You are the Middle C Key on the piano. Write from the key's point of view. Start with "Whenever she sits down on the bench..."

Whenever she sits down on the bench I cringe.  No one should start piano lessons at age four unless they are a prodigy, and this kid, trust me, isn't.  All she does is BANG on me and my brothers and sisters making such a discordant noise, that we all just pray for the lid to snap shut on her.

I don't know how Madame Russo can stand it!  Every lesson she tries to stop her from pounding away.  She tries to teach her correct hand and finger positioning, but nothing helps.  "Chopsticks" becomes "Drumsticks." The child knows nothing but forte.  Loud, loud, louder.  

Truly I weep at the thought of her coming to class.  On Wednesday afternoons at 2 pm, I want to slam the lid closed and become a clam, holding the lid down until Madame gives up. I suppose Madame likes the money her parents give her to "teach" her how to play, but my goodness, no amount of money will turn that girl into a pianist!

Is that the doorbell?  What day is today? WEDNESDAY?!

Oh no!  SHE'S COMING!  Here it comes, the longest half an hour of my life. I consider breaking my strings, so I won't work, but that sounds a little drastic and painful.  Maybe I should find something sticky to hold me down.  That could stop her.  Too late!  She's sitting down on the bench.

I hear Madame talking, "Melanie, it is your birthday.  Let's be gentle today, hmm?  Since you are so grown up now."

"Gentle," I scoff to myself.  "That will never happen."  

"All right, Melanie," Madame murmurs, "Thumb on C, yes, yes.  Remember your wrists should be firm, and let your fingers do the work.  Gently though."

"Yes, Madame," she agrees, but I know what will happen next.  Bang, POW, Pound, but...what's this?

"I've been practicing," Melanie says as she gently presses on me.  "Mama said I was giving her a headache, and I might wake my baby sister, so I've been trying to play more softly"

"Yes, yes," Madame applauds as Melanie continues to tickle me and my brothers and sisters.  All of us come out from hiding, and actually try to work with her to create the melody. 

"Happy birthday to me," she sings along with us as we play the simple melody together.  

Maybe she IS a prodigy after all!  

Write a story which includes the following: an actor, an engine, a tangerine.

I watched the tangerine moon rise as I waited for him, and of course, he was late.  I hate it when he is late, and he knows this, but he's an actor and sometimes things prevent him from being on time to, oh say, EVERYTHING!

So I'm sitting in the little local pub near my apartment waiting for him, and I'm starting to wonder, is it all worth it?  Is he worth it?

My friend, Stacy would say as soon as you ask yourself that question, the relationship is basically dead because you don't love him anymore, and you probably never did.  I can practically see her blonde head shaking sadly at me and hear her tsk-tsking me that I'm still in the pub and still waiting.

I hear her voice in my head saying, "Get out now," and I stand up and head to the cash register to pay my tab.  

"Glen didn't show, huh?" Barb my waitress says as she rings me up. Just like they said on the TV show Cheers, one of the best things about a local pub is everyone knows you name. Barb and I have known each other for a year or so since I started coming to the pub, and I've met Glen here lots of times over the past six months.  I've also waited here for him a lot.

"He must have gotten caught up," I say vaguely, and I realize that I'm defending him.  He stood me up, and I'm making excuses for him.

"You know what, Barb," I say.  "If Glen shows up looking for me, and he probably won't, tell him that I say we're through. In fact, I'm done with all actors.  They are terrible boyfriends."

Barb looked at me and smacked her gum, "You sure about that?"

"Definitely.  I'm done with egotistical, self-centered men who only want me to pump up their egos and cheer them on. I can get along just fine, even better, without Glen."

"Sure, Sweetie, I'll be sure to tell him all of that.  He's a real jerk for treating you as if you aren't as important as his career," Barb smacked her gum again, and turned toward the next customer.

I walked out of the pub feeling lighter than I had in weeks.  I should have done this weeks ago. The cold, Chicago wind made me wrap my tangerine colored coat tighter around me as I walked the block and a half to my apartment building.  The sound of a motorcycle engine cut through the busy traffic sounds, and I turned to watch the bike pass me by.  

The guy on the bike was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket.  He was probably a construction worker.  I could defiantly date a construction worker.  Or he might be a lawyer. I would even date a lawyer, but I was never dating another actor again.

Feeling like I had made a decision I was happy with, I hurried up the steps to my apartment building.  In the foyer I checked my mail quickly, retrieving the catalogs and bills from the box, and then I headed to the elevator.  After a few minutes the elevator opened, and I got on alone.  The doors were just closing when the engine powering the elevator gave a high pitched whine, and the door froze open just a crack.  The lights went black, and I was standing in a pitch dark elevator.

"This day is just getting better and better," I muttered sarcastically as I tried to force the doors open, but they were stuck stubbornly open just a few inches.

"Can I help you?" a man's voice from the outside of the elevator called.  "Is anyone in there?"  

"Yes," I shouted, "I can't get the doors open."

Suddenly two strong arms appeared in the space between the two doors.  They bunched muscularly inside he sleeves of his oxford shirt as he applied pressure, and the doors slid smoothly open.  He reached a hand in and helped me out of the dark elevator into the light of the foyer.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he picked up his leather coat from where he dropped it on the floor.  

"Thanks, yes, I'm fine," I stammered as I looked up at a very handsome man.  He had curly dark hair, a crooked smile, and was that...  Oh yes, DIMPLES!  He was dressed in jeans and now with his leather coat on, I wondered if he was the man who I had seen on the motorcycle.

He took my hand and shook it,"I'm really glad.  I'm Brett, by the way, I live on the 6th floor."  I must have been staring at him because he smiled and flashed those dimples again.  "And you are?"

"Oh!" I felt my face get warm with embarrassment. "I'm Mags, um Maggie, and I have been having the most rotten day.  What did you say you did for a living?"

He laughed quietly, "I didn't say, but I'll be happy to tell you.  I'm an actor."

"Of course you are," I said as the overwhelming sense of irony practically smacked me in the head.

Outline a story that takes place all in 1 day. Chronicle each event that happens in half-hour increments from morning to night.

