Giants Ring, Belfast

July 25, 2011

I lived in a house that probably had a body in the roof. The bathroom had a high ceiling, and above the shower was a smallish ventilation fan, which did nothing to get rid of the mould that surrounded it. One day, while having a shower, I looked at the mould and realised, it looked a little like someone lying on their side, I could trace where the arm, leg, hip and head was. I got one of my flatmates and said “If you were going to make a shape of the mould, what would you say it looks like?” after a couple seconds of thinking he said “Looks a bit like a person”. The place was an old victorian house with a roofspace that went the entire length of the house, so we crawled up into the roofspace with a torch. Looking down the far end of the house, we could see that while it was wide open everywhere else, the space above the roofspace was bricked off, so if we’d wanted to change the ventilation fan, we would have had to have done it from beneath the ceiling in the bathroom, or bash through the brick walls.
Even before that, I got patted on the head when I was in bed, we’d hear someone running their hands across computer keyboards, doors would slam and you’d often think someone was standing behind you. Always felt safe though.

My second story is a little scarier. I was in Northern Ireland at age 10, with my older brother and younger sister, who were 2 years older and younger respectively of me. One day our Mum took us (with our Aunt) to the giants ring, which is a neolithic gravesite not far from Belfast. Imagine a donut lying flat with a piece of cloth over it, about as big as 3 football pitches, thats what it was like. In the middle of the ring was a menhir/dolmen. It was a beautiful sunny winter day when we were there, and my Mum and Aunt stayed near the car as we ran around. We walked up to the top of the circular hill and could see the menhir in the middle, and the other side of the ring beyond it, so we walked into the middle. As we were looking at the menhir, it became very cold and foggy, and soon you couldn’t see the hill that surrounded us. My sister started getting upset, so we decided to walk back to the car, well.. we walked into the mist in the right direction, but ended up coming back to the menhir. We tried another 2 times to leave, but kept getting lost in this thick-ass mist, and coming back to the menhir. We were all getting a bit teary, so my brother (who would later join the Army) came up with an idea. He’d run out into the mist, and keep our voices behind him. When he got to the hill, he’d call, and my sister would run to him, with my voice behind her. He runs into the mist, we’re all crying and screaming, but soon enough, he calls that he’s found the hill. My sister runs off towards him, and I’m left alone next to this menhir, I’ve never been so afraid in all my life. When they called, I ran like the very hounds of hell were behind me. I found them, and sobbing, we ran to the top of the hill to leave the ring, and as we got to the top, the mist lifted, and again you could see across it, the menhir in the middle, and the far side of the ring beyond. No mist whatsoever. We ran to mum, who was confused at first, because according to her, it had never changed from sunny, she’d seen no change in the weather.


Not really a ghost story, but scary enough.

– Posted by Tenebreux; Fark


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