Last night, my son read to me the new essay he wrote for Halloween. He told me that his teacher asked everybody to write a story about Halloween. I was interrrupted by a phone call when he read his essay to me. I asked him to read to me again.
Before he went to bed, he said "I am so scared now." I said "why?" He answered " I am scared because what happened in the story". I asked him "Are you scared of the story you wrote? Do you know it is not true?" He said " I think it is so real." Then he asked me to keep the light on when he fell asleep.
For me, this is so funny, a ten-year-old boy is scared about the story he wrote by himself.
Bone-us Creeps
By: xxxxx xxxx
Walk. Just keep on walking, I thought and thought until it was stuck in my mind permanently. It was Halloween night and I’m at the most dangerous place to be at on Halloween night. . . . the GRAVEYARD! My name is Azmeralda Hart and I’m a fireman’s daughter. When I was not yet born, my mom was hoping for a daughter, but my dad had different expectations. My dad wanted a boy, as usual. He went on and on about how he was going to teach “his” son how to slide down the pole in the firehouse. My dad then started bragging about how he was going to teach “his” son how to put out fires and stuff. My mom didn’t want to hear it, so they divorced. I live with my mom, and that’s fine with me because I don’t really care WHO I live with as long as I have a home. Anyway, when my mom held her daughter for the first time, whom she named Azmeralda Hart, she smiled.
I asked her why she and dad divorced. She just said, “I don’t really know why we divorced. It happened so quickly I didn’t even notice it had happened.”
So now, I’m 14 and I’m walking past the graveyard and making it through. . . . . I hope.
“Az-meral-da Hart,” a studderin voice said as dry as ashes spoke my name, “Come to me, Az-meral-da Hart.”
I flung myself toward the soft dirt of the graveyard. I scanned the area. No one seemed to be there. I stood up again slowly still alert with eyes wide open.
Then a problem stirred around in my startled young mind, Where am I?
“Where you’re supposed to be, here with me!”
A bony, white hand shot out of the soft dirt like a bullet and grasped my ankle.
“Aaaaah-!” something cut out my scream.
“Don’t scream, young one,” the same dry voice said softly and devilishly, “There’s no need to be afraid.”
I looked at his face. A crooked, toothless grin ran across his face and a snake crawled out of his hairless, bare, cracked skull.
The slithering vine-like snake crawled tightly up my legs, my hips, then my neck and mouth.
I tried to scream. My mouth opened to taste the scales of the thick snake. I was now being pulled down into the grave 10 times quicker than quicksand. Right before my head went into the grave, I heard a cackling laugh, my mom running out of the house toward my direction carrying my baby brother Alex, and a cobble-stone of my great-grandfather’s pointed into the dirt crookedly and carelessly that said,
“THOMPSON GRIEVES SMITH HART
FATHER OF MAY SMITH HART
GRANDFATHER OF ALICE HART
GREAT-GRANDFATH OF AZME LDA HART
ALIVE FROM 1906-1954
R.I.P. DEAREST LOST GREAT-GRANDFATHER”
And in tiny letters, it said,
“I’ll be back to get you Azmeralda!”
The second last line was carved into the stone by a child. . . . the handwriting of. . . me!
After that shocking moment, I blacked out. . . . .
“Uuuuuuhhh,” I said painfully. You would think it would be easy to say uuuuuuhhh but that was really hard to say from what I’ve gone through.
I was pinned to the back of a giant flying creature that was green and a bit brown. I felt a breeze through my hair. I never felt so good. . . or scared out of my pants.
I tried to move. I couldn’t budge. When I did try to move, I got a painful, shocking sting from the metal connected to me.
“I want to go home,” I thought, “I want to go home.”
All of a sudden, the flying creature dipped it’s head toward the sea and dropped down steeply. I was practically doing a handstand in mid-air in that position.
I pulled on to the metal chains. I shreiked in pain and the creature dipped its head even lower and the steeper we fell into the sea. But in my doings, the chain broke. I hand a hand free now. I pulled on the rest of the chains. I pulled on one of my arm chains too hard and it made a deep, painful cut into my wrist. I howled in pain. I let go of the chain and I slid across the flying creature and reached the head.
“NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” I screamed.
I saw a sturdy horn to step on on the creature’s head. I had that problem solved. . . . now for my cut that was stinging in pain because of the scales scraping against it. I had to get my hands on something to stop the bleeding. I ripped off a piece of cloth from my sweater. I bundled it around the cut and my sweater soaked up the blood like a frog flicking its long, sticky tongue out to catch the fly buzzing in the air. I had to rip and rip until my sweater was nothing but a button or two.
“Help!! Get me down!!” I yelled and screamed. Then, I heard a sratching sound and a hoarse voice saying, “Jump. Jump from the Nogard and you’ll be safe.”
The voice sounded familar and tempting. My legs and arms started moving rapidly like a spider weaving a web. I grabbed for the big, puffed up scale of the “Nogard” and pulled myself up. I repeated the same movement over and over again until I reached the tip of the tail.
