Monday has never been my lucky day.
So, we are about to be astro-blasted.
Most people would probably call me a ghost.
The walls of the house absorbed the woman’s screams, until they felt to her as muffled and pointless as yelling underwater.
Lonely, invisible, and still wearing the clothes they had died in: the ghosts of four children were in the house.
The thing was big and white and hairy, and it was eating all the ice cream in the walk-in freezer.
When I heard the first scream, I turned away and covered my ears with my hands, pressing hard until my head hurts.
I hear the scream and then I turn and run.
A frozen waffle has ruined my life.
We lie on our backs on the trampoline, drawn in to the center by each other’s weight.