Two Men and a Ghost

12th podcast - more local ghost stories!

2011-02-06T03:39:00.000-08:00

Can you believe, we're already up to our twelfth podcast. And they said it wouldn't last! Well, there's lots more where this came from, and this time we share more local ghost stories from the comfort of a Skype call.

Will we go off on tangents all the time and keep inserting silly sound effects? You betcha...

Stream the podcast up there, download the full 42¾ minutes at the bottom of this page, or subscribe to us on iTunes.

Live podcast from Hagg Hill

2011-01-29T09:39:00.000-08:00

You've read about our adventures on Hagg Hill before (see here).

Well, not content with our written account, we decided to return to the scene of the crime and record a live podcast really late at night (it was nearly 10 o'clock!). Did we finally find the hag of Hagg Hill, or did we just chat about her bloomers?

Find out by streaming the podcast up there, downloading the full 43¾ minutes at the bottom of this page, or subscribing to us on iTunes.

The first 2MG podcast of 2011

2011-01-19T10:43:00.000-08:00

Yup. Finally! It's the first 2MG podcast of 2011.

The guys behind Two Men and a Ghost look back, look forward, and look strange. Includes exclusive audio of their nocturnal excursion to haunted Beauchief Abbey. Whew!

You can stream the podcast up there, download the full 27½ minutes at the bottom of this page, or subscribe to us on iTunes.

Happy 2nd day of 2011!

2011-01-02T05:05:00.000-08:00

We're so considerate here at 2MG. We decided to wait until the avalanche of New Year's Greetings died down before conveying our own best wishes for 2011.

It's nothing to do with the fact that we forgot to post this yesterday ... nosiree ... not us...

The 2MG e-card ('cause we're too cheap to send a real card)

2010-12-25T07:24:00.000-08:00

2MG Christmas podcast!

2010-12-24T08:02:00.000-08:00

It's here! Our very first podcast Christmas special! It comes to you live from Meadowhall Shopping Centre in Sheffield amidst the hustle and bustle and all the festive anticipation.

Or maybe not. Maybe we couldn't be arsed and stayed at home instead, swapping seasonal ghost stories and telling Christmas cracker jokes...

You can stream the podcast up there, download the full 37 minutes at the bottom of this page, or subscribe to us on iTunes.

Hans and Olaf from Bovaria

2010-12-23T06:13:00.001-08:00

Wow! The plot thickens. Just received this email from Mike:

Hi Wooders,

I don't believe it! So there I was checking out loads of dusty old files in the 2MG Mansions basement, when I suddenly came across the attached picture. Totally up to you if you feel you'd like to use it.

Reading the background information, it appears that after Sir Reggie Droppings received the charter to set up 2MG from Queen Victoria, two members of the original team came from Bovaria. Hans and Olaf Biggiedickiesonn were sent out to investigate the Beast of Baildon Moor, but whilst nothing is mentioned as to what really happened, it appears that Hans returned to live out his days in Bovaria, whilst Olaf went to live in Sheffield. It seems that he opened a joke shop in Fulwood called Olaf A Minute!

Just as a side note, I discovered that many years later in the '60s, Sister Betty of The Holy Order of the Bearded Lady and Donkey equally tried to look into the case of the Beast of Baildon Moor, but with no success.

All amazing stuff, isn't it?

Best,

Mike ... covered in dust!

PS. Forgot to mention, I think that Olaf is the one on the right.

PPS. I was just thinking, do you think it possible that either Hans or Olaf were ever married? I couldn't find any details of a next of kin. I'll keep looking.

Another revealing document

2010-12-22T12:50:00.001-08:00

Exclusively revealed here is another document from our basement which was revealed to me by Mike. (Click on the image above to reveal the full-sized version and read the revealing text.)

As you can see, it reveals more about our origins and is very revealing.

Andrew

PS. Did I say it was revealing?

The founder of Two Men and a Ghost

2010-12-21T04:12:00.001-08:00

Following on from yesterday's revealing blog post, here is another startling document from the anals of time (or should that be annals?).

Could it be true that Two Men and a Ghost was founded by a Sir in 1859 rather than two struggling comics professionals over a cheap milkshake in Meadowhall Shopping Centre?

The truth is out there...

(In other words, it isn't here...)

Important documents come to light

2010-12-20T09:12:00.000-08:00

Mike found the above while ferreting around in the basement of 2MG Mansions. He was trying to find the box of well-used Christmas decorations for our fold-up plastic tree, but instead he unearthed some important documents relating to the history of our organisation.

Turns out Two Men and a Ghost started decades before our casual chat in Meadowhall Shopping Centre two years ago. None other than royal personage Queen Victoria may have had a hand or two in setting us up, before we were even born! Anyone would think we were Torchwood or something.

More intriguing documents to come...

The 7 posts of Christmas

2010-12-19T09:16:00.000-08:00

As a special treat to our thousands of ... er, hundreds of ... er, couple of followers, we will be posting something each day for the next seven days, leading up to a specially designed Christmas card, appropriately enough on Christmas Day itself!

Call it our own special Two Men and a Ghost Advent calendar, but without the tiny chocolates and the snakes and ladders game on the back.

Today's tasty treat is our appearance this morning on Rony's Panel on BBC Radio Sheffield (listen at this link while you can - the file will be out of date by Boxing Day). Hear what the men behind Two Men and a Ghost think about faith schools, the nativity story and what our favourite Christmas songs are.

We are joined by the legend that is Van Morrison, Ulster musician who has entranced millions throughout the decades with his soulful voice and catchy compositions.

(What was that? Sorry. Got it wrong. It was Val Morrison, moderator of the general assembly of the United Reformed Church. But we're sure she's just as soulful and catchy.)

8th podcast - Yorkshire ghost stories!

2010-12-13T11:12:00.000-08:00

Amazing! Eight podcasts in ... and still going strong! Just...

This time we have a natter about true-life Yorkshire ghost stories, take to the road for the mad monk of Stocksbridge bypass, wear out the batteries on Mike's novelty sound machine, and try (but fail desperately) not to go off on too many tangents.

You can stream the podcast up there, download the full 40¾ minutes at the bottom of this page, or subscribe to us on iTunes.

7th podcast - What exactly is a ghost?

2010-12-05T08:08:00.000-08:00

In our latest podcast, we confront the thorny question at the heart of our endeavours: 'What exactly is a ghost?'

Along the way we listen to a story from the making of Doctor Who's 'Revenge of the Cybermen', we read two entries from our ghost story competition and announce the winner, and Mike dances naked to torchlight while humming the theme to 'Tales of the Unexpected'. Good job this isn't a video podcast...

You can stream the podcast up there, download the full 36½ minutes at the bottom of this page, or subscribe to us on iTunes.

Amy Wake is the winner of our ghost story competition, and her entry will be featured on this very blog shortly, along with a specially drawn cartoon which will be winging its way to her in the post.

In the meantime, here is the runner-up's entry from Keith Webster in Sheffield. The runner-up's prize is ... erm ... having your story read out loud on our podcast and published on this blog. Sorry it's not a car or a package holiday in Marbeya or anything...

I used to live on Broomgrove Road in Sheffield. Our accommodation consisted of two rooms on one side of hallway, one room other side. I had to stand at bottom of staircase to unlock the door to room.

One evening I was unlocking door when I saw someone standing at the side of me. I said, ‘Can I help you?’ No answer when I looked round at the person. I saw it was someone in uniform. The uniform was from the First World War type. The person just smiled at me. I turned my head away to put key in door, and when I turned back, the person had gone.

They could not pass me on the stairs, and the entrance door at the end of the hallway was too far away for them to have reached it and gone outside in such a short time. The building at that time was a block of flats.

A couple of weeks later we heard screaming coming from one of the upstairs flats. We ran up to see what was happening.

The young lady who lived in the flat was terrified. She had been laid on her bed, watching TV, when she felt as if someone was watching her. She looked over to where her chair was and saw a man sitting there. Her windows were locked and no one had come down the stairs. When we asked her to describe the man, it was the same as the man I had seen.

A few months later, I was clearing out an old attic room for the landlord when I found an old chest inside it. I found old account books, NAAFI price lists for Blanco, moustache wax, etc. Also were account books for wages for staff and running of premises, wages, food and sheets and shrouds.

When I approached the landlord with these, he decided to look into the history of the building and found out that during the First World War it had been a home for wounded and badly injured officers.

The house number was 39. It now belongs to the university.

6th podcast - celebrity ghosts!

2010-11-19T09:18:00.000-08:00

Here's the fantastic (ish) 6th podcast from Two Men and a Ghost. This time, Mike and Andrew talk into a crappy laptop microphone about celebrities and ghosts: Lady Gaga, Karen Gillan, Liberace, CS Lewis (and more). Also, do animals have an afterlife? All this, and Mike's annoying sound machine.

We've already had some nice feedback from Dave in Huyton, who said he ... 'stumbled upon your podcast and it has cheered me up no end'.

So if you want to cheer up your end, stream the podcast up there, download the full 34 minutes at the bottom of this page, or subscribe to us on iTunes.

Halloween podcast (just a little bit late...)

2010-11-14T13:31:00.000-08:00

Only the good folks at Two Men and a Ghost have the guts to bring you a Halloween podcast that's two weeks late. That's just the sort of guys we are.

And what a podcast!

Recorded on two continents, Andrew found himself in southern California during the Halloween festivities, and Mike found himself in ... er ... Butlin's, Skegness.

Is Halloween different in England and America? Mike had a chat with a zombie, and he describes the world's worst ghost train. Andrew, meanwhile, experiences the House of Horrors at Universal Studios and has a lengthy chat with a rollercoaster addict at Knott's Scary Farm, who reveals that she's taking her ex-boyfriend to court.

It doesn't get much better than this.

(Actually, it probably does.)

Stream it here, download the full 30 minutes at the bottom of this page, or subscribe to us on iTunes.

Happy Halloween from 2MG!

2010-10-30T23:06:00.000-07:00

Halloween greetings from your friends at Two Men and a Ghost!

Currently, the two men (but not the ghost) are on holiday in two separate continents: Andrew's in sunny Southern California, while Mike is living it up at Butlin's in Skegness.

Not wanting to neglect their 2MG duties, they have gone armed with tape recorders and promise to report on the differences between Halloween festivities in the UK and the USA.

Their conclusions will be expertly edited together into a seamless multinational podcast. Just as soon as Andrew's managed to find a cheap tape splicer at a car boot sale...

4th podcast ... with voices from beyond!

2010-10-22T02:27:00.000-07:00

Yes, we're proud to unveil our fourth podcast, with voices from beyond ... sanity: namely, Mike Kazybrid and Andrew Wooding.

They swap ghost stories in a car down a dark country lane in the appropriately named Hell-Clough. Mike reveals his ghostly globes, and Andrew unveils his EMF recorder which appears to record sounds from the spirit world.

Eavesdrop on their conversation as they natter about death, revenge, infidelity ... and Des O'Connor!

Stream it here, or download the full 30 minutes at the bottom of this page.

3rd podcast live from Meadowhall shopping centre

2010-10-09T13:31:00.000-07:00

In our 3rd podcast we rave about the latest issue of Haunted magazine, now on sale in WH Smith's shops all over the UK. We start off in the WH Smith's in Meadowhall shopping centre in Sheffield and are gobsmacked to discover that it's already sold out. Then we wander down the escalator to Costa Coffee to crunch ice cubes and have a lively natter about ghosts in the House of Fraser, the joys of Poundland, Rolf Harris, hoovers, and quite a lot more.

Stream it here, or download the full 40 minutes at the bottom of this page. The paranormal was never as abnormal as this...

2nd podcast from Two Men and a Ghost!

2010-10-03T09:25:00.000-07:00

This time we go out and about on the streets of Sheffield really late at night. While trying not to bump into clubbers or get run over, we natter about local sightings of Dick Turpin, an infamous goosing ghost, the spectral smell of smelly vegetables, Kate Bush (nothing to do with ghosts - we just like Kate Bush), and the fact that we desperately need the loo. Do we manage to hold out till the end of the recording...?

Stream it here, or download the full 39 minutes at the bottom of this page. You will ... I mean, won't regret it.

1st ever Two Men and a Ghost podcast!

2010-09-14T12:42:00.000-07:00

At last. Here it is. In all its primitive audio goodness! The first ever podcast from the men (and ghost) behind Two Men and a Ghost.

We ventured forth to Bunting Nook at night in search of that which cannot be found. Then afterwards we retired to Mike's car to pick our noses, crunch a few Polo mints and record our thoughts ... and get stopped by the police twice, live on mp3.

Stream it here, or download the full 37 minutes at the bottom of this page.

Then listen in the dark under the covers at night ... if you have insomnia.

Ghost hunters at Bunting Nook at night

2010-09-12T06:25:00.000-07:00

The Buddhists like our videos! (by Andrew Wooding)

2010-09-10T10:39:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I'm going to scour YouTube for the best, most convincing and highest quality ghost videos ... then write about them here.

And speaking of the best, most convincing and highest quality ghost videos ... our own efforts (if Google is to be believed) have been cropping up in the most unlikely of places.

One such place is the Buddhist Clips website. Their motto is: 'to abstain from bad action, to do good and to purify the mind', and to promote these noble aims, they've included some of our fine, uplifting and purifying videos for the edification of Buddhists around the world.

Just type twomenandaghost into the search engine on their home page (and do the same for the other fine websites listed below).

The World News site, as well as reporting on matters of peace, international politics and social justice, has included videos of Mike with Marmite smeared on his face and close-ups of his green plastic lizard.

Formula1 movies does just what it says on the tin ... mostly. Alongside countless exciting videos of Grand Prix races and other breathtaking tournaments, there's me and Mike pootling up the Stocksbridge bypass in the dark and getting completely lost. Maybe they included it as an example of how not to drive?

Finally, there's Klub Site (Football Club Videos Online). It promises the 'best football club videos', so why do they also include our ghost hunting exploits? Simple. Our videos are a load of balls.

Ghost hunters at Beauchief Abbey at night

2010-09-08T11:32:00.000-07:00

5 days to the end of our summer competition...

2010-08-26T09:56:00.001-07:00

Here's the final reminder for our summer 'ghost story' competition, which ends on the last day of August.

We haven't found any ghosts yet, but you probably have. So jot down your true life experience (doesn't have to be more than a paragraph or two) and include it in a comment at the end of this post, or email it to twomenandaghost@hotmail.com.

Entries received so far include a ghost in First World War uniform, piercing screams from an upstairs floor, and a paranormal encounter in a bathtub. All good stuff, but we want to read more!

Best submission gets turned into a newspaper-style comic strip like the one above, drawn by our very own Mychailo Kaybrid who is currently illustrating the hugely popular Wallace & Gromit strip in The Sun.

The strip will be published on this blog, and the winner will be sent the highly collectable original artwork, signed by our very selves. I am sure you will agree that this is a prize to treasure for ever. So get scribbling and send us your tales!

On a side note, the strip above refers to our expedition to Beauchief Abbey last summer. You can read about it here.

Eager to relive that momentous evening (when, significantly, we spectacularly failed to find anything), we are about to set forth again to the haunted abbey to recreate our non-experiences in video form.

Soon to be uploaded to YouTube and embedded in this blog, it promises to be a visual feast, an aural treat and an anti-climactic extravaganza.

So watch this space ... but not for too long or your eyes will go funny.

Sheffield Ghost Hunters on the Road (Part 2)

2010-08-13T02:35:00.000-07:00

Sheffield Ghost Hunters on the Road (Part 1)

2010-08-13T02:23:00.000-07:00

2MG on the radio with top comedian!

2010-08-05T05:17:00.000-07:00

This morning, our very own Mike Kazybrid - first man of Two Men and a Ghost - was interviewed on BBC Radio Sheffield by none other than Phoenix Nights star, Toby Foster.

The subject was the unexplained, which is appropriate because one of life's great unexplained mysteries is how the two of us manage to keep this ghost hunting blog going when we still haven't found any ghosts!

Mike reveals all - about the origins of 2MG and more - and his words of wisdom can be found here, starting at 2.47.10. But listen quick - it's only online for another seven days.

And don't forget to tune in to The Toby Foster Bigger at Breakfast Show on BBC Radio Sheffield, every weekday from 7am to 10am, with a topical phone-in every final hour.

What the men behind 2MG are really like!

2010-08-02T09:19:00.001-07:00

Have you ever wondered what the men behind Two Men and a Ghost are really like? No? Don't blame you.

But if you had, then wonder no more. Along comes a brand new site, called Typealyzer, that analyses the contents of blogs and lets you know the personality type of the authors.

A quick cut and paste job reveals that Mike and I are 'Mechanics' (maybe we should form a pop group).

Are we human? Are we dancers? No, Typealyzer reveals that we are:

'The independent and problem-solving type. They are especially attuned to the demands of the moment and are highly skilled at seeing and fixing what needs to be fixed. They enjoy adventure and risk such as in driving race cars or working as policemen and firefighters.'

Uncannily spot on, in every detail. You may have imagined that we were hopelessly inept with our ghost hunting exploits, following up half-baked leads with the most basic of equipment, shambling along cluelessly, frequently getting lost, then giving up at the slightest hint of tiredness, thirst or hunger ... or anything.

