“A lone abandoned farmhouse in north-east Iceland, Langanes. This was real edge-of-the-Earth stuff, a few hundred metres from the Arctic Ocean, about 10km from the nearest sealed road, and not a single soul for miles. I was on my own and just headed up to it for a quick explore (I was on fieldwork up there for other reasons), went inside. It wasn’t too messed up inside, not much furniture, some things left in the kitchen with a homemade poster saying “AETTARMOT 1982″, a festival that celebrates the bringing in of sheep before the winter, so it was abandoned at some point after then. I was about to go to the top floor and heard a crrreeeakkkk. Stopped and listened for a few seconds, nothing else. Fine. Went up two more steps, heard the creak again and GENUINELY two or three footsteps, or at least the sound of it. This really got the hairs on my neck up. Now, logically I knew there was essentially zero chance of anyone else being in there, and I enjoy thinking of myself as a reasonable, not-easily-spooked man. I went up one more step, then heard two more footsteps, and something slam onto the floor above. I legged it.”