everyone was wasting his time. But it's certainly a bloody good addition to the story. Straight out of a horror film.

THIRTY YEARS OF TRYING TO WORK IT OUT

Here's the thing. Sheriff and I subsequently lived together as housemates for about ten years. And over those years, I asked him countless times whether the whole thing had been an elaborate wind-up. Sometimes we'd been drinking. Sometimes we'd been smoking weed. Sometimes we'd just be reminiscing about the old days. And I'd ask him again: "Come on, mate. Seriously. Was it all bullshit?"

Every single time, he swore blind it wasn't. He even swore on his family's lives that it had never been a prank. Now, obviously, that doesn't prove anything. But if it was a wind-up, it was one of the most elaborate practical jokes I've ever encountered. We're talking Rob Bottin doing the special effects for The Thing levels of ingenuity.

And the biggest problem I have with the prank explanation is that we were picking up completely random objects and throwing them into the room ourselves. Nobody could have known in advance what we were going to throw. So how could everything have been rigged with strings or mechanisms? And where was the person operating it? We searched that room. There wasn't anybody hiding in there. I still can't explain it.

THE SPIRITUALIST EXPLANATION

There's a slightly odd postscript to this story. When I was in my late twenties, I'd moved back in with my parents for a while. They'd become interested in spiritualism. That's another whole story in itself, including my dad apparently going into trances and speaking in what was supposed to be a Native American language. But I'll save that particular madness for another day.

Anyway, I attended a few of these spiritualist circles. And being the sceptical bastard I am, I eventually asked one of the mediums about what had happened at Molineux. She told me that the spirit was supposedly somebody who'd worked at the football club. A caretaker or groundsman, something along those lines. Apparently, this person didn't want to leave the place.

Now, I'm sorry, but that explanation immediately struck me as a bit convenient. If somebody tells you they've experienced paranormal activity at a football stadium, it's hardly a massive leap to suggest a former player, groundsman or caretaker. So I took that with a fairly large pinch of salt.

But something else she said has always stuck in my mind. She claimed I was some sort of human battery for spirits. Apparently, I had a particularly strong aura or high energy output, and spirits could draw on that energy to manifest or move objects. Again, this is all spiritualist stuff, and I'm not saying I believe any of it. But it did make me think about one very specific detail. Nothing happened on that first visit until I put my hand on the door handle and pulled the door shut. And then all hell broke loose. Coincidence? Almost certainly. But it's a weird little detail I've never forgotten.

THE STRANGEST PART OF ALL

Looking back, I think the thing that fascinates me most isn't actually the flying mugs, the spoons or the bottle. It's how quickly we became accustomed to the whole thing. You'd think witnessing something apparently impossible would be this life-changing, terrifying experience. And initially, it was frightening. But within days, we were treating it like a bloody game. It almost felt mischievous rather than malicious, like whatever was happening was responding to our behaviour.

It wasn't some terrifying encounter that left me traumatised. It was just this bizarre, almost comical couple of weeks in the summer of 1993. And then it stopped. No grand finale. No dramatic exorcism. No explanation. Just back to normal.

I'm now in my fifties, and I can still picture that room, the layout of the building, the smashed mug, those perfectly arranged spoons and the little bits of fish tank gravel hitting the glass. I can remember the lads running outside, absolutely shitting themselves, and then laughing about it five minutes later. And I can remember how utterly ordinary it all eventually became.

I've spent over thirty years wondering what the hell actually happened in that room. Was it an incredibly elaborate prank? Some bizarre combination of coincidences and teenage imagination? Or did we genuinely experience something that science hasn't yet explained? I really don't know. And that's coming from somebody who'd absolutely love the paranormal to be real, but still can't quite bring himself to believe it.

Anyway, that's my story. I'd genuinely love to hear what you guys make of it. Because after all these years, I still haven't got a fucking clue.

Cheers

Shu

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Take a closer look at this picture! Two strange faces appear to be staring out from behind the car window, sending chills down your spine! One seems to be sitting in the back seat, while the other appears to be looking forward. But the real mystery is—are these actually ghostly faces, or just strange reflections on the glass? Could the camera have captured something that defies explanation? 👀😨

What do you see in this picture—two ghostly faces or just a strange play of light and shadows? 👻😱

Visit my channel for ghostly investigations arcoss the uk with emf and evp captured, alone at night

i took this last night when i attended the Rose Hill Cemetery 5K fun run/walk in Chicago.

At 15:18, listen. What is this one sound/ word, possibly the words, 'and fast,' but stated in a completely different and guttural voice.

I haven't watched the rest of the video as I post this, but I am going to immediately, and I will update if anything else strange is heard.

It really freaks me out though. Any thoughts?

Well besides a 58 year old man named Larry Bulot who sees, feels, hears, photographs hundreds of spirits.- I'm not sure. I'm not even sure I am in the right place. I mean how many places can you go to claiming this and even more? I have had this gift since I was a little boy and i've been alone in my ability. Most people think you're crazy when you claim these sorts of things. Crazy until I show them my evidence. I started photographing what I saw because I felt like if someone else could see what I am seeing then I'm not crazy. What blows my mind the most is that along the way there was no shortage of experiences. Visions about the end days, out of body visions about death and heaven, demonic attacks and demonic visitation ( 2 times ) Angelic visitations. I have been chased away from 2 different tarot mediums who were terrified saying i must leave immediately, they didnt have permission, you're marked

What i remember about the book

1. Not fiction, it was academic (concerned with paranormal and psychic).

2. I don't know about the rest of the content but the initial chapter had many first hand accounts, one after the other,

Stories about people being visited by apparitions of their loved ones about to die.

1. It was an older book(not of the 21st century)

2. In English

Not Phantom of the Living nor human personality and its survival of bodily death

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