When Something Took Aim, Whitehouse

Some of the stories I’ve shared recently have been detailed, complex hauntings: years of encounters, multiple witnesses, escalating activity. But there are also those smaller haunting moments that strike just once, cleanly, leaving no explanation and no follow-up… just a memory that echoes long after the events took place.

And when they happen in a place that looks completely safe, that’s warm, modern, welcoming, a space where you’d never expect anything strange to stir – and especially when whatever happens feels personal – those tiny moments are every bit as worth sharing as the big, dramatic hauntings.

Tonight’s story also takes us to one of MK’s newest grid squares, and one I’ve been keen to add to the map from the start – we’re off to Whitehouse.

I first met Matty back in the summer, completely by chance, while interviewing another witness. You might remember Karen’s story about her grandfather and how we met at a café in town. In the middle of our conversation she mentioned that one of the staff members there also had a few strange experiences. I’ve already shared the story of his encounter in Oxley Park Woods… but that wasn’t his only brush with the uncanny.

These days he works at Homeground, but a few years ago he worked at the Lilly Café. It’s tucked away behind the medical centre on the Whitehouse estate – the sort of hidden gem you’d never find unless someone told you about it. Instagram-ready, bright, brilliant food, unusual drinks, and so friendly… one of those places where they really do remember your order the moment you walk in.

But Matty told me about one day when something in that cosy little café felt much stranger, and not nearly so welcoming.

He was working an ordinary shift with another staff member, and when this happened, the café was quiet, and they were both in the storeroom. Matty told me they were chatting, standing across from a tall shelving unit where they kept spare supplies. Up near the top they kept a few practical bits tucked out of the way, including a box of ibuprofen for the rough mornings.

Without warning, that box shot off the shelf.

Not slid. Not tipped. Not nudged.

It flew, arced out several feet, and smacked Matty squarely on the top of the head. He wasn’t standing beneath that shelf – not even close. He was a couple of metres away, mid-conversation, both of them right there, looking at each other when it happened. And there was no one else in the building to blame.

He did the same thing any of us would do: accused his coworker of a prank. Had he balanced it cleverly? Tugged on a bit of hidden string? Set something up earlier?

But no – his colleague had been just as startled. There was nothing rigged, nothing dangling, nothing that should have made that box leap from a high shelf. And what really stuck with Matty was what didn’t fall. The shelves were full of glasses, crockery, and all the fragile bits that should have made much better missiles if someone – or something – wanted to cause trouble. But none of those moved. Just one harmless little box of painkillers choosing that exact moment, that exact angle.

Matty had worked under both sets of owners and knew the building inside out. He said that he couldn’t think of any reason for anything on those shelves to move. No windows back there to cause a draught, and the shelves themselves were solid and firmly fixed.

Just a small, unsettling moment in the middle of an ordinary shift – the sort that leaves you walking away a little shaken, and glancing over your shoulder at shadows you’ve never noticed before.

Matty told me his story lightly – it’s happened long enough ago that it’s become a fun anecdote to share rather than something that still disturbs him now, and I’m so glad about that. But he still has no idea why the box flew straight at him, and not at the colleague standing right beside him. That part has never quite made sense.

And maybe that’s why these small haunting moments can feel so unnerving. There’s something particularly unsettling about strange things happening in the place where you work: that sense that you still have to turn up every day, do your job, and carry on as normal, all while living with that faint extra layer of eeriness.

It reminded me of when I worked in a very old building in Brighton, a branch of the long-defunct Past Times chain that I managed in my twenties. The stockrooms were right at the top, up two narrow flights of stairs, and nobody liked going into the gloomy attic.

I should say, I never saw anything there myself – for all my fascination with these stories, I can’t claim a single paranormal experience of my own – but I remember how heavy the atmosphere could feel. It didn’t take much imagination to believe you weren’t entirely alone up there… and how quickly a workplace can tip from familiar to quietly oppressive.

Hearing that all of this happened at Lilly Café was especially striking. I’m there a lot these days: they even have one of my City of Secrets flyers up on the board! It’s my go-to place for meeting up with my old OU colleagues, and even before I heard Matty’s story, it had become my favourite spot to escape to when I want a change of scene and a quiet place to write. I’ve chatted to the staff who work there now, but none of them have experienced anything like what Matty described.

Still, once you know a place has a story like that in its walls, it’s hard not to wonder.

And every so often, when I’m sitting there with my laptop, I can’t help glancing across at where the stockroom leads off from behind the counter…

…just in case something moves.

Thank-you again to Matty for trusting me with his story and thank YOU for reading! 
If you have a story of your own to share, I’d really love to hear it.