8 am: alarm blares repeated waking me up, she hits snooze
8:30 am: she's up, drinking a cup of hot tea and eating a bowl of cereal
9 am: phone rings while she has headphones in while running on treadmill; she misses the call
9:30 am: phone rings while she's in the shower
10 am: I grab keys and run out of the house; phone rings just after she leaves
10:30 am: At work, I look at phone and notice missed calls
11 am: back in car racing toward hospital
11:30 am: Hospital waiting room, pacing, waiting for doctor
12 pm: Dr. approaches, hushed discussion, crying
12:30 pm: Waiting room, pacing, drinking bad coffee
1 pm: Waiting room, napping uncomfortably
1:30 pm: Waiting room, feeling guilty for not being there when first call was made
2 pm: Waiting room, joined by ex-husband, tense but quiet argument 
2:30 pm: Waiting room; looking at pictures of kids with ex-husband on phone, reminiscing
3 pm: Nurse comes out to talk with us, things a re progressing slowly, but no problems
3:30 pm: Younger daughter arrives at hospital; gives parents grief about not being good parents, is allowed back into hospital room
4 pm: Waiting room; "Were we bad parents?" "What did we do that was so bad?"
4:30 pm: Waiting room: Younger Daughter returns, argument over why parents are not let back into the hospital room
5 pm: Waiting room, no one is talking to one another
5:30 pm: Nurse returns, looks like there are some complications, doing a C-Section
6 pm: Waiting room: Everyone is tense and worried, holding hands
6:30 pm: Nurse returns: It's a girl
7 pm: Celebrations continue, buying presents in the gift shop
7:30 pm: Younger daughter goes back into the hospital, parents discuss all they did wrong
8 pm: Discussion continues and ends with a promise to do better for this next generation
8:30 pm: Younger daughter returns and takes parents in to see their granddaughter

Think back to all the many kisses that have been planted on your cheek. Tell the story of one of those kisses.

Bright, blinding cold
Winter snow
Hard, blue icicles
Dripping onto the ground

A pink snowsuit
on top of warm layers
Purple snow boots
Arms out like a star

Following toddler footprints
Crunching in the snow
Laughing as flakes
Touch a tiny pink tongue

Wrapped muted silence
Making a snow-angel
My angel giggles
Cheeks pink, eyes dancing

Leaping up
Dashing over to me
She puts cold, wet mittens
Against my face

I shiver and shriek
"Poor mama," she says
Laughing eyes meet mine
She pat my cheek again

Then with warm, soft lips
She pecks me sympathetically
on my rosy cheek
then darts away

I'm left wishing
She would never grow up
So I could have a hundred
Snowy days just like this

Start with this-- "The computer kept spitting out data that made no sense. It was as if ..." Include words and/or phrases that describe an orange in your writing.

The computer kept spitting out data

It made no sense!

Had the computer lost its mind?

My account was empty -- not one cent!

I checked my account balance carefully

Where had it gone?

There were thousands there yesterday

Maybe not millions, but not withdrawn!

I've been hacked -- my identity stolen

Good-bye nest egg

Goody-bye juicy, ripe, crisp bills of dough

My life has turned into a powder keg!

This must be some horrible mistake 

I'll call the bank

A sweet, fresh-faced, teller will find it all

This has to be some kind of prank!

What?  There's no mistake? I'm over-drawn?

How could I forget?

I bought this delicious, orange computer

Which has left me with sections of bad debt!

*words in italics describe oranges.

Start with "I imagined" and finish the story.

I must have imagined the sound coming from my bedroom.  No one was at home with me, I had no pet to make that unearthly yowl which I had just heard, and I was not going to entertain the idea of the supernatural.

Nope.  Not going to even think of the supernatural.  Drat!  I'm thinking about it, suspecting it, even starting to fear it now.

I crept down the hall from my living room toward the pitch dark bedroom flipping on lights as I went.  I came to the spare bedroom which I use as an office and flipped on the overhead light.  White light immediately filled all the darkened shadows in every corner, and I took a mental inventory.  My laptop sat on my desk buried in student papers.   I was supposed to be grading essays, not trying to debunk the supernatural tonight.

Feeling a little better, I turned from the office and continued down the hallway.  I got to my bedroom and stood in front of the closed door.  My heart was racing.  I NEVER shut my door, why should I?  I lived alone and had no reason to shut it.  Breathing hard, I touched the doorknob and slowly turned it pushing the door open.

As the light from behind me flooded into the blackened room, a loud howl of agony ripped through the air.  My skin erupted into goose bumps, and I hunched back away from the door.  What was in there?

I jumped forward and hit the light switch just inside the doorway.  I froze, eyes wide, mouth open and ready to scream, fists bunched and ready for a fight.  

Nothing.  

The room was empty.  

I felt a cold breeze across my face, and I my thoughts jumped back to the supernatural. I'd heard spirits trying to manifest sucked the energy out of the air and left cold spots. 

This was bad!  I was going to have to move.  I couldn't afford to move!

I gathered all my courage and stepped into the bedroom.  The curtains moved in the window, I braced myself for the worst, and crept forward to investigate.  I reached out to the yellow, flowered curtains and felt the breeze increase.  The window was open a few inches.  

Of course!  I remembered cracking the window this morning after my shower to let out the warm humid air that had filled the adjoining bathroom.  The breeze and cold air were easily explained now, and the door probably closed from the draft.  

I was relaxing and feeling pretty proud of myself for not running out screaming earlier like a big baby until I remembered the horrible scream I had heard earlier.

I reached out to the window and was about to close and lock it when the howl shattered the quiet evening again.  I jumped back, but I saw something on the outside of the window.

I stepped cautiously forward and peered out of the window.  There on the window ledge perched a small, black cat.  The cat dangled with the claws of one paw stuck in the window screen.  Its wide green eyes frantically met mine through the screen, begging me to help.

Quickly, I opened the window fully and used my fingers to push the cat's claws back through the screen to the outside, and he, or she, pulled its paw down onto the small window ledge.

"There you go, baby," I whispered.  Poor kitty.  I wondered how long it had been stuck outside the window.

The cat gave me one long look of what I assumed to be gratitude, jumped down to the grass below, and disappeared into the night.  

Use these sensory details in your writing: "the sound of clouds," :"the taste of a book," and "the feel of an echo." Start with the phrase "When I lifted my arm..."

When I lifted my arm
To swipe at the fog and mist
The ricochet of cloud on cloud
Deafened me with its silence

Standing at the cliff's edge
I bellow with frustration
And Echos back -- touching me
With unsympathetic coldness

Empty wishes for home
A comfy chair and roaring fire
Escaping into a world of fiction
Which tastes of sunshine and hope

Use these three made up words in your writing: "EVERAGAE", "SNIREK", "MOSNAR." Start with the phrase "The payoff seemed worth the risk..."

