It’s been a while, but last night my ghostbusting sidekick and I went on another investigation. This time to an air museum and ex RAF base. We like the group we went with, but I shan’t name them. Needless to say, they are much more scrupulous than the outfit of southern cunty hunters I experienced in Brighton.
So, we’re in the welcome area and I’m looking around in hopeful anticipation of Kay Nambiar or Zak Bagan showing up to join us, because who wouldn’t like to be locked down in a tight cockpit area with these two?… but alas, not this time.
I think we were possibly two of the youngest there, again. certainly in maturity anyway. Because I am a childish, immature horrible person with a twisted sense of humour, who gets the giggles at the most inopportune of times. Imagine the scene when who did arrive, but a seriously disabled man in a wheelchair. Wrapped in a blanket and being rammed through the doorway by his carer and almost getting stuck in the door frame. They had to use the other door (the outer door) which was wider, but meant the team had to move all the tables full of kit etc in order to wheel him in. The two new arrivals then join the circle to take part in the requisite love and light protection bit, calling out to the spirits and asking them to light up the K2 etc. “Can you make a noise for us please?” someone calls out. At which point our friend in the chair lets out some involuntary moans and groans. My mate grips my hand in the dark and I am eternally grateful that the lights are off so nobody can see us trying desperately not to laugh. I’m not sure I can cope at this point.
People continue to call out, inviting spirits to join us. Some of the K2s start to light up and our friend in the chair now lets out all sorts of guttural snorting sounds and I realise after almost choking whilst trying to bite my tongue, that he is laughing. I immediately think he is fabulous and clearly a piss-taking cunt like myself.
I want to make it clear that I do think there are such things as ghosts and shadow people. I’ve seen them and heard them. (And it hasn’t always been in my head, before you say it). But I do think there is some kind of scientific explanation that, as shallow humans who only use a tiny percentage of our brains, we haven’t worked out yet. I’m trying to obtain some kind of proof or explanation. I don’t go to these things to take the piss. I enjoy these visits, I find them fascinating, from a psychological and people-watching point of view and, if nothing else, it’s an excuse to rake about in the dark in places you wouldn’t usually be allowed in at that time of night. I’m sure I have probably said so before. Between us, we’ve probably debunked more odd happenings than anything else, but that’s because we’re scientists. I’ve got a Biology GCSE, a Psychology A-level and an internet obtained diploma in Demonolgy, so it must be true.
It didn’t take us long to find a room with dressing up clothes and some of those standees you can stick your face into like on a seaside pier. It was time to let the seriousness of the investigation begin…
I like this one I photobombed and look like a minion.
My favourite part of the night was when we got to the main hangar before the rest of our team for the last part of the night and took the opportunity to pretend we were WW2 fighter pilots and fondle a joystick to see if we could pick up some psychometric vibrations – because who wouldn’t right?
My partner in crime thought it would be great to see how long we could hide, secreted aloft in our cosy cockpit perch before the rest of the team noticed we were missing. I was more preoccupied with the pareidolia in the joysticks that made them look like cute little froggies or characters from Star Wars. Also couldn’t resist this one because mentally I’m about 14.
I caved after about 10 minutes and announced our position from 5ft above the heads of our team when one of them went off to look for us. The poor lad had already had a hard time earlier on when it had all gone a bit “Hello Cleveland” from ‘Spinal Tap, when he had tramped round and round the other hangar, looking for a light switch so we could do our vigil in the dark.
Luckily the Team Leader seems to like us, so after a sigh and “Oh it’s you two” whilst shining a torch at us, we were allowed to remain in our cockpit. It was weird sitting up high and watching the others do their human pendulums and ouija boards. Somebody’s grandad supposedly came through (or possibly the Big Lebowski, because he was apparently drinking white Russians in the afterlife). I’m not sure why grandad couldn’t have contacted them in their own home rather than trekking all the way to an aircraft hangar in South Yorkshire, but what do I know? I was pretty knackered by this time. Linda nodded off for a few moments at one point. I thought I saw a few shadows in the darkness but we decided it could just have been our friend in the wheelchair doing an Andy from ‘Little Britain’ after getting bored being laid in his wheelchair staring into space. – “How did you get up there in that cockpit?” / “I fell!” Or possibly it was just my failing eyesight.
No headless airmen or creepy children in gasmasks asking for their mummy (Doctor Who fans). Just a few shadows, bleeping tech (some of it debunked), the odd clunking noise and a sigh in the ear (possibly an actual spirit voicing despair at the pair of us) but otherwise nothing definitive.
Better than the ‘walking’ tables and profanity-laden ouija board we got in the police cells at Brighton though. Would rather have nothing but have good laugh than a lot of chicanery and faking.
Can only apologise to anyone who was using the sound enhancing headphones and could hear me and Linda whispering utter shite to one another in the cockpit of an old Percival Provost. Particularly the part where Linda (I forget why) started pretending to be Wacko Jacko and saying “Course I fucked those little boys, what did you all think? ” etc etc
I’ve still to listen back to my EVP recordings (I need to listen to them from Brighton too actually) but I suspect it will be the usual 1 hour of dead air spattered with Muttleyesque sniggering and random whispered quotes from ‘The League of Gentlemen’, ‘Little Britain’ or ‘Fonejacker’. I’m amazed they let us back.
Clearly, I’m probably going to hell for appearing to mock the deceased and the disabled. But I think we know that my place downstairs was reserved a long time ago – early bird ticket style. I’m not mocking. It just made for an even more amusing evening that I needed to write about even though I appreciate that you kind of had to be there.