Just when you thought the tabloids had scraped the barrel on the “king of the witches to exorcise Crowley’s bed” nonsense, there arrives another ridiculous article.

From the Daily Record:

It seems the French-style walnut bed still truly belongs to Crowley, even after being moved from the old Devil-worshipper’s haunt, Boleskine House on Loch Ness…
THE EVIL BED

Jan 24 2005

Record girl’s creepy night in Crowley’s kip

By Natalie Walker

Spending the last night in Satanist Aleister Crowley’s bed before it is exorcised has to be the ultimate haunting experience. But our woman did it and lived to tell the tale

I NEVER used to believe in things that go bump in the night. I do now.

And you would too, if you had slept with the spirit of ‘the wickedest man in the world’.

Hours before he was due to exorcise Aleister Crowley’s bed, white witch Kevin Carlyon challenged me to spend the night in it.

Thinking it would be more Harry Potter than Hammer Horror, I cheerfully agreed.

But as soon as I got to The Steadings Hotel near Inverness, I started to have my doubts.

Owner Andy Pavitt told me: ‘Visitors have told us all sorts of stories about that bed.

‘Some feel it shake or rise off the ground while others have heard tapping or rattling.

‘Guests have left after one night in the bed – before we even saw them in the morning.’

It seems the French-style walnut bed still truly belongs to Crowley, even after being moved from the old Devil-worshipper’s haunt, Boleskine House on Loch Ness.

But, undaunted, I prepared to turn in. And right away, things began to get weird.

The room was incredibly chilly even though the fire was on. And there was an overwhelming, sweet, musty smell.

I put on the bedside light, lit three candles for extra insurance and settled down with my book. Perhaps I shouldn’t have chosen a biography of Crowley …

I was on page four when I heard an eerie flapping sound. My pulse raced and I felt cold sweat onmy brow.

‘It’s all in the mind,’ I told myself and tried in vain to shut out the noise. Then I spotted the culprits – two flies around a lamp.

Feeling silly, I got back to my book. But the more I read about Crowley’s sacrifices, spirit–summoning and Satanic sex rituals, the colder I felt.

My breathing quickened, and the temperature fell to what felt like minus 15.

I panicked and bolted out of bed to check if the window was closed (it was). Then I looked in all the cupboards to see if something sinister was lurking (it wasn’t).

Back to bed but I couldn’t get comfy. I kept ending up in the middle – as if I’d been dragged there.

I was still wide awake at 2am and was unnerved to see that one of my candles had gone out.

Whatever, I thought. Let’s just go for it. I blew out the other two and made a determined effort to doze off.

Two minutes later, an unearthly beeping noise made me whack my skull off the giant headboard. It was my mobile and a drunken text from a pal. ‘This is Crowley are you there,’ it said. Thanks. But it did lighten the mood, although I still slept with the light on.

I got to sleep at 4am and was so tired I needed an alarm to wake me at eight.

I dreamt, incredibly vividly, about soldiers marching on a lonely road.Then, at breakfast, I heard that clansmen used the road near the hotel before Culloden.

It was another creepy Crowley moment. I believe his presence is still around somehow but I also believe you can spook yourself if your mind lets you.