The payoff seemed worth the risk
MOSNAR was surrounded 
With people in need of food and water 
And no help from the outside

The Queen and her court was in despair
Her royal guard destroyed
When the plan was hatched to save them all
Or leave hopes battered on the battlefield

SNIREK was willing to accept the challenge
To scale the wall and attack
Even though he was gravely outnumbered
And would surely die in the attempt

EVERAGAE, the battle horn sounded
Armies clashed and fought
The Queen awaited victory or defeat
As MOSNAR's fate hung in the balance

SNIREK battled into the night
As men fell silent beside him
His wounds dripped crimson upon the ground
Where white chrysanthemums grew

And when the sun rose blindingly bright
And cast its gaze on frail MOSNAR
SNIREK lay shrouded upon the field 
Sightlessly meeting her golden eyes.

The Queen had risked it all that night
And lost it all the same
MOSNAR's fate was cold and dark
As was SNIREK's unseeing gaze.

Based on the list below, describe the person who lost it, the crisis he or she is currently facing, and how he or she is going to fix it.

"Okay. calm down,"  I muttered to myself in the cold, windy, Wal-mart parking lot as I consciously tried to control my breathing.  Having a panic attack was not on my list of things to do today.

Thinking of the list, I reached into my pocket, and pulled out the folded piece of paper.  Handwritten in blue ink was the following list:

cb Gram, Ed
suit -- Cleaner
buy TP, PT
Bank Dep
wine
shoes for Wed
res. Hotel
car oil
don't forget --txt Melody re Sat!

Scanning the list, I shoved it back into my pocket.  This morning when I had found the list in Jack's jeans pocket, I hadn't given it much thought, but that was before the doorbell rang and everything turned upside down.

***

I decided to do the wash.  That was the decision that changed my world on that Monday morning.  I didn't have to be at my waitressing job until that evening, so I here was at 9:30 in the morning going through through the clothes in the hamper.  I always check Jack's pockets because he's always leaving cash and change in them.  Jacks' my fiance.  He moved into my little condo on the Potomac River about a month ago, and I was in homemaker heaven.  Oh, everybody had warning me that I was going to set a precedent that I was the only one who could cook, clean, and do the laundry, but I didn't care.  I loved taking care of Jack.

I wasn't surprised when I found the folded piece of paper in his back pocket, and after reading the list, I tossed it on the dresser.  It looked like fairly normal stuff, but I was excited about the hotel reservations and for whatever reason he had to clean his suit.  It was my 28th birthday on Friday, and it appeared Jack had big plans!

Smiling, I picked up the laundry basket and headed for the stairs down to the bottom floor of my condo.  I loved this little place.  It had big open windows that let in the sun, and I had painted the walls in pastel greens, blues, and yellows. Technically it was still owned by my father, but he had let me lease it when I started grad school at George Mason last year.

I bounced down the stairs and turned the corner toward the little laundry room tucked in beside the kitchen when the doorbell rang.  I put the laundry down and glanced down at my tattered T-shirt and yoga pants.  I wasn't really dressed for company, so I crept up to the door and peeked through the peep hole hoping to avoid some kid selling candy or magazines.

There was a woman standing outside my door wearing a black trench coat and pants. Her auburn hair was severely knotted at the back of her head, and her piercing blue eyes were staring directly at me through the peep hole.

"Devin McKenny?  I'm Special Agent Renee Haverty. I need to speak with you about matters of National Security,"  the woman spoke directly at the door, her eyes never leaving the peep hole.

"Sure you are," I barely breathed out loud.  I wasn't about to open the door to this scammer.  National Security?  I didn't have anything to do with National Security.  I was a waitress for god's sake!

As if she could read my thoughts, the woman pulled out an official looking badge and held it up so I could see it through the peep hole, "This is regarding your boyfriend, Jake Sprence.  I need to speak with you, Ms. McKenny, and I would rather not shout what I have to say through your door.  Here is my boss's direct number.  Call him if you'd like to check out my story."  She held up her phone to the peep hole displaying a number for Special Agent Monroe.

"Hold on," I mumbled and placed the call.  It connected with the assistant to the director of the FBI.  I opened the door.

Special Agent Haverty marched into my condo, her eyes moved every where looking at everything, but her head hardly moved at all.  I wondered if she had a crick in her neck.  She brushed past me and went to sit on my salvaged leather sofa.  Most people relax back into the soft leather, but Special Agent Haverty sat rigidly upright with a small notebook and pen in her hand.

I sat down on my red, flowered arm chair.  I had salvaged the frame from a dumpster, and reupholstered it myself.  I'd like to say I sat up straight, but I'm afraid I slouched a bit.

"Ms. McKenny, can I call you Devin?" Special Agent Haverty said authoritatively.

I nodded.

"Devin, your boyfriend--"

"Fiance," I corrected.

"All right, fiance, Jack Sprence, has gotten into some trouble.  You are aware that he works as a government contractor and sometimes works at the Pentagon?"  Haverty consulted her notebook.

"Yes, I'm aware.  What is going on?"  I was starting to get that feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was wrong.

"Well, Devin, Jack Sprence did not show up for work this morning, and he has some classified information on him that we need returned to the Pentagon immediately."

"But, Jack left for work this morning around 7:30.  What do you mean he didn't show up?  Was there an accident?" The bad feeling in my stomach grew.

Haverty consulted her notebook, "No, there was no accident.  As far as I know Jack is fine.  We just don't know where he is, and we need to find him as soon as possible.  Do you have any idea where he might be?"  She looked up and met my eyes unblinkingly.  After a few seconds I looked away.

"No, no I don't have any idea where he is," I replied honestly.  "I'm sorry.  Now, I really need to get going.  I have a lot of errands to run this morning before work, " I stood as after a pause Haverty stood too.  She walked to the door.

"Here is my card.  It is imperative that you contact me if you hear from Jack," she put the card in the little dish on the table by the door.

"Thanks," I said, and I closed and locked the door behind her.

I grabbed my phone from my purse and texted Jack, Where are you?

I sat for five minutes, holding my phone, while my stomach tightened with worry.  No answer.

I pushed the call button.  It rang a few times and went to voicemail.  "Jack, weird stuff is happening, and I need to talk to you.  Call me back,"  I disconnected and waited another five minutes.