Well, you're wrong. Typealyzer confirms that we are a lean, mean paranormal machine, on call 24 hours a day at 2MG Mansions. We wait for the alarm bell to sound so that we can slide down our pole, strap ourselves into the state-of-the-art spookmobile and speed through the urban cityscape with the Starsky and Hutch theme blazing at full volume out of the battery-operated megaphone that's gaffa-taped to our roof. Impressive, eh?

Test your own blog on Typealyzer. It's totally, utterly, 100% accurate.

Would I lie to you?

Flat caps and ancient rites (by Andrew Wooding)

2010-07-23T02:53:00.001-07:00

You may remember that after Mike and I conducted an extensive and detailed search for the ghost of Mary Queen of Scots on the Manor Ruins in Sheffield (we lasted about 9½ minutes – read about it here), we decided to retire to an establishment serving beverages of a fermented variety (otherwise known as a pub).

This we did. Mike’s choice of poison was an Orange and Passion Fruit J2O. Mine was an obscure German beer that cost an arm and a leg, as well as the best part of a fiver.

We retired to a dark corner to debrief about our failure to find old Queen Mary and to plan our next move. But we couldn’t help but be distracted by the conversation at the table opposite.

Sitting at said table were two elderly Yorkshiremen with flat caps and jackets, both of them hugging frothy pints of bitter while sharing a bag of pork scratchings. They looked harmless enough, and from their looks you might expect that they were nattering about whippets, or racing pigeons, or Hovis, or the Tetley tea folk.

Imagine our astonishment, then, when certain words or phrases wafted across from their vocal cords into our earlobes: ‘ancient rituals’; ‘druids at Stonehenge’; ‘the power of the Norse gods’.

Mike and I gave each other a troubled glance, then promptly shut our traps so that we could listen more intently. But how to be nosy at such close proximity without making it seem obvious? We adopted different strategies.

Mike stared up at the ceiling, pretending to study a stain (or something) in great detail. Me, I bent over to tie up my shoelaces. Took me about fifteen minutes.

During the course of our non-suspicious eavesdropping, we learnt of illicit nocturnal encounters of the earth-worshipping variety in the forests of Sheffield; nearby covens of witches, Wiccans and whippets (well, maybe not the whippets); and things you can do in circles of stones that boggle the mind.

These lurid revelations eventually proved too much for our frail sensibilities, so I finished tying my shoelaces (which was a feat in itself because my trainers are fastened with Velcro), Mike painfully cricked his neck back into place, and we staggered out the pub back door into the crisp night air.

If you happen to stumble across this new brand of Yorkshire pagans (we call them the ‘Flatcappians’), don’t say we didn’t warn you. The shock might prove too much, and you’ll need a strong mug of Tetley tea and a pack of Hovis digestives to calm you down.

Competition extended!

2010-07-16T02:01:00.001-07:00

From Mike Kazybrid’s recent interview with Rony Robinson on BBC Radio Sheffield:

Rony: Have you seen any good ghosts lately?

Mike: No.

Rony: Have you ever seen a ghost?

Mike: Erm … no.

Rony: Isn’t it a bit odd to be a hunter of ghosts if you’ve never seen one?

Mike: (mumbles a half-hearted embarrassed defence)

As you can see, Rony rumbled us immediately, live on air, and Mike’s insightful, eloquent and well-thought-out responses did little to convince him. So, if we haven’t found any ghosts yet, we need you to tell us about your ghost encounters. Doesn’t have to be long – just a sentence or two. Either comment at the bottom of this blog, or bung us an email at twomenandaghost@hotmail.com.

Out of all the stories received, we’ll turn our favourite into a comic strip, like the one above which relates to our adventure in Bunting Nook (you can read about it here and here). For more examples of Mike’s excellent artwork, see his latest graphic novel about the legendary Humph the Cat, completely free to download here.

Just imagine, your story can be illustrated by a top UK artist (Mike is currently drawing the Wallace & Gromit strip for The Sun), and you will also receive his original artwork through the post, signed personally to you.

Our original deadline for this competition was the end of June, but we so love reading your stories (they turn us green with envy) that we’ve extended the deadline to the end of the summer hols (last day of August). Many thanks for Martin Dawes of The Star for promoting our competition here.

Please get scribbling and scare us with your true-life tales!

A right royal ghost

2010-06-08T04:36:00.000-07:00

In the year since we started this ghost hunting lark, we’ve been on the lookout for mad monks, jilted lovers, Victorian couples and even a hag. What have we found? Not a sausage.

After doing a spot of googling (painful), I realised that Mike and I have been setting our sights too low. Forget all these common-or-garden spooks. If various internet sites are to be believed, there’s a member of royalty hovering right on our doorstep: namely, Mary Queen of Scots.

Extensive research (a couple of minutes on Wikipedia) revealed that she was called Mary, she was a queen and she was Scottish. She’s also been spotted at the ruins of the Turret House at Manor Castle in Sheffield, where she was held for many years.

So, Mike and I compared our diaries (mine’s A4 with a brown cover and a pen-holder; Mike’s is green and pocket-sized) and we agreed to meet by the ruins on the edge of the Manor Estate.

Mike pulled up in his car by the vast, impressive ruins that dominated the landscape in front of us.

‘So,’ he said as he got out to greet me, ‘where’s these ruins then?’

A quick inspection revealed that the ruins were fenced off and inaccessible at all times to the general public. Something to do with health and safety and trespassers being prosecuted.

No matter. We weren’t going to be put off. This was the big one. This was it! Full of eager expectation, we were most definitely going to spot our regal ghost, photograph her, write it all up, bung a video on YouTube, send out frenzied press releases, and live off the inevitable fame and glory for the next few months.

After five minutes of patrolling the fence and shivering, Mike said to me: ‘Bit nippy, innit. Fancy going down the pub instead?’

‘Yeah, all right,’ I quickly agreed.

So we did.

Hope you enjoyed this full and true account of our dedication to the cause.

When we finally find a ghost...

2010-06-07T09:47:00.001-07:00

One year in, and we still haven't seen a ghost.

But here is a song that encapsulates perfectly what our reactions are sure to be when we finally stumble across one...

Don't forget to use the handy subtitles to sing along!

2MG's fabulous 1st birthday competition!

2010-05-26T09:24:00.000-07:00

Rejoice with us! Today marks the first anniversary of our debut blog post. Yes, back in the distant past of 26th May, 2009, we uploaded the breathless account of our very first adventure: our frenzied attempt to track down the so-called mad monk of Stocksbridge. You can experience the original post here, but the gist of the whole sorry story is summed up in the brand, spanking new comic strip above.

It's been a fun year of ghost hunting for us. We've frozen our socks off at various locations throughout Sheffield, gone and got some new socks at Primark, nearly been arrested in the woods at night, been seriously distracted in the basement of Sheffield Central Library, told our stories on radio stations worldwide, secured a regular feature in the nationally distributed Haunted magazine, dabbled in the vast and scary world of YouTube, and we've indulged in more Haribo Mix than you can shake a Diet Coke at.

But we still haven't found a ghost!

And that's where you come in...

If we haven't seen any ghosts, maybe you have. Send your own personal ghost account to twomenandaghost@hotmail.com and the best story received by the end of June will be turned into a newspaper-style comic strip, just like the one above, and published on this very blog. You will also receive the original artwork in the post, signed by Two Men (but not a Ghost).

If you're in luck, you may also receive a lovingly handled pack of Haribo Mix, but without the red and white ones ('cause I like those).

2MG hit the newsstands with Haunted magazine

2010-05-20T01:24:00.001-07:00

2MG are proud to announce that our ghost hunting misadventures round Sheffield will now be a regular feature in the fun, glossy Haunted magazine, a sort of paranormal version of Loaded. 2MG's Mike Kazybrid has also provided a colourful 'summer special' cover for the latest issue (number 3) hot off the press.

Haunted comes out six times a year, and from issue number 5 will be available in WH Smith's. But to grab a copy of 2MG's debut in this great new publication, go to the official Haunted website and click the Subscription link. They also have a page on Facebook.

It's £4 for the new issue, or £8 for this issue and the three previous ones (it started with issue 0), or £16 for a year's subscription starting with the new issue, and you get the three previous issues thrown in, so that's nine issues for £16. Bargain!

Haunted magazine promotes sCare in the Community. Remember: don't be normal and natural. Be paranormal and supernatural!

Reggie Droppings Endorses Two Men and a Ghost

2010-05-20T01:13:00.000-07:00

A Lizard Endorses Two Men and a Ghost - The Final Act

2010-05-16T10:26:00.000-07:00

A Lizard Endorses Two Men and a Ghost - The Sequel

2010-05-09T15:09:00.000-07:00

The hag of Hagg Hill (by Andrew Wooding)

2010-04-25T07:05:00.000-07:00

Our latest excursion started with a tip-off from a text: ‘Strange sightings at Hagg Hill in Sheffield. People seen hanging from trees.’ I normally only get texts from Orange asking if I want to top-up my account, so naturally I was interested.

Mike was interested as well when I told him. I suspect he was just as surprised as me that I’d actually got a real text at last. So, being Two Men (but still no Ghost), we decided to investigate further.

Synchronising our watches and stocking up with supplies of Vimto and Haribo Mix, we set off separately, agreeing to meet at the top of Hagg Hill at 8pm on a Friday.

But as they say, they best laid plans of Mike and men gang aft agley (whatever that means).

I looked up Hagg Hill in my Sheffield A-Z and worked out a foolproof route to get there. This ‘foolproof’ route eventually took me to Hillsborough, Crookes, Broomhill and beyond. Everywhere, in fact, except for Hagg Hill itself. Where exactly was it, and why was it so hard to get to?

One thing I did discover on my Friday-night travels was that strange, exotic creatures roam the streets in the evening, making up for what they lack in the skirt department with body mass and volume of make-up. Whatever we might encounter at Hagg Hill couldn’t possibly measure up to the gruesomeness of these swaggering lifeforms, tripping off trams and buses and swinging sparkly handbags at each other.

Turning down a side street, relieved to put some distance between myself and these heffers who travelled in herds, I texted Mike to inform him that I had a map, I could point to Hagg Hill on it, but getting there was sadly eluding me.

No sooner had I pressed ‘Send’ than I got a text back from Mike relaying a similar tale of woe. His sat-nav was apparently up the spout. He would type in the precise postcode for the top of Hagg Hill, but would always somehow end up at one end of Crookes.

A change of plan was needed. It was time to join forces. I knew where Crookes was, even if I couldn’t find Hagg Hill, so within minutes I was pulling up by Mike’s car, then knocking on his window.

‘Yikes!’ went Mike. I could see through his window that he looked a little jumpy. When he realised it was me, he seemed relieved and motioned me to join him inside.

‘Why so tense?’ I asked him as I slammed the passenger door behind me.

‘Sorry, old chum. I was getting a little paranoid,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve been parked here a while and I keep getting odd looks from people walking past. I thought you were one of them.’

‘Odd looks?’ I said. ‘Why?’

‘No idea,’ admitted Mike, and he immediately plunged both hands towards his groin area and started shaking and vibrating. The car was shaking along with him. More strange looks from passers-by.

‘Er … what’re you doing, Mike?’ I admit I was worried.

‘The wind-up torches,’ he explained. ‘I’m charging them up for our investigation.’ And he thrust a hot and sweaty one towards my face.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘Er … great.’

Mike sensed it was time to make tracks. So make them we did. Through Crookes. Through Hillsborough. Through narrow country lanes. Through Crookes. Through Hillsborough. Through more narrow country lanes. Do you ever get déjà vu? How many times have you seen Groundhog Day?

Finally, more by fluke than navigational skill, we found ourselves approaching a street sign that looked promising.

I’m short-sighted, so I squinted as we approached and the letters became sharper and clearer until finally and unmistakably they spelt out the name of our elusive haunted side street … HAGG HILL!

Raucous cheering. The sound of the Hallelujah Chorus. Bells chiming. Horns hooting. A crowd applauding. Triumphant cannons firing. Yes, rejoice with us – we’d finally reached the bloody place!

Except we couldn’t turn into it because a ginormous lorry was in the way, selfishly parked on the corner. It didn’t seem to be in a rush to move – the driver was picking his nose with one hand, opening a thermos flask with the other, and consulting a fold-up map sprawled out in front of him.

Mike revved his engine and the driver took the hint. Folding away his map and disposing of the thermos, he quickly turned out of Hagg Hill and we quickly turned in. Happy to be there, we drove up and down it a number of times.

Yes, there were trees aplenty on either side of the road, stark and leafless, forming eerie silhouettes. Their presence was unsettling, and if you were scared down here, your frenzied imagination could quite easily make out any number of menacing shapes in the gnarled and random branches.

But people hanging from them, there were none.

Disappointed, we parked by the side of the road and had a natter for a while, mainly about our puzzlement over Mike’s sat-nav and my map reading skills failing us so badly. We rounded it off with a robust and in-depth discussion on the sexual undercurrents to be found between the various colourful characters in children’s TV classic, Balamory. We eventually came to a number of firm conclusions.

Feeling that our evening wasn’t entirely wasted, we turned to leave Hagg Hill just as the slowest gritter in the world trundled past, trapping us there for a while. Why? It wasn’t as if we were in the middle of winter or anything. Just our luck.

To add to our woes, Mike lost control of his car just as we tried to turn right out of the road. He kept stalling and rolling backwards. It was almost as if someone – or something – didn’t want us to leave.

Mike and I have a theory. We don’t believe it’s a coincidence that Hagg Hill is so named. Rivalling the so-called mad monk of Stocksbridge bypass, we reckon there’s a spectral hag causing chaos amongst motorists and pedestrians alike. She momentarily muddled my brain as I consulted the Sheffield A-Z. She reached into Mike’s sat-nav and sabotaged the directions it gave. She arranged a lorry and a gritter to block our way in and out of the road that’s her domain. And she caused Mike’s car to sputter and fail as we attempted to make an exit.

Who knows what this hag looks like? Maybe she has one tooth, warts all over the place, and smells of fags and cheap cider.

What do you think of our theory? Are we bonkers?

Don’t answer that.

A Lizard Endorses Two Men and a Ghost

2010-04-17T12:30:00.000-07:00

The fifth 'Real or surreal?' by Mike Kazybrid

2010-04-08T12:39:00.000-07:00

Most of us have a story that we simply can't explain. Perhaps it was that strange noise in the dead of night, or the sudden movement at the foot of the stairs that appeared to be a person rushing by. No matter how hard we try to seek an answer, we can never completely find one.

Here’s another one of my stories. It's the summer of '76. I'm a student living in Edgbaston, Birmingham, and I, along with three other mature students, have been asked by the college if we will clean out a number of large houses that they’d recently purchased. Once cleaned and re-decorated, they were to become homes for the new students.

So there we were: three Yorkshiremen and a Scotsman. No, I'm not about to embark on a series of jokes! I can honestly say that they were three of the nicest guys you could ever wish to meet.

The spooky bit begins when Tom, the guy I was working with, had to go and obtain certain materials for the house (Mac and Alan were working on another property). So there I was in this beautiful three-storey Victorian house, feeling somewhat useful with every bit of dirt and plaster I was able to clean up.

I was content with the world, until I happened to hear the faint cry of a woman. As it continued, I remained both still and silent, unsure as to its origin. All I was sure of was that the cry came not from the neighbouring houses, but from the attic itself. I was frozen to the spot, unable to ignore the clear human cry that carried down the stairs and filled the hall where I stood.

Now, I'm uncertain if my actions came from a sense of deep-rooted bravery or perhaps, looking back, plain stupidity, but I decided to slowly walk up the old staircase towards the beckoning cry.

I tried to avoid each and every creak that the old wooden stairs offered but was totally unsuccessful. By now, standing before the attic door, I was mindful that the person on the other side would be aware of my presence, perhaps in the same way I was now aware of hers!

The cry, or sobbing, was clearly coming from a woman. One didn't have to be intelligent to realise that she was in a state of deep emotional pain. Something really bad had clearly happened to her to move her to this point. But what I couldn't understand was: if I was on one side of the door and she was on the other side, why was I informed that the house was empty?

But the house was empty. ‘It is empty,’ I kept on telling myself. Yet here we were, the frightened young man on the one side, and the sobbing woman on the other, only a large piece of Victorian wood standing between us.

I decided to announce myself to her. I told her not to be afraid, that I was only there to clean up the place (thought not in a Charles Bronson or Dirty Harry manner, of course). Still, the sobbing continued. I moved slowly towards the old door, ever mindful that by now there was no mistake that this was very real. Believe me, it was real enough for me not to want to open the door.

Finding myself rushing down the stairs faster than I'd climbed them, I contacted the local chaplain who was linked to the college. Explaining the situation, the chaplain, a serious but good-hearted man, shared with me a possible reason for what had taken place. As we walked back to the house, he shared a little of its recent history.

The property was last owned by an elderly lady who, in her latter days, had lived with a number of cats. These were her only real source of company. For reasons unknown, she lost her feline companions and turned to her belief in spiritualism as a means of comfort. Perhaps the realisation that she was finally to say farewell to her home was the factor that created the end. The old lady died of a broken heart ... in the attic!

