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Created on: July 10, 2009 Last Updated: July 24, 2009
Ghost Story
The full moon broke free of bondage behind an overcast evening as the clouds began to dissolve, unable to hold back moonlight any longer. The children welcomed the new light with relief, for story time was about to begin and there were always too many ghost stories shared. Within the small camp at the bottom of Otterman's Quarry, a remnant of Miss Hoffman's seventh grade class, 8 boys and 6 girls, all huddled around the small camp fire waiting for fright night to begin. Nearby, the school bus that brought them all here, stood at the edge of their small camp where several tents were pitched.
Each year, Miss Hoffman volunteered to take her English class out on a camping trip in the Spring, with a couple of parents as chaperones. The only requirement was that each student in attendance had to come up with their own story to tell. Those that couldn't make the trip would have to write a story for homework, while the rest were graded on oral presentations at camp.
It was Cynthia's turn to spin a tale, as Miss Hoffman was fond of saying. Cynthia looked around nervously, reaching for her story that was folded up on a sheet of paper.
"Once upon a time," She began, "there was a girl who had a doll that spoke."
Timmy Horace, self-appointed class clown, snorted from behind Susan Crawford. Soon all the kids were laughing.
"Don't you start, Timmy!" Miss Hoffman scolded. "Or would you like to tell your story first?"
That was enough to silence the crowd and keep Timmy in line. Scary stories were one thing, but nothing was more frightening then having to go first. Cynthia's shaking hands were a testament to that fact.
"Go on Cynthia," Miss Hoffman encouraged, "You're doing fine."
Cynthia continued her story about an evil talking doll and the mischief it caused. She relaxed by the time she was half way through the telling. As Cynthia neared the end of her tale, she said, "Late one night, the little girl was crying because she missed her dog that had mysteriously went missing." Cynthia got into her tale now and finished in a creepy voice, "That was when the doll finally spoke to her and said, 'Little girl, it was I that killed your dog!'"
This gave them all chills, even Timmy the clown.
"Well done Cynthia," Miss Hoffman said, believing her tale finished. "Now, who would like to go-"
Cynthia interrupted, "Then the evil doll looked at all the children who rode the bus that day." Cynthia's voice seemed to change as she said this, pausing to point at each
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