A Personal Experience By Jessica
Oh, the wonders of having a haunted house as a mansion. Who knows -- it could be interesting; I mean, someone only died in this house. It’s not that bad. At least I hope it won’t be.
Well, I have other things to worry about anyway: school starts tomorrow, and I have the biggest crush on the guy next door. Hoping he’s in at least three of my classes. I go downstairs to get some breakfast, and I have a strange feeling inside me. I don’t really think I like this feeling at all, so I’m out of here early.
I run in the driveway and wait for the bus. I guess I have a frightened look on my face because the guy I like comes over to see if I’m okay. I don’t know, really. All I know is there is something in there, in my house. He tells me this story, about a family who pretended to haunt their house while they were still alive, saying they were practicing for when they actually died so that they could haunt it properly. I don't really understand at first. How could someone practice to haunt the house for when they actually die? It’s impossible. Or so I think.
He goes back to his house, because the bus is coming and I guess the bus driver hates it when kids go to different stops when they aren't supposed to. The people on the bus don’t look that mean, but I really want to go back to my hometown. I guess it’s something called homesickness. I don’t like to admit it, though. I don’t like to think myself a big baby, all because I want to go back to Millersport, Ohio. It’s not even fun here. Nothing interesting at all.
I’m at school now. No one seems to look the least bit familiar. It sucks. No friends here at all. No one to talk to, no one to hang out with in the middle of nowhere.
I bet they have nothing to offer here anyway. At least nothing that I like or want to do. It’s like college or something like that: who knows what there is to do or even to love? No one knows until they horse around and get into trouble with something or someone. I only wish I was kicked out of school. But then mom and dad and all of my siblings would yell and laugh at me.
Nothing is going to get done if I just stand here and do exactly nothing. But I still feel something strange inside, like someone is trying to be on top of me. It feels like someone is trying to kill me. I’m hoping it’s nothing.
Someone just slammed the door in my face and no one is there. Now I know for sure there is something in this house. There has to be, or these kind of things wouldn’t be happening. Maybe I should tell Mom and Dad about it. No, they will just think I’m crazy and laugh at me. Then that guy will never look at me as more than a friend or even as a friend for now. He will just pretend not to notice me. I won’t even exist in this world, or at least in his world.
But there has to be something in this house, or else why would I feel this weird? I haven’t felt this weird in a long time, and every time I feel like this, something is really happening -- I mean, for real. Well, I know that there is something here for sure. No one has to agree with me.
Something is really here because it’s pulling my hair. I know I am not just exaggerating or overreacting. There is something here. I know for sure.
Oh, the wonders of having a haunted house as a mansion. Who knows -- it could be interesting; I mean, someone only died in this house. It’s not that bad. At least I hope it won’t be.
Well, I have other things to worry about anyway: school starts tomorrow, and I have the biggest crush on the guy next door. Hoping he’s in at least three of my classes. I go downstairs to get some breakfast, and I have a strange feeling inside me. I don’t really think I like this feeling at all, so I’m out of here early.
I run in the driveway and wait for the bus. I guess I have a frightened look on my face because the guy I like comes over to see if I’m okay. I don’t know, really. All I know is there is something in there, in my house. He tells me this story, about a family who pretended to haunt their house while they were still alive, saying they were practicing for when they actually died so that they could haunt it properly. I don't really understand at first. How could someone practice to haunt the house for when they actually die? It’s impossible. Or so I think.
He goes back to his house, because the bus is coming and I guess the bus driver hates it when kids go to different stops when they aren't supposed to. The people on the bus don’t look that mean, but I really want to go back to my hometown. I guess it’s something called homesickness. I don’t like to admit it, though. I don’t like to think myself a big baby, all because I want to go back to Millersport, Ohio. It’s not even fun here. Nothing interesting at all.
I’m at school now. No one seems to look the least bit familiar. It sucks. No friends here at all. No one to talk to, no one to hang out with in the middle of nowhere.
I bet they have nothing to offer here anyway. At least nothing that I like or want to do. It’s like college or something like that: who knows what there is to do or even to love? No one knows until they horse around and get into trouble with something or someone. I only wish I was kicked out of school. But then mom and dad and all of my siblings would yell and laugh at me.
Nothing is going to get done if I just stand here and do exactly nothing. But I still feel something strange inside, like someone is trying to be on top of me. It feels like someone is trying to kill me. I’m hoping it’s nothing.
Someone just slammed the door in my face and no one is there. Now I know for sure there is something in this house. There has to be, or these kind of things wouldn’t be happening. Maybe I should tell Mom and Dad about it. No, they will just think I’m crazy and laugh at me. Then that guy will never look at me as more than a friend or even as a friend for now. He will just pretend not to notice me. I won’t even exist in this world, or at least in his world.
But there has to be something in this house, or else why would I feel this weird? I haven’t felt this weird in a long time, and every time I feel like this, something is really happening -- I mean, for real. Well, I know that there is something here for sure. No one has to agree with me.
Something is really here because it’s pulling my hair. I know I am not just exaggerating or overreacting. There is something here. I know for sure.
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