Having now returned to the stairs leading up to the attic, we stopped for a moment. And another moment.

Okay, five minutes later, I finally asked the question: ‘Aren't we going to go inside the attic?’

Following a short period of silence between us, the chaplain advised me not to worry. If he stayed where he was, on this side of the door, she would be able to hear him pray.

I questioned that comment. I'd seen all the Hammer Horror movies, and according to them we were now meant to rush into the room, him holding a large cross and shouting something loud in Latin, whilst I splashed ten gallons of holy water everywhere! (Okay, I admit, it was a bad movie.)

Nope, he was sticking to his guns. He was going to yell out a prayer and that would do the trick!

Truth be told, I didn't hear the sobbing any more after the chaplain had gone. Perhaps the power of faith had sorted out the issue. Or maybe the old lady had been somewhat peed off, thinking that some idiots were about to rush into her little attic bedroom, carrying a large cross and yelling something loudly in Latin, whilst the other fool wanted to pour ten gallons of holy water on her head! (Yep, she'd seen that movie too!)

On a serious note, the sound of the crying woman seemed real enough and could be pinpointed to that very room. Could it have been the total sense of grief that had allowed the poor lady, beyond her death, to remain in the house?

I'd like to think that in some way she had moved on to a place of peace. I'll never know. However, I can truthfully confirm that there was one outcome from this experience: I never did finish doing the dusting!

In the true spirit of that which is real or surreal, this has been another tale from those you've come to know as Two Men and a Ghost.

Sleep well.

The year so far... (by Andrew Wooding)

2010-04-01T02:50:00.001-07:00

Being April Fools’ Day, it’s probably appropriate to take a quick look back at the year so far for two fools in Sheffield (three if you count the ghost).

2010 started out rather encouragingly, with what you might call a media frenzy. Our friend Martin Dawes of The Star gave us another nice write-up, which you can see here. He says: ‘So far, despite their best efforts, the duo have been spook-free. But that doesn't stop them trying.’

We also did an extensive interview on The Paul and Spike Show, but unfortunately a gremlin (or was it a ghost?) crept into the Skype line, rendering the entire interview unusable. The proof of the pudding can be found in the short extract 24½ minutes into the finished podcast (which can be found here), in which Mike and I sound like we’re gabbling in tongues or channelling the spirit of the late lamented Pingu.

As for the rest of the media frenzy, well … er … that’s it.

But to compensate, we’ve started bunging stuff up on YouTube. (Check us out on The 2MG's Channel.) There’s our two-part visit to Sheffield General Cemetery, including reader feedback and an exploration of Egyptian mythology. The visit seemed like a good idea at the time, except Sheffield General Cemetery turned out to be the muddiest place in Sheffield that evening, and it was so dark that you couldn’t see any of the background in the finished videos, just our noses as we shone torches at each other. Actually, big secret now: we shot the whole thing in the broom cupboard at 2MG Mansions. (And if you believe that...)

There’s also our three-part video set in the basement (or ‘the stacks’) of Sheffield Central Library. Watch Mike explain the music hall background of the library’s location on Surrey Street; see us get distracted by various titles on the shelves, including an exhaustive book on tripe; and look out for various ghosts hovering in the background of the video (or are they just random librarians trundling along with trolleys of books?).

That’s it so far. So what about the remaining three-quarters of the year? Rest assured, there’s lots of good stuff to look forward to, and we might even finally spot a ghost.

In the immediate future, there’s more YouTube videos in the pipeline, the start of a regular lively podcast with a brilliant spooky theme tune, more ‘Real or Surreal?’ features from Mike, and my spine-tingling account of our recent nocturnal excursion to Hagg Hill in Sheffield. There we found our new nemesis. Move aside, Mad Monk of Stockbridge. Our latest foe is…

Ah, but that would be telling.

2MG Ghost Hunt - Sheffield Central Library (3 of 3)

2010-03-13T07:29:00.000-08:00

2MG Ghost Hunt - Sheffield Central Library (2 of 3)

2010-03-13T06:17:00.000-08:00

2MG Ghost Hunt - Sheffield Central Library (1 of 3)

2010-03-13T06:15:00.000-08:00

2MG Ghost Hunt - Sheffield General Cemetery (2 of 2)

2010-03-04T10:53:00.000-08:00

2MG Ghost Hunt - Sheffield General Cemetery (1 of 2)

2010-03-04T10:49:00.000-08:00

Sheffield Ghost Hunt 6

2010-02-18T08:48:00.000-08:00

The fourth 'Real or surreal?' (by Mike Kazybrid)

2010-02-13T10:33:00.000-08:00

Before starting this fourth ‘Real or surreal?’ feature (the previous three are here, here and here), I’m sure that the first thing you want to ask is: ‘Where's the ghost?’

I’m sorry to say that there isn't one this time! But before you surf on over to another website … no wait, don't do it yet … it’s still worth reading. This is a true tale of mystery and suspenders!

It didn't start out that way. It began as a simple, chance meeting of two strangers in a coffee bar way back in 1972: myself and a young guy of similar age, called Tom.

We got talking over a coffee or two about everything from Woodstock and flower power to bikers and rock bands. As the time passed with fruitful conversation, Tom invited me back to his pad for a few beers and to play on our guitars.

At this point, let me educate those of you who are much younger than me. First of all, back in the ‘60s and early ‘70s, we honestly did use the word ‘pad’, along with many other terms such as ‘cool, man’, ‘groovy, baby’, ‘all outta bread’ (money) and ‘squaresville’.

Now that I've totally embarrassed myself, on with the tale… Look, it's my tale and I'll tell it how I wish, warts and all! Er, where was I? ‘Tom's pad!’ I hear you cry with a hearty moan.

So, for the rest of the afternoon, Tom and I played our guitars, hoping to capture the same sounds and chords of our music heroes of the day. When our jamming session finally came to a close, he asked me if I'd be interested in helping him move to his new flat next week. Jumping at the chance of more musical get-togethers in the near future, I said yes.

The next day we met at his flat with the intention of calling in on his new landlady. The new dwelling was a good half-hour walk away, so we made haste to get there in order to sort out the finances and a moving date.

Over the following few days, I didn't see him. But come the morning of the Saturday move, I found myself standing on his doorstep, keen to help.

It's now that the tale begins to take on a twisted shape. Instead of my new mate opening the door, it was his landlord. He didn't quite take to those of us who preferred the hippy way of dress and life. However, he was willing to pass the time of day.

I explained that I was there to help Tom move his things, but his reaction was one of confusion and he enquired as to who exactly Tom was.

I went on to explain what had happened during the past week, almost insisting to be taken to Tom. My insistence wasn't required.

The landlord invited me to look at the back room flat occupied by my friend. I quickly opened the door, expecting to find him in a sea of carrier bags, suitcase and, of course, guitar.

But a cold chill ran down my spine as I found myself standing in the middle of a totally different room, a room that hadn't been used for ages, full of dusty old furniture and a deep-rooted smell that shouted out the word ‘damp’!

Having now firmly explained to the landlord that Tom was indeed real and that a number of days ago I was in that very room, that very different room, I could see from his disbelieving expression that I was wasting my time.

Angry and frustrated, I had in mind a new plan, and that was to call upon Tom’s new landlady. Surely she would remember me? She was a small no-nonsense Eastern European lady, close to 50 years old.

When I encountered her for the second time, I was taken aback by her response. She not only claimed that she didn’t know me or Tom, she also insisted that no room was available.

I left not knowing where or whom to go to. Tom was real. I knew it. We'd spent time together. But now...

That was 37 or more years ago. From time to time, I still think of my all too brief friendship with Tom.

I don't have and can't offer any answers to this mystery, but in the true spirit of that which is either real or surreal, it's yet another tale from those you've come to know as ‘Two Men and a Ghost’.

Sleep well.

I Tube, YouTube, We All Tube... (by Andrew Wooding)

2010-02-04T09:42:00.000-08:00

You may have noticed that in the last few weeks 2MG has branched out into video production (if you can call it that). Shot over the Christmas period on his iPod nano, every expense was spared as Mike risked being arrested for late-night heavy breathing in a certain Sheffield graveyard. The fruits of his creative endeavours can be seen in our five ‘Sheffield Ghost Hunt’ videos here, lovingly presented in their raw, non-edited state for your perusal.

So far it seems that lots of people have been perusing them. So, encouraged by our initial success, we will soon be uploading our sixth ambitious production, called The Rear Itch Project. Can you guess which well-known movie we’ll be spoofing? With a title like that, I dread to think how Mike aims to film it with his iPod nano…

As I uploaded our first forays into viral video promotion, I couldn’t help but become aware of the dozens, nay hundreds, nay thousands of similar such videos scattered throughout YouTube. Intrigued, I decided to check some of them out so that you don’t have to.

Remembering our many attempts to seek out the mad monk on the Stocksbridge bypass, typing the words ‘Stocksbridge’ and ‘ghost’ into YouTube’s search engine yielded a number of results. Some of the more notable ones are here:

stocksbridge ghost OMFG! - This video is disturbing, for all the wrong reasons. A million times worse than fingernails down a blackboard, there is nothing more irritating than shrieky, giggling teenage girls who’ve overindulged in shandy.

Not sure what OMFG stands for (Oh My, Freaky Ghost?), but YouTube viewers seem to be convinced that the indeterminate smudge in a tiny portion of the screen, 41 seconds in, is conclusive proof that paranormal activity is real. Myself, I’m not so sure.

Research also reveals that this is a tunnel in York and nothing to do with the bypass outside Sheffield after all. Ah well…

Ghosts of Stocksbridge - Haunted Road, Parts 1 and 2 – Now, this is more like it. A quality 20-minute video, well put together, with down-to-earth convincing interviews and little in the way of sensationalism.

The video reveals that the bypass was opened in 1989 in the vicinity of a Cistercian monk who broke his vows and was buried in unconsecrated ground. Some eyewitness accounts say that the monk was sighted either hovering or walking below ground – could they have been peering back through time when the ground was at a different level?

There is also talk of the bypass being criss-crossed with pylons and substations. Could the electrical and magnetic fields be influencing people’s frontal lobe experiences?

The only thing that bothers me is that just about the entire population of Sheffield seems to have been interviewed in this video. How come me and Mike are the only people in the area who’ve never actually seen the mad monk? Do you think he’s got something against us?

Stocksbridge Bypass Ghosts, Parts 1 and 2 – This excerpt from ITV’s Strange But True? is presented by Mr ‘Ask Aspel’ himself, the legendary Michael Aspel. Only, instead of presenting viewers’ requests for favourite clips from The Goodies and Bagpuss, he introduces the world’s most popular ghost accounts.

In this clip, he gives us the same story as the Haunted Road video above, with some of the same interviewees. Yes, it covers old ground, and I wouldn’t even be recommending it, if it wasn’t for its one unique endearing feature: reconstructions!

Yes, each interview is accompanied by a ‘Strange But True?’ reconstruction of the sighting in question, by rejects from Equity who look nothing like the interviewees they are supposed to resemble.

Of special note are the security guards in Part 1 who specialise in gibbering horror (they prepared for their roles by watching the annoying girls in the ‘OMFG!’ video above). They deliver the immortal lines ‘It’s disappeared into thin air!’ and ‘Let’s get out of here!’ with as much conviction and sincerity as Olivier’s star turn in the definitive film version of Shakespeare’s Richard III.

STOCKSBRIDGE BYPASS MONK – More annoying teenagers, this time of the male variety. It is obvious that they have partaken of one too many rootbeers as they zig-zag across the late-night bypass in their car. Blurry mobile phone footage shows a monk at the side of the road, accompanied by an (EXPLETIVE DELETED) that is as convincing in its delivery as the security guards in the video above.

One of the comments left beneath the video is from yellowsub1966: ‘Lauged my bollocks off at their attempts to feign surprise.’

I’m slightly disturbed by this comment. I am not entirely sure what the obscure word ‘lauged’ means. Could it be youthspeak for gouging? Did he really gouge off his genitals? If so, this is eerily appropriate as the mad monk would have taken a vow of celibacy. Maybe encounters with the ghost of Stocksbridge bypass lead to random acts of self-mutilation?

Beware: The video concludes with the words ‘Go down baby. Go down baby. Go down baby.’ Maybe it’s the monk himself, speaking through their radio and condemning them to everlasting torment in the underworld below (in other words, hell). Maybe the monk can reach out through our tellies, radios and computer screens? Hmm.

I will conclude this initial trawl through the neverending delights of YouTube by pointing you to my favourite video of the lot. In fact, you could say it's special. Widening my search to ‘Sheffield’ and ‘ghost’ brought me to this 5-minute classic. Enjoy!

A closer look at Sheffield Central Library, part 2 (by Mike Kazybrid)

2010-01-25T09:15:00.000-08:00

In the first installment of my findings about Sheffield Central Library (read about it here), I mentioned that the library opened in July 1934. When I visited with Wooders, I was taken aback by so much that obviously remained of the original: the oak and walnut library furniture with its custom designed wooden shelves and fittings, not to mention the beautiful art deco lights that greeted us in the foyer.

After we had left the ladies loo - (er, you do remember that Wooders and I were only in there to check out one of the many ghost stories ... don't you?) - we wandered beneath ground to the area I was looking forward to most, namely the Stacks.

It's a wonderful maze, consisting of what appears to be miles of shelving, two book lifts and a chute which is used to transport books from the Stacks to the main library. Six strong rooms protect the rare and old valuable books, anything from world-renowned volumes on patents to detailed tomes on metallurgy. White lines can be seen leading to the strong rooms so that if there is a fire, the valuable books can be quickly removed.

It was in this area that yet another paranormal appearance took place, but nothing in Victorian garb. The strange dark mass which appeared to librarian Eunice somehow contained light and energy, but didn't give the same sense of welcome that the other spectral visitors seemed to offer.

Another ghostly encounter moved me to dig more deeply into its possible origins. As already mentioned. Eunice and another staff member recalled that they were working in the main reception area when they were suddenly interrupted by a voice clearly calling to them by name. Having quickly established that one hadn't called the other and that they were equally alone, a sudden strong and wonderful scent of flowers seemed to fill the room.

Attempting to locate the source of the beautiful odour, Eunice had checked outside the doors, but that revealed nothing. All that continued to remain was the smell of a bouquet of flowers which could not be readily named.

‘The game's afoot, Wooders old chum!’ said I when we recounted this story to each other after our library visit.

We realised that following this up required a different approach to our normal methods. Wooders agreed that our usual equipment - consisiting of a wind-up torch, variety packs of crisps, various choccie bars and a well-chewed biro - would not suffice. I was just grateful it was winter so I wouldn’t have to endure my hay fever!

Having knocked on the doors of various companies and individuals, seeking information on popular flowers of the Victorian period, that veritable wizard of floristry, Shaun Lawrence, kindly mentioned that primroses or violas would be popular in spring through early summer, and possibly lavender later in the summer.

If you remember, the site of Sheffield Central Library used to be home to a thriving music hall. Imagine in the grand old music hall days a lady in Victorian dress about to leave, following a wonderful evening of entertainment. To complete the evening, her husband rushes to purchase a bouquet from the young girl selling flowers outside.

Could the good folks at Sheffield Central library have caught a glimpse of past events? Could the barrier between then and now somehow have weakened in the vicinity of the library? Do the people from the past somehow glimpse the people from now, and vice versa?

I was both pleased and grateful when leading parapsychologist, Rosemary Breen in Australia, offered encouragement and advice. She was introducing us to the subject of clairalience ('clear smelling') which is the alleged phenomenon of sensitive people smelling the odour of a person not on the same plane as ourselves. This could cover items such as tobacco, food and flowers. Some even profess to smell the places where the deceased person worked - ie, a factory, the docks or a mill.

(For more on Rosemary Breen, visit her here.)

The spectral visitors at Sheffield Central Library somehow break the rules: ghosts that appear during the daytime; ghosts that seek to interact. Whatever their reason, it doesn't really matter. Their presence only adds to what is truly a beautiful building with a depth of history freely offered to the city of Sheffield.

But how will Wooders and I feel when left alone in the Stacks with only a Twix and a wind-up torch between us? For that, you'll have to wait for the next part of our library adventure…

Sheffield Ghost Hunt 5

2010-01-23T11:50:00.000-08:00

Sheffield Ghost Hunt 4

2010-01-23T11:46:00.000-08:00

Sheffield Ghost Hunt 3

2010-01-23T11:41:00.001-08:00

Sheffield Ghost Hunt 2

2010-01-23T11:19:00.000-08:00

Sheffield Ghost Hunt 1

2010-01-23T06:17:00.000-08:00

A closer look at Sheffield Central Library, part 1 (by Mike Kazybrid)

2010-01-13T09:30:00.000-08:00

Late last year, we were invited to check out certain paranormal events at Sheffield Central Library. Why do ghosts walk amongst those engaged in the daily life of the library? To read the account of our visit, go here. Since then, Mike has been doing some research on the history of Sheffield Central Library. Why has he been doing this - and what has he discovered? Here are some of his findings!

The music hall

When we first became aware of one of the library ghosts, Wooders and I stood in the place which all men hold to be a great mystery … namely, the ladies’ loo! The enchanting story of Eunice, a staff member, suddenly coming upon a lady dressed in full Victorian outfit in this very room, sparked off my imagination. Not only that, but the first of a number of questions that were to haunt me in the following weeks.

