A few years ago, back when I still went to sleepover camp, there was a story that was often told to the younger campers about an old cabin known as the “wombats,” which burned down in 1951. However, the story goes, every once in a while the cabin reappears, and odd scratching noises are heard emanating from the windows of a cabin that didn’t exist anymore. The story went on to be somewhat interesting, but I don’t remember the rest and it’s not really that important to my story.
As we were young and naive, we believed the tale, and many of us had trouble going to sleep that night. Half of us kept murmuring “Dude, you think that story is true?,” while the other half, trying to appear hardcore, replied “Naw, dude. That’s just stuff they make up to scare us. Right?? Guys??” After a few hours, we managed to go to sleep, and woke up the next morning already forgetting the story. The next night, we would be brutally reminded of the horrors.
Because at three in the loving morning, we heard these scratching noises coming from the windows. And we had no idea what the gently caress was going on, nor were any adults in the area. Whenever we shined our flashlights out of a screen that was making noise, we would see nothing, and the noise would immediately move to another window. We yelled and screamed for help for what seemed like an hour before anyone arrived. Once angry counselors arrived, wondering why we were making a racket at three AM, the noises stopped.
The next morning, the camp director informed us that there was a rational reason why the noises were occurring, a goat had escaped recently, and, apparently, this goat was the culprit. We didn’t believe him. Then again, the wombats tale was just a horror story that they tell kids to scare them.