Hello and welcome back to Monday Mail Time with me producer Don where we dive into your experiences in your stories.

So without further ado, let's dive into that mailbag for our first story of today's episode and this comes from Katie.

Hi there, Katie here. I wanted to share an experience that still unsettles me.

Happened in Lancashire when I went for a walk to clear my head.

There's an old

disused railway crossing there, not enclosed, not hidden away, just an exposed stretch high above

a valley where the tracks used to run. The rails are long gone, leaving a wide gravel path

bordered by low metal railings. You see everything around you, hills, fields, sky. There's

no if anything to hide. That's important. I stepped onto the crossing

just after sunrise. The weather was calm, clear and bright, nothing dramatic or gloomy,

but the first few minutes it was completely uneventful. Then, without warning, I became acutely

aware of my own movement. Every step felt measured like something was matching my pace, not

copying it, but anticipating

it.

I stopped walking, so did everything else.

No birds, no distant traffic, no movement at all, but silence wasn't sudden, it was total,

as though the world had been muted.

I stood there for a moment telling myself it was just my imagination, when I felt a sensation

I've never experienced before or since.

It felt like pressure, not on my skin but inside me, like gravity had subtly increased. My shoulders slumped under it. Breathing felt effortful, but not because of panic, but because the air itself felt heavy. I remember thinking very clearly, I'm not alone up here, then came the sound. Not footsteps, not a voice, just a slow hollow impact repeating at long

intervals, like something enormous shifting its weight. The sound didn't echo normally. It felt

contained, as though it only belonged to the crossing itself. I wanted to turn around, but I

...