In order to begin our journey, we'll have to travel back in time to 1823. A number of memorable events were happening that year.

On 13th April, we find an eleven-year-old Franz Liszt who, having come to the end of a concert, is congratulated by Ludwig Van Beethoven.

15th July sees the Papal Basilica of Saint Paul Outside the Walls in Rome almost totally destroyed by fire.

On 22nd September, the world of religion is introduced to Joseph Smith Jr, who declares that God has directed him through the angel, Moroni, to the very place where the Golden Plates are stored. These were purportedly bound and engraved metal plates that would become his source for the Book of Mormon.

And while all these things were taking place in the world, a music hall was being built on Surrey Street in Sheffield, England, in the exact same place that the Sheffield Central Library would be located a century later.

It was the clear description of the ghost of a Victorian lady, standing with her back to Eunice, that provoked various questions in me. The first was: What exactly was she staring at? Whilst she might have been occupying the same space, maybe she wasn't occupying the same time.

What also made these ghosts very interesting … though I’m not by any means suggesting that some ghosts are boring … what I mean by that is, I don't believe we'll ever encounter the ghost of a stamp or envelope collector. Oh great, now I've put my foot in it. As I can't dig my pit any deeper, I'll move on... (Apologies to readers of our blog who engage in the act of philately.)

My meaning is that these ghosts would freely interact with certain members of library staff. They would walk down the back stairs, sharing greetings or bidding someone goodnight.

Had our Victorian ghost come to the end of a very enjoyable concert? After all, the music hall was used as a venue for a great deal of variety shows, as well as oratorios and concerts performed by local choirs. Perhaps she’d had the pleasure of seeing luminaries such as Paganini or Liszt, who had once appeared there.

Who knows what her social standing was? The hall wasn't there just for the middle class audience; thanks to reduced prices, it also allowed the working class of the day to enjoy the same music.

It wasn't just a concert hall. It was a building that provided rooms for the Mechanics Institute. It was also a place where the local Literary and Philosophical Society would meet, inviting the greats of the day, such as Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins to perform readings.

Graves mail order company

I'd spent so much time considering the possible connection of the library ghosts to a bygone musical era, that I had to remind myself of a very important man who, if not looked into, would make my research incomplete.

The man was John George Graves, who was born in Lincolnshire in 1866. It wasn't the fact that he had once been one of Sheffield's Lord Mayors, nor that he had once received the Freedom of the City in 1929, that makes him so memorable.

It was the fact that in Sheffield he established one of the first mail order businesses in the country, selling a wide range of goods. At its peak, he employed 3,000 staff, producing an annual turnover of £1 million. After he died in Sheffield in 1945, the company was absorbed by Great Universal Stores.

Sheffield Central Library

Things were changing, and the building that housed the music hall and the Mechanics Institute was to take on a new life as the original public library. Although the Mechanics Institute had its own private library, Sheffield became the first place in Yorkshire - in fact the 11th in the country - to create its own dedicated lending library for the use of the public.

Graves was a very keen art collector, and certain monies of his - almost £60,000 - were donated towards the development of art galleries in Sheffield. This would include Sheffield Central Library.

The small cutlery works in Surrey Street’s neighbour, Tudor Square, contributed to this area developing into the city’s cultural quarter.

And then, in July 1934, the proud new building of the Sheffield Central Library was opened.

If by now you're thinking you’ve logged on to Two Men and a Local History Book by mistake, you'd be wrong! It's not enough to blog about the ghost in a Victorian dress. (Nope, I'm not referring to my great grandmother!) In order to understand what this represents, you've got to check out the past … their past.

(You’ve also got to check out part two of Mike’s findings, to be posted in the next few days…)

The wit and wisdom of Reggie Droppings

2010-01-10T10:56:00.001-08:00

Happy New Year

2009-12-31T09:28:00.000-08:00

Daytime ghosts at the Sheffield Central Library (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-12-24T09:43:00.000-08:00

Every self-respecting ghost-hunter has a certain item on their DVD shelf. Can you guess what it is?

Ghostbusters, of course, the blockbusting movie from 1984 which is uncannily accurate in every way and serves as a visual representation of the serious art of seeking out spooks. (Or at least how we want it to be rather than the sad reality.)

If you’ve seen it as many times as I have (I’ve also watched the commentary, deleted scenes, trailers and bonus documentaries), you’ll know that the film’s first glimpse of the supernatural happens in the basement of the New York Public Library.

The librarian on duty down there is attacked from all sides by hundreds of flying index cards. And our intrepid heroes are confronted with a tall uneven stack of books which has no earthly explanation (other than the merest possibility that a bored member of staff might have just stacked them there for a laugh).

Naturally, then, you can understand my delight when I heard from Mike that we’d been granted a guided tour of Sheffield Central Library’s basement (known as ‘the stacks’). He’d heard that some of the staff had seen strange things down there, so he’d got in touch and they’d kindly invited us along to have a gander.

I got there early on the day in question, so I drooled over the wares on offer in the DVD/CD lending room, then hovered round the graphic novels section, browsing my favourite titles.

A lady on staff came up to me and asked: ‘Can I help you, sir?’

‘No, ta,’ I thanked her and smiled. ‘Just looking.’

Come the time of our appointment, I trundled back to the foyer and found the very same lady standing there with her colleague. They were looking down at their watches, looking up at the library’s entrance, looking down at their watches again, and so on, as if they were expecting to see someone.

‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘Are you waiting for the ghost blog people?’

The lady smiled and shook my hand.

‘I knew it was you!’ she announced.

I’m still not sure what it was about me that gave the game away. My jacket? My hairstyle? My general demeanour? I’m now paranoid that whenever I’m out and about, children and grown-ups alike are laughing and pointing at me, whispering: ‘Hey, look. That man over there. He’s a ghost-hunter. It’s obvious!’

The lady in question was Eunice Heathcote, who’d worked at Sheffield Central Library for ten years, and in her time (in common with many of the staff there) she’d spotted a number of ghostly figures roaming around the premises.

Eunice was delightful as she chatted away, and so was her colleague, Linda Greenwood. Linda had been at the library for a year and hadn’t had the same experiences as Eunice, so she was just as fascinated by Eunice’s tales as I was.

A few minutes into our chat, Mike burst through the library doors.

‘Sorry I’m late!’ he yelled.

He was hot, flustered and sweaty. Parking had been nigh on impossible in town that morning. Spaces were like gold dust, but as soon as he’d found one he’d parked his car there and raced on over to us as fast as he could.

Shaking hands with Eunice and Linda, wheezing, panting and wiping his brow, we were escorted to our first port of call: the staff women’s toilets. (The places that self-respecting ghost-hunters have to check out in order to do their research…)

Turns out that Eunice had been in there one day when she spotted a lady standing in one of the cubicles, as solid as you or I. She definitely wasn’t a member of staff, and she was garbed in vivid, bright-coloured period dress (was it Victorian?). Eunice had turned to the sink for an instant, then turned back quickly and the lady had gone! There was no way she could have left the cubicle and sneaked out the door in the half second or less that Eunice had turned away.

Brilliant story, but I don’t know what unsettled me more. Eunice’s unusual tale, or the fact that Mike and I were standing right in the middle of the women’s loos, scared that we’d be caught at any moment!

The second port of call was the basement itself: ‘the stacks’.

As we entered, Eunice reassured us: ‘Don’t worry. You won’t get attacked by flying cards or books!’ (So she’d seen Ghostbusters as well. Excellent!)

For a book lover like me, ‘the stacks’ was pure heaven. Rows upon rows of shelves piled high with books and other publications as far as the eye could see. I could quite happily have spent days in there.

There were lots of dark corners and narrow shadowy corridors for ghosts to hide in. Except they didn’t hide. Staff would often see people down here, again in period dress. And it seemed that these people (ghosts?) could also see the staff, speaking to them and gesturing.

Eunice had once seen an amorphous dark mass down here. She hadn’t been scared by the period figures, some of whom walked up and down the staircase, but this eerie black shape had given her a deep sense of uneasiness.

I shared this sense of uneasiness each time I heard a bang or a clatter or a door slam down here. The sound effects in question would invariably be followed by a member of staff walking past, pushing a trolley or going about their everyday business.

But my overactive imagination would always assume it was something more sinister and spooky. The others just laughed at my jumpiness. Thanks, guys (and gals…)!

Finally, we chatted to a lady at the main desk upstairs. She told us that once, in the main library area, she’d heard her name called out. She looked round, but no one was there. Then she could smell flowers really strongly, but again there were no flowers around to be giving off the scent. (Mike has a theory about this. More about that in his follow-up blog entry coming soon.)

Eunice’s parting thought to us as we headed for the door was: ‘These people haven’t just been spotted in the basement. Staff see them in the library as well, in the daytime, as clear as you can see me and Linda right now.’

It occurred to me that all of Mike’s and my ghost-hunting excursions have taken place at night. But Eunice believes that ghosts can appear at any time. We only notice them at night because we’re not expecting to see anyone, but if they occur in the daytime we might walk straight past them, thinking they’re just ordinary folks like you or I.

As Mike and I emerged onto the midday street, encouraged and challenged by our visit to the library and grateful for the warm hospitality of our hosts, I couldn’t help looking at the crowds of people hustling and bustling down Surrey Street. I wondered how many of them might be daytime ghosts, and how would I be able to tell?

‘Great stuff,’ said Mike of our morning tour. ‘We’ll have to pay a return visit soon.’ I hope so. I’m looking forward to it!

And return we shall. But in the meantime, Mike has been doing some research. Lots of it. With some very interesting findings. But that (as clichéd endings go) is another story…

Ghostly greetings from 2MG

2009-12-23T08:16:00.000-08:00

The Stocksbridge bypass revisited (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-12-22T14:02:00.000-08:00

A few blog posts ago, Mike told the story of his gardener, Chuck C’s ghostly encounter on the Stocksbridge bypass. The woman in the car in front of him was shaken (understandably so) because a phantom monk (in robes and everything) had allegedly appeared in the passenger seat next to her for part of the journey. Maybe he couldn’t afford a bus ticket.

Mike had also read recently that a motorcyclist, who used the bypass to get to work each day, had problems each time he approached it. Turns out his engine would cut out and only return to full working order once he’d walked his faultering vehicle the full length of the bypass.

If this happened to him every time, it kind of makes you wonder why he didn’t choose another route. (Or maybe he was persistently late for work, and this was the only excuse he could think of. In the words of Michael Jackson: ‘Don’t blame it on the sunshine. Don’t blame it on the moonlight. Don’t blame it on the good times. Blame it on the paranormal goings-on at Stocksbridge bypass that affect the inner workings of my motorbike.’ Or something.)

When you consider both of the above stories – along with the sad fact that the only remotely spooky thing that’s happened to us since we started this blog is Mike’s mileometer packing in as we headed for the bypass in question – can you blame us for deciding that a return trip to Stocksbridge was in order?

If something had happened every single day to this motorcyclist, then the odds were in our favour for a genuine happening on our journey. And, amazingly, we could finally have something worth writing about!

So, with our hopes high, our tank full, and bags of liquorice allsorts in our pockets for sustenance on the way, we set off up the M1 for Stocksbridge. We were gonna catch ourselves a mad monk from the otherworld!

I wish I could say our optimism was rewarded on that fateless night.

I wish I could report back with spine-tingling tales of a mysterious transparent figure roaming the roads and interfering with our innards (the innards of our car, that is).

I wish that the most dramatic thing that happened that evening was slightly more interesting than me losing a pink liquorice allsort (one of my favourites) down the back of Mike’s car seat.

We tried our best, really we did. We must have driven up and down that bypass at least half a dozen times, our eyes darting left, right, and all directions in between for the slightest sign of strange goings-on in bushes, over fences, behind trees ... or anywhere!

But strange goings-on there were none.

Sadly, the only sighting that was vaguely unusual was a lorry parked in a layby, with the word Symphony cryptically painted on its side in large red letters. Was there a full orchestra in there, being carted about from symphony hall to opera house like a stable of horses being ferried about in the back of a van?

Eventually, our curiosity got the better of us, and because there was clearly nowt else to be seen on the road, we pulled up slowly behind the lorry. As we read the writing on the back doors, it all became clear. Turns out Symphony is a company that manufactures mattresses, and the lorry was most likely full of them.

So, unless our ghost-monk was having a secret kip on one of them before his next scheduled stint at terrorising Sheffield motorists, that was probably ‘it’ as far as our ghost-hunting attempts went that evening.

Mike turned his engine off so that we could have a breather from driving backwards and forwards. It was hard work not seeing any ghosts on the highways and byways of Sheffield … and the fact that mattresses were in our immediate vicinity must have sent a subliminal message to our brains that we were tired.

So, with nothing else to do, we chatted in the dark for a while, and Mike regaled me with a repeat telling of his gardener, Chuck C’s story of the phantom visitor in that poor woman’s car. I was thrilled and intrigued by this, until I turned my head and saw a sinister silhouette in the dark behind Mike.

‘M-M-M-M-Mike,’ I stuttered. ‘I hate to tell you this, but … behind you. It’s…’

I stopped in mid-sentence when my intelligence kicked in, correctly telling me that all I was seeing was the head rest sticking up on the back of Mike’s seat. Amazing what a teensy bit of darkness, plus a truly spooky story, can do to one’s powers of suggestibility and imagination. In such conditions, a head rest from Halford’s can so easily be perceived as a deranged dead monk with the ability to sabotage complex 21st century automotive systems. I consoled myself with the fact that this was a simple mistake that anyone could have made ... wasn’t it?

Mike and I decided there and then that we needed to change our strategy. We were clearly getting nowhere. So, instead of looking for ghosts ourselves, maybe we should shift our efforts to seeking out and interviewing people who’ve regularly seen the very things that elude our grasp.

Which is precisely what we did! Please don’t miss our next exciting blog post in which we tell you in great gory detail what happened to us in the basement (not to mention the women’s toilets) of Sheffield Central Library.

Plus my intriguing encounter in the library’s graphic novels section.

Oo-er…

Humbug, part two...

2009-12-21T12:07:00.000-08:00

Crumbs. Look how long Mike's had to wait to see a ghost!

Rather than finding one, it seems he's turned into one himself.

Gonna have to change the name of this blog to 'One Man and Two Ghosts'...

Humbug to Christmas...

2009-12-18T07:59:00.000-08:00

Yes, it's a close-up of our very own Mike Kazybrid (one-third of Two Men and a Ghost). Could it be that he doesn't like Christmas?

Or is it that he's trying to provoke the spirits of Christmas past, present and future, so that we might actually see a ghost or two before the year's end? We are supposed to be ghost-hunters after all, and we still haven't seen one of the bloomin' things...

Exposed in Sheffield ... and more 2MG on the radio!

2009-12-11T12:54:00.000-08:00

In our last blog post, Mike's gardener Chuck C revealed his own spooky take on the alleged mad monk sightings on Sheffield's Stocksbridge bypass.

Inspired by this (and since the Stocksbridge bypass was our very first foray into this ghost-hunting lark back in May), we decided to take a trip down memory lane and revisit this infamous location to see if we had any further luck in finding our elusive spectral monk.

Watch out for the account of what we discovered (or maybe didn't discover!) in a few days' time.

While you're waiting, you could check us out in Sheffield's excellent exposed magazine, which shifts 35,000 copies each month. It's available free at all good pubs, clubs and shops in the Sheffield and Doncaster area, and you'll find us on page 12 in the festive December issue.

Or you could listen to the latest Paul and Spike show, a bumper two-hour edition! This is our third appearance on the programme, and (amongst other things) there's a teaser for our upcoming Stocksbridge bypass story, as well as all the gory details of Mike's recent encounter with his boiler man.

What's the significance of the bright blue bucket in the picture above? Not telling! You'll just have to download this brilliant show from the link below in order to find out. (Believe me, it's stonking!)

The Paul And Spike Show, episode #136: Friday December 11th, 2009.

Click here to download the show mp3.
Click here to subscribe to the Paul And Spike Show, using iTunes or any feedreader.
Furthermore, bookmark PaulAndSpike.com, mmkay?

Chuck C's 'Tale of the Weird!' (by Mike Kazybrid)

2009-12-11T11:59:00.000-08:00

You may have noticed that from time to time, valued guests to the blog have kindly contributed by sending in what could only be described as yet another ‘Tale of the Weird!’ For example, check out the great story from Julie Blount here.

I'm pleased to say that this is no less!

Before we get into this story of an eerie encounter that will send a chill down your spine, it's important to mention the kind of guy Chuck C happens to be. First of all, by profession he's a gardener, and not just a very good gardener, he happens to be my gardener!

Commercial break (at this point, please hum the type of background music you'd hear on a TV ad).

‘Living in the Sheffield or South Yorkshire area? Require a good and professional gardener that you can rely on? Contact twomenandaghost@hotmail.com and we'll gladly pass on your details!’

(You can now stop humming!)

