I wouldn't say it was creepy, but it scared the -blam!- out of me anyway.
I decided after my Patrol that I'd walk along Hadrians Wall, so I promptly went and bought all the kit I needed and decided to set off on the Monday. So everything is going grand, the weather is great (and given that it's October and in the middle of the English/Scottish border that's something) and I'm really enjoying myself.
Anyway, this day turns out to be my last day of walking and it happened to be when all the flood and rain started tearing huge lumps out of Cumbria and Dumfries and Galloway. I'm about ten miles out of Carlisle, where I intend to stay that night, it's night time and it's pissing down with rain. I've got the usual kit on, including my head torch.
So anyway, I'm about two miles away from my next checkpoint and have just had to cross a stream which was already swelling and slowly made my way up hill. I get to the style and pass it through it. Now, bare in mind it's pitch black in the middle of the English countryside and I'm normally used to either living in a town or in the middle of a Naval Base....
I get about halfway up this hill when I hear this "Moo", except it wasn't like the normal kind of "Moo's" you hear from cows, this was the kind of noise you expect to hear in a dark alleyway shortly before you get killed. Anyway, I turn round and to the left of me just a hundred feet away are three cows built like brick -blam!-houses. I hate cows. I swear softly and try to walk on, calm like so I'm not disturbing them. They come towards me. So I thinks to myself, how about if I turn off my light, maybe that'll make them f'ck off. So I try this, walk on a wee bit mre, and they come towards me again. I switch on the light again and by this point I'm starting to get nervous.
I look up the hill and they've pretty much got any exit cut off and I didn't know what was up there, so I wasn't going to run for it that way. Look to my right and it's all barbed wire fence and trees and bushes and there was no way I was getting through that. So I decide the only logical thing I can do is sprint all the way down hill in a straight line for this style.
Ladies and gentlemen, you have never seen a thirteen stone matelot with a huge bergen on his back run so fast in his life. And just to add to the terror that one wee bit more, they let off this blood curdling cry of triumph and immeaditley launch after me. I had JUST reached the style when I heard them scraping on the flagstones pursuing me mere feet from where I stood on the opposite side of the fence.
Ended up having to trek through the field eventually after many a cigraette, it was either that or add another two miles onto my walk and I'd already done twenty that day.