Ghost stories and strange tales

  Me and Kim were ‘the hot chicks of Carshalton,’ holding out for handsome hunks.  We dreamt of Jacuzzis  and Michelin star restaurants – not an oik offering chips and a pie by the ponds. I knew Nathan liked me because he was always in the Co-op buying scratch cards. He’d lurk in the street when my shift finished - just passing, obvs.  Or I’d bump into him in the coffee shop, and he’d pester me for dates. Of course, I’d turn him down. Sweet, but not my type. On the night (when I almost die), me and Kim head off to karaoke at The Woodman. Rain’s falling like nails, but we never miss a session. We’re halfway through Abba when in slopes, Nathan. “Hi, Kath,” he says. “Can I buy you a drink?” “Sure,” I say, playing it cool. “I’ll have a vodka and Coke, and Kim wants a cider.” “OK,” he says. Me and Kim shimmy away and sing our hearts out to Little Mix. Eventually, we go back over to Nathan. “You clocked the weather?” he says. “Reckon the ponds will flood. ...

“I think there’s something wrong with your cat,” said Mathew as his friend Riley came into the living room with a jug of coffee. “She was acting really weird. She lay down in front of me, and her head kept twisting like she was having some sort of seizure. She’s run behind the sofa now.” Riley didn’t look overly concerned. “Oh, that’s normal. Lulu always acts a bit crazy when we have friends over. Sarah keeps asking me to pick up one of those cat-calming aromatherapy things, but I think they’re a con.”  “No, really, I think you should take a look. I’d get her checked out at the vet.” The two friends watched as Lulu squeezed herself out through the gap between the sofa and the armchair. She paraded up and down in front of them, her green feline eyes unblinking and staring, and her fluffy brown tail waving from side to side. It was almost as if she was trying to hypnotise them. “Lulu,” called Riley. “Come over here and get your belly rubbed.” But instead of trotting over to...

Grandad’s photo clattered off the back of the mantlepiece as Julie and David watched Strictly Come Dancing. The frame glanced off their boxer,  Alfonso, who woke up with a loud woof and lumbered towards the kitchen in search of biscuits. ‘How on earth did that happen?’ said David. ‘Shh,’ snapped Julie, who was lying sprawled across the sofa in her onesie. ‘The scores are in.’ David got up from his armchair and picked the photograph up from the rug. ‘Lucky the glass didn’t break. Really odd. It’s never done that before.’ ‘It’ll be a vibration from the lorries outside. Move out the way; it's Anton Du Beke.’ ‘Anton Du Lally, more like.’ The Viennese waltz was drowned out by a crash in the upstairs bathroom. This time, even Julie looked up. ‘That can’t be a lorry,’ said David, pulling on his slippers.’ I’ll go and have a look.’ He returned a few minutes later. ‘Well, there's a funny thing. The shaving set your Grandad bought me for my fiftieth wa...

I knew it was a mistake to have a hire car in India. As we left Delhi airport, it was like finding myself in a video game. Cars sped past, ignoring traffic lights and speed limits as Gerry swerved to avoid the rickshaws and tuk-tuks and people. ‘Ten points for a bicycle,’ shouted Gerry, oblivious to any danger. I tightened my seatbelt. ‘Slow down; you'll hit someone.’ When a passing ox forced the traffic to a halt, a man, or rather a walking skeleton, tapped on my window. He held out a filth-encrusted hand, his words inaudible against the traffic's roar. ‘Keep your window up, Angela,’ said Gerry. ‘Hopefully, we'll be out of this jam soon. Absolute maniacs.’ Eventually, the traffic thinned, and skyscrapers and office blocks became fields and ramshackle dwellings. Gerry parked up at a small café. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked. ‘You look pale. Have you tested your sugar lately?’ ‘Bloody diabetes. I'm ok. I just need a Pepsi. How far to Agra?’ ‘Another 30 miles. These b...

I really loathe my pointy teeth, They stick out when I smile, Thank god I can’t be photographed, My selfies would be vile. My skin’s a deathly shade of pale, My breath would kill a cat, There’s woodlice living in my cape, My trousers smell of rat. My nails are sharp like razors, My eyes are bloodshot red, I once was drop-dead gorgeous, Now women just drop dead. My jet-black hair is streaked with grey, My six pack’s disappeared, The zombies laugh when I walk past, The werewolves think I’m weird. So please send your donations, Support this poor dead freak, Ten pounds will buy me makeup, (I only wear Clinique).