I must admit, I’m afraid of the dark. Everytime the night is upon me I shiver and tremble and my mind is filled with terrifying thoughts. That’s why I sleep with a night-light. Last night was just like any other night. I kept my small fish bowl light on and I tucked myself in well, careful to leave no body part uncovered. You see, Ghosts are afraid of blankets (apparently). After doing that, I began to doze off and had just reached that creamy layer of dreamy sleep, when suddenly, I heard a THUMP! I woke up startled!
I was terrified, and I strained my ears trying to listen, hoping that the sound was a figment of my imagination. THERE IT WAS AGAIN! I jumped out of bed and looked around searching for a weapon. I took my phone and dialed 911 just incase I needed help, (does the police cater to miserable people being scared witless by ghosts?). I repeated the Pythagoras theorem over and over again softly, it was oddly reassuring. ‘Maybe the ghost is scared of maths?’ I thought, idiotically. As I tiptoed down the stairs with my heart beating wildly, I thought about all the boys I had kissed (none) and all the pizzas I would never be able to eat. That’s when I saw it, an eerie light coming from my kitchen. I could feel my skin prickle and I felt like vomiting, every muscle in my body screamed for me to run away like Usain Bolt. I bolted (hah! See what I did there?) down the stairs, screaming some absolute gibberish, I forgot what I said but it was something along the lines of, ‘DON’T YOU DARE DEPRIVE ME OF PIZZA CASPER!”.
I reached the bottom of the stairs and I stopped dead in my tracks, the scary ghost was my younger brother. Turns out he had run away from home and needed a place to stay, and since I live 20 blocks away, I was his best choice. Really though, the lesson I learnt from this was to not give my house keys to my family.
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