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Wood Island

Isabelle, Maine, USA
August 2006

A friend of mine had always talked about this place called Wood Island, and how it had been host to a murder-suicide scene. A local squatter and part time lobster man was living on the west end of the island. The squatter had been involved in an earlier altercation on the mainland and was approached by a sheriff's deputy. The squatter murdered the sheriff's deputy. Realizing what he had done he attempted to turn himself in to one of the people who had lived on the island, Thomas Orcutt who, in fear, turned him away. The squatter returned to his shack and committed suicide. Legend has it that the ghost of the murdered deputy still haunts the lighthouse and island.

We decided that we were quite bored so we made plans to camp out at the island that very night. So we packed our things and set off to the island using one of my dads old row boats. Now that I think back to it, it was like one of those old horror stories where two people were in a rowboat holding a lantern out in the pitch fog.

We reached the island within 20 minutes and began to make camp. It was no more than 5 minutes after we started removing our stuff from the row boat that we started hearing unusual things, and seeing things from the corner of our eyes. It didn't bother us, since that was what we were expecting. Once we were done unpacking and making a fire, we started to explore.

The lighthouse has been there for 198 years. We decided to go inside to look around. The very minute Sam walked in (My friend, he was first) the door slammed behind him, locking me out. I could hear him screaming my name, making sure I was okay. He then went to one of the windows and told me that the door would not open, even from the inside. The window was far too small for him to crawl through, so he was completely stuck. Just then I saw a dark figure run quickly behind him and out of sight. We later figured out a way for him to get out, he would have to go to the very top and climb down a ladder. He did this safely, and by the time he got down, I was bolting towards our camp ready to go home. But as soon as we got there, we noticed our row boat had been untied from the dock and was halfway across the channel, with our lantern, matches, and food. Fortunately, I had my cell phone and called my father frantically. A half hour and about 5 more encounters later, my father picked us up on his speed boat and we left that island forever, never going back.

Isabelle, Maine, USA
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