When nothing happened, I went upstairs to change my clothes, keeping my phone close in case Jack called or texted.  After I had put on jeans and a purple sweater, I sat down on the bed wondering what to do next.  I remembered the note. I grabbed it from the dresser and read it again.

cb Gram, Ed
suit -- Cleaner
buy TP, PT
Bank Dep
wine
shoes for Wed
res. Hotel
car oil
don't forget --txt Melody re Sat!


Nothing on the list would help me find Jack.  I noticed the two names, Ed and Melody.  I didn't recognize either of them, but then Jack knew a lot of people that I didn't know through his work.    

The more I looked at the list, the more confused I got.  Why would Jack need to pick up toilet paper and paper towels?  We'd just stocked up on those at Costco last weekend!  And why would he need oil for a car?  Jack didn't own a car.

And then I remembered a conversation we had in the parking lot of Wal-Mart one day a few months ago.

"Devin," Jack had said as we carried our bags toward the Metro Station.  "Have you ever noticed that billboard over there?"  He pointed to a billboard which showed a woman hurrying toward a Metro entrance.

"Sure," I said.  I'd seen it a lot of times.  It was advertising for the Metro.

"Advertising is subliminal.  It's the key," Jack said, and I laughed.  It was a weird thing to say, but he's always watching sci-fi, so I figured he was making a reference to the last movie we watched.  I don't really remember what the movie was called, I slept through most of it.

He looked at me seriously for a second and then he laughed too.  I's forgotten all about it, but now I wondered if it had been a message.

I texted him that I was going to Wal-Mart, and he should meet me.  I threw on my shoes, grabbed my purse, and locked the door behind me.

The trip on the metro was quick, and I found myself in the parking lot of the Wal-Mart staring at the billboard.  A giant woman was looking at the Metro map and exclaiming that it took here everywhere she needed to go.  

Looking at the list, I noticed the capitalization of the words was rather odd. Some words were in caps while others were in lower case.  I looked at the billboard and noticed that the billboard had unusual capitalization as well.  Was it a code?

I flipped over the paper an wrote down the Capital letter in the note -- GECTPPTBDWHMS

Then I looked at the words capitalized on the billboard:  Soon East Don't Cleveland Worry Go
Paper Meet to Bring He'll Toward Pentagon

They didn't make any sense until I moved the words around:  Go East toward Cleveland (Park?) to Pentagon. Bring paper Don't worry he'll meet (you?) soon.

Well, it appeared I might have a lead.  Or I might be crazy.  I started toward the Metro to find out which.

TO BE CONTIINUED 

Finish the story below.

Gareth stared out of the frosty, grimy windows of the cabin as he watched the violent snow spin across his family's fields.  The wind gusts had damaged the gate he and his father had built back in the summer and the animals were now in danger.  With the toe of his boot, he anxiously dug a hole in the dirt floor.  He was under strict orders to stay in the house with his baby sister until his parents returned home.

Looking over his shoulder at his fifteen month old sister, Meg, who was chewing on the edge of her blanket on the floor.  Gareth knew he couldn't leave her in the cabin alone.  There were too many things Meg could get into while he was out in the cold. Gareth considered taking her outside with him while he fixed the gate, but Meg's health was fragile since she was such a little thing.

Gareth turned back to the window, a worried frown on his twelve year old face.  Mother and father should have been back from town by now.  They had taken the team of horses and the cart this morning to pick up the mail and place an order at the general store for Christmas presents.  

Gareth wasn't supposed to know about the presents, but it was hard to keep a secret in their tiny two room cabin.  Mother and father had been whispering with their heads together for a week now in deep discussion over the Sears catalog, and Gareth hoped he was finally going to get his very own shotgun.

Glancing at the hearth, Gareth looked enviously at his father's shotgun which was hung high on the wall above the fire.  Only his father was tall enough to reach the gun, but Gareth was proud that he was within an inch or two of being big enough to get it down.  But Father had shown him how to clean the gun, and had even let him shoot it a few times way out in the back forty far from the house.

"Ga-Gar," Meg called out to Gareth holding her arms up and smiling, showing off her four tiny teeth.  

Gareth went over to Meg and picked her up off the floor.  He settled her on his hip, and she wrapped her arms and legs around him. 

"Ma-ma?" she asked.  Her straight blonde hair was pulled back in a messy bow, and her little white dress was wrinkled, but she smelled like spring flowers.   Mother had given her a bath this morning before leaving for town.

"She and Father aren't home yet, Meg.  They'll be here soon.  Remember?  They left me in charge,"  He thought back to that morning.  He'd been so proud of being left in charge, but now  he could hear the worry bleeding through into his voice.

Meg sniffled a few times, and a tear ran down her face.  Gareth could tell she was about to cry in earnest, so he tried distracting her with one of Mother's biscuits.  Meg gave him a look that said "I know what you're doing," but she took the biscuit and settled down.

Gareth walked back to the window with Meg.  The snow was coming down harder and it was starting to drift against the side of the barn.  The broken gate scraped and moaned in the wind as it hung lifelessly from one of it's hinges.  

He looked out toward the road beyond our house and thought he saw movement in the trees.  Meg bounced on his hip as Gareth stared out through the thick snow and darkening sky.  Narrowing his gaze trying to see clearly through the snow, Gareth saw the shadowy movement again.  Then it was gone.

His heart started to race.  What was that out there? Gareth tried to put Meg down, but she squirmed and held him tighter.  

Just then an long, doleful cry filled the air.  The sound was joined by more and more until a cacophony of baying filled him with fear.  Gareth's stomach dropped as the howls cut through the twilight.  Wolves!

Meg began to cry.  She clutched Gareth tightly as six large, grey wolves gathered at the edge of the woods near the broken gate. 

"Doggy?" Meg whispered and pointed a pudgy finger.

"Wolves,"  Gareth whispered back to her.  

The biggest wolf's head jerked up as if he had heard Gareth, and he met it's eyes through the window.  For a long time he and Gareth stared at one another, and the only sound Garth could hear was his heart racing in his ears.  The wolf broke the eye contact and stepped inside the gate.  The pack slowly stalked toward the barn.

"The animals!"  Gareth gasped.  His father had put all the animals inside the barn that morning. He had known there was a chance of snow, and he had wanted them to be warm and dry. They had a dairy cow, named Betsy, and two goats, named Matilda and Norman, and there were two fat pigs named Oscar and Hazel. There were also the chicken, Rosie, Petunia, and Clover and the rooster, Pete.  The two doors of the barn were closed and latched, but the wolves might be still be able to get in.  