In order to set the scene, we must return to one of the very first imputed haunted sites that Two Men and a Ghost checked out. (Er, you really can stop humming now!) The A616 Stocksbridge bypass of Sheffield was opened back in 1988 at a cost of £18 million. At seven miles long, it was mainly built in order to divert heavy traffic away from the centre of Stocksbridge, running from Underbank to meet up with the M1 motorway.

Its official opening date: Friday, 13th May.

Whilst over the past number of years, an unusual amount of accidents have taken place, there has been one factor that has continued to haunt the bypass: the sudden appearance of a ghostly monk.

Okay, so we've set the scene. Grab your cuppa tea and read on...

It is during the late hours that we find Chuck C driving along the aforementioned bypass. It had been a long hard day for the gardener, and the only important thing on his mind now is to return home to his family. Because of the lateness of the hour, the road is quiet, all but for the car he can now see in the distance. Nothing appears out of the ordinary. It seems like just another lonely driver on an equally lonely stretch of road, both drivers looking forward to its end.

But for Chuck C, it all became the beginning rather than the end: the beginning of a strange and haunting experience. He noticed that, suddenly, the other vehicle began to move in an erratic manner, swinging from one side of the lane to the next, like a metal creature anxious to shake something off its metallic hide.

Whilst getting close, but not daring to get too close for fear of getting hit, it was all too clear that the driver was somewhat stressed. Chuck C managed to safely overtake the troubled vehicle, gaining his position in front of it.

It was at this point that the car flashed its headlights, indicating that it was about to pull over and come to a stop. Following its lead, Chuck C stopped his own van, getting out. He began to walk towards the car, because he would always go out of his way to help someone. But he wasn't prepared for what awaited him.

Upon approaching the car, he could see that the darkened image of the driver had become that of a young woman. Judging by her expression, she was clearly very upset. Lowering the window, she gazed at him tearfully. Could this have been someone in the aftermath of a terrible row, now regretting its outcome, or was it something much more?

Still crying, she asked: ‘Didn't you see him? He was sitting right next to me.’

Chuck C turned his attention to the passenger seat, hoping to see who exactly she was talking about. But it was empty.

The poor woman continued to ask the question, but added a few facts. Whilst driving along, she became aware that the car had become incredibly cold. She started to realise that she was no longer alone in the car: seated next to her was the dark figure of a monk, dressed in robes that were old.

The hooded figure remained silent. It was fully understandable that out of blind fear, anyone would have reacted in the manner that she did.

The monk was now thankfully gone, and the moment had passed. Feeling more calm, she continued on her journey whilst Chuck C drove slowly behind her, keeping a watchful eye on the car. The vehicles parted company upon reaching the nearby lit urban area.

I can vouch that the gardener is a really down to earth kind of guy, but he could clearly see that during that evening something had happened to be added to the ever frequent stories of the haunted bypass.

Having heard the story, it yet again provoked more questions that cannot be answered:

Could this be the ghost of a runaway monk who had died there but had sadly been buried in unhallowed ground?
Has his grave been disturbed because of the construction of the bypass?
How does he know that a passing car has one person in instead of four, so that there’s room for him to sit?
Has he ever tried to get on the back of a speeding motorbike?

Questions ... questions...

(You can start humming again now if you like!)

...you're sure of a big surprise! (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-12-02T11:10:00.000-08:00

THE STORY SO FAR:

We sneaked into some woods at night to seek out a bench where (it was claimed) the ghost of an old lady had been spotted doing some knitting. We couldn’t find the bench anywhere, I slipped in some freezing cold mud, and we soon emerged out the other side onto a road. Turned out we’d gone to the wrong woods, and the correct woods were just across the street.

READ ON, McDUFF…

We were cold, wet, miserable and dejected – especially me with mud splattered all over my jeans and coat – but we’d come this far and I wasn’t going to turn back now. We crossed the road and plunged headfirst into this second set of woods, and we soon found a path that led up to a quaint old cottage surrounded by trees.

‘Nice cottage!’ said Mike. ‘Wonder if anyone’s in?’

To illustrate his statement, he shone his torch into the front window.

‘Blimey!’

To our horror, the light came on in the front room. We’d thought that no one was inside, but obviously we were wrong.

Had the occupants been startled by Mike’s torch and quickly flicked on a lamp to phone the police about intruders?

Quaking, we hid behind one of the trees.

‘Ow.’

As luck would have it, as I turned in the dark I bashed my knee on the side of a bench. Doesn’t sound lucky at all, does it? Not until you realise that it was the exact same bench we’d been looking for all evening.

‘It’s here, Mike,’ I whispered.

‘What is?’ said Mike.

‘The bench,’ I announced. ‘It fits the description. It’s got four legs, you can sit on it, and it looks like a bench.’

‘That must be it, then,’ agreed Mike. ‘A bench that looks like a bench. Success!’

Not quite. We’d located our bench all right, but we hadn’t found our ghost.

If this blog was called ‘Two Men and a Bench’ we’d be laughing. Result!

But we weren’t after a bench, were we? We were after the ghost that sat on it, merrily knitting mittens or woollen tea cosies or the like.

Anyway, there were two reasons we sat on that bench in silence for twenty minutes.

One was to wait for a ghostly manifestation. (No such manifestation appeared.)

The second was ‘cause Mike was worried that if we moved back into sight of the cottage, we might give the occupants a heart attack. It was nearly midnight after all, so what would they make of two grown men roaming around the equivalent of their front garden, one with a ghost-hunting fedora on his bonce and the other caked in mud from head to trainers?

But we had to make a dash for it at some point, and me needing a pee was the deciding factor in our sudden lurch for freedom.

‘Here goes!’ we said and we raced back past the cottage like the cast of Blackadder going over the top of the trench in that infamous final episode.

It didn’t help that we could hear a police helicopter overhead. Or rather it did – it made us race all the faster!

Minutes later we arrived at our starting point, with just a short walk up the road to Mike’s parked car. But I was aching from my fall, wheezing after our run, and busting for a pee. So Mike kindly offered to fetch his car and drive it down to me while I strategically relieved myself on the base of an obliging pine tree.

Standing by the side of the road – bladder now empty, and with traffic racing past - I couldn’t wait for Mike’s car to meet me so that I could get back home and flop straight into bed.

Not much later: Home. Flop. Snoring immediately. And that was the end of yet another successful ghost-hunting venture from the good folks of ‘Two Men and a Ghost’ in Sheffield.

POSTSCRIPT

Email from Mike the next day:

‘This morning, my poor back was killing me, this forcing me to walk in a very odd manner. When I took my son up to school, I happened to be walking along to his classroom, when a young dad passed me, saying: “Good morning.” All's well until I hear the words: “Weren't you coming out of the woods last night with another chap carrying torches?" At this moment, I felt the world rush past me.

‘Because of getting put on the spot, I replied: "Oh, yer, we were doing research for a project on our blog!" Yep, that sounded good, well done, Mike. It sounds very professional and mysterious. So why the hell did my mouth continue by saying: "Hope that the passing police helicopter didn't see us!"’

Mike was hobbling and I was covered in mud. I dread to imagine what he thought we were doing in the woods that night…

If you go down to the woods today... (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-11-21T12:58:00.000-08:00

Why are we doing this ghost-hunting lark? I ask myself that a lot. Why are two grown men venturing forth into muddy, rainy nights, risking life, limb and sanity to find evidence of ghosts in the unlikeliest (and coldest) of places?

Maybe it’s a desperate expression of our mid-life awareness of mortality.

Maybe we’re on a quest to touch transcendence, seeking some form of reassurance that life goes on beyond the death of the body.

Maybe there’s an inbuilt human need in us to prove that there’s more to reality than our five senses show us.

Maybe we’re weary of the mundane world and crave a thrill … a frisson of excitement that comes from an encounter, no matter how small, with the mysterious realm of the paranormal.

Or maybe we’re just pillocks.

To be honest, I favour the latter interpretation. As evidence, I present to you an account of our latest excursion into a wooded area near a dam in Sheffield. (The location is being kept secret to protect the guilty.)

It should have been straightforward. We were looking for an old lady knitting. But not just any old lady: this one was dead, and I’m reliably informed that not being alive is a definite handicap when you want to rustle up a matching blouse and scarf from three balls of wool.

The lady in question had been spotted knitting on a bench in some woods in Sheffield, despite having died and despite there being photographic evidence of her knitting on the very same bench many decades before.

So … our mission (should we choose to accept it) was to seek and locate this haunted bench and examine it closely for signs of knitting needles, fragments of wool and old ladies.

Trouble was, only Mike knew where the woods were. So he agreed to meet me outside a certain church in Sheffield. We both knew this building well. How could we possibly go wrong?

I parked my car by the front entrance and soon got a text from Mike, saying: ‘I’m here!’ I looked round … but there was no sign of him anywhere.

Another text: ‘I’m still here!’ Very profound. Wherever Mike happened to be right now in the world – either outside the church, at home in his kitchen making toasties, or hiking round Outer Mongolia – Mike was most definitely ‘here’, at least from his point of view.

But it wasn’t my ‘here’. Mike’s ‘here’ didn’t seem to intercept my own personal ‘here’ in any way, shape or form.

Turns out he’d parked outside the church’s hall a hundred yards or so down the road from the church itself. After sending me that second text, he’d spied me walking towards him, leapt out of his car and ran to shake my hand, eager to fill me in on the details of the ‘thrilling’ evening he’d planned for us.

Apparently, I’d smiled back at him and headed for his passenger door. Except it wasn’t me at all. On closer inspection, Mike saw that he was thrusting his hand towards a gentleman of Oriental persuasion holding two bags of groceries. He’d been waiting for a lift and obviously thought that Mike was the friendliest taxi driver he’d ever met.

I don’t know how they resolved their misunderstanding, but I think it ended with Mike bowing his head politely while holding his palms in the praying position. Mike shamefacedly returned to his car and texted me with: ‘Where are you?’

I was tempted to reply with ‘I’m here!’ Instead I disclosed that I was outside the church. Not a promising start to the evening, you’ll have to admit, but at least it was consistent with the rest of the night’s events.

Now that I think about it, I’d previously told Mike we should meet outside the hall and not the actual church. But what’s a hundred yards amongst friends?

Anyway, we finally met, I jumped into his car, and within minutes we were parked up the road from our date with destiny. Taking a quick gulp of air, we bravely plunged into the pitch black woods armed with nothing but torches and adrenaline.

It was cold, drizzly and muddy, we could barely see where we were going, but we were buoyed up by the prospect that soon, very soon now, we would almost certainly be bumping into our friendly phantom knitter.

‘Aaaaaaah!’

‘BLIMEY, ANDREW!’

Poor Mike had witnessed my torch flying high up in the air while I simultaneously flew in the opposite direction. Splatting onto the squelchy earth, I found myself covered in mud, the self-same substance that had caused me to slip.

I don’t know whether Mike thought I’d had a heart attack and died, or even been attacked by an upset ghost who’d wanted to knit in private. But he seemed considerably more shaken up than I was, and I was the one who’d fallen.

‘Sorry, Mike, it’s the mud,’ I explained, trying to calm him down as he offered a trembling hand to lift me up. ‘I’ll watch where I’m going the rest of the way.’

Which I did. I watched where I was going for five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. More. We must have plodded through every soggy square foot of those sodding woods, but sight of a bench? There was none.

Finally, we emerged out the other side. Failure? Not quite. Hope was across the road where we spotted another set of woods. This was the one, confirmed Mike. Turns out we’d parked on the wrong road. Typical!

But we’d come this far. We weren’t going to turn back now. I didn’t want my clothes to have been soiled with mud in vain.

So, taking another gulp of air, we bravely plunged into the next area of woodland. And, to our amazement, we soon found ourselves face to face with...

TO BE CONTINUED

(Don’t you just love cliff-hanging blogs!)

And the winner is...

2009-11-05T02:21:00.000-08:00

Mike and I (and the ghost) have been dead chuffed at the huge response to our Halloween competition. We also sheepishly noticed that not one single entrant got the answer wrong - maybe we should make the question harder next time!

To remind you, the question was: A mask based on a famous sci-fi actor was turned inside out in order to become the villain of the movie, Halloween - who was that famous sci-fi actor?

And the answer (of course) was: William Shatner, famously absent from this year's blockbusting Star Trek reboot.

So, onto the winner...

Mike scientifically stuffed all the entrants (not literally, just their names) into his ghostbusting fedora, and his partner Sarah dipped her trusty hands in and pulled out ... ta-da! ... Shaun Lawrence. Congratulations! A fabulous piece of original A3 artwork, signed by Mike and myself, will soon be winging its way to you in an airtight cardboard tube.

And because we were so pleased at how many people responded, we've decided ('cos we're like that) to award two runner-up prizes as well. Smaller (but just as collectable) bits of artwork will be on their way to Allan Colthart and the person whose email address starts with 'mellisonlawv'. We'll be emailing you all shortly for your snail mail addresses.

There may be another competition at Christmas. Watch this space!

In the meantime, you could do worse than listen to our second appearance on the Paul and Spike show, about 17 minutes in. But please don't tell the authorities what we got up to that night in the woods...

The Paul And Spike And Two Men And A Ghost Show: Friday October 30th, 2009.

Click here to download the show mp3.

And click here to subscribe to the Paul And Spike Show, using iTunes or any feedreader.

One day left for Halloween competition!

2009-10-30T13:07:00.000-07:00

For details of this simple-to-enter competition, read here.

Great Halloween competition - one week left!

2009-10-23T10:15:00.000-07:00

That's right - only one week left to enter our great Halloween competition. Here's your chance to win a collectible, original piece of artwork from a top UK comics artist.

In fact, there's the prize in front of you now. Imagine holding in your sweaty hands the original, intricate A3 drawing of the above illustration, signed personally to you by the two men themselves (but not a ghost).

All you have to do is answer one simple question. More details here.

And while you're thinking of the answer, have a listen to Mike Kazybrid's lengthy interview this week with Rony Robinson on Radio Sheffield. Mike can be heard here, about 2 hours, 20 minutes in, and the file is available to listen again till 28th October.

(This competition is not open to friends, employees or relatives of the ghost.)

'I've seen a ghost!' (by Julie Blount)

2009-10-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

Last month, during one of our appearances on Radio Sheffield, we bumped into Julie Blount. (Sorry, Julie! Hope the coffee stain has washed out by now.) Julie is a stand-up comedienne at night - watch out for her on the Sheffield circuit - but by the day she runs an excellent marketing company which can be found here. Julie has very kindly agreed to share a personal ghost story with us:

I thought I would tell you about a ghostly tale from my younger years ... it is true ... I used to be young.

Well, I was married at the time (yes, it's true, I used to be married) to an annoying chap, but we won't go there. Well, it was early in the morning and I was alone in the house. I was finishing off my last few scraps of breakfast (yes, it's true, I used to eat scraps for breakfast) and it was during the final slurp of tea that I turned around to look in the living room.

As I turned, I saw a figure pass from one side of the room to the other. This figure wore a blue uniform and hat ... don't know what the uniform was, but the hat was a box type without a peak. The colour was more of an electric blue and the outline extremely realistic ... it could have been someone actually walking in my house. I don't know where the figure started walking from, but it finished going through the wall which would lead to the outside of the house.

Strange thing was that as I looked at it I didn't think anything of it. I fully realised it was inside the house, but after it disappeared I simply went to work. Then, at about ten o' clock as I drank yet another cup of tea in my unauthorised break at work, I started to shake a bit, declaring: 'I've seen a ghost!'

My colleagues were intrigued and looked around the office to see where it was.

'NO!' I said creepily. 'It was this morning before I set out to work!'

'Right!" came their cynical response as they sniffed suspectingly at said tea. No matter how I tried to convince them, my colleagues were loathe to believe.

I have no idea why it took me a few hours to actually realise what was going on. Needless to say, I moved very shortly afterwards and never felt relaxed in that house again.

Now, some 20 odd years on, I just wish I could've offered him a cup of tea ... thirsty work I reckon this wall walking.

The wit and wisdom of Reggie Droppings

2009-10-23T04:55:00.000-07:00

Huge Halloween competition - win a unique cartoon, personally signed to you!

2009-10-10T13:48:00.001-07:00

Okay. We promised it, and now here it is. Yes, it's ... definite proof of ghosts!

Well, not quite. We're almost there, but in the meantime, to reward all good readers of our blog, here's a Halloween competition with a very special prize indeed.

1. The question - A mask based on a famous sci-fi actor was turned inside out in order to become the villain of the movie, Halloween - who was that famous sci-fi actor?

2. The email address - Send your answer to our brand new email address: twomenandaghost@hotmail.com

The deadline is the night of 1st November, the day after Halloween. On 2nd November we will print out all the correct emails, try to cram them all into Mike's special ghost hunting hat, then pick out just one to win our unique, collectable prize, which is...

3. The prize - an original pen and ink cartoon of those fearless seekers of the para-abnormal, 'Two Men and a Ghost' (aka 2MG). This will be produced on art paper, size A3, and will be mailed to the winner's address. It will be personally signed (with your name on it) by 2MG creators Mike Kazybrid and Andrew Wooding.

