The tale of Greta Murphy still lingered in the town, even 10 years after the day she went missing.

The abandoned and boarded up house at the very end of Lydia Lane used to belong to the Murphy’s. Everybody loved Mr. and Mrs. Murphy, and even more so their wonderful daughter. Which was why October 15th, 2014 was such a tragedy for the whole town—the day Greta disappeared.

The whole town pitched in, searching for her just about everywhere. The news spread further until it had been too long, and she was presumed dead. No body. No trace. Just a case gone cold. Mr. and Mrs. Murphy couldn’t stand to stay at their house any longer. It brought them too much sadness and grief, So they moved away. But the house still stayed, the now welcoming home a place of a haunting mystery.

Some people say Greta had drowned in the lake, or was attacked and eaten by an animal. But some say she was murdered, kidnapped, taken away. Those were all just rumors, though. Nobody really knew the truth.

But I wanted to find out.

I decided their house would at least be a start, so I snuck out of home and down to the end of the street, a backpack over my shoulder. The streetlamps cast an ominous glow over the gravel leading to their house, a shiver rolling down my spine. The front door was of course boarded, but the planks covering the window were loose enough to pull off. I hauled myself inside, nearly sneezing at the intense smell of musty and dust-filled air. I spent a few minutes searching the ground floor, finding mostly nothing—because it was empty. I went upstairs too, searching the bedrooms and staying longer in the one I presumed was Greta’s.

It wasn’t until I got to the basement door that I knew something was weird.

It was chillier in the basement, with a foul underlying smell. Once I stepped off the bottom stair, the basement door began slowly creaking shut on its own. The air was charged with some kind of energy, and I could feel it in my bones. I was seconds away from booking it out of the house entirely. That’s when my flashlight began to flicker, and a blood curdling scream tore from the darkness. Without a second thougt, I sprinted up the stairs, out the window, down the street, and back into my house.

I could barely believe what I had just witnessed. Who screamed? Why? Was it Greta? I refused to think too much about it when I went to sleep that night.

I woke up to find my mother gently shaking me awake.

“Honey, there’s been some news.” She told me.

I sat up, furrowing my brows.

“The neighbors heard a scream at the abandoned Murphy house last night. The police went to

investigate and guess what they found?”

Instantly my back was up. “What?” I asked.

“Greta Murphy’s body.” Her eyes looked sad when she added, “They said she had been long gone. They found her remains in the basement.”