Then a message popped into my head, If I jump into the sea, then I would still die lacking of air. No. I shouldn’t do it.
Another little message popped in my head, Jump Azmeralda. You won’t get seriously injured, just a little pain.
I guess I waited too long and I plunged into the water with the Nogard. The Nogard started sinking and I was still clinging to the creature so I plunged down with it. I let go of it and kicked my legs. I started rising but when I looked back down, I saw a thin, deep-red trail of blood. Then I looked at my wrist. The blood was still pouring out. I knew I would run out of blood soon so I ripped a piece of fabric fom the bottom of my pants and I was holding a bony, white hand clutching the piece of fabric I ripped off. I gasped and sucked in salt-water. I spit it back out and held my breath. I was running out of blood as well as oxygen. I focused on swimming toward the surface of the water.
I was breathing heavily as I reached out an arm and clutched a handful of sand. I was on land! I was filled with joy but when I saw how small the the island was, I was shocked with horror. The island was about 10 feet in diameter and had on palm tree. I don’t even know how the tree grew here in the middle of nowhere. Either way, I pulled myself onto the island.
“Don’t - gasp – ever – gasp - go there – gasp – again,” I forced out a few words. I said that and thought, I’ll probably never get to go through there again even if I wanted to. That thought did not comfort me at all.
I gazed up at the sky. I became very queasy and I felt ill.
“You have felt my revenge,” a familar voice I heard when I was little said softly, “You shall Rest In Peace now like I did. You have the privilige to Rest In Peace with me.”
The soft voice sounded like. . . . Thompson Grieves Smith Hart, my great-grandfather
“Help me,” I managed to say.
“No. Rest In Peace with me and you won’t have to worry of anything else,” Thompson said.
I reached toward the sky and my hand dropped relently on my stomach. I felt like I was just sitting around and waiting to die. I thought of the people at home and my friends. I thought of everyone I met in my entire life. Then I closed my eyes and rested in peace. . . . .
Meanwhile,
Back at the graveyard, Azmeralda’s mother knelt over Thompson’s grave. She read the last line printed into the cobble-stone. She blinked and it disappeared. She gasped and ran back with Alex bundled tightly near her chest. She called her hu*****and and told him she needed him and she’s scared and that their daughter died. Her hu*****and, Mathew, came right over and they cried together.
The next morning, they arranged a funeral for Azmeralda in their church’s backyard and they all wept and shed tears for Azmeralda “Smith” Hart. . . .
~THE END~
(Mwahahahaha!!!!)
Before he went to bed, he said "I am so scared now." I said "why?" He answered " I am scared because what happened in the story". I asked him "Are you scared of the story you wrote? Do you know it is not true?" He said " I think it is so real." Then he asked me to keep the light on when he fell asleep.
For me, this is so funny, a ten-year-old boy is scared about the story he wrote by himself.
Bone-us Creeps
By: xxxxx xxxx
Walk. Just keep on walking, I thought and thought until it was stuck in my mind permanently. It was Halloween night and I’m at the most dangerous place to be at on Halloween night. . . . the GRAVEYARD! My name is Azmeralda Hart and I’m a fireman’s daughter. When I was not yet born, my mom was hoping for a daughter, but my dad had different expectations. My dad wanted a boy, as usual. He went on and on about how he was going to teach “his” son how to slide down the pole in the firehouse. My dad then started bragging about how he was going to teach “his” son how to put out fires and stuff. My mom didn’t want to hear it, so they divorced. I live with my mom, and that’s fine with me because I don’t really care WHO I live with as long as I have a home. Anyway, when my mom held her daughter for the first time, whom she named Azmeralda Hart, she smiled.
I asked her why she and dad divorced. She just said, “I don’t really know why we divorced. It happened so quickly I didn’t even notice it had happened.”
So now, I’m 14 and I’m walking past the graveyard and making it through. . . . . I hope.
“Az-meral-da Hart,” a studderin voice said as dry as ashes spoke my name, “Come to me, Az-meral-da Hart.”
I flung myself toward the soft dirt of the graveyard. I scanned the area. No one seemed to be there. I stood up again slowly still alert with eyes wide open.
Then a problem stirred around in my startled young mind, Where am I?
“Where you’re supposed to be, here with me!”
A bony, white hand shot out of the soft dirt like a bullet and grasped my ankle.
“Aaaaah-!” something cut out my scream.
“Don’t scream, young one,” the same dry voice said softly and devilishly, “There’s no need to be afraid.”
I looked at his face. A crooked, toothless grin ran across his face and a snake crawled out of his hairless, bare, cracked skull.
The slithering vine-like snake crawled tightly up my legs, my hips, then my neck and mouth.
