I Went Looking, Westbury Arts, Shenley Wood

Friday, May 30th, 3pm: Tonight’s story… hasn’t happened yet.I’m starting this post a few hours ahead of my first-ever ghost hunt — another sentence I never thought I’d type. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always found it fascinating that people devote themselves with such rigour to paranormal investigation. Back in January, I even sat in on a livestreamed event from a cellar in Ampthill, which was genuinely compelling. But going along myself, in person? That never felt like part of the plan — until I had the kindest invitation from Claire Evans to join as their guest tonight. (Yet another brilliant opportunity spun out from that spur-of-the-moment Facebook post.)

My current approach to life is to say yes to anything that sounds fun and interesting. And getting to spend an evening in a Grade II-listed 17th-century farmhouse with a reputation for being haunted? Hell yes. So far, this strategy has taken me to some incredible places with zero regrets — and this felt like just another one for the list.

Except now it’s only a few hours away… and I’m surprised to find a sliver of nervousness creeping in.

So maybe it’s time to address the big question: I’m immersing myself wholeheartedly in this world, but — Steph — do you believe in ghosts?

Yes.
And that’s new.

Until recently, I would’ve given you a grounded, sceptical “not unless you can show me proof.” I’ve wanted to believe for years — it’s part of what drew me so strongly to Uncanny — but belief, for me, always meant evidence. And then earlier this year, I helped with a project collecting first-hand accounts of strange encounters from YouTube comments. Hundreds of them, shared freely and in vivid detail by people who clearly meant what they said. They were all personal and unsettling. A few were so dark they’ll stay with me forever.

After spending that much time with such raw, honest testimony — and now with first-hand experience gathering stories myself — yeah. I believe. (And yes, that is what inspired this whole project in the first place!)

That said, I can believe that perfectly well but I’m not sure everyone gets to have first-hand experiences. Some people do. Some don’t. And I’ve always assumed I fall into the latter group. After all, with the way I’ve been throwing myself into haunted spaces, if anything wasgoing to happen, surely it already would’ve?

I hang around abandoned buildings. I write all my highest-stakes emails while sitting outside a part-demolished office block. Just yesterday, I had the choice of waiting for my taxi in a pub or a graveyard… and you can guess which I picked. I’m basically asking to be haunted.

Nothing.

Recently, I described myself as “about as psychic as a compost bin,” and that still feels about right.

But tonight, I’m deliberately placing myself in a space where something might happen. Where the people around me almost certainly will see or sense something. If it’s ever going to happen — maybe it’s tonight. And I can’t help it: that makes me shiver.

I’m as prepared as I can be.
Phone charged.
Back-up battery packed.
Sensible shoes and warm clothes for patrolling the grounds.
(Note to self: take a torch.)

I’ve spoken to friends who are seasoned investigators, and they’ve reassured me that my odds of picking up a demonic hitchhiker on a first outing are reassuringly low. I’ll take plenty of water and an emergency Diet Coke. I’ve baked enough of my signature stuffed cookies to feed an army — so, assuming none of the spirits died of nut allergies, we should be fine.

Yeah… I’m whistling past the graveyard.
I’ve got butterflies in my stomach.
This is me stepping away from the keyboard and into something real.

What’s the worst that could happen? 😉

Friday, May 30th, 7:30pm: The first thing I found at Westbury was a sign about looking out for moorhens, and honestly? It made me laugh out loud, and that was just what I needed to see. It took the edge off the butterflies that had been going nuts on the way over.

I hadn’t fully realised it before, but a big part of the nerves was this: I was about to walk into a group of total strangers, some of whom were paying for a serious night of investigation. I was there because of this project, and was planning to document, photograph, record so my motivations for being there were very different. And I’m a nobody in this world, so who was I to be taking notes on their night? Imposter syndrome was nipping hard at my heels as I came up the drive. And then, of course, there was the outside chance that I’d read this all wrong, and I was actually being lured here to be tortured and murdered. Seen that film.

