Hello again, Story Club members.

I'm Ivy, your ghostly host with the most and keeper of the strangest,

spookiest tales on earth.

Today is another Ivy's chilling tale.

This hair-raising yarn story club members might make you stay out of the

Louisiana swamps forever. It's one I call the boy who cried werewolf. Since the beginning

of September, Alex and I talked about what we would do on Halloween. Whose windows weed soap, whose garbage

cans we'd tip over, what little kids we'd scare. We loved pulling pranks. We didn't want to hurt

anyone. It's just our way of having some fun. Alex and I went to Blackwater Junior High

in Miller County, Louisiana. We've known each other since we were in diapers watching Cartoon Network while gnawing on fudgicles.

We felt like brothers.

After school, we'd hang out down at Windsor Hollow, a swamp just a few blocks from our neighborhood.

Our parents didn't like us messing around down there because of alligators and poisonous snakes.

But Alex and I spent so much

of our time there that we knew what to watch out for. We would just hang out and talk, or sometimes

take our fishing poles down there and try to catch some flathead catfish or bluegills.

Most of the time, we would come home empty-handed, but it didn't really matter. It was just cool

hanging out in

our spot. Not too far from the Hollow was an old cemetery that has been around since before

the Civil War. It's old and kind of creepy. Every Halloween, kids like to dare each other to go

out there alone and touch the grave of Emma Larson, a supposed witch who died way back in 1889.

There was also another legend that kept people, especially kids, away from the swamp.

...