I tried to scream. My mouth opened to taste the scales of the thick snake. I was now being pulled down into the grave 10 times quicker than quicksand. Right before my head went into the grave, I heard a cackling laugh, my mom running out of the house toward my direction carrying my baby brother Alex, and a cobble-stone of my great-grandfather’s pointed into the dirt crookedly and carelessly that said,
“THOMPSON GRIEVES SMITH HART
FATHER OF MAY SMITH HART
GRANDFATHER OF ALICE HART
GREAT-GRANDFATH OF AZME LDA HART
ALIVE FROM 1906-1954
R.I.P. DEAREST LOST GREAT-GRANDFATHER”
And in tiny letters, it said,
“I’ll be back to get you Azmeralda!”
The second last line was carved into the stone by a child. . . . the handwriting of. . . me!
After that shocking moment, I blacked out. . . . .
“Uuuuuuhhh,” I said painfully. You would think it would be easy to say uuuuuuhhh but that was really hard to say from what I’ve gone through.
I was pinned to the back of a giant flying creature that was green and a bit brown. I felt a breeze through my hair. I never felt so good. . . or scared out of my pants.
I tried to move. I couldn’t budge. When I did try to move, I got a painful, shocking sting from the metal connected to me.
“I want to go home,” I thought, “I want to go home.”
All of a sudden, the flying creature dipped it’s head toward the sea and dropped down steeply. I was practically doing a handstand in mid-air in that position.
I pulled on to the metal chains. I shreiked in pain and the creature dipped its head even lower and the steeper we fell into the sea. But in my doings, the chain broke. I hand a hand free now. I pulled on the rest of the chains. I pulled on one of my arm chains too hard and it made a deep, painful cut into my wrist. I howled in pain. I let go of the chain and I slid across the flying creature and reached the head.
“NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” I screamed.
I saw a sturdy horn to step on on the creature’s head. I had that problem solved. . . . now for my cut that was stinging in pain because of the scales scraping against it. I had to get my hands on something to stop the bleeding. I ripped off a piece of cloth from my sweater. I bundled it around the cut and my sweater soaked up the blood like a frog flicking its long, sticky tongue out to catch the fly buzzing in the air. I had to rip and rip until my sweater was nothing but a button or two.
“Help!! Get me down!!” I yelled and screamed. Then, I heard a sratching sound and a hoarse voice saying, “Jump. Jump from the Nogard and you’ll be safe.”
The voice sounded familar and tempting. My legs and arms started moving rapidly like a spider weaving a web. I grabbed for the big, puffed up scale of the “Nogard” and pulled myself up. I repeated the same movement over and over again until I reached the tip of the tail.
Then a message popped into my head, If I jump into the sea, then I would still die lacking of air. No. I shouldn’t do it.
Another little message popped in my head, Jump Azmeralda. You won’t get seriously injured, just a little pain.
I guess I waited too long and I plunged into the water with the Nogard. The Nogard started sinking and I was still clinging to the creature so I plunged down with it. I let go of it and kicked my legs. I started rising but when I looked back down, I saw a thin, deep-red trail of blood. Then I looked at my wrist. The blood was still pouring out. I knew I would run out of blood soon so I ripped a piece of fabric fom the bottom of my pants and I was holding a bony, white hand clutching the piece of fabric I ripped off. I gasped and sucked in salt-water. I spit it back out and held my breath. I was running out of blood as well as oxygen. I focused on swimming toward the surface of the water.
I was breathing heavily as I reached out an arm and clutched a handful of sand. I was on land! I was filled with joy but when I saw how small the the island was, I was shocked with horror. The island was about 10 feet in diameter and had on palm tree. I don’t even know how the tree grew here in the middle of nowhere. Either way, I pulled myself onto the island.
“Don’t - gasp – ever – gasp - go there – gasp – again,” I forced out a few words. I said that and thought, I’ll probably never get to go through there again even if I wanted to. That thought did not comfort me at all.
I gazed up at the sky. I became very queasy and I felt ill.
“You have felt my revenge,” a familar voice I heard when I was little said softly, “You shall Rest In Peace now like I did. You have the privilige to Rest In Peace with me.”
The soft voice sounded like. . . . Thompson Grieves Smith Hart, my great-grandfather
“Help me,” I managed to say.
“No. Rest In Peace with me and you won’t have to worry of anything else,” Thompson said.
I reached toward the sky and my hand dropped relently on my stomach. I felt like I was just sitting around and waiting to die. I thought of the people at home and my friends. I thought of everyone I met in my entire life. Then I closed my eyes and rested in peace. . . . .
Meanwhile,
Back at the graveyard, Azmeralda’s mother knelt over Thompson’s grave. She read the last line printed into the cobble-stone. She blinked and it disappeared. She gasped and ran back with Alex bundled tightly near her chest. She called her hu*****and and told him she needed him and she’s scared and that their daughter died. Her hu*****and, Mathew, came right over and they cried together.
The next morning, they arranged a funeral for Azmeralda in their church’s backyard and they all wept and shed tears for Azmeralda “Smith” Hart. . . .
~THE END~
(Mwahahahaha!!!!)
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