As the wolves got closer to the barn, Gareth banged on the window pane and yelled.  Meg helped shrieking and pounding her little fist too.

The wolves froze and looked at the small house.  The big wolf met Gareth's eyes again for a second and then dismissed him as a threat.  They continued to slink toward the barn through the snow, smelling for a way to get in.

Frantically Gareth looked around for something he could throw at them or use to scare them off. His eyes fell on the shotgun above the hearth.

"Meggy,"  Gareth said trying to sound grown up.  "I need to set you down for a minute."  I unwound her arms from my neck and set her down on the floor.  Her bottom thumped lightly on the dirt.  

"Ga-Gar?" she pouted at him holding up her arms.

"Just a minute, Meggy.  I need to --"  he grabbed one of the wooden chairs from under the table and dragged it over to the fireplace.  Standing on the seat, Gareth stretched up to pull the gun from off of the wall.

Holding the gun carefully in his left hand, he raced over to the door and flung it open. Freezing cold wind and snow ripped into the warms of our house, the fire flared and went out behind Gareth, and Meg began to cry.  

He lifted the gun up with his right hand and settled it into his shoulder, and put his cheek against the stock.  Gareth's finger stroked the trigger.  He was afraid to shoot at the wolves. What if he missed and the bullet went into the barn and hit one of the animals?  He lifted the barrel high, hoping the sound of the gun would be enough to frighten the wolves away, and Gareth pulled the trigger.

The shot rang out, impossibly loud.  The kick of the gun knocking Gareth back a little into the house.  

The wolves jumped and ran for the cover of the woods outside the gate, but the big one stopped near the house and met Gareth's eyes again.  He stood his ground, and Gareth could hear him growling softly.  Once again Gareth aimed the shotgun this time at the wolf and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened.  He needed to reload the gun!

The wolf advanced towards Gareth sensing he was defenseless.  He stepped back into the house and slammed the door.  Gareth moved to the window and saw the other wolves were joining the big wolf outside the cabin. 

Gareth was just stepping toward the hearth for the bullets father kept there when the wolves all lifted their heads.  Soundlessly they ran into the woods outside the gate.  Gareth only had a second to wonder why they had left when he heard the hoof-beats racing down the road.

Gareth put the shotgun down on the table, picked up Meg, and ran to the window.  It was mother and father!

Father jumped down from the wagon and quickly helped Mother down, and they hurried into the house.

"I heard the shot," Father said.  He had snow all over his shoulders and on his hat and his face was red from the cold.  Mother quickly shut the door and took Meg from Gareth, soothing her and wiping her tears away.

"Wolves," Gareth said.

Father nodded grimly. He took the shotgun from the table and quickly reloaded it.  He went back outside and led the houses into the barn.

"You did well, Gareth," Mother said.  She put her hand on Gareth's shoulder and squeezed gently.  "Father is just going to settle the horses and take a look around."

Gareth smiled at his mother.  He was so glad they were home safely, and he didn't have to be in charge any more!

Write three paragraphs about three times eggs played a major role in your life. Title this writing "My Life, Eggsactly"

My Life, Eggsactly

One of my first memories of Easter was when I was very young probably around three years old.  We were living in an old house in Woodbury, NJ, and it must have been raining or cold because my family decided to have an Easter Egg Hunt indoors instead of in the yard.  I remember my dad standing on the wooden staircase which lead to the second floor, holding an open bag of  chocolate eggs in his hand.  The tiny eggs were wrapped in foil pastel colors. I felt very knowledgeable about eggs and chickens because my mom and I had recently read a book about them, so I remember wondering what type of chicken these eggs had come from.  My brother, sister, and I gathered at the bottom of the stairs, and my dad lifted his hands tossing the eggs up into the air.  My brother and sister, who were older and had more Easter experience, jumped into motion gathering up the eggs, but I froze thinking they were all going to crack and break into a goopy, eggy mess.  My brother ripped the foil off one of the eggs he had gathered and popped the chocolate into his mouth then he dove for more eggs.   By the time I realized the eggs were chocolate, there were only a few left for me.

My grandmother Dorothy was a science teacher, naturalist, and wildlife rehabilitator. Sometimes her students or people in the town would bring her wounded or baby animals they had found, and she would do her best to get them patched up and returned to the wild. One afternoon I was staying at her house while my parents were out, and a man drove up the driveway and got out of his car.  He had a small shoe box in his hands, and he carried it up to the front door.  Inside the box were some oblong, dirty, off-white eggs that the man had found in his yard.  My grandmother identified them as snake eggs and told the man to put them back, and they would be fine.  The man sheepishly explained his wife was afraid of snakes, so he could not bring them back home.  He left a few minutes later without the eggs.  My grandmother took them out onto her porch where she had incubators set up and put the eggs in one of the tanks.  Every day I visited her so I could check the eggs. Some times I thought I even thought I could see movement inside them.  One day I came to check the eggs, and there were small garter snakes in the incubator.  Grandmother Dorothy and I released the snakes into the backyard that afternoon, and watched the babies slither away. I was sad saying goodbye, but my grandmother told me that I would see them again since snakes didn't travel very far from home, and she was right.  Every spring and summer for years, I would catch a glimpse of our garter snakes in her yard.

Once my dad decided to take my mom and me for a ride in the country in his 1966 red convertible Carmengia.  My mom and I tied our hair back in colorful scarves, and we set out on a beautiful sunny afternoon.  The city quickly disappeared and all that surrounded us were farms, woods, and blue sky. After about an hour my dad turned down a dirty driveway, and we stopped in front of a pretty white farmhouse.  A friend of my dad's came out of the house, and he showed us all around his farm.  He had pretty black and white dairy cows, some gray horned goats which tried to eat my dress.  He also had lots and lots of chickens, and several showy roosters strutted around the yard too making a fuss.  My dad's friend gave me an egg carton and brought me over to the hen house.  He showed me how to gather the eggs without disturbing the roosting hens.  When he showed me the eggs in his hand, they were the most amazing  green color. I had never seen green chicken eggs before.  That evening my mom and I read Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss, and then we had a delicious dinner of green eggs and ham of course.  

Invent a story about people who have a secret plan to meet at midnight under the twelfth tree in the twelfth row of an apple orchard.

"I'm feeling a little like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn," Adam complained as he tripped over a tree root.

Adam and I were making our way through Gemili Apple Orchard, "That means we are on a great adventure, right?"

