**FOR

SOME REASON NOSLEEP ADMINS KEEP DELETING MY POST :(, PROBABLY BECAUSE THEY
CANT HANDLE THE ENDING. ANYWAY POSTING IT HERE TO SHARE IT TO A FEW PEOPLE**

When I was growing up, my best friend was Evan. He was a scruffy, malnourished boy who lived
next door to my grandmas house, which I visited frequently when I was little. Looking back, I
realized my parents sent me away whenever they were fighting. I suppose it was a way for
them to try to hide how close they were to divorce from me, but it didnt really work, I knew
But Im getting off topic.
Evan and I used to play all summer long, and during nearly every break. We would spend our
time swimming in the small river than ran through the middle of the rural town we lived in
deep in the woods of northern California. We would walk miles up and down the river, looking
for the perfect swimming hole. It felt like just about every day, we found a new best hole
ever! but when youre eleven years old, every hole is the best hole. After an entire summer,
we finally had settled on a single best hole and we began to swim almost exclusively in it.
Our new regular place was about two miles down the river, in the Less nice part of town. My
grandma had told us nearly daily to always go up the river and never down into the other end
of town. He said it was Just not a good place for a couple of young lads. Too much trouble., so
we always made sure to head up the river until we were out of sight, cross the river and use the
woods as cover to make our way back down the river to our spot.
The spot itself was rather unremarkable looking back. It was right at the bend in the river so the
water had slowed a bit, causing a nice little lazy spot that was almost more of a pond than a
river. The trees grew quite close to the shore, which was made mostly of a soft, clay like mud,
that mad a sloppy, sucking sound when your feet got stuck. As far as we could tell, the river had
curved enough that it had made it's way out of the town and there were no houses within a
reasonable distance. This was particularly special, because this meant we could be as loud and
crude as we wanted and no one would be around to tattle on us. Most of our days were sent
swimming, wrestling and swearing loudly. The simple pleasures.
We enjoyed this simple ritual for about two weeks before anything happened.
Evan and I were doing our usual game of "Who can do the loudest belly flop" when we heard it.
At first it was fairly quiet, a yelp followed by rusting. I looked at Evan, who floated in the water,
eyes locked in the direction it had come from. "The fuck was that...?" he whispered to me, with
as much discretion as an eleven year old could manage.
We sat in silence, straining our ears in an attempt to identify what I was positive was an
animal... And then we heard it again. This time it was considerably louder and farther away.
Evan and I looked at each other, instantly knowing what the other was thinking. "That was a girl
crying." I whispered back quite loudly.
Evan made his way to the shore, grabbing his shirt. "Come on, we gotta help." he said with
more confidence, but I wasn't budging. "But... She sounded scared... and in pain. What if an
animal got her? My grandma says there's mountain lions all around here. Maybe there's one
there." Evan pulled his shirt over his head and grunted. "What's why we have to go! What if
she's hurt? We can't just leave her!" He said, already making his way towards the sound. I
sighed, and followed him unhappily.
We walked through the woods, in the direction leading away from town. Every now and then,
we would lose the trail and would have to stop and listen. Sure enough, just as before, the

sound would get louder and farther. It felt like we repeated this process for hours, but likely, it
was no more than 20 minutes, before we reached a house.
This being the bad end of town, Evan and I had seen our fair share of broken down old houses...
but this was different. Every window in the house had been long shattered. The roof was
missing nearly every shingle and was sporting at least two large holes that had been there for
quite some time judging by the growing moss. The doors were all boarded shut with the
exception of one which hung half open, dangling on a single hinge. It was every house in every
horror movie ever...And Evan and I both knew it was bad news.
We crouched behind what we determined to be the best covering bush at the edge of the
clearing around the house. We sat and listened for the crying. Though quiet, it was clearly still
there.
"We need to go help her..." Evan insisted, but I was not going to move. "Are you kidding?
There's obviously going to be a ghost in that place!" Though it sounds silly now, my young mind
insisted that it was haunted and the sound we were hearing was a ghost. "Don't be a baby,
ghosts aren't real. It's probably someone who's lost or hurt. We can't leave her behind!" But
again I shook my head.
Evan gave an annoyed sigh and stood up. "I bet you a popsicle that place isn't haunted." He
laughed at my cowardice and began to make his way down the clearing towards the house,
ignoring all of my protests. As he got closer, I saw it... Something in the window, running just
out of sigh. "Evan..." I whispered loudly, trying to get his attention as he set foot on the porch.
He turned to look at me, a grin spread across his know it all face. In his mind, he was going to be
the hero, and I would be the cowardly friend...That is, until the door began to open behind him.
Evan began to scream, looking right at something that remained unseen to me. I stood up,
staring in horror as my best friend quickly vanished into the house, being dragged by an unseen
force. My brain froze, and my body took off at a full sprint. I made my way back through the
forest, ignoring each branch that cut into my skin, and the twigs that tore at the flesh on my
feet as the flip flops I once wore fell from my feet in the depths of the woods.
When I arrived home, it had grown dark. I was cut, beaten, and bruised by the abusive woods.
My grandma went from furious at my tadiness, to full of fear and concern. It took some time for
me to begin spewing the story of what had happened to Evan. At first, it appeared my grandma
thought I was lying in an attempt to avoid the punishment for being late, until she asked where
we had gone.
"We went about two miles down the river, past the old town." I said between gasps and drinks
of water. At this, my grandma instantly grabbed the phone and dialed the police.
Over the next day, I was called questioned by the police as to the location of the house and
details of the events, though they didn't seem too keen on following up of the story of a kid
who was out too late in a place he shouldn't have been. They probably assumed I had made the
whole story up... Until about a week later, Evan's drug addled parents finally filed a missing
person report. Evan was found the next day.
My grandma and parent did their best to shield me from the reality of what had happened.
They told me that Evan had slipped in the old, dusty house and died. It was in disrepair and he
had fallen down into the basement. I guess they didn't want to lie about his death, though... I
knew they had lied about how he had died. I heard the whispers around town and learned the
truth fairly soon after.

I guess Evan was right about the house... Judging by his and the twelve other children who had
been raped, beaten, and mutilated, there wasn't a ghost in that house... There was a monster.