Scare Me? Not A Ghost Of A Chance

, , , , , | Related | July 10, 2018

(I’m seven years old when the story takes place, and my family is going to a flea market, which I’ve never been to before. I’m kind of a crybaby at the time — I’m afraid of the dark, and burglars, and vampires, and monsters, and zombies, and curses, and a whole host of other things — so when my brother, twelve years old, notices me reading a book of kids’ ghost stories about a girl who gets a haunted doll, he figures it’s an easy hit.)

Brother: “Hey, [My Name]. You know we’re going to a flea market, right? That’s where you buy old stuff, and old stuff is way more likely to be haunted! By ghosts!”

(He’s expecting me to cry, and try to persuade our parents to go home. Instead, to his bafflement, my eyes light up.)

Me: “There might be ghosts?! That’s so cool! I’d love to have a ghost! It could hang out with me, and keep watch at night so no other monsters sneak up on me, and we could do magic tricks together, and I could introduce it to my friends, and no other girls at school have a ghost! Do you really think there’ll be stuff with ghosts? How can I find one?!”

Dad: “I think that sounds cool, [My Name]. [Brother], since it was your idea, why don’t you help her look?”

Mom: “That’s a good idea; you can spend the day helping your little sister look for ghosts.”

Me: “Yaaaay! You’re the best brother ever! Let’s go find ghosts! I want a ghost friend!”

(And that’s how my too-cool-for-this brother spent the day going up to random vendors with his hyper-enthusiastic seven-year-old sister, asking if they had any ghosts or haunted stuff for sale. I didn’t get a pet ghost, much to my disappointment, but he mostly stopped trying to scare me after that!)

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