Thankfully, everyone I met was lovely. No murderers, or if there were, they were on their night off. Everyone was warm, welcoming and funny. Wickedly funny in some cases! Five of us were there for our first ghost hunt, and that immediately put me at ease — I wasn’t going to be the only one winging it.

We started with a group briefing and a welcome beginner’s guide to the equipment the team had brought along. Yes, I’d been Googling “ghost hunting for dummies” while the cookies baked. Dowsing rods, EMF meters and cat balls? A whole new world of gadgetry to get to know. My unease crept back briefly when I saw the two ouija boards on the table and more on one of those later.

I was invited to stand up and introduce myself to everyone, so I gave the short version of what I was doing there, and let the group know I’d be writing up my experiences. No one objected. There was a murmur of understanding when I said what I’ve said many times now: Milton Keynes is stranger than you think.

Then Claire took us on a tour of the house — and that’s when the excitement kicked in.

It’s got the lot! Uneven, squeaky floorboards. Twisty staircases leading up to an attic with a dark reputation. There’s even an upstairs toilet with a hideous convex mirror that would make anyone look demonic. Claire mentioned a face-in-the-red-light experiment you could try there, but I’m not sure if anyone did.

And a wonderfully spooky barn that smelled of smoke and old wood, all ancient beams and dust. There was a monitor in the corner, showing thumbnails of video feeds covering key locations, and that gave me a start. Daft of me, I hadn’t expected filming, but it reinforced the surreal feeling I’d had since this all started that I’d somehow managed to find myself in the middle of a film.

(Uncanny’s Ciarán would definitely say I was doing a good job of priming myself. I wouldn’t argue.)

We all reconvened in the main house — and then the fun really started. And I do mean fun, because genuinely, I had the best time.

We split into two groups, each supported by members of Claire’s team, and explored different areas of the property, swapping later in the night. I had the freedom to float between groups, which meant I could observe different — what do I call them? Sessions? Activities? I’m still not sure of the terminology, so forgive any clunkiness.

Of all the things I’ve done in my life, the closest comparison would probably be the roleplaying sessions Jef used to cajole me into: little knots of people sitting intently together, deeply focused on a story unfolding between them. I was a terrible roleplayer — too self-conscious, rubbish at maths. Only this time, we weren’t inventing the narrative, we were waiting for something else to step in tell their story.

And sometimes — something did.

First out in the barn, then in several rooms inside the house, people far more sensitive than I am began picking up on — let’s just say presences, OK? I didn’t pick up on them, but that didn’t matter. I watched dowsing rods swing and cross to indicate yes/no responses. Detection balls lit up, seemingly untouched. EMF meters flickered and spiked.

And there was more. People spoke of sudden headaches, feelings of pressure, cold air, presence just behind or beside them — even of being hugged or tightly gripped. Whether I was with the first-timers like me or the more seasoned investigators, it was compelling to see how vivid and real those moments felt to the people experiencing them.

(A quick note here — I’m not going to share everything. We were there for over six hours, and some moments were deeply personal. I promised to be respectful and discreet, and I’m keeping that promise.)

Some of the presences didn’t seem pleased to see us. One particularly intense moment happened in a gloomy room at the far end of the house, near those lovely attic stairs I’d admired earlier. Another set of steps led down to an ornate Gothic gate, padlocked shut — one of the few spaces marked off-limits.(I had been hoping for some nice grim cellars. Oh well.)

The presence sensed there was described as old, male, angry. Misogynistic. Furious with both the children around him and with the women in our group. How dare we be out enjoying ourselves? We should be at home. His hostility was so strong that one participant found it hard to breathe under the weight of it.

Strikingly, both groups picked up on him independently — and both reported the same tone of bitter, controlling rage.

Another presence, in stark contrast, seemed young and frightened and she really didn’t want to be there. Her impressions, shared through one of the group, hinted at slavery, or at least coerced labour. Again, the person channelling her was left shaken by the emotional weight of it.

