It was a cold Febuary morning in a clearing in a forest at church camp, about an hour and a half away from civilization. I was strolling down one of the muddy dirt roads which was awfully close to the dense forest surrounding the tiny clearing. There was another little trail, which leads down into the forest, but I didn’t dare go down it alone, I was scared of dark forests and wildlife thanks to the Internet. As I was walking, I heard voices approaching from the forest. I headed to the edge of the trail to see a group of girls laughing and talking.

“Did you see anything cool?” I asked, curious to know.
“There is a murder house down there!” one of the girls said, “If you go down that trail for half an hour or so, you’ll find it! It was all metal and had graffiti all over it.”
“Did you go in it?” I said, my heart pounding.
They shook their heads, “We were too scared.”

I smiled, I probably would have done the same, I would have started to go in then I would have chickened out. Suddenly the bell rang; it was time to head back, and with this information in my head, I headed back to the main hall. The group of girls behind me, still laughing and talking. But the urge to go check out the house never left me. The rest of the day flew by, and the final day of camp came around. I was walking down the same muddy dirt road to go see the house when, I ran into my good friend. 

“Hi,” I said, sort of breathless, because I had been walking at a fast pace.
“Hi,” she replied, smiling.
“I hear there is a murder house. Wanna come check it out with me?” I asked.
“Sure,” she answered, her eyes lighting up with excitement.  

She was like me, the adventurous type who almost never chickened out of a dare. So we walked towards the little trail, my senses, which were trying to hold me back, silenced by my own ignorance. As we walked down the trail deeper into the forest, the trees grew closer, engulfing us in darkness, and isolating us from every other sound at the campsite, except running water and foliage crunching under our feet. After walking for two minutes, we came to a little bridge, a river bubbling from under it, and then we saw it. A wooden house was just across the river, it was small and it looked like a lincoln logs creation. We both started to walk forward, then my friend stopped.

“Wait, we should probably explore it with someone else, and it’s getting late,” she said nervously looking at a nearby Danger sign.  I nodded, also eyeing the Danger sign. Then the bell rang, “Let's head here on the next break,” I suggested.

She nodded. So we headed back, excited for the next break, the leaves crunching under our feet, like the feeling in my stomach that something wasn’t right. It was lunch now, and the air was buzzing with excitement. It was almost time to go home. I was sitting near the path, watching the other kids play, then I saw my friend again.

“Hey,” I said, standing up.
“Hi,” she said, smiling.
“Wanna head back and check out that house?” I said, looking down the path toward the trail that lead to the forest.
“Sure,” she answered. Her eyes lit up with the same excitement as before.

We started to head over and we saw another one of our friends, Sarah, and we invited her to come as well. she was one of those people who believed in spirits, and I shared her belief. She also loved ghost stories and accepted instantly. So the three of us hurried down the trail to the dense forest once again. This time the forest didn’t seem as nice as last time.

The darkness gave us an uneasy feeling as we trudged on, and the sounds of the other campers died away almost instantly. The sound of the wind was all that remained. Then when we came to the little bridge I stopped. The house wasn’t there. I felt sick, and I looked to my friend who had the same expression. Sarah stood looking at both of us confused.

“T-the house is gone…” I said shaking.

Then we ran for it. We scrambled up the trail as fast we could, and I almost tripped a few times. Hearts pounding and panting, we fell onto dewy grass a little ways from the trail. We stayed away from the trail for the remainder of the time we were there. After we were loaded onto buses and well on our way, we drove past a graveyard. A chill went up my spine. Was this the cause of the house? Soon enough, we were driving past a rural area with few houses, and I thought I saw a claw holding onto the edge of a door, but maybe I was hallucinating. I never will be able to explain what happened that day, but all I know is that it was orchestrated by a strange force.