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A Short Story Essay : A Story?

Decent Essays

“Zooee! Come downstairs NOW!” That’s my mother. She gets mad about everything. I should probably go downstairs, but I’m caught up in a whole lot of homework. “Coming,” I replied, so she knew I was on my way. I scattered all my homework back into two neat piles and clipped them together with paper clips-one pile is finished work, and the other is unfinished. I ran out my door and hurried downstairs, not caring to turn off my lights. “What is it?” I asked, knowing it could be anything. “Your dog peed on the rug again,” she said, with a mad attitude, “When will you potty-train your dog?” My dog is a full blood black lab, and I named her Chloe. “Come on mom, she’s only twelve weeks old, and I’m working on it,” I replied. “Well, I’m getting tired of having to be careful where I step, not knowing where your dog did her business.” “Will you please stop calling her ‘your dog’? Just call her Chloe, so she gets used to the name.” “Fine,” she agreed “and by the way, your dog keeps going into that ‘haunted house’ down the street,” she added. I sighed. She said that with air quotes because she doesn't believe in in ghosts. There’s a house about two blocks down, dark grayish-brown, with weeds growing everywhere. The door opens and closes on it’s own. My mom says it’s the wind, but it’s too rusty and squeaky, and usually it happens when there’s no wind. Sometimes I walk past it on my way to school, and I see someone in the window watching me, yet no one has lived

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