I'm sure you were just as excited as me when you scrolled through the creative writing section of the times and BAM! There was Life Lessons. After three continuous weeks of homework, I am back and better than ever. And I am here to inject you with knowledge once again. You can breathe again, Whyville. Jo is back.
Anyways, I must explain my absence, as I am sure many of you are wondering, "Why the heck weren't you writing?" Well, the truth is, I totally ran out of bad experiences until I awoke at 2 am one night and a flood of memories came back to me and BAM now they are written in lip gloss on a Kleenex above my dresser. My family wonders . . .
I'm rambling. ON WITH THE KNOWLEDGE!
So I am going to set the scene for this "embarrassing" life lesson.
It was the holidays. The most joyous time of the year. When halls are decked with bows of holly (falalalalalalalala), bells are jingling, and Joy Comes to the World. Tiny elves dance into my line of vision every now and then, and I toss and turn in bed while Santa's voice haunts . . . er . . . excites me. Gifts are exchanged, and parties thrown. This is where I come in.
It was December 21st. The fateful December 21st. It was a day where I seized to exist as the person I am now. (Okay sorry I really don't know what I just said.). I was invited to a party at a classmate's house. I happily accepted the little invitation. How could I say no? I mean, it was embossed with tiny horses and it said there would be hot chocolate. And pizza.
As I stepped into the house, I realized that this was not a normal house. This was a very old house. As me and a few friends sat in sink-ey couched in the living room, games were introduced. We hunted down the 7 trees in the house in search for a pickle. We bobbed for ice cubes. Then, as we sat around a crackling fire, (in the fire place, not in the middle of the room as I know you are imagining), people began to talk. Oh my gosh. We talked like there was no tomorrow. Until someone mentioned something . . . (shocking, right?)
"Dude, isn't your house haunted?" about 27 eyes turned to look at the host (Suzan has a little bit of a twich eye I'm not sure if I should count it or not). We awaited an answer. Oh god. OH GOD! I let out a scream. 25 eyes turned to look at me. Not that I saw. By this time I had grabbed a blanket and huddled under Christmas tree #5 singing "Kumbiya". I listened. This is the information I had tapped into my person database as I tried to drown it out with never-ending choruses of "Gimme More" (what did they think I was doing under that Christmas tree?). Anyways.
- The house was in fact, haunted because it used to be an old funeral home.
I emerged.
"HIDE AND SEEK!" was someone's bright idea. I immediately grabbed my friend "Belinda" and she became my partner for the deathly excursion through a house of ghosts and otherparanormalactivitieslikeorbsandprobablydeadthingsandcoffinsireallydidntwanttobeapartofrightnowthankyouverymuch.
Unfortunately, the house was really really big. Unfortunately, further, our class is really really good at hide and seek. Me and . . . "Belinda" searched high and low through the main floor of the old mansion. We both gulped and looked at each other. WE must do what us seekers are meant to do. We must seek. Find. Kill. Okay not kill. I'm just digging myself in deeper and deeper here, and now none of you want to play hide and seek with me do you? Sad. Very sad.
So we stood at the base of the stairs. We looked up. Step by step our terrified eyes zoomed up scanning those steps like we were photographers doing a shoot and the stairs were Kate Moss. Except we looked at those stairs a whole lot less affectionately. And we didn't try to come on to them either. And they weren't walking down a street being all "eetz zee Lundun Luke," in cute accents that you wish you had. Oh no, these stairs were much more ominous.
Me and "Belinda" grasped hands so our knuckles were white. It didn't help that all we could see at the top of the stairs was an old quilt. A very old quilt. We took a step onto Kate Moss . . . er . . . the first stair. It let out a loud
CREEEEAK
And I'm sure Kate would let out a very loud screech if you stepped on her as well. We looked at each other, and walked up the stairs. This was probably like Happy Hour at the old bar downtown for spirits. There was probably a portal the Underworld. They probably ate your souls one by one . . .
We were at the top.
"Hello?" Belinda called out in a meek voice. We entered a creepy abandoned room with a clean white bed. Too clean. Too white. There was a frosted glass door to a bathroom involved.
"Probably frosted with human flesh . . . " I muttered as Belinda gave me strange looks. I don't think she knew what I was talking about. Maybe that's why she steers clear of me . . .
Anyways. The door was creepy enough. But then something started banging inside of it. It was making very unearthly sounds. Kind of like . . .
MeaowasBowchickawawaOHAmeeheeheehOW!
This registered in my brain about 2 seconds later. My terrified body immediately fell back against a doorframe, still grasping Belinda.
"Sp-Sp-SPIRIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I threw myself down the 3 steps and then down the stairs. I made it to about 1/3 of the way until my sock slipped and me and Belinda landed in a heap at the bottom. I jumped up,let go of Belinda and ran. I looked back to see if the spirit was still there and
WHACK!
Smacked my face into the side of a door frame. I tumbled backwards, and woke up on a sink-ey couch in the living room surrounded by my peers.
"I THOUGHT YOU GOT RID OF THE SPIRITS!" I screamed. A bunch of bewildered classmates stared back.
"Jo," one boy spoke up. "We were kidding. My house isn't haunted . . . and that "spirit" was Marcus . . ."
And there you have it. Next time someone tells you something completely and utterly terrifying and also completely utterly untrue . . .
Don't believe it. You could end up with a bruised face and an angry Belinda and a whole lot of stories being told about you at school the next day.
I'm just saying.
This is xo7joa7ox, going to ice her head and try to get Belinda to talk to me . . . and Marcus to stop laughing . . .