Just to give you an idea of how prestigious this original cartoon will be:

Artist Mychailo 'Mike' Kazybrid has worked in the cartoon and comic book industry since 1975. His portfolio includes artwork for countless licensed characters ranging from Wallace & Gromit, Shaun the Sheep, The Tick, Count Duckula and DangerMouse to name but a small few. He has been a featured guest at a number of Transformers conventions, and UK comics luminary Dez Skinn (former editorial director of Marvel UK and editor of Comics International) says of him in the book Comic Art Now: '...his detailed pensmanship on his backgrounds is little short of 19th century engravings, and in stark contrast with the foreground hero...'

This is a one-of-its kind prize and sure to be sought after. It'll look great on your mantelpiece!

Go on. Name that mask and win that prize. Email your answer now to: twomenandaghost@hotmail.com

And while you're at it, tell us what you think of us.

On second thoughts, maybe not...

Competition coming soon...

2009-10-10T03:51:00.000-07:00

For those of you who listen to the excellent The Paul and Spike Show - broadcast weekly over the airwaves by radio six international then made available as an extended podcast on iTunes - you'll be expecting a very special Halloween competition right here on this very blog.

Rest assured, it is coming soon. It'll be here sometime this weekend, just as soon as we've polished to perfection the unique, special prize, fine-tuned the wording of the challenging competition question, and ... er ... been to the toilet a few times, picked our noses and watched a few movies.

In the meantime, you could do worse than read our third mention (no less) by Martin Dawes in The Star newspaper in Sheffield - check it out here. Thanks, Martin!

You can also listen to us on the latest edition of The Paul and Spike Show. We're 22 minutes in (ish) ... but the rest of the show's quite good as well! Also, big thanks to the good folks at radio six international who will be running promos for our competition all the way through October.

The Paul And Spike Show: Friday October 9th, 2009.

Click here to download the show mp3.

And click here to subscribe to the Paul And Spike Show, using iTunes or any feedreader.

The 2MG team discover … appliances! (by Andrew Wooding, with a bit of Mike at the end)

2009-10-06T10:12:00.000-07:00

Our previous nocturnal excursion to Graves Park in Sheffield had been anti-climactic, to say the least. You can read about it here. The aim was to check out the boating lake where two dejected ladies had drowned themselves independently of each other … then subsequently popped up in people’s snapshots wearing Victorian dresses (as you do).

It sounded like a promising evening of ghost hunting, except it took us over an hour to find Graves Park, and when we finally got there, we couldn’t locate the bloody boating lake! It was pitch black in there, and the light from our mobile phones and iPods did little to illuminate the way.

But good things can come from bad, as they say, and the whole sad experience has forced us to rethink our methods. Two weeks later we have bounced back fighting fit, armed with a surefire strategy that will take us to the next level … appliances!

Turns out that all self-respecting ghost hunting teams worth their salt go forth armed with gadgets and gizmos to aid them in their quest. Ultra-sensitive recording equipment. Finely-adjusted cameras. Radiation detectors and the like. All sorts of technological wizardry, with the single aim of proving to the world that ghosts are more than just pygmies of our imaginations.

Mike and I don’t have much of a budget yet (for some reason, Sheffield Council have declined our request to fund our vital scientific experiments), but we’re proud of our very first dip into the metaphorical pond of paranormal paraphernalia.

For our return visit to Graves Park, we each took a ‘para-luminator’ (mine was a torch from Poundland; Mike’s was one of those wind-up non-electrical torches that doesn't need batteries), and we shared a handy ‘moisture manipulator’ (a fold-up umbrella from Oxfam down the road).

Turns out the moisture manipulator was a must – it was chucking it down this evening. And the para-luminators meant that we stumbled across the boating lake within minutes … although it was a little off-putting hearing Mike whizzing his para-luminator round like a egg whisk each time he felt like shedding some light on things.

Plodding towards the boating lake, I could have sworn I saw the outline of a giraffe. It was dark, it was raining, and my glasses were drenched, but it was undeniably a giraffe. Could we have found the first reported case of a spectral safari animal? I pointed it out to Mike, and since the batteries in my torch had already run out of juice (good old Poundland), Mike obliged by powering up his para-luminator.

Whizz! Whoosh! Whirr! (This should be good for at least ten seconds of light.)

It wasn’t long before Mike’s para-luminator revealed that what I was seeing was indeed a jungle creature of the long-necked variety. But it wasn’t a ghostly giraffe. It was flat and cut out of wood and turned out to be part of a jungle-themed play area for kiddies. Ah well. Like so many of our potential ghost discoveries … so near, and yet so far. It makes you think, doesn’t it?

The best thing I can say about the boating lake was … we didn’t fall in. The path winding round it was dark and slippery, and that can of Irn-Bru I’d imbibed an hour before was getting to my head.

We walked round the lake once … didn’t see a ghost. We walked round the lake again … still didn’t see a ghost. We walked round the lake a third time … guess what? Our optical perception of a watery ghoul was still most firmly in the negative.

On the way out of the park, though, I received my biggest fright since we started this ghost hunting lark: a blood-curdling high-pitched scream that chilled us both to the very bone.

Mike did his powering up again…

(frenzied egg whisk sounds)

…and the resultant beam of light revealed that the shriek originated from a nearby peacock. Maybe the poor thing had been frightened (like us) by the imposing silhouette of a fake wooden giraffe.

Folding the moisture manipulator away so that we could consume a bag of Monster Munch in Mike’s car, we resolved to be armed with even more ghostly gadgets on our next foray into night-time Sheffield.

Helpfully, Mike emailed me the next day with his proposal for further appliances. Considering our lack of funds, we have to be realistic about what we can afford. But I think this list looks promising. What do you think?

Professional teams' appliances

Table tipping
Automatic writing experiments
Trigger objects
Motion detectors
EMF meters
K2 meter
White noise experiments
EVP recorders
Lone vigil

2MG's appliances

Chair wobbling
A pen
Tigger toys
Prunes
An 'AA' battery
K9 model of Doctor Who's dog
Blow up paper bag and burst it
Wooden recorders and odd flute
Lonely Scott, John, Alan and Gordon Tracy

The wit and wisdom of Reggie Droppings

2009-10-04T10:09:00.001-07:00

2MG (short for 'Two Men and a Ghost') is pleased to present the first of a semi-regular feature on this august blog, collecting (exclusively here) the pithy yet profound sayings of our colleague and mentor, Sir Reginald Droppings (Reggie to his friends).

You won't find sayings any pithier than these ... we are proud to take his pith and post it for all to see.

More sayings to come, once we've managed to retrieve them from the circular metal receptacle on the floor of our office.

Two Men and the Radio

2009-09-26T06:56:00.000-07:00

2MG's marketing efforts continue apace. One-third of 2MG (Andrew Wooding) was interviewed by Rony Robinson yesterday on BBC Radio Sheffield. To hear the mammoth, in-depth interview - covering the origins of this very blog, tips on ghost hunting, as well as exclusive revelations about Larry Grayson and Cliff Richard's underpants - click here. Andrew's interview starts about 40 minutes from the end. Be warned: this file is only available to listen again till midday Friday, 2nd October.

The second third of 2MG (Mike Kazybrid) will be receiving similar treatment from Rony Robinson next month. Listen out for him from 2.20pm onwards on BBC Radio Sheffield, Friday, 23rd October. And don't forget to watch him live on the Radio Sheffield webcam here.

Negotiations are ongoing for Rony to complete the 2MG hat trick. The final third of 2MG ('a ghost') is currently checking his diary for dates, and as soon as we know when he's available we'll pass on the news of his historic appearance. (The webcam pictures should be interesting.)

In the meantime, our good friend Spike Nesmith - top radio presenter, based in the States, and co-host of The Paul and Spike Show - has given us a plug in their latest podcast. The podcast's page is here (we're mentioned about halfway down), and you can download the mp3 right here.

Good, eh? Rumours that next week we're sitting in for Steve Wright in the Afternoon are unfortunately unfounded.

2MG poster campaign

2009-09-26T06:29:00.000-07:00

Yes, us good folks at 2MG (short for 'Two Men and a Ghost') are going into marketing in a big way. Before your very eyes is the exclusive premiere of our brand new promotional poster, soon to be nailed to trees all over Sheffield and Blu-Tacked on the walls of various public conveniences.

We spent months working on this, consulting with such advertising giants as Saatchi & Saatchi (actually, we came up with it over a packet of peanuts in the pub), and we hope you like it. As you can see, we have taken every effort in our artistic endeavours to continue walking that fine line between 'quite good' and 'complete rubbish'.

A no-prize to the first person who recognises which film our tagline is based on. I have a sick sense that's no one's going to get it...

Yet more 'Real or surreal?' (by Mike Kazybrid)

2009-09-20T13:22:00.000-07:00

Towards the end of my last ‘Real or surreal?’, I made mention of the household cat and wrote the following comment: ‘Like every other pet I'd ever had in that house, it had died by unseen means.’ My good friend, Wooders, is keen that I explain. So here goes!

Let's set the scene. We're looking at the life of a young lad growing up in the 1960s ... er ... I'm talking about me, who else? Where was I? Oh yes, growing up in the 1960s! Wonderful time, great days, full of a real sense of creative talent going on, not just in comics, but also in film and television.

In the midst of all this, like most kids I had my share of pets, with the odd dog (and if you'd have seen them, you'd have called them odd!), but mainly cats. Now, the general idea is that when you purchase a pet, you like to think that it's going to live with you for quite a number of years, but sadly this wasn't the case.

During a period of a few years, without fail, each and every animal never died of natural causes. Troubled by this, but not as much as the cats were, I decided to present to my mother the various important questions that were forming in my young mind, questions such as: ‘Why has Tiddles kicked the bucket?’ (Hmm, bet Tiddles wanted the answer to that one as well!)

This is where we finally get to the much awaited spooky bit. Going back many years before, when Mum was just a youngster herself, a very mean and nasty piece of work once lived in the area, by the name of Mr Topee, better known as ol' Topee to all the local kids. The said character had a real hatred of animals, more so cats and dogs.

Why? Good question. I mean, I could understand it had it been that damn dog that once bit me on the rear whilst I ran for my life. (I have to confess that I was that six-year-old boy who had fired his best super-duper water pistol at its mush!) Anyway, back to ol' Topee.

It happened this way: late one afternoon, my mum and a few other children had noticed him wandering down one of the back streets, staggering under the weight of the large sack that rested over his shoulders. But it was the sight of Topee returning from the darkened back street without the mentioned sack that brought a chill to the young onlookers.

Having waited until he was clearly out of sight, they rushed tightly together, each footstep almost walking in time with the others. The late afternoon sun didn't seem to cast its kind rays on that part of the darkened street corner. As they approached the outline of the abandoned sack, they held each other in an attempt to feel like one complete force.

Mum couldn't remember just who had made the original move, but it was the slight nudge of someone's shoe that made the sack fall over. Having remained still for what seemed like for ever, with a great sense of daring they untied the old piece of string that held the top together. At this point it revealed its terrible secret: the cold, still features of what was once a handsome German shepherd resting silently on the stone floor. Sadly, this wasn't the first and certainly not the last time that animals were to be poisoned by the hand of Mr Topee.

Phew! Okay, let's get back to the '60s. Having discovered the tale of Topee, I followed it up with my next question to Mum: ‘What's that got to do with us right now?’ I honestly didn't want the answer.

It appeared that Mr Topee died at home whilst seated in his old rocking chair. This wasn't long before his house went up for sale, and it was soon to be purchased by my gran. In short, Topee had parted this life in our home … my home! It wasn't the perfect answer, but could this be the reason why my pets died, never enjoying a full and long life in Topee's house?

That evening, I recall taking myself off to bed, feeling that something of that horrible old man remained in its structure. Just before falling asleep, it was time for one final question, the one I really shouldn't have asked: ‘Mum, you know the rocking chair that ol' Topee died in. Whatever happened to it?’

‘Oh, that? That's the one that sits in the far side of the cellar. Sleep well, son!’

What we do in our spare time (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-09-14T11:33:00.000-07:00

Since Mike and I started 2MG a few months ago - (2MG is our new snazzy abbreviation for 'Two Men and a Ghost') - a lot of you have asked us what we do in our spare time when we're not out and about on our nocturnal excursions, methodically scouring the highways and byways of Sheffield for definite proof of ghost activity.

I say 'a lot of you'. What I mean is, a couple of you have asked us what we do in our spare time. Well, one of you. Well ... not even one. Apparently, none of you care in the slightest what we do in our spare time. But Mike's drawn this cartoon of us unwinding in between our important investigations, so I'm going to inflict it on you anyway. As you can see, it's fun fun fun at 2MG Mansions. Boy, do we know how to let it all hang out. Even Mike's cat is infected with the party spirit.

One thing I realised the last time I unwound was that I didn't completely finish the story of our first trip to Graves Park. After our utter and total failure to find any form of light to illuminate that sign in the dark, we returned downhearted to Mike's car to have a detailed and important debrief.

'I think we need to bring torches next time,' said Mike.

'Mm,' I agreed.

Our debrief over, I suddenly saw that there was something black and indistinct in the dim light of the road in the distance. What could it be? A stray dog? A fox? A starving squirrel foraging for nuts? Or something more sinister and supernatural heading straight for us?

I pointed it out to Mike, but he couldn't see it.

Doubting my eyes, I peered into the distance and spied the spectral shape again. It was weird and formless - unearthly, even - and it was still on the move.

Alarmingly, it also seemed to be moving in time with my head. If I turned slightly to the right, it also turned right. If I turned slightly to the left, it did likewise. Could it have become psychically linked with my neck muscles?

I pointed it out to Mike again, but he still couldn't see it.

'Pah! Are you blind?' I snorted, and I thrust my hand forward to point his eyes in the right direction. It was then that I noticed my finger was pointing at a small speck of muck on Mike's windscreen. It was weird and formless - unearthly, even. Except it wasn't unearthly, was it? It was just an ordinary speck of muck. Peering into the distance through Mike's windscreen, the speck had appeared blurry and far off and had moved in time with my head.

Ah well. So close and yet so far. We almost had proof this week that ghosts exist. We were 99.9% certain of it. We were that near to finally knowing for a fact that paranormal beings roam the streets of south Yorkshire at night.

Too bad it was just a piece of shit on Mike's car.

Better luck next time? Maybe ... if we remember to bring our torches.

Ghostly goings-on at Graves Park (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-09-02T10:34:00.000-07:00

‘Not again,’ I thought when Mike suggested we meet up at Bunting Nook, especially as our previous visits had proved spectacularly fruitless. But it turns out he only meant we should rendezvous there in our cars before strolling to our latest investigation, which he promised was ‘Just down the road…’

Which road, and the precise length of Mike’s ‘just’ were appropriately vague, as I was soon to find out.

We nattered for a while in Mike’s car about this and that and t’other, and before we knew it, night was falling all around us.

Fall, it went.

‘Better get a move on,’ I suggested. ‘Where are we supposed to be heading anyway?’

‘Follow me,’ beckoned Mike, ‘and I’ll tell you a story.’

As we sauntered in the twilight, Mike regaled me with the thrilling tale of a photographer and a young woman. No, not a salacious piece of gossip, but a startling story of impossible photographs and invisible wedding crashers.

Back in 1989, the photographer in question had shot a panoramic snap across the boating lake in Graves Park. When he developed it, he noticed a young woman standing between some trees in the background, wearing a long short-sleeved dress and holding a bouquet of flowers. The photographer insisted she hadn’t been there at the time, so how had she ended up in the picture? (Cue some suitably atmospheric spooky music, maybe downloadable from iTunes. Just type in ‘suitably atmospheric spooky music’ and see what comes up.)

Around the same time, just before a wedding at Norton Parish Church, a guest took some photos of the building. Again, there was a ginormous surprise when the snaps were developed: the pictures showed quite clearly a bridesmaid in a Victorian dress. The people who’d developed the piccies (the local branch of Boots?) informed the lady who took the snaps that they’d seen that bridesmaid before – she’d appeared in photographs of other weddings at the very same church. Creepy, eh? (Now play the theme to The Twilight Zone. If you don’t have it to hand, just hum it.)

Turns out that a long, long time ago - possibly in the nineteenth century - a bride-to-be received some very bad news before her wedding. The news remains a mystery, but whatever it was - (maybe she’d been told she had to live in Bunting Nook?) - she fled from the church and was later found dead in the boating lake of Graves Park.

To add to this jolly tale, another woman committed suicide in the very same lake, again for marital reasons: her dad wouldn’t give her permission to marry her boyfriend. Could one – or both – of these women have turned up in the various purported ghost photos, both, for reasons of their own, obsessed with weddings and cameras?

As Mike told me all this, I had a moment of inspiration. Maybe we could fake a marriage ceremony at the church in Norton, entice one of these ghost brides to turn up, snap a load of piccies, then nip down to the nearest Boots for our definite photographic proof that weddings and ghoulies are often ideal bedfellows.

For some reason, Mike wasn’t happy with the idea. Maybe it was because I’d volunteered him as the pretend bride in our staged wedding. Or maybe it was because we’d just walked a mile and couldn’t see Graves Park anywhere.

‘I think I may have taken a wrong turning,’ he admitted. So we took a different turning and carried on sauntering.

‘I think I may have taken a wrong turning,’ he admitted again as – another mile later – we were still no closer to the site of our investigation. At least we were getting some exercise. Ever hopeful, we tried another turning.

