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My name is Magnus and, well, I live on a little island in Denmark in a coastal city. This is also where this story is centered. Me and my friend, who we'll keep anonymous and simply call "John", know this place that we called "Mud Hill" where we ran around and played as kids. We would climb around and find all sorts of things in the ground up there. We even found bullet cases and such, therefore we would make up stories like it was a Nazi mass grave and so. But that's not what this story is about. This story starts a few years back where we were twelve years old and were bored shitless. John lives very close to Mud Hill, so we decided to go there for the hell of it. Seeing as to how beautiful the day was, we decided to leave our bikes and enjoy the day. It was a sunny day with a cloudless sky, but as we stepped outside and walked a couple of meters close to the hill, the weather changed so sudden and it became very windy and started to rain.
Well we didn't really care much and continued. But as we were around a hundred meters away, all the gates on the row of houses to my left blew open as I walked past them, which shocked me quite a bit. Foolishly, we let the event pass our minds and continued. We got down there and messed around a bit at the creek nearby, throwing some rocks and swinging over the creek in a rope hung onto a tree, when we suddenly heard a scream. We assumed there were people playing nearby as well, so we decided to investigate. We climbed the highest of the two hills and looked down between the middle of them, but nobody was there. Despite slightly unnerving us, we stayed. We laid in the tall grass for a while when we heard another scream. We hid in the grass and looked over at the creek. Yet again, no-one.
We started hearing a series of screams and it seemed to get closer and louder in magnitude with each one. As we attentively laid there in the grass, the same scream was suddenly heard. Right behind us, like it came from a bodiless figure or a shapeless entity. We couldn't discern the source. Panicked, with no time to think, we ran as fast as we were able back to my friend's house. Tired and fearful upon our arrival, John asked me, "Magnus, what the hell was that?!" I was as clueless as he was and simply shrugged. We spent the rest of the day doing things at his house, but I couldn't stop thinking about Mud Hill. Over the next few days, we returned a couple of times with some other friends, but the events only seemed to occur in a group of two or alone. We didn't go back for a couple of months... but one day, my sister and I decided to go.
The same pattern of events unfolded: the sudden change in the weather, gates suddenly bursting open and the steadily scaling screams, creating a rather quick expedition... but the weird thing was that as we returned to our bicycles, which were parked near a worn-out barn, we heard a sudden banging noise. It came from the barn doors... like somebody was trying to get out. Without investigating, we hastily mounted our bikes and rode home. We stayed away for the rest of the year. Only recently, however, my friend and I decided to go back to check on the place. Nothing happened. It was as if a ghost finally found peace as a curse was lifted. I'm not sure. We didn't hear or see anything out of the ordinary.
To this day, I still don't have any clue exactly as to what happened. There's currently construction going on around the site; plans have been made to build houses there, tearing down Mud Hill in the process. It's sad to see, what with all the "good" memories we had there, but I can't help but to wonder... What happened before? Could the place be haunted? What's gonna happen to the people moving into those houses? What's the truth of it all? I don't know. I'm not sure if I even want to know...