Campfire Ghost Stories: The Thing
by Janie Brown
Last summer I stayed with my auntie, but couldnï¿½t sleep in the old house. That was because my cousins constantly told me ghost stories that took place in the house. Gee, thanks Lissy and Mike.
I heard someone moving around in the kitchen. I figured that it was auntie wanting a midnight snack (which wasnï¿½t that unusual, let me tell you). So I crept down the stairs, hoping to scare Auntie Lynn. Or maybe if I was lucky, I would scare Uncle Thomas.
As I reached the kitchen door, I heard someone laugh and it was DEFINITELY NOT Auntie Lynn or Uncle T. I peered around the corner and saw . . . a shape. Thatï¿½s the best way to describe it.
It was black and seemed to flow like water. Yet, it still stood (or floated, I guess) upright like a human. I stayed as still as I possibly could, too frightened to call out for Uncle T.
But then, the clock rung out the first of twelve chimes. It was midnight.
With each chime the...thing...grew. By the twelfth chime, the shape was almost three times as big as the refrigerator. I stayed where I was. As that last ring faded away, I started feeling involuntarily tired. I struggled to keep my eyes open.
The next thing I knew, my Auntie Lynn was shaking me, wondering why I was huddled against the kitchen door. I looked at the clock. It was eight oï¿½ clock! I couldnï¿½t answer her. I walked over to the sink where the thing had been and looked at the tap. If I looked closely, there was a piece of black goop, about the size of a quarter. My Auntie Lynn came up behind me. She looked at the sink and grabbed her cell phone. The next thing I knew she was talking to someone about a mold problem.
Unless mold comes alive at eleven fifty five on July eighteenth, I am absolutely convinced that I was in the presence of a genuine ghosts.