Guess what happened after a further mile of walking?

‘I think I've … er … taken a wrong turning again.’ (I bet other ghost hunters don’t have this problem. Maybe the ghost brides were messing with our sense of direction.)

The only thing for it was to head back to our cars at Bunting Nook and drive to Graves Park. We still might get lost, but at least we wouldn’t get blisters on our tootsies.

Amazingly, we made it, and we marched through the open park gates in almost pitch blackness. So, where was the boating lake? We couldn’t see it anywhere. But we still walked slowly in case we accidentally stumbled across it and joined those poor women at the bottom.

Eventually, we bumped into a sign.

Bump!

‘Ow.’

Maybe this would give us a clue where to go. But we couldn’t read the words in the darkness, and we didn’t have any torches. Mike lit up his mobile phone – not enough illumination, unfortunately. I lit up my iPod – even less illumination, but at least we had the option of listening to the Greatest Hits of ABBA to cheer ourselves up.

With nothing else to do, we returned downhearted to our vehicles. What an evening. First, we’d got spectacularly lost. Second, we couldn’t find our haunted boating lake, despite being in the very park it was meant to be in. And third, Mike selfishly refused to kit himself out with a wedding dress to aid our investigations.

We felt like the worst ghost-hunters ever. Or were we?

Read on, McDuff, for the imminent account of our second foray into ghostly Graves Park, this time armed with torches…

In the dark...

2009-08-27T12:07:00.000-07:00

Here's another cartoon from Mike. In case you suspected that the two of us are in the dark about ghost hunting, this picture confirms it!

What it actually illustrates is our experience at Graves Park, when we went on the hunt for two drowned women in the boating lake. What a night we had: ghost photos, eerie weddings, cross-dressing (sort of), an evil dark thingy crossing the road, and a King Size Twix between us.

Keep watching for the full report on this very blog next week when all will be explained. Two Men and a Ghost - I never knew there was so much in it!

(Apologies to the venerable TV Times for nicking their 1980s advertising slogan...)

Poltergeists and portaloos

2009-08-22T14:53:00.000-07:00

Inspired by last week's blog entry, which revealed that a ghost in Barnsley revels in flushing the loo, Mike Kazybrid crafted the above cartoon.

Which reminds me: word has reached of us a haunted loo in Sheffield. It's located in a certain Little Chef, and what's more ... it's in the women's toilets.

Not sure how Mike and I are going to get away with investigating this one, but we'll keep you posted. In the meantime, if you know of any drag queen outfitters in the Sheffield area, please let us know...

The Star and Beauchief Abbey (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-08-11T15:08:00.000-07:00

Mike emailed me the other day with some joyous news: ‘To bring good cheer, check out the Sheffield Star website. It appears that yesterday we received another mention that we're becoming big down under!’ I’ve never been accused of being big down under – more so round the waist. So, in the absence of a link, I googled ‘Sheffield’, ‘Star’ and ‘ghost’ and found this – not quite what I was looking for, but interesting nevertheless.

It’s an article about a ghost from Barnsley that’s obsessed with flushing toilets. The question one has to ask is: ‘Why?’ What trauma from their mortal existence would lead a ghost to compulsively flush the bog? Is there a dysentry pandemic in the spirit world? Do they get the squits in the nether regions? Or could it be Elvis from beyond the grave, regretting that one last cheeseburger?

I googled again, a little more precisely this time, and found our mention here, under the heading ‘Ghosthunters a hit Down Under’. The piece was written by Sheffield journalist Martin Dawes, the same nice person who kindly gave us a plug when this blog was just two weeks old. His write-ups are much appreciated, but he seemed to end this one with a sarky comment: ‘Their site is full of funny cartoons. But not, as yet, a single ghost…’

Really? What about our malfunctioning mileometer on the Stocksbridge bypass? And Mike’s childhood reminiscences of his levitating cot and haunted piano? Maybe he reckons these can all be explained away. Maybe he's looking for conclusive proof?

Well … here, especially for you, Martin Dawes … is the account of our trek to Beauchief Abbey.

It was a peaceful evening, in lovely grounds surrounded by a golf course. The abbey was founded in 1175 by Robert FitzRanulf de Alfreton. Old FitzRanulf (or 'Fitz' for short) was High Sheriff of Nottingham and Derbyshire. Some believe he played a part in the shameful death of Thomas Becket in 1170.

The theory is that Fitz, racked with guilt by his misdemeanour, attempted to redeem himself by funding a religious building. Back then there was no Children in Need or Comic Relief for conscience-easing acts of charity, so Fitz had to build an abbey instead. Slightly more expensive, perhaps, than writing a cheque to Pudsey Bear, but at least he didn't have to put up with Terry Wogan. Or wear a red nose. (Or maybe he did. Who knows what fun-loving High Sheriffs of Nottingham and Derbyshire got up to in those days? There's nothing in the history books to prove otherwise.)

As for paranormal activity, there's supposedly a ghostly monk in the vicinity. Maybe a friend or former colleague of the 'mad monk of Stocksbridge'? Our Beauchief Abbey monk wasn't mad - at least, not this evening. We didn't see hide nor habit of him. He probably couldn't be bothered to do a haunting tonight. Perfectly content with his lot, he was quite happy to put his feet up in the great beyond while chanting in Latin ... or contemplating ... or painting over his bald spot ... or whatever ghost monks do on their evenings off. (Wonder if ghost monks have a union? The GMU perhaps?)

There have also been sightings of a lady in white, who sometimes roams the ruins of the abbey. We didn't see her either. All I can say is I'm glad she didn't wear red, otherwise that annoying Chris de Burgh song would have gone round our heads all evening, over and over again. (Wish I hadn't mentioned it. It's going round my head right now.)

For what it's worth, it's been written that the abbey is built on ancient ley lines, but no matter how hard I looked I couldn't see them. What does a ley line look like when it's at home anyway?

Desperate for something strange to happen, we ascended a large grass mound and surveyed our surroundings. Mike started to theorise that the mound was home to a mutant giant mole that only came out at night, and I believed him ... for a milli-microsecond, that is. Mike was clearly gibbering, so it was time to call it a day.

'It's a day,' I said.

'No, it's not,' said Mike. 'It's a mound.'

I tripped on the way back to the car. Had I stumbled across an ancient ley line? Closer inspection revealed it was a can of Irn-Bru.

So, Martin Dawes of the Sheffield Star, you'll be pleased to see that there's no conclusive proof again this week. But hope springs eternal in the human breast and maybe in the ghostly breast as well - or breasts, in the case of the lady in white.

Better luck next time? At the infamous boating pond of the ghostly Graves Park?

In the meantime, how can I free my mind of Chris de Burgh's incessant warbling? Got any bright ideas anyone? Where's that packet of Anadin...

More 'Real or surreal?' (by Mike Kazybrid)

2009-08-04T13:06:00.000-07:00

Welcome to yet another blog edition of ‘Real or surreal?’ As already mentioned in my last offering, whilst I'm a pretty much down to earth type of guy, the idea behind these is simply to show that the strangest things can happen, and most often do. So sit back, take another sip of that tea, coffee or whatever takes your fancy, and pin back your lugholes! (That's ears to anyone else.)

This ‘Spooky Encounter of the Ghost Kind’ takes place when I was around the young age of nine. Life was good as I was well into discovering The Mighty World of Marvel comics. Spider-Man was top of my list of superheroes, not forgetting that wonderful battle between the Human Torch and Captain America. And just in case you missed out on that issue of Strange Tales, that Cap turned out to be a fake. However, it did open the door for the grand return of the real Captain America as seen in The Avengers #4.

Okay, I'll promise to shut up. So, where was I? Oh, yes, spooky encounters, etc.

To set the scene, for the first eleven years of my life I grew up in my grandmother's house, a large place consisting of eight bedrooms. Apart from my parents and I, Gran would often have stay a number of lodgers. As a youngster, I was never alone; people always seemed to fill each space of the house. But as I got older, I also grew to realise that certain others did also dwell alongside of us. Are you spooked yet?

On a serious note, whilst humour has always played a large part in both the careers of my good mate, Andrew and myself, we were deeply aware when we started to produce Two Men and a Ghost that certain events force you to adopt a serious view of paranormal matters. Certain others did reside in the house of my childhood, as I was to learn yet again on that cold November night.

On the evening in question, my father was at work. He was a man who had been employed in the textile industry for over 20 years, working 13 hours a night, six nights a week. My gran happened to be out, and because of a shortage of lodgers, the only ones left in the house were my mother and myself.

I recall playing with my toys while Mum read the local newspaper. The only sounds came from myself, seeking to create a fantasy world for my toy figures.

It wasn't long before we both became aware that another sound had started to fill the air, the sound of the piano being played from the out of bounds front room. Out of bounds mainly to myself and any one else below the age of eighteen. Never quite understood why. For someone who was much more interested in the comic book version of New York and all the superheroes that filled it, the front room offered nothing but old furniture.

My mum and I sat staring at one another for a brief moment. Maybe we had imagined the sound. Perhaps the people next door were having a piano party? Fat chance! As we slowly left the room, we quietly began to walk down the stairs, always mindful of the terrible creaking noise coming from each wooden step.

But as we turned the corner to come down the next flight of stairs, it wasn't the thick blackness that sent a chill deep inside me, it was that thin bright line of light from the bottom of the front room door. I recall a feeling of fear mixed with excitement filling my entire body. It didn't matter that my mum was standing next to me; after all, when my father was out, surely that made me the man of the house, didn't it? Even if I was only nine.

This was it; I could go no further. Standing up close to the door, I could hear very clearly the piano keys hitting the atmosphere. This was the first time I'd realised that they offered no real tune. Quite the opposite - it was a mass of tuneless screams produced be the erratic banging of an unseen hand. I began a mental countdown; it's amazing how brave you can be when you're much younger. Three, two, two-and-a-bit ... one!

Turning the door handle, I took a deep breath and quickly entered the room, expecting to see ... nothing. The first thing that puzzled my mum and I was the fact that the light was on, but couldn't Gran have left it on before going out for the evening?

It was the second part of that puzzle that made us feel uneasy. Looking around the room, my eyes fell upon the piano, revealing its black and white keys to the onlooker. That was something that shouldn't be, for the rule was always that the lid be firmly placed down, hence to avoid collecting dust. Placing my hands on the smooth surface of the keys, I could still feel the tell-tale vibration of its tones so recently played.

So there we have it, a light left on and a piano without the player.

So that's me, a pretty much down to earth type of guy. I often think back to that cold evening, and I wonder, which part of the answer did my young eyes miss? Anyone could have by mistake left the light on without mentioning it, and as for the piano, perhaps the cat had got locked in and in a state of panic, had climbed upon the keys creating that awful sound. Except, the lid wouldn't have been left up, and the cat wasn't around any more. Like every other pet I'd ever had in that house, it had died by unseen means.

And that's a story for the next ‘Real or surreal?’ Sleep well...

'Real or surreal?' (by Mike Kazybrid)

2009-07-27T10:29:00.000-07:00

Andrew sez: You may have noticed that I’ve hogged all the blog entries up to now, so it’s only fair that I let Mike have a word in edgeways. After all, it was his suggestion that led to us to embarking on this madcap scheme in the first place.

If you can compare us to Mulder and Scully of The X-Files, I’m the slightly sceptical Scully, although I don’t look as good in a dress as Gillian Anderson. Mike, on the other hand is the ‘true believer’ Mulder figure, and possibly for good reason.

Mike claims to have had a number of paranormal encounters in his lifetime. So, with The X-Files theme whistling around your head, here is the first of his occasional series of articles (called ‘Real or surreal?’) containing some of his thoughts and stories on the subject of ghostly phenomena.

Over to Mike…

Mike sez: In the midst of enjoying putting together Two Men and a Ghost with my good friend Andrew, it was suggested that I equally throw into the mix certain past moments of paranormal experience. Okay, whilst I can't claim to have had a ghost encounter of the scare kind each week or month, I can offer various things that have happened in my life.

At this point, I feel it important to state clearly as to where I stand concerning such matters. Am I a down to earth kind of guy? Certainly. Do I believe in ghosts? Yes. Under the heading ‘Real or surreal?’, every so often I'll offer up a tale that's going to bring a chill to your senses ... or, hopefully, something of interest.

My first tale goes back to a cold night sometime in the late 1950s. Reason? Because I'm a grumpy ol' git in his mid-fifties. Happy now? Anyhow, back to the tale…

It was very much the norm in those days to keep your youngster still sleeping in their cot right up to school age. During the night in question, as a young tot, I found myself awoken by something moving in the room. Looking through the wooden bars of my cot, I could see my parents soundly asleep, but even at that tender age, I knew that I wasn’t alone in the room.

Softly, from out of the corner, a figure moved gently towards the cot. A tall dark shrouded apparition that appeared to glide into view, coming to a halt before the cot. I strongly recall as a child not being fearful, more puzzled.

The spectral visitor extended his long white hands from his own darkness, as white as moonlight. Then, without actually touching the wooden frame of the cot, I became aware that it had risen ever so slightly from the floor. For what was only seconds, the cot returned to its original place and the unspoken guest retreated backwards into the dark of the room.

Okay, by this time you'll be thinking I've been sniffing printers’ ink and have worked on comics for far too long … not that I'd blame anyone. Now a man in his mid-fifties, I still from time to time ponder on that night as a child.

Having spoken to many down the years, it was clearly pointed out that it was no dream. And it certainly wasn't Gran walking into the room; she was a big lass, mother of seven kids, who could have gone three rounds anytime with Big Daddy!

Anyhow, better get back to the artboard and also check out new weird sites around Sheffield and beyond. Until the next ‘Real or surreal?’ … behold and begone!

Bunting Nook - the sequel (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-07-22T12:08:00.000-07:00

As a postscript to the last blog, Mike and I drove like the clappers from the ‘loose dogs’ of Hell-Clough and headed back to Bunting Nook just minutes away. We parked by the side of the road and nattered for a while about this and that and anything we could think of … anything, that is, except for the supposed haunted nature of the street we were in.

You see, Bunting Nook had completely lost my interest. The last time we were here, it promised so much, and delivered … nothing. I couldn’t imagine anything of a haunted nature happening here … ever. So much for birds never singing in this place. They were chirruping away even louder than before.

Funny thing was, as we happily chatted – about telly, pile cream, the education system and Bernard Manning (amongst other things) - night-time descended over good old Bunting Nook. The street lights flickered on and cast a dull yellow glow over everything, the air became still, leaves and litter stopped blowing about, and the silence around us was deafening.

Those birds had decided to call it a day. Either that, or the loose dogs of Hell-Clough had secretly followed us and had their merry way with them all.

Our conversation stopped dead. Both of us became aware simultaneously that a change for the worst had happened in our surroundings. We felt a deep foreboding. Dead spooky it was. For the first time ever, I began to believe that anything might happen in this place. Maybe the stories about Bunting Nook were true after all.

‘Waaah!’

(The gasp came from me.)

‘What’s up?’

(The enquiry came from Mike.)

My heart beat fast, my veins were icy cold, goosebumps raced up and down my spine, plus all sorts of other anatomical symptoms of a sudden and utter shock.

‘C-car,’ I stuttered. I’d glimpsed it in the mirror on the passenger side of Mike’s car. ‘Th-there’s a car right behind us. How long’s it been there? What does it want with us?’

Mike glanced over his shoulder.

‘It’s your car, Andrew. It’s been there all the time. That’s why I drove you here, to bring you back to your car!’

‘Oh. I see. Well, that’s all right, then.’

Feeling a right ninny, I reckoned it was time to leave. I bade Mike farewell and stumbled the three yards to my Vauxhall Astra. The street was still spooky, still silent and still surprisingly free of birds. I couldn’t see or hear a bird anywhere.

Then I noticed it. Right on the bonnet of my car. A massive great blob of bird crap, the biggest I’d ever seen.

‘I bet you think that’s funny!’ I said, shaking my fist at what I imagined to be a gaggle of mischievous birds sniggering silently in the trees above.

Either that, or the birds really had gone, and the mess on my car was a ghostly phenomenon from the nether regions. Did it have magical properties?

I might just keep it, or even sell it on the internet. Next time you’re on eBay, type ‘ecto-poop’ into the search box. It’s the genuine article, sure to be worth a fortune.

Or not.

Loose dogs and Hell-Clough (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-07-20T13:03:00.000-07:00

‘Hell-Clough? I’ve heard of Brian Clough … but is there really such a place as Hell-Clough?’ This was the question that raced through my mind as I perused the following ominous email from Mike:

If you're still happy about tomorrow evening at 8.00pm, could I suggest meeting at Bunting Nook again? The reason is that the place I'm wanting to check out is just a five minute drive away. The place is called Hell-Clough. We're talking about a tale of murder, lost lovers and the ghost of a fair eighteenth century maiden that's often seen. Much to tell, but I'll save that until we meet yet again!

My ghostly best,

Mike

How could I refuse? Fridays just aren’t Fridays unless they involve murder, lost lovers and fair eighteenth century maidens. That, and Vimto and crisps.