In both instances, I was struck by how calmly and compassionately the team responded. There was no panic, no cries of “possession!”, no overblown theatrics. Just steady, focused support. It was like a trained emergency response team jumping into action when needed, with unflappable competence, reassurance and genuine care.

I meant to stay at one remove and observe from the sidelines, take notes, maybe take a few photos if I could do so discreetly and no-one minded. But in the moment, that all fell away. I found myself sitting in the circles, just drawn in by it all. Admittedly, I didn’t get involved in the Q&A-style communication — there’s an art to building a conversation out of yes/no answers — but I sat quietly, completely spellbound.

And then we went outside and that’s when I really forgot I was only meant to be watching.

Earlier in the evening, the young presence had made a request: for us to gather beneath a certain tree in the grounds, to dance and pray. Ideally with fire, but we made do with torches.

It’s hard to describe — and I really don’t want to fall back on the old you had to be there line — but standing in the dark, in a circle around that gnarled old tree, under a misty sky and a sharp crescent moon, joining in with the amen at the end of the Lord’s Prayer… it was unexpectedly profound. Each of us offering a different version of peace to something that had once been troubled.

Whatever your belief system, there’s something powerful in a shared purpose, and the atmosphere was incredible.

As we walked back round the house, Claire waved to us from inside. She opened a window and we gathered round. She had a voice recorder in her hand, and something she wanted us to hear. We all hushed, and she played a snippet of audio she had just captured. Oh boy, how cool, an actual proper EVP!

Electronic voice phenomenon: a sound that wasn’t heard in the moment but appears when a recording gets played back. Now, if you’ve been reading for a while, you’ve probably picked up that not a lot frightens me these days, but those are one thing that can really get under my skin. We covered them on the parapsychology diploma course and learned all about ‘auditory pareidolia’, or the way that your brain tries to makes sense out of random noise so yes, if someone tells you that their crackly recording is an entity saying “get out!” rather than just random background sounds, that’s what you’ll hear, so I understand the psychology.

However. In all the time I’ve been on my own, the only time I’ve been genuinely too scared to go up the stairs to bed alone was when I stayed up until 3am listening to the EVPs captured at the infamous Bothell house. There are a lot of them, and these are just a select few, but they’re clear enough that you don’t have to strain to make out what they’re saying. The way they were captured left little room for tampering, and the voices have a deeply unnerving quality to them. That night, here in my dark living room, lit only by the glow of this screen, and having immersed myself in that case for the previous couple of days, I could believe they were real and that was scary.

I slept downstairs that night.

So, this was kind of a big deal for me. We listened as the recording played and at first it was just her voice on the tape — and then, a growl. Low, rasping, distinct. Between the words.

Claire played it back a few times, and you couldn’t miss it. If something had made that noise in the room, she would have heard it. She didn’t. But it was there on the recording, and I even though I hadn’t felt any of the chills that other people had been describing, I definitely went cold in that moment. Later, Claire tried to locate that file on her recorder and found it had vanished — or rather, the files simply wouldn’t appear in the menu. I didn’t know what to make of that, and I still don’t. I’m not going to think about it too much, or I’ll be sleeping on the sofa forever.

And then, well after midnight, my night ended back where we’d started, in the barn. However, this time it was different: just four of us around a table in the green-tinged glow from the emergency light.

In the centre sat one of the ouija boards I’d seen earlier.

This one had a design of the distinctive carpet from the Overlook Hotel on it, and if there’s a moment that totally and utterly captures how very surreal my life has become, that one around the table will do perfectly. What the hell was I doing?!

But this would be the last session of the evening, so it was kind of now or never really. I’d been trusted enough to come along in the first place, and invited to do something that, let’s be honest, could have been seen as an unwise move. I might constantly question my credentials, but I know the lore, and I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this film, read this book, watched that video.

And there’s personal history there too, although I was only on the very outermost edges of this incident…

The last time I was anywhere near an ouija board was when I was fifteen. It was the end of the summer term — one of those hot, aimless Fridays when no one really wants to be at school. A group of us used to hang out in the drama room at lunch, and on this particular Friday, one of the lads brought in a board.