"No.  It means we are going to bury a dead cat to cure our warts.  Why did we have to meet here at midnight, any way, Drew?"  Adam groused.  He was an earlier to bed person and never really understood my night owl behavior.

"The note said to meet at midnight under the twelfth tree in the twelfth row.  We just need to walk walk a little more," I said trying to stay upbeat in the face of Adam's grumpiness.

"And why do we care about this note?"  Adam's voice was pitched high and whiny.

I stopped walking and swung around to face Adam.  He was taller than me, and his shadowy figure loomed darkly over me.  I couldn't see his face clearly in the dark, but I aimed my gaze where I thought his eyes would be.  "Look, I didn't ask you to come with me. You can turn around now and go wait in the car.  I'll meet up with you in half an hour and take you home."

Adam sighed heavily, "No. I'm going with you.  Someone needs to have your back."

"Whatever," I said quietly and continued walking carefully through the dark.

When I had opened my locker at the end of school today and noticed the note to meet in the orchard to at midnight, I thought it was a joke. But then I went to Newspaper Club, and Mrs. Bednarz was talking about Deep Throat.  (Apparently he was this inside source who knew about Nixon's involvement in Watergate.)  Anyway, I started wondering if this was a source who wanted to help me find out what had happened to Rebecca..

Gatlin High School is your typical, cement block and brick high school built in the 1960s and crumbling ever since in the center of Gatlin, Virginia.   It's just a tiny, boring town in the middle of Virginia.  Nothing ever happens here, so much so that the police are often so bored that they have to make up reasons to justify their jobs.

Last month though a girl I used to go out with, Rebecca Harold, stopped coming to school.  I thought she was sick, maybe with mono or something, but when I texted her, she didn't respond.

Of course the rumor mill was running on overdrive.   People were saying Rebecca was pregnant, and of course that made me nervous, so I went by her house to see her.  Her mom answered the door and got all weird when I tried to come in to see Rebecca.

"Drew, what are you doing here?" Rebecca's mom asked me sharply when she opened the door.

"Is Rebecca home?"  I asked politely, "I haven't seen her at school lately."

"She's not here," her mom said more loudly than necessary, and then she shut the door in my face.

What else could I do, but leave?  But that didn't stop me from worrying about Rebecca.

Adam and I arrived at the twelfth row and turned down the muddy, grass path between the trees.  It was even darker along this path because the trees blocked out the light from the moon.  

"Oh gross!"  Adam hissed as his sneakers sank into the muddy tracks left behind by a tractor.  "This is disgusting!"

"Come on, Adam, we are almost there.  We just passed the 9th tree,"  I urged him forward, but he was busy swiping at the mud on his shoes.  

He leaned against a tree and removed one shoe and began whacking it on the trunk to remove the mud, "I'll catch up,"  he promised.

I left Adam there and continued on.  I passed two more trees and arrived at the twelfth tree in the row.  The tree branches were low to the ground and fat apples hung heavily from every branch.  Nothing moved. The trees blocked any breeze and the  warm night grew stifling. 

"Drew?  Is that you?"  A timid voice came from behind me.  I turned, but I could see only darkness.  

"Yeah," I answered, "Rebecca?"

"It's me," Rachel whispered into my ear, and I turned, reaching out for her, but again was met with only darkness.

"Why are you messing around with me, Rebecca?"  I said angrily.  I was a little creeped-out in the dark and not being able to see her.

"Drew, I just wanted you to know that I'm all right.  You don't have to worry about me.  My parents put me in a private school."

"Why didn't you return my texts?"  

"My parents took away my phone," she appeared in front of me a dark shadow.

"Why, Rebecca?  Everyone is saying you are pregnant," I blurted out glad that she could see my face turn red.

Rebecca laughed sadly, "They never could come up with an original thought."

"Rebecca, are you okay?"  I could tell by her voice that something was really wrong.

There was a long pause, and I could hear her breathing in the darkness.  "The truth is, Drew, I -- I tried to kill myself."

"What?'  I reached out to hold her hand and caught her wrist.  I could feel the scar tissue which hadn't been there a month ago.  She pulled her arm away.

"Rebecca, why?" I felt horrible.  How could I have not seen how unhappy she was?  Why come she had never talked to me?

"It's hard to talk about, Drew.  I just felt lost for a long time.  Like I was just slipping away, and I felt like needed to do something drastic to wake up.  I can't really explain it better than that I just wanted you to know that I'm okay.  My mom told me you came by, but I was at my psychiatrist.  I'm going to St. Paul's Academy now.  I couldn't go back to Gatlin,"  she stopped talking abruptly as if she's run out of courage. 

I struggled to find words to say.  Everything sounded wrong inside my head, so I said, "Thank you.  Thank you for telling me."

She squeezed my hand, "Thank you for not forgetting about me, Drew.  It means more than I can say."

I squeezed her hand back, "If I were to come by your house tomorrow--?"

"I'd like that.  I really would, "  She held my hand silently for a few seconds.  "Thanks for meeting me, but I gotta go.  I had to sneak out, and my parents will freak if they find out I'm gone."  She slipped away in the darkness just as I heard Adam coming up the path.

"Don't tell me, no one showed up!  We came all the way out here, I ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes for nothing, and I'm exhausted," Adam groaned.  

"Yeah, let's go.  I need to get home and get some sleep, I've got a date tomorrow."

Fill an entire page with a description of a wooden shack -- exterior only.

Image from https://drivetofive.com/2013/12/26/arizonas-salt-river-canyon-in-the-ilx/ 

I approached the wooden structure from the southwest as I hiked in over the hill-line. From the distance it appeared to be as small as a child's play house, and as I got closer I realized I wasn't half wrong.

It was one room with a sagging front porch.  Long ago that porch would have welcomed a passing traveler beckoning them to visit a while in the shade.  Maybe even sit a while in a rocking chair.  Today though it warned that trespassing in this place could result in death. The two beams holding the porch up were rotted and bore- ridden.  A strong wind could have made easy work of them.

No door hung on the front of the shack which was surprising since metal bars prevented entry (or exit) from the four windows in the structure.  Perhaps it had been a jail at one time, housing the meanest and worst criminals in all of Arizona, but that was in the long past.  Anyone held prisoner in this structure could kick their way through the rotted boards.  Cracks the size of fingers let the sunlight in.  If mud mortar had been used to fill the cracks, it had long since dried up and fallen out.

