GCR5RY Toys for Rebecca (Haunted Cache) (Traditional Cache) in Pennsylvania, United States created by Team Rambo

This cache has been archived.

Team Rambo: Visisted the cache location and the cache is gone. Everything is gone.

Since I no longer have time to take care of this cache, I'm archiving it. I'd like to take this time to thank my friends the kfinders for writing the story. This was a great cache while it lasted!

GCR5RY ▼

A cache by Team Rambo Message this owner

Hidden : 10/31/2005

Difficulty:

Terrain:

Size: Size: regular (regular)

Join now to view geocache location details. It's free!

Watch

How Geocaching Works

Please note Use of geocaching.com services is subject to the terms and conditions in our disclaimer.

Geocache Description:

Do not attempt this cache from the interstate (rt 60). Park in Bradys Run Park here: N40 43.385 - W080 21.929. For the best experience try this one at night. Bradys run park is open util 11pm. The hardest part will be getting and keeping a signal. Rebecca doesn't want you to find her toys. Special thanks to the k-finders for writing the story.

In the mid 1950s, when land just outside Beaver was purchased for use as a general purpose campsite, there was never mention of any house. In fact, it wasn't until two developers were marking off walking paths in the adjacent woods that they even noticed the house.

Perhaps to call it a house would be unfair. It was very crude, and very small. The walls, made of wooden planks sealed with some sort of wax, were at most eight feet to a side and windowless. A simple door lay against the only opening. There were no hinges, but the door fit seamlessly into the frame, which had two study wooden hooks built into it, one on each side. While there was no bar to be found, it was clear that the door was designed to be barricaded... from the outside.

Curious, the workers opened the door to look inside. A wisping rush of air and a faint, sweet smell met the two men as they peered cautiously into the dark interior. The sun was lowering on the opposite side of the house, but there was enough ambient light to show a remarkable scene. The room inside, and indeed it was but a single room, was a stark contrast to the exterior. Inside was an elegantly decorated room.

While there was little more than enough space for the small bed and dresser, the room was immaculate. The bed was made with fine linens, a pillow propped gently against the oak headboard. The walls were brightly painted and smooth. A mirror hung above the dresser, upon which sat a small, open book. There was not a speck of dust on the floor. Not a cobweb in the corner, not a smudge on the mirror. Everything was perfect.

The men were unwilling to enter the obviously in-use house, so they retruned to the construction site, where work was wrapping up for the day. The foreman knew nothing about the house, citing that the property was supposed to be empty. Although the sun was setting, he went with the men to see if they could get any information about the house owner or purpose. Perhaps it could serve some purpose for the future campsite.

Darkness was falling fast, but the men were better equiped with lanterns, and the path was clearly shown by the cloth ties on the trees which they had been marking for removal. But when they reached the site, everything had changed.

The house had collapsed. More then that, it had deteriorated. The planks which once formed the walls were rotting; a rusty bedframe was covered with debris. Much of the wood was covered in black soot and bore the scars of fire. Broken glass was sacttered about the site. This was the place. The men knew it. This was the same place they had been less then an hour earlier.

The faint sweet, smell was still there.

As the men sifted through the rubble, one of them noticed the remnants of a book, the one which had sat so perfectly on the dresser. As he picked it up, ash fell from between the covers. Most of the pages were torn out, the rest burned. Only half of what seemed to be one of the earlier pages was left. The only legible words made little sense.

know that love you, and that this for the best. This is only way. I know you don't mean to be what are, to do you did. This not your fault. If I set things right, I will. bring you toys when can, when they let I love , Rebecca. (and in a different, more childish handwriting) I'm sorry, fath . I'm so

The sun was fully set now, and the only lights came from the lanterns. The foreman was unsure what to think. He trusted these men, knew they were not the kind to waste time on silly pranks. But clearly, the house was what it was: a burned down shack which simply needed cleared out.

Later that year the campsite was completed. No one gave much thought to the story the two men told.

For the next fifteen years, the camp was most often used as a girl scout retreat. Like all campsites visited by children, it had its share of unexplained stories. This camp didn't have tales of murder, or of a someone drowning in the lake, or a monster roaming the woods. Oddly, most stories centered around a playful spirit of a young girl. Around campfires tales were told of gentle laughter heard late at night, of toys and hairbrushes gone missing, of strange scribbles in the girl's diaries. All stories, which the camp counselors determined, which could be perpetrated by the older girls. Harmless pranks against first year campers. Most every item which was missing would turn up only slightly worse for wear along one of the paths through the woods.

In 1970, the Beaver Valley Expressway Bridge was to be constructed through the property. Most campsite buildings were moved to Chippewa Township to become what is now known as Wright-O-Way Lodge. A few buildings were simply abandoned.

Construction of the bridge was mostly uneventful, except for one nearly fatal incident. Managerment had been complaining throughout most of the project about missing equipment and tools not being put away at night, although the workers claimed innocence. One manager, suspecting vandalism or theft, spent the night at the site with a policeman, hidden in a tool shed. What happened that night is still a mystery.

Early that morning, the policeman brought the manager to a hospital with a gunshot wound to the shoulder and deep cuts on his legs and back. Neither would talk of what happened, only that both claimed the policeman shot at an assailant, and accidentally struck the manager, and that the assailant fled. No charges were filed. No official reports surfaced.

The manager eventually returned to the worksite, but with an interesting condition. He demanded that a nightly collection be taken of toys for needy children. Every night a worker was scheduled to bring a small plaything, nothing fancy, to donate. A small box was put on the edge of the construction site, and although no one ever saw the manager remove the toys, it was always empty in the morning. This act must have improved morale with the workers, as tools stopped disappearing.

There have been occasional claims over the past twenty-odd years of drivers seeing a small girl along the road at night, but very few stopped and those who did lost sight of her. Deer most likely, or maybe a stray dog given the quiet howling sometimes heard.