The Halloween Pee Incident

You know, there are some moments in your life that will forever last with you as a crowning achievement. A moment that will embed itself so firmly into your brain matter that years from now when your kids have dumped you into a poorly funded nursing home so they can sell your house to pay for their new Audi, you’ll sit there with your urine scented tartan shawl nursing the bruises from the perpetually angry staff whilst remembering that time in your youth when you made four women leap in terror into an antique bookshelf and pish all over it. Let me explain.

Over the weekend I had the pleasure of being a volunteer scarer for the ‘Haddo House of Horror’ event, which not only was great fun to be a part of, but also seemed to be a huge hit with those poor souls who walked through those darkened corridors, (thanks for having me Laura Ripley). My role was ‘Chainsaw Murderer Guy’ which involved running from behind a strobe light in a narrow passageway and roar in peoples’ faces until they either passed me, passed out or passed some soilage into their undercrackers.

As I left my house on the first night my wonderfully sympathetic wife The Roobs told me, “If you don’t make someone piss all over themselves in terror tonight, then don’t bother bringing your fat ass home..”

I can confirm that I earned my passage home that night.

Highlights include such delights as:
1. The six foot plus brute who fell to his knees invoking the name of every deity he could think of, (in very unsavoury terms I may add) whilst using his tiny unimpressed wife as a human shield.
2. The group of five women who ran blindly away from me causing one of them to slam face first into a wall, and the other four to get jammed into a doorway like a collection of Scooby Doo baddies.
3. The woman who saw me run at her and threw herself into a forward roll before taking off down the corridor. Later she admitted that she had let a bit of piss escape at that particular moment, which The Roobs commented later when I got home that while she roly-polyed in front of me the poor girl must have been going off like a ‘Pishy Catherine Wheel’..
4. The tracksuit wearing gentleman who screamed and repeatedly slapped my chest before scampering down the hallway and out into the cold night.
5. And the man who was being dragged white faced through the house by his laughing wife, who told him after he nearly backflipped when I jumped out that if he didn’t man up she was going to divorce him. Allegedly when that group got back to the hall, a member of staff asked them how it all had gone. “Sorry, can’t speak” said the poor traumatised man as he ran carefully to the nearby toilets. When the staff member looked confused, the man’s wife piped up, “He’s shat himself..”

I pray that was in the literal sense rather than just him being spooked.

But even that wasn’t the part of the night that I’ll be adding to my CV and presenting to future employers as a ‘Special Skill’. That honour was reserved for the group of four ladies that came through on the first night. We’d heard them screaming their way through most of the sections before they even got near us, so we knew we had a good group on our hands that we could probably break. As they walked into our section and noticed the strobe lights ruining their night vision, they edged closer and closer to my corridor where I was in primed ‘sprint’ position. (I may be chubby, but I moved like goddamned lightning these last two nights!) As they creeped toward my corridor, they didn’t notice my ‘Thunder Buddy’ Damon Relevartjump out behind them with his chainsaw revving. As they screamed in terror and backed up away from him into my flight path, I ran through the strobing light and roared in their faces.

Well, Only a NASA shuttle launch could have matched the 0-60mph speed they achieved as they flew backwards and slammed into an antique bookcase. Four women now laying huddled in a mess of latex party costume and crumpled shelving planks, one started to shout that her hand was broken, but thankfully it was fine and had just been crushed in the death grip of her terrified pal who was now laying screeching and curled in a wee ball. As her friends composed themselves and checked to see if she was okay she screeched, “I’ve peed.. I’VE PEEEEED!!”.

Sure enough, as the shelving unit was cleared and everyone was back on the move to the next scaring section, there was indeed a small puddle of fear piss laying in the bottom of that poor decades old bookshelf, dripping off the edge onto the carpet below that was probably older than the late Bob Monkhouse’s famous joke book. (photos added in the comments as proof).

We followed the poor woman and her friends outside to make sure they were okay, where they confirmed that not only were they fine but they had loved their time going through the haunted rooms and hallways, and we all took a photo together before they headed back to the bar area to buy some nerve calming vodka.
We headed back to the shattered shelves with a member of the National Trust staff who run the house so she could see the damage caused. Thankfully the shelves were easily repairable, but this poor woman had to go and get a cloth to clean up the wee puddle of pish that sat there glinting up at her. The real kicker was that this was her last shift before leaving for a new job, and here she was on her hands and knees cleaning up piss with a damp cloot.. Wonderful.

I’m sure not everyone will embrace my joy at making someone fear piss over old antique furniture in a fancy house, or the fact that I had my phone recording audio of most of the groups as they passed me and have added it to a YouTube video that you can watch below.


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