The face of the building seemed to speak to me.  The sightless windows, shuttered with bars, stared out at me with a silent plea for help.  Sadness filled me.  Someone's hopes and dreams had been abandoned here.  If it had been a jail, perhaps someone had spent his or her last hours in this building only to be forgotten over time.  What someone had constructed lay dying here in the hot sun.  

I shuddered slightly and pushed on.

This podcast is from two summers ago when I had a grandiose plan to use my husband's recording studio to make a "Welcome to Nightvale"-esque serial. It is untitled.

(Creepy theme music)

Narrator: (in creepy voice) Good evening…ahem(cough).

Narrator:  (in normal voice) Good evening.  Welcome to our home.  It’s a typical, white farmhouse that you might see driving down a back country road in near Appomattox, Virginia.  You can imagine the place…old, wobbly columns holding up the front porch, in need of a new paint job…you might possibly even see it listed on the Abandoned in Virginia Facebook page, but it’s not abandoned.  At least not yet.

Narrator:  Our house was built in the late 1700s, the actual date is unknown, due to a fire in the courthouse that destroyed all the records back in 1852.  What we do know is that it was built by a farmer for his new wife after the Revolutionary War had ended.  That farmer must have been very optimistic about the future of his country and his family to come because it is a rather big home with 7 fireplaces and 12 rooms.  Did he live to a grand old age with many grandchildren filling up those rooms?  Did he live to see the War of Northern Aggression decimate his fields and destroy his homeland?  Only the house knows those secrets.

(Door Slams)

Woman: (calling out) Honey?  I’m home.  Where are you?

Narrator: (calling back) Back here.

(footsteps)

Woman: What are you doing back here? 

Narrator: Oh, just telling my new friends about our house.

Woman: What’s there to tell?  It’s old, it’s falling down around us, and it’s totally awesome.  I mean, I can’t believe we actually get to live in a piece of history.  Sure, we battle termites on a daily basis, and the dry rot!  Don’t let me get started on the dry rot, but it really is so cool that we actually live here!

Narrator: Yeah, (yawning) it’s especially cool when the disembodied footsteps and strange banging start at sunset and go all night long.

Woman: You can’t expect to live in a house this old and not share it with a few ghosts.  I think it adds to the charm of the place.

Narrator: Charming is not exactly what I’d call it…

(music segue)

Narrator: When Wendy found this house for sale six months ago.  She was really excited about it.  She’d grown up in an old house in Southern Jersey and had what I called Old House Envy.  Whenever we drove down any rural back road, she was always looking out the window for the perfect house, a house with character.  I humored her.  Wendy is the love of my life, and I’d do anything for her, including moving my big screen TV into this heap which only seems to receive the A & E and Lifetime Network clearly. 

(squeaky wooden stairs)

Narrator:  (whispering) Did you hear that?  That’s the overture to tonight’s concert performance. 

Girl: (clatter of footsteps) Dad!  Mom says you need to stop messing around back here and come for dinner. 

Narrator:  (chuckles) Okay.  Wonder what we’re having?

Girl: (laughing) Whatever it is we’ve got to eat it, so it’s better not to ask too many questions.

Narrator: (laughing) How did you get to be so wise?

Girl: I don’t know, I guess I was born that way.

(Music Segue)

Narrator: It all started quite soon after we moved in.  Strange bumps in the night, footsteps on the stairs, weird electrical problems.  The smell of lilacs in the dining room and cigar smoke in the den.  Old fashioned piano music coming from the parlor, and we don’t have a piano.  Nothing threatening, and you could almost believe it was all in your head.  Living in an old space, a person naturally believes there must be ghosts, so you create ghosts in your mind.  The problem was it wasn’t in our minds…

(creaky wood floor, footsteps.  Soft piano notes continue)

Narrator: Julie, our 12 year old, has always had a vivid imagination, so when she started having waking dreams of a couple in Revolutionary and Civil War era clothing sitting in her room, well, we weren’t too concerned.  She seemed happy enough to talk with them for a few minutes in the middle of the night and then go back to sleep, but it now … I don’t know…

Narrator: Julie used to jump up in the mornings, wide awake, around 6 am.  You could set your alarm by her.  She’d wake up, climb out of bed happy and alert.  Now, it’s all we can do to get her up and ready for school.  She’s tired and cranky, often falling back asleep if we don’t make sure she’s up.  Wendy says Julie is almost a teenager, and we have to expect hormonal changes like this, but I’m not sure that’s all there is to it.

(loud bang, footsteps continue)

Narrator:  I don’t know if you can hear all these noises behind me.  This basically goes on all night.  The house is settling, that’s what our contractor says, but it sounds more like it’s waking up. 

(creaky door opening)

(Phone ringing)

Woman: Hello?  (Pause) Yes, Dr. Ferguson.  Thank you for returning my call.  (pause) Yes, well we’ve recently moved into the house and there have been some strange occurrences in the last few months.  (pause)  Yes, Dr. Ferguson, I understand you have a very busy schedule.  Is there any way you could fit us in the next few weeks?  (pause)  Oh, thank you!  Yes, next Friday.  Of course we will meet you at the house.  Do you have the address?  (pause) Yes, thank you again.

(hanging up)

Narrator:  Who was that?

Woman:  Oh, Dr. Ferguson works at Longwood University.  She teaches classes about the psychology of the afterlife or something.  She has a team of investigators who look into problems like the ones we have here in the house.  I thought we’d all feel a little better if she came and told us we had nothing to worry about.

(door slams, footsteps)

Narrator: What if she tells us we should be worried though?

(music segue)

Narrator:  The week passed in a haze of strange occurrences.  Our cat would hiss at nothing, her eyes focused sharply at something we couldn’t see.  Julie continued to have strange dreams.  The regular bumps, bangs, footsteps seemed to get louder as the electronics in our home continued to malfunction.  One day, our dishwasher wouldn’t work so we had a technician stop by our house.  When he tried it, it ran fine.  Another day, the television kept turning on by itself to a marathon of Duck Dynasty. At first it was annoying, but after watching a few episodes of hillbilly histrionics, I got angry. 

Narrator:  I stormed over to the TV and yanked the plug from the wall, and shouted “ha! What are you going to do now, huh?”  I stalked back to the sofa, sat down smugly, and the TV started up again.   (pause) WITHOUT BEING PLUGGED IN.

Narrator: I decided it was time to go out for a walk and left the house.  I won’t say I ran, but I did walk fast.

