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Legend Tripping

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  1. Most of the children of Carlin High School were engaged in the usual playground activities, girl gossiped rapidly sounding like a thousand busy typewriters; youthful first years laughed and chas ed each other around the yard, burning off energy; older kids from the rough end of town hid behi nd the toilets, smoking weed. Steven was sitting alone, perched on the fence like a hawk, watching all the normal mayhem when he spotted Simon Anderson take a nosedive onto the concrete. The boy just went white and dropped, and even though the other kids were making a godawful din, Steven definitely heard Simon’s skull crack like a heavy egg as it smashed onto the ground. The noise was a sickening, hollow sound that made his heart jump in his chest. He immediately jumped off the fence and rushed to see if the older boy was alright. In the seconds it took him to move to where Simon was, there was a large crowd around Simon, some girls were screaming, an older boy was shouting, “Get a tea

Monolith: The Rise and Fall of Craigrose Tower.

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Author's note: This article was originally written for the short lived magazine Paranormal Glasgow and was due to be published in issue 9 dated September 1998. While the article was accepted and I was paid, the article was never published. The editor's explanation is given below (see appendix 1). To this day I find the explanation implausible and while I can prove nothing I have my suspicions. I would also like to address the attitude of the larger “paranormal community” with regards to myself and my research. It is true that I am an outsider to the paranormal community, that my previous article “Witch Cult of the West Coast” (Paranormal Glasgow Issue 6 June 1998) caused much controversy and noise amongst them. I was accused of being a fantasist, a liar, a charlatan, even an upstart as well as a whole host of other names. Why? As far as I can tell it is because for decades this community has relied on the same dozen or so historic events and sites, rehashing and rete

Ill Game.

1. “ Remember me?” he says, just like that, and you know for a second or two, I didn't. He'd aged badly in the sixty years since he'd tormented me. He'd more than doubled in weight, lost his hair, had a whisky nose which looked like he'd stuffed a golf-ball under the ruddy and broken flesh. His teeth were in shards; gone was the handsome, sporting bully of my youth. He looked fucking terrible, but then we all did, we were all fast approaching the grave, some of us sooner than others, which was why we were all here. “Wullie Allerdyce.” He says. “We went tae school thegither” I had expected him to be there, when big McArdle dropped down dead the whole community felt it, especially those who'd been in school with him and had called him friend. Still Allerdyce's presence felt like an insult, given how much they both had hated each other as kids. “Aye, I remember ye, long time no see Wullie.” I says, sticking out my hand to shake his. He takes it

Leannan

Once, in ancient times, the hill had been one of the country's most sacred places of lust. Once it had been topped by a thick forest known as the Wood of Joy. Long before the Celts and the Romans, long before Kentigern bound the place with his Christian curses, the indigenous peoples of the land would have wild orgies within the trees. They would burn fires and drink and eat the mushrooms and fuck and fuck and fuck. Leannan remembered those days fondly. Now, sadly, it was filled with hotels and offices of local businesses. Banks and Insurance companies occupied the elegant town-houses which were once actually occupied by their owners. All that was left was a little park fenced off amongst the buildings. The Wood of Joy, Blythe's Wood, was now little more than a square. The city had neutered the land but it was still notorious within the psycho-geographies of the citizens as being the haunt of whores, even if decades of gentrification had pushed the girls down the south f

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