Mike filled me in the next evening as we wandered the secluded country lane that winds its way through Hell-Clough. Turns out there was this guy called James Archibald Durant who lived in the Hebrides back in the mid-eighteenth century. He was jealous of a male friend of his wife, so he fatally stabbed him (as you do) and his wife died of shock.

Fearing the law, James ‘Archie’ Durant fled with his daughter to England and bought some land in Hell-Clough. But jealousy struck again – he discovered that his daughter had acquired a secret husband. This wouldn’t do for Mr Durant so he got into a scrap with this son-in law of his, only to get himself killed in the struggle. The husband ran away, the Durant house in Hell-Clough became run-down and derelict, and in recent years there have been strange, eerie sightings of a woman in a long gown and large hat. Durant’s grieving daughter?

Some have reported her as floating across a corn field and disappearing into a group of nearby trees. All very spooky. Eager to experience the mystery first hand, we kept our eyes peeled on our travels as we looked for a woman in a long gown and large hat.

‘Mike, is that a woman in a long gown and large hat over there?’

‘No, it’s a man on a tractor.’

‘Oh, sorry Mike.’

A few minutes later…

‘Andrew, is that a woman in a long gown and large hat down there?’

‘No, it’s a badger.’

‘Oh, sorry Andrew.’

And so on, every few seconds, for the duration of our evening ramble. It felt like we’d stumbled across every possible lifeform imaginable, except for the one thing we were looking for. How dare these ghosts not perform on cue! Don’t they know we’re on the lookout for them? Don’t they realise we want a genuine ghostly experience to spice up our desperately ailing blog?

We did find something mysterious on our travels, though. We wandered past a compound of sorts, which was thoroughly fenced off, with gates firmly bolted. Outside, there was a large sign to scare away trespassers, with the warning: BEWARE LOOSE DOGS. We scratched our heads. We’d heard of loose women … but loose dogs? Was this a red light area for the canine species? And, more to the point, what were these ‘loose dogs’ liable to do to us if they were to leap over the fence?

The painful realisation made us race all the way back to Mike’s car. Very quickly.

The car happened to be parked by the very field that one of the ghost sightings took place in. And in one corner of the field was a massive great pylon, crackling with electricity. Is it significant that there are pylons all along the Stocksbridge bypass as well, where the mad monk has frequently been sighted? It makes you think, doesn't it?

It certainly made me think.

To explain: I found myself at a quantum physics conference in London a couple of years ago. I didn’t understand all of it - (correction: I didn’t understand most of it) - but one thing I do remember is that matter doesn’t exist. At a quantum level, all we are is vibrations and energy, and when we die we leave our energy field behind. Could it be that electricity pylons, or other massive concentrations of electricity, excite these vibrations and energy fields and somehow make them manifest themselves again? Bring them back to life, if only for an instant? Just a thought, for what it’s worth.

Also, what if that sign back there had said: BEWARE LOOSE CHANGE instead? Imagine the compound’s caretaker lobbing dangerous 50 pence pieces or handfuls of tuppenny bits at us. A frightening, but potentially lucrative, thought…

…though admittedly not as frightening as the fact that there’ll be another blog entry soon…

'Haunted England' website, and coming soon... (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-07-11T09:25:00.000-07:00

Just four blog entries in, and Kazybrid and Wooding (our good selves) are dead chuffed at a mention on the Haunted England website. Have we made it now in the online world of the paranormal? The mention can be found here - maybe you could rate us or leave a comment? - but the site itself (www.hauntedengland.net) is also worth a browse.

Don't spend too long there, though. Come back here, 'cause we're just a few days away from posting our extraordinary (ish) experiences at Hell-Clough in Sheffield. What did we stumble across (and have to wipe off our shoes when we got home)? And what is the significance of the cartoon above? All will be revealed in the next few days...

(Cue dramatic fanfare from a BBC 'spooky music' record.)

Silence of the birds (our icy adventure in Bunting Nook) (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-06-29T12:55:00.001-07:00

Since starting this blog, Mike and I have noticed a truly strange phenomenon: everyone we’ve spoken to about our quest has a ghostly story or two to tell, usually followed by a recommendation of a haunted location for us to visit. No one’s laughed at us (which makes a change) – everyone’s been most eager to help with a tip-off or a story of their own. Maybe you could do the same by leaving a comment at the end of this blog?

For what it’s worth, here’s my own personal ghost story: the mysterious hovering lampshade of Bordesley Green. This really happened, and I’ll never forget it! Back in the nineties – I believe it was winter - I was staying at my aunt and uncle’s in Birmingham. There I was, reading a comic in bed in the spare room, when I glanced up at the ceiling … then froze in my bed!

This wasn’t just because it was a cold house (they didn’t have central heating); it was because I was witnessing a truly ghostly phenomenon. The lampshade hanging from the ceiling was moving quite dramatically of its own accord … from left to right, from right to left, from north to south, and all directions in between … as if some invisible figure was pushing it about for devious reasons of its own.

I couldn’t move for ages. Would this nightmare ever end? To add to the mystery, the air directly below the hanging lampshade seemed to be shimmering. Evidence of a ghost perhaps … or was it some sort of heat haze?

‘Heat haze?!’ It was then that I realised what was happening. One of those portable three bar heaters – switched on in the spare room - was giving off heat directly below the lampshade. The heat (as it does) was rising, and it was this that was causing the lampshade to swing randomly about. No ghost, then … unless Morphy Richards heaters give off paranormal entities, but there’s nothing about this in their warranty.

The reason I mention this is that on our travels, Mike and I fully expect to see lots of strange things. But how do we know when something is ghostly, and when it’s something that’s perfectly explainable by science or psychology?

On our first trip to Stocksbridge, our mileometer packed in for the entirety of the trip, only working again when we headed for home. How do you explain that? On our second trip, nothing happened, other than indigestion from guzzling a fun pack of Gold Bars too quickly. Ghostly noises emanated from our stomachs, but it was nothing to do with the spirit world and everything to do with trapped wind.

This being our third excursion, we wanted to ‘up’ the probability that we’d stumble across something worth writing about. So Mike chose Bunting Nook, a leafy road near Graves Park in Sheffield, noted by a number of paranormalists for the following phenomena:

There’s a ghostly dog, known as a boggart;
An eloping couple who died after falling off a horse (what were they doing on the horse?) supposedly haunt the lane;
A man with the surname Glover was brutally murdered in the nineteenth century, and visits his grave in Bunting Nook once a year;
Birds can never (I repeat, never) be heard in the lane;
There’s a ghostly figure that walks through walls.

There you go: five possible paranormal encounters. How could we go wrong?

We spent the best part of two hours wandering up and down the lane, and unless the boggart’s changed its form into that of a squirrel with halitosis, we didn’t come across it. There was no eloping couple, no grave in the graveyard with the surname of Glover, and those birds that don’t sing … they were screaming their lungs out at us, and we were treading in evidence of them all over the pavement.

This left the ghost that walks through walls. On our third walk up the lane, I examined one of the walls more closely, cleverly made of sharp flat rocks piled on top of each other. Protruding between two of the rocks was an ice lolly stick. Hoping I’d find a joke on it, I plucked it out, but there was no such joke … not even a Lyons Maid logo burnt into the wood.

A hundred yards or so down the lane there was another lolly stick on the floor, lying between all the bird poo. Then another lolly stick near the bottom of the lane … or, to be more accurate, only half a lolly stick.

Mike and I tried to imagine the events that led to this thought-provoking display of litter. Did the lolly sticks originate from just one person, greedily sucking his or her way through three of the lollies in succession while traversing the length of the lane? Or maybe the lollies were consumed by three people walking together, who happened to suck at different speeds and finished at different points on their journey. And why was one lolly stick half the size of the other? Maybe the three friends in question were two giants and Ronnie Corbett?

These are mysteries we are still pondering days after our experience of the legendary Bunting Nook. And can you blame us? There was nothing else for us to ponder … other than how we were going to get all that bird crap off our shoes.

Ah well. Better luck next time?

PS. Maybe the significance of the ice lolly stick is that our ghost likes to walk through Walls?

PPS. No, I didn’t think it was funny either…

Blanket media coverage for Two Men and a Ghost! (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-06-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

What a phenomenal week it’s been! With our Sheffield ghost-hunting blog barely two weeks old, we have been the proud recipients of what can only be described as blanket media coverage … a veritable whirlwind of publicity in a frenzied Sheffield media storm.

In short, we had blanket media coverage at the bottom of page 10 of The Star on Thursday … and on Saturday morning, on BBC Radio Sheffield, we had blanket media coverage for 9½ minutes at 7.45 in the morning, between traffic reports and an interview with a vicar about trespassing sheep.

The Star article, expertly scribed by columnist Martin Dawes, can be eyeballed here:

http://www.thestar.co.uk/diary/Comic-writers-get-in-spirit.5353540.jp

As for our radio appearance – on the Saturday Breakfast show, hosted by the effervescent Gareth Evans – I was hoping to provide a ‘listen again’ link, but there isn’t one. Too bad, as there seems to be a ‘listen again’ option for just about every other Radio Sheffield programme, including Sunday Breakfast, and Gareth Evans’ weekday shows.

Was it ghostly intervention that prevented our interview from being archived? Even though we’ve just started, are we getting so dangerously close to the truth that spooks are scared of us and need to intervene with BBC mixing desks and digital recorders? Naah … I didn’t think so either.

I’d like to report on one spook, though … the subject of our first investigation, the mad monk of Stocksbridge, a ghost that purportedly interferes with the inner workings of cars because he isn’t happy about his eternal rest being disturbed by the sudden new influx of noisy traffic thundering along the Stocksbridge bypass.

You may recall that our first outing to Stocksbridge was in Mike’s car, the mileometer of which inexplicably packed in for the entirety of our exploration and only started working again when we headed away from the so-called haunted area.

Trying to be scientific – we decided to pay a visit to Stocksbridge again – but this time in my car. Cynics could say that maybe Mike’s mileometer was faulty and it was all just coincidence. But if the mileometer stopped in two separate cars on two different journeys, then we would really have something worth writing about.

Our experiment paid off. Sure enough, as Mike hopped into my passenger seat and we set off from Meadowhall car park to the busy Stocksbridge bypass, my mileometer…

…worked perfectly, and it did so for the remainder of the evening. Ah well. At least it was nice getting out for a drive, as well as pigging out on a family pack of Gold Bars, kindly supplied by Mike.

The only thing I can think of is that maybe, just maybe, the mad monk is pleased with us for spreading the word about his frustrations. He only does his stuff with people he’s narked with, but by sticking up for him we’re now in his good books and he’ll leave our cars alone. So the fact that our mileometer worked perfectly might still be definite proof that the mad monk exists. Not convinced? Don’t blame you, but I’ll leave you with this final true fact.

After dropping Mike back to his parked car at Meadowhall, then heading for home in my own car (in Waterthorpe near Crystal Peaks shopping centre), I put my iPod on ‘shuffle’ mode. There are hundreds of possible songs on there, but just minutes from reaching Waterthorpe, shuffle threw up Rasputin by Boney M again, that celebrated hit single about the most famous mad monk in history. What are the chances of that, eh? Was it a sign from the mad monk himself? It makes you think, doesn’t it?

The mad monk of Stocksbridge might be pleased with us, but he has a terrible taste in music.

The mad monk of Stocksbridge (by Andrew Wooding)

2009-05-26T14:59:00.000-07:00

My mate, Mike, and I now have definite proof of ghost activity in Sheffield. It’s true! And the proof comes in three forms:

1. Boney M
2. Mike’s mileometer
3. Crinkle cut crisps

Mike and I both live in Sheffield, South Yorkshire. We’ve been talking a long time about checking out various alleged haunted spots round town to find definite proof of things that go bump in the night. But last month, we finally plucked up the courage to embark on our first excursion. Mike had treated himself to a snazzy ghost hunting hat for this auspicious occasion – (I don’t know what ‘auspicious’ means, but it sounds good) - and I came armed with knowledge gleaned from half-an-hour’s research on such reputable websites as YouTube and Wikipedia.

It could have been a mammoth failure. A wasted evening with nothing to show for it but bleary eyes from the late-night drive and half a tank less of petrol. But our adventure was such a rip-roaring success that it is now going be the first of many, many more. We hope you will follow us as we blog about our various ghost-hunting exploits in and around the Sheffield area. Definite proof will present itself to us in droves, I’m sure of it. (I don’t know what ‘droves’ means, either. I promise to invest in a dictionary before the next blog post.)

The object of our first peek into the paranormal was an infamous character known as the mad monk of Stocksbridge. The legend goes that a monk from the distant past was refused burial in consecrated ground by his fellow monks for some shady, nefarious reason (in other words, I don’t know). In recent years, said monk has been sighted either roaming the roads, or interfering with the inner workings of passing cars. What he has against cars, I’ve no idea. But if some local council decided to build a ruddy great bypass over my deconsecrated burial ground – bringing with it tons of pollution and traffic each year – well, I might go mental as well.

Onto my first proof. I had agreed to meet Mike at the car park of Meadowhall shopping centre, on Friday night at 7.30pm. As usual when I drive, I had my iPod nano on full blast in shuffle mode. After a soothing ditty from The Carpenters, quite by chance none other than the seminal seventies pop classic ‘Rasputin’ by Boney M pounded through my speakers. The significance? Rasputin is the only chart hit ever to deal with the thorny issue of monks who are mad … or rather, one in particular: ‘Ra-ra-rasputin’. Coincidence, or what? I don’t know for sure if our Mad Monk of Stocksbridge was ever the lover of a Russian queen, but it does make you think … doesn’t it?

Now in the mood for our ghostly adventure, I traversed the car park and soon found Mike sat waiting in his own car. We exchanged excited greetings, I dutifully strapped myself into the passenger seat while he adjusted his natty hat in the rear view mirror, and before you could say ‘ectoplasm’, it was: key in the ignition, and Stocksbridge bypass, off we go! But the strangest thing happened as we drove.

‘Blimey, Andrew!’ said Mike on the motorway.

‘What?’ I said peering through his windows as we drove into the drizzly night, wondering if he’d sighted an apparition or something. ‘What is it? What’ve you seen?’

‘The mileometer. It’s stuck – it won’t budge. The mileometer’s jammed at zero!’

Mike was right. I couldn’t tell you exactly when it happened, but somewhere between Meadowhall and the bypass, Mike’s mileometer went on the blink … in other words: as soon as we started heading for our possible meeting with the mad monk, someone who is infamous for fiddling with cars. The mileometer remained stubbornly broken for the bulk of the evening, amazingly only springing into action again when we decided to call it a day and head back for Meadowhall shopping centre. Coincidence, or what? It makes you think … doesn’t it? Add to this the fact that Mike's engine failed at a roundabout, and for the rest of the evening the car would only work in second gear.

I’m afraid we didn’t spy any hooded, cloaked figures on our travels, but it didn’t take long for ominous rumbling sounds to invade our consciousness. I wish I could tell you these were echoes from the great beyond as we encroached on the mad monk’s territory, but – rather boringly – it was just our tummies. We were famished!

Mike parked as soon as he could and we tucked into a feast of Rice Krispies Squares (chewy marshmallow flavour – yum!) and salt and vinegar flavour crinkle cut crisps. The rumbling disappeared as our appetites were sated, but soon there was a yelp from Mike.

‘Blimey, Mike, what is it now?’ I asked, reaching for another helping of Rice Krispies Squares.

‘My crisp packet,’ said Mike, his face as white as a chewy marshmallow. ‘I swear I opened it the right side up … but look!’

I did look. And my face turned white as well. For, chillingly, the logo and writing on the crisp packet was now the wrong way up! It makes you think … doesn’t it? It certainly made me think, especially when I heard a barely concealed giggle from the driver’s seat as we pulled away from the side of the road to continue on our adventure. Could it have been that Mike, in his haste, had ripped open the wrong end of the packet, realised his error, then tried to blame it on a supernatural occurrence? How often do we take our mundane mistakes, or everyday coincidences, and try to explain them away in a romantic made-up worldview of otherworldly affairs, rather than own up to a sobering recognition that life is sometimes just drab and ordinary? I certainly don’t!

So anyway, back to this mad monk ghost thingy…

Scrub that third proof off my list, then. That was Mike and no one else. And, in hindsight, I don’t think somehow that a spectre crept into my iPod nano and selected the most played mp3 in the genre of ‘Cheesy Europop Singles From the Late 1970s’.

Which just leaves the mileometer incident. That’s something I can’t explain. It seems far too much of a coincidence that the mileometer packed in just as we set out for haunted Stocksbrige, and only began working again when we headed away. Maybe something did happen that night. Something from beyond our five senses, something from above our dimensional plane, reaching into our mechanistic cause-and-effect world and making a difference in our physical reality.

But why would a monk from centuries past want to make it his life’s work … correction: his undead’s work … to sabotage people’s cars? It’s not something any sane person would want to do. Maybe this is proof that he really is mad. And why not? He wanted to be left in peace and now his world has been invaded by concrete, carbon monoxide, rusty hot dog vans, mounds of litter, and endless dirty great metal structures known as electricity pylons dominating the previously peaceful horizon.

So, does this monk really exist? And if he does, what is his state of mind? I can do no better than leave you with the words of Boney M as they eloquently sum up the mental state of a similar monk from the past:

‘There was a cat that really was gone!’