Narrator:  Finally, Friday arrived and Dr. Ferguson and her team with it.  Dr. Ferguson is a tall, pleasant looking young woman.  Her team was made up of slightly overweight under-graduates with thick nerdy glasses and a lot of technical equipment.  They started unloading extension cords and looking for wall sockets.  I tried to explain that the electricity was iffy at best when Duck Dynasty started up on the TV again.  I just sighed and walked away.  Our ghosts had terrible taste in television, and I was a bit embarrassed.

Dr. Ferguson: I’d like for you all to sit down and tell me a bit about what is going on in your home, please.  When did you notice the strange activity?

Woman:  Almost immediately after we moved in.  Maybe even the first night.

Girl:  I had a bad dream the first night.  I was on the battlefield, you know in Appomattox.  It was a lot like the movie they show in the visitor’s center except bloodier.  I woke up and there was this woman by my bed in a big, poufy skirt saying, “shhhh….you’re alright.  Sweet dreams now.”

Narrator: The footsteps woke us the first night.  Up the stairs, down the hall, right outside of our bedroom door.  I’d hold my breath waiting for the door to open, but it never did. 

Woman:  It didn’t have to open, he just walked through the closed door and into our room. 

Dr. Ferguson: He?

Woman:  Oh, he’s tall, wearing high boots and a black jacket.  He’s looking for something in the closet, I think.  He comes up the stairs, through the door, into the closet, and back out.  He seems angry when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

Narrator:  (muttering) He probably wants the remote for the TV so he can watch more Duck Dynasty.

Woman: (aside to Narrator) Shush…

Dr. Ferguson:  It doesn’t sound like you are getting a whole lot of sleep at night.

Narrator:  No, you’re right.  We haven’t and that has made a grumpy and irritable at work. But if middle school teachers aren’t grumpy and irritable, the kids would get suspicious that we were really aliens.

Woman: We were hoping you could help us.  We don’t want to get rid of the spirits or ghosts; they have a right to live, or whatever, here as much as we do, but we’d like a more peaceful co-existence.

Dr. Ferguson:  Have you been doing any work on the house?  Renovations or restorations?  Sometimes that stirs up activity.

Narrator:  We were waiting until June to start fixing the place up.  It needs a lot of work, but we haven’t had the time to start.

Dr. Ferguson: Just having a family move in can be upsetting to spirits, and add in a hormonal teenager, and two stressed out parents…well, it can cause a mess.  All those emotional energies need time to settle down and get used to one another.

(high whiny mechanical squeal begins and continues)

Nerdy Assistant: Uh, Dr. Ferguson?

Dr. Ferguson: Yes, Arnold?

Nerdy Assistant: I think you need to take a look this.  The EMF detector is going crazy and the motion detector keeps going off in the other room.  The TV keeps turning on by itself to –

Narrator: (interrupting) Duck Dynasty.

Nerdy Assistant: Yes, and we think we’ve caught a voice on our digital recorder already.

Dr. Ferguson: Can you understand what it’s saying?

Nerdy Assistant:  It seems pretty clear.  I’ll play it back for you on the computer.

EVP: GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Dr. Ferguson: Yes, yes, I see that is very clear.

Narrator: WHAT?  What did you hear in that gibberish?  Play it again for me.

EVP: GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Dr. Ferguson: What do you think it is saying?

Narrator:  I think it is saying it’s hungry and it’s stomach is growling.  It isn’t saying anything.

Dr. Ferguson:  Oh no, I can very clearly hear a man’s voice saying “Grant.”

Woman:  That must be his name!

Narrator:  Or the name of a Yankee General.

Julie: (excited) Or maybe he wants us to call Ghost Hunters?  You know, Jay and Grant?  We could be on TV!  That would be fun!

Dr. Ferguson:  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.  We need to see what else the investigation turns up before we jump to any conclusions.  We need to conduct ourselves in a scientific and professional manner.

Narrator: Just as she said that, the lights went out, and the darkness was shattered by a horrific scream of torment.

(scream)

Nerdy Assistant: Um, Dr. Ferguson, are you okay?

Dr. Ferguson: Oh my, I’m so sorry.  I guess with all the excitement… (peters off)

Woman: Honey, do you think you can get the lights on for us?

Narrator:  I stumbled through the house, tripping over all the cords and devices the Dr. Ferguson’s team had set up.  I set off the motion detectors and who know what else, so it took me a long time to get to the circuit box in the basement. Finally, I flipped the switches back on, and the lights blindingly came on.  I turned around to start back up the stairs and almost walked right through the man standing behind me.

Narrator:  He was as tall as me, about 6’4” which surprised me because weren’t people from back then all short?  I’ve been to a bunch of historic house and in every bedroom is this tiny little bed, and the docents always say that improper nutrition kept people short, so why is this guy so tall.  And while I’m thinking about historic beds, probably because I’m in shock at seeing this ghost standing behind me in a creepy basement, this guy kind of smirks at me like he knows what I’m thinking, and disappears.

Narrator:  Disappears is probably the wrong word.  He didn’t disappear in a blink of an eye, but kind of slowly evaporated into the air, and I was left alone in the basement.  It was only after that I realized the hairs on the back of my neck were raised and the basement air, while always cool, was down-right freezing.  I high-tailed it back up to join the rest of the group where there is safety in numbers.

Narrator:  When I got back to the well-light kitchen where everyone had gathered.  Dr. Ferguson was fanning herself with a magazine and sipping iced tea.  Julie looked sleepy and Wendy was looking at Dr. Ferguson a little suspiciously.

Nerdy Assistant: Dr. Ferguson, were all set for our investigation.  Should we let the family head out for their hotel and begin?

Dr. Ferguson: (weakly, then pulling herself together) Yes…Yes, Arnold.  That’s a good idea.  Wendy, why don’t you and your family let us do our investigation and then we’ll talk again tomorrow.

Narrator:  I wasn’t so sure about leaving Dr. Ferguson alone in our house with her nerdy minions, but what choice did I have?  At least I would get a good night’s sleep tonight at the Comfort Inn out on Route 460.

(car door slams)

Narrator:  As we drove away from our home, I wondered what this investigation would let us know.  Who was in our house?  What did they want?  How could we help them?  Could we live  with the spirits and share house serenely? And most importantly, could we figure out a way to change the TV to any other station than A & E? 

Narrator: I guess you and I both will have to wait and see.

(Creepy Theme Music)