There used to be a family that lived out in the woods: a mother, a father, a little girl, and the little girl's two older brothers. One day, the boys were cutting down a tree while their mother, father, and little sister were picking flowers.
The tree landed on their mother and father, and crushed their little sister's arm. They buried their parents' corpses on a hill near their house. The boys bought a golden arm for their sister.
While their sister was picking berries for dessert, the two boys were cutting down another tree. Suddenly the tree fell upon their little sister, killing her as well. They brought her up to the same hill where their parents were buried, and buried her next to them. They took the golden arm and sold it.
With the money they got, they bought a bunch of lemonade. One night, when they were drinking some lemonade, they heard someone whisper, "Where is my arm?"
The younger brother got so scared he sent his brother to go look for the source of the noise. His brother grabbed their father's shotgun from the closet and went outside. He closed the door and went out to search.
He heard it again, but louder, "Where is my arm?" He search around but saw no one. When he turned to go inside, he saw his little sister.
She had one arm, blood dripping from the stub where her arm had been. She asked him once more, "Where is my arm?" and murdered her own brother.
The younger brother was still drinking lemonade inside. He started to get worried when he heard knocking at the door. He stood up and went to open it, but was shocked to see no one was there.
He went outside in search of his brother, but didn't find him. He went back home hoping his brother had gotten home before him. He went inside and turned on the light, there hanged his brother's corpse. He nearly screamed. Then he heard a knocking at the bathroom door.
He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and opened the bathroom door. There stood his sister. "Where is my arm!? Where is my arm!?", she repeated. "I DON'T HAVE YOUR ARM!", he screamed. She kept repeating the same words.
He tried stabbing her, but the knife just went through her. She had killed him. She dragged her brothers' bodies to the hill and buried them. Later, a camp was built over their house. Camp Nesbit was the name. And to this day, she still haunts the camp looking for her arm, and every year the sixth graders from Philip Lutundres Elementary School go on a trip there.