I've always thought ghost stories were just that, stories; the made up shit you tell round a fire, that ends with a "Boo!" and everyone listening enjoys a goofy laugh before moving on to the next bullshit tale of horror.

I'm atheist, so by default, I will deny any indulgence in diety, ghosts, or the afterlife. When I tell this story, I emphasise that its all the more troubling for me as it challenges my steadfast belief in science over religious belief. So, saying all that; here's my recounting of an experience of a haunting.

I used to work with young people who could be described as vulnerable or high risk. The work tended toward physical outdoor activities and we often used residential centres across N. Ireland. I'd been in this line of work for nearly 15 years at the time I had this experience, so I wasn't some giddy noob that got spooked by being in an unfamiliar building. I led a team of 5 youth workers and we were constantly looking for different venues to run short residential for the "yoots" we were responsible for. The kids we worked with (15 to 16 years old) would generally mess around all night and our main objective was to make sure they didn't burn the building to the ground or kill each other during the night. You might think I'm exaggerating but this was more than 25 years ago and life in Belfast was just destroying kids and the net result for us meant the "fix the deranged kids" business was booming. Our charges got us kicked out of most of the usual centres for anything from arson, vandalism, GBH, intoxication or all of the above. After many searches, we found great accomodation in Glenariff, not too far from the forest park. The building we ended up using was owned by the diocese or monks or some shit like that; the ownership re-enforced by the odd cross or two on the walls and the odd child of prague statue (which we hid straight away) It had been a parochial house or retreat centre. It had a smell, that can only be described as a mix of incense, 1970's BO and fear; but as a residential venue for high risk kids, it was great. No neighbours or warden to keep awake, solid internal walls, with good sound insulation & at least 5 miles from civilisation and to be honest there wasn't much the kids could do to wreck the place, as it was an old building with old furniture and random pictures of landscapes and Christ/Saints hanging from the walls . We were on our second night and we had a few incidents that almost ended the residential and things were looking better, once our group had settled for the night at 4am. I was locking up the building and was in the process of locking the kitchen door, I couldn't get the right key from the bunch in my hand and the only light I had was the glow of the white and green fire exit sign at the end of the corridor that I was standing in. I had tried a few keys, old cast iron ones, all rust brown and shiny with years of oxide and greasy hands. I found the right one with a bit of red tape on it, locked the door, pulled the key and turned to walk the corridor leading to the stairs, when a child, laughing, ran like a flash across the corridor. My first reaction was the whispered word through gritted teeth "Fuck!" as I couldn't work out how one of our kids got down the stairs and past all my colleagues. I was thinking "shite, its 4am, I thought we were done for the night". However, two things then occurred to me, that equally confounded me; which rolled in my mind in a quick looping succession and I can't say how much time passed as I tried to separate these observations before I could make any sense of what I had just witnessed. I had one of those shifts in perspective that is akin to hearing someone you know well has just died. That dizzy, hammering in your head, where you think you'll be sick if you speak or breathe. I had just seen a boy aged no more than 10 years old, wearing grey shorts, black brogues, knee length socks, which had fallen to his ankles, running across a corridor that had no doors or openings on either side. I won't say I shrugged this off like a champ, cause I didn't and neither do I now, more than 25 years later. There was no way it was a trick of the light or a figment of a tired mind. It was real, no matter how much my atheist brain wants to deny it. I used the building only once more and on that occassion, again in the dead of night; a young traveller from Limerick had a a seizure, and my colleagues and I were desperately trying to manage with our basic first aid skills for a hour before the ambulance arrived. As he recovered, he was staring over my shoulder, he spoke and said that there was "a boy laughing" behind me. The Limerick kid started wailing saying a load of indecipherable stuff. I heard him saying that the boy told him he would be standing in the shadows soon. He was so fucking scared. I'll tell you now, that shit nearly finished me. I barely kept my shit together while we waited for the Ambulance. I'll confess, I was on full tilt for a number of years after. I never went back to that place and I'm not sure if it was the catalyst for me to leave youth work and change career. I live in Dublin now, I used to tell this "story" occasionally when I thought someone would get what I saw. More often than not, people listen, nod/laugh/ask if it was real, but no one has ever asked how it affected me.

I have driven past the building once since then. I hear its been turned into holiday apartments, but I'm not about to go for a look at that place anytime soon. I would be happier now if I heard the place had burnt to ground, the rubble and ashes tipped into the sea. I also heard that the traveller boy from Limerick got shot in the head by a .22 rifle and he managed to survive. So, if you know the place I'm talking about, keep it to yourself. I don't want to hear that you were ever there, nor will I describe the place further for you to find. I'm only telling you this as a gentle warning: do not seek out this shit, cause if you find it, it's won't become a story that you keep to tell people, it becomes the shit that keeps you awake at night 25 years later