They set up in a corner, all spooky whispering and overblown bravado. My friends and I taking part, we weren’t cool enough for that, but we were close by, doing our own thing.

I don’t know what exactly happened, but suddenly one of them jumped up and bolted out of the room. Something had clearly rattled him and made the rest of them decide this wasn’t such a great idea and they all packed up. It was near the end of lunch anyway and we had a long dull afternoon ahead of us. I don’t remember what the next lesson was, but it was probably maths.

We’d opened one of the windows to try and get a bit of a breeze through, and the lad who’d brought it in went over to close it. I’m not sure whether a breeze caught it, or if he was still unsettled and too forceful, but as he pulled it shut, the lower pane cracked and then the glass shattered, slicing deep into his hand.

There was a lot of blood. And a lot of screaming.

Thankfully, the drama teacher was just around the corner and came running, grabbed the first aid box and restored order. I was very glad I wasn’t going to have to step in and put my shaky Red Cross skills to the test.

I wish I could tell you what they’d seen that had frightened the first lad enough to get up and leave, but if anyone told me back then, it’s long forgotten. The whole incident became one of those moments that passed into school legend, and I at least I could say I’d been there when it happened. I just missed out the fact I wasn’t part of the action in any way at all except as a bystander.

But as you’ll understand, it put me right off having anything to do with the boards. To be honest, I’d never really been in a situation before where it came up. (I know, shocking given I used to hang around with a lot of goths!)

Until now. And what a time for a first go.

Say yes to everything that sounds interesting, right?

So I did.

It was so brilliant! Fascinating, set-piece familiar and deeply surreal, all at once.

Fingers on the planchette. Ask a question. And off it goes, really moving.

I was very sure I wasn’t moving it. (Cue my inner Ciarán again: “Consciously,”) But honestly, it didn’t feel like anyone else was either. There was no sense of pushing or dragging, just a quiet glide over polished wood.

It moved to letters, but the names it spelled started off meaningful — C H R — oh god! My first boyfriend was a Chris – but as far as I know he’s alive and well and living on the Isle of Man! — V M …

That’s not a name, so maybe whatever was in the driving seat was illiterate? The people sitting across from me reported sudden sensations of cold or said they felt someone standing between them. I was cold, sure, the warm night had chilled long ago and I’d pulled on an extra layer a couple of hours earlier, but then again, we were sitting in a draughty barn…

We tried asking about numbers instead, to get a sense of how long ago the presence had died and got a chilling 283 — years ago? Then, we were back on the yes/no questions, and this time responses did feel particularly meaningful for one of the group… this seemed to be someone who knew her very well.

We tried to talk to a presence that the group have spoken with in there before, but seemingly, he wasn’t up for a conversation. And so it went on — after a while, my arm was aching like hell from where I was having to stretch to hold it in place across the table and I badly wanted to shake my sore muscles loose, but I was along for the ride, I wouldn’t have stopped for anything!

Watching it all unfold in front of me was utterly compelling. Something was really happening, and in that moment, I stopped thinking about the ideomotor effect and everything I’d learned about this, and put the mechanical questions to one side. It was just exceptionally, extremely, amazingly cool to be there.

Two of the team were in the corner watching the live video feed, calling out whenever something crossed the screen. Sometimes, their alerts aligned with the chills or a sense of presence others were feeling. From chatting to the team during the breaks, I knew that all that footage will be reviewed, timestamped and checked later. These folks take their data seriously. I approve.

I don’t know how long I’d have sat there if I could, but we had a strict curfew, and had to be out by 1am so suddenly, it was over.

Someone turned the barn lights back on, and the sudden light was a hell of a shock.

Blinking in the brightness, I realised something that really surprised me. At no point during the whole evening had I felt genuinely afraid. There were a few creepy moments, for sure, mainly when we were outside and yes, that EVP is going to stay with me. But it was that delightful sort of I am deliberately doing something scary that just goes to the edges of fear but not any further. I had felt safe. No, more than that — this is going to sound really weird, so you’re going to have to forgive me here — but I had felt protected.

