Back in the late 70's, we lived in a converted garage behind another house, my mother, my two brothers, and myself. I had an upstairs room, in the rear, with a crawlspace in the ceiling, reached by a trapdoor.
At the time, I was heavily into recreational drugs, and the occult; my bookshelves were crammed with books on ghosts, witchcraft, and communicating with spirits. My friends and I had a number of encounters with the supernatural, which we thought was "a trip".
One night, I was sitting in my room by myself, having just smoked a joint. It was about two in the morning, everyone else was in bed, and I'd been sitting up re-reading THE MAGIC ISLAND by W. B. Seabrook. The night was quiet, the house still.
I stood up from my chair, looking around the room for...something. Over in the corner was a length of rope, left over from the tire swing I'd hung for my nephew (and myself). I picked it up, along with a pry-bar which was standing in the corner.
I dragged my chair to the center of the room, so that it sat directly beneath the trapdoor. I flung back the cover of the trap, checking the width of the opening-perfect.
Taking the rope, I tied one end to the pry-bar, then lifted it into the opening, and laid it crosswise, spanning it. After testing the strength of the rope and the knot, I tied a running loop in the other end, leaving about three feet of rope from the trapdoor down.
All this seemed normal, not out of the ordinary at all.
Just as I was about to place the loop over my head, it was as if my eyes were opened, and I REALIZED WHAT I WAS DOING!
For a second, a chill enveloped my body, then seemed to slither off me, like the sinuous embrace of a spectral octopus.
I sank into a sitting position in the chair, and sat there, trembling.