Haunted Houses by Anabelle

There is a house on 1313 Elm Street. The street lights light up the dark window. The cold breeze howling in and out of my ears. I shuddered, staring up at the old house I saw a dark figure.

"There," I said to my friend Brett.

"Here," Brett said.

"Yes, here," I replied back.

"The house is haunted by dead spirits who died a terrible death!" Brett concluded.

"Shut up and get inside," I yelled.

Brett muttered something about ghosts.

"Pla! Haunted houses, I hate em'," Brett said.

"Shut up Brett," I said clenching my teeth.

He muttered something I couldn't understand. Then we entered the house. Bats flew past my head. We heard a growl from deeper in the house.

"Did you hear that?" Brett asked.

"What?" I demanded.

"That growl," he said.

"I thought that was your stomach," I told him.

"No, it wasn't," Brett whispered to me.

"It might be the Pumpkin King who eats children."

"Nonsense," I told him.

Then the lights off then on and Brett was gone.

"Brett!" I screamed.

Then I heard a scream.

"Brett," I thought.

I raced downstairs and saw the funniest thing ever. Brett was tickling the Pumpkin King.

"Brett!" I called.

I never realized I was crying in joy to see my wimpy friend tickle the Pumpkin King to death. Brett ran up and hugged me.

"I never should have treated you like that," Brett sobbed.

"It's all right," I said smoothly.

"I missed you Anabelle," Brett still sobbed.

"Well, let's go trick or treat Brett," I said.

"Okay!" Brett said excitedly.

This is how the Pumpkin King was like - red eyes, huge claws, yellow sharp teeth and smells like a sewer with a whole bunch of rats!

And Brett is now scared of Halloween.