We rode our bikes out of town, until the roads became country lanes. Ben wouldn’t tell me where we were going, except to assure me it “wasn’t too far” and, alarmingly, “he wasn’t going to murder me in a remote location and bury my body in an old drain”, which sounded way too detailed and thought-out for my liking.
In any case, I was merrily peddling along after him anyway because I honestly think, when it comes to cute boys, any common sense I might possibly possess just goes right out of the window.
“Do you want to hear a real ghost story?” Ethan Palmer leaned forward, leering at the children who sat huddled in a half-moon around a roaring campfire. The fire cracked and hissed, rebelling against the cold December night.
It was four days before Christmas, and as was Livingston tradition, the kids had spent the afternoon engaged in snowball fights, sledding, and ice skating on Lake Crystal. But now… Ethan Eugene Palmer had decided that the evening of festivities should take on a more sinister tone.