Board Thread:Off Topic/@comment-5733573-20180616162810/@comment-34823985-20180617044301

When I was, hmm... maybe eight or nine, I discovered an old dilapidated shed in the woods. It at one time rested on the edge of a hill. The ground washed away under it, and it eventually slid down the hill. It was on the back end of someone's property, so I never would have gone inside it, but discovering that it had moved was just too good to ignore.

My brother, my neighbor, and I pried open the door. The shed wasn't locked, but it was leaning about... oh, I don't know, maybe 45 degrees to one side, so the door took a little effort to open. Inside we found a backpack with a boys name written on the back. I remembered that name for many years, but now I can't recall it.

Inside the bag were some micro machines (mini cars smaller that hot wheels if you've never heard of them), an elementary school text book (can't remember what subject), and some other school supplies. A big black stain surrounded the bag. The stain didn't seem like much at first, but we eventually all became really freaked out.

We rushed home, and told our parents what we'd found. The police were called, and they looked into it. It turned out to be no big deal. The 'dead boy' was alive, well, and in junior high by that time. I didn't get too many details from my parents. We really did think we had discovered a place where a boy had been murdered.

Children's imaginations are fascinating things. I never had a single nightmare from that experience, but my younger brother did. He brought it up a few years ago. That was a weird conversation. He didn't remember we told the police (he was quite young back then), and half believed we never reported the murder of a little boy. True story, I shit you not.