8th podcast - Yorkshire ghost stories!

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.

Sheffield Ghost Hunters on the Road (Part 2)

Sheffield Ghost Hunters on the Road (Part 1)

2MG's fabulous 1st birthday competition!

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).

The hag of Hagg Hill (by Andrew Wooding)

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.

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

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!

The Stocksbridge bypass revisited (by Andrew Wooding)

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…

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

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)

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!)

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

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)

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!’