It was a quiet and foggy night. The wind was very tasty...
Tasty of ghosts, that is.
I was curled up on my couch with my kitty Prissy seated on my tempting lap. I was reading a steamy novel, something about ghosts, and like, ghosts. But you know, the real terrifying kind. I was getting goosebumps on my buff arms just turning the pages. Prissy didn't like it. She'd been restless all night.
The wind howled against my window. It still tasted of... the paranormal. I was getting restless, too.
I saw something whoosh past my window. It was a ghost.
Like, a real one.
Prissy screeched in my lap. She jumped up and ran. Where, I don't know. Why - well, I had a pretty good idea. I turned the page of my book with my nimble fingers, trying to not give notice. I wasn't scared -
(was I?)
- and I wasn't letting the ghost even think it for a second.
I hummed at the excellent use of adverbs in my book - right now, the protagonist was hiding under the sheets, shivering because he heard some voices in the closet. Ha. I wasn't hiding.
I sensed the ghost came into my living room, right there, hovering right in front of me. I turned the page of my book and yelled: "I'm not afraid of you, G H O S T."
The ghost then materialised in front of my sensational eyes.
I screm.