We packed up the chairs, reset the tables, and returned the space to normal, just like the end of a roleplaying game or like the end of a breakout session at work, back when we used to have those in person.

Perfectly normal.

I retrieved my nearly-empty cookie jar, said my goodbyes, and headed out into the dark.

I’d walked here, and I could have called a taxi, but I only live half an hour away, and I really wanted to walk home to let the night settle in my head, and also, yes, because I was feeling a bit bulletproof by that stage. I’d not been properly scared by anything all night, I walk this route several times a week, I’d be fine.

I walk this route several times a week in daylight, mind you.

I usually wear my AirPods everywhere, but not that time: I know there could be genuine human dangers out there as well as anything that might (definitely wouldn’t) be following me home. I wanted to be able to hear if someone was behind me — and to be honest, I couldn’t have picked the right soundtrack for that moment anyway.

I had plenty to listen to, though. My route goes past Shenley Wood, and the foxes there were very vocal in the way they sometimes are in the summer, and their cries can sound eerily human. They were having a good shout, occasionally barking, and at one point, I’m sure I heard a growl. (Let’s not think about that EVP, eh?)

It was just gone 1:30am, and I hadn’t realised just how badly lit that path was. I was deeply, deeply grateful for my torch. (Thank-you, note to self!) I didn’t see another soul the whole way home — but I looked behind me more than usual. And every time I did, I braced for the clichéd moment, you know the one:

Our doomed main character is walking home alone, even though she really should know better.
She hears something rustle in the bushes. Pauses. Swings the torch behind her.
The path behind is empty.
She exhales with relief, turns around again…
And BAM there it is!
A crashing chord, a figure far darker than the night, right there in front of her, fangs or claws or knives-for-hands.

Cut to black.

I was all ready for a jump scare, and significantly more rattled on that walk home than I’d been at any point during the investigation itself. So — being the permanently-online person I am these days — I opened FB Messenger and checked in with a group chat full of people who understand this sort of thing.

I’d shared my plans with them the day before, asking for any top tips. I’m glad I did, I’d have forgotten the torch otherwise! There’s always someone online in there, no matter the hour, and it was hugely comforting to have that virtual presence with me as I made my way away from the woods and the foxes, and back onto the street-lit estates. My people rock 🙂

I got home, unlocked my front door, went in, put my bag down, put the kettle on.

Ate the last cookie, and sat down to make a start on writing this. It might have been gone 2am, but there was no way I was ready to go to sleep yet.

Saturday, May 31st, 11pm: So, it’s taken me all day to write this up! Where have my experiences last night left me, just one month into this strange little project to walk the darker edges of the city?

Well, proud of myself for doing the scary thing again, and really glad to have met some more awesome people! There are moments from last night that are going to stay with me (EVP) and it’s made me even more aware of how lucky I am that this project is going to be my main ‘job’ pretty soon.

When I stood up in front of the group to explain why I was there, it was the first time that I’ve been able to describe myself as a writer looking for stories. Just that, not I run surveys for the OU and do a bit of writing. In that context, that’s the identity that mattered, and I had a reality-whiplash moment of this is actually me now. I’ve felt the responsibility of telling other people’s stories keenly over the last month, it’s something that keeps coming up in the little reflections I add to the posts but I think that’s finally settling in now. It feels ok that it’s me doing this. It feels right.

Other than that? No lasting creepiness, I’m glad to say. I didn’t stay up all night, or feel the need to sleep on the sofa. No unexplained shadows, no sense of presence, no strange whispering at the edges of my hearing.

But that sense of feeling protected is interesting, and it links to something I’ve been thinking about lately. A lot of things seem to be lining up for me just at the right moments and I do wonder if there is something looking out for me, making these synchronicities line up, putting me in the right place at the right time with the right people.

Once I would have laughed at the idea.

Right now, I don’t mind it at all.