Guess I will start.
So I have long been a sceptic, a critique of bullshit, a lover of reason and a non believer in all things supernatural. I have zero belief in ghosts or an after life, but that didn't stop me from seeing something I can't explain at 10 years old.
To premise. The year was around '95, and we were on a "cub" camp (think younger version of Scouts) int he grounds of an old stately home in the English countryside.
My father so happened to be charge of the camp and had several associates as well that were there to supervise. Within the "cubs" themselves there was leadership structure. Typically 6 cubs shared a tent, with one in charge "The Sixer" and his deputy "The Seconder".
There was a rule that no one was to go to the toilet during the night unless accompanied by either a Sixer or a Seconder. I happened to be sharing a tent with my older brother, who at the time was a Sixer. I was the Seconder of said tent.
During the night I needed to go relieve myself of all the sugary drinks we had consumed throughout the day. Not a problem, just wake my brother and get him to accompany me. With a hushed tone I tried to wake him, but my cries for "I need to piss" were laughed off and he told me to go alone.
Logically, and with a slight trepidation, I justified my stance of being second in charge and thought I could handle the late night, moon lit walk to the toilet alone.
As I crept out of the tent, being sure not to stir my fellow comrades, I silently made my way over the other side of camp to the toilet. The toilet was a lavatory that was tented off so that it would garner some kind of privacy.
As I spied the tent in the distance, the recognisable feature of my Dad was leaning against the Fire Alarm Bell positioned about half way from my tent to the latrene.
"Bollocks". I knew I would be in some serious 10 year old trouble if Pop caught me wondering in the middle of the night alone.
I timidly called out his name as I approached him.
"Dad!".
Nothing.
I walked closer to him and called his name again, this time no more then 20 metres from him.
"...Dad?.."
Still no reply. I etched further towards him, and then stopped in my tracks. This wasn't my Dad. For a start, his hair was greyed and his features were old. His back was hunched where as my fathers was straight and proud.
I called one more time for my Dad, this time louder, in the hope that I may actually wake someone up from one of there tents.
This figure...be it a dream, an over active childs imagination, or something I can not comprehend, turned, looked at me and then walked about 3 feet away from his position and disappeared.
I have NEVER ran so fast in my life back to my tent.
Unable to explain what I had just seen and thoroughly freaked out, I did the only logical thing I could think off. I unzipped, and I pissed over my brother whilst he slept in his sleeping bag as form of retribution and bladder induced fear.
The next morning I told no one what had happened until I got home the following day. The only note worthy thing to add on top of this is that my brother complained of waking up covered in sweat after such a cold night.
TL:DR; Thought I saw a ghost, pissed over my brother.