Our theme at the the Third Coast Writers’ blog this month was Halloween/ghost stories. I can’t write scary to save my life, so here’s my offering instead:
Frederick Crimweather Larkin was not scary.
And that was okay. Many people aren’t scary and they get through life just fine.
But that was the problem.
Frederick wasn’t a people.
Frederick was a ghost.
In honor of this creepy holiday, here’s a “spooky” short story I wrote a few years ago. 🙂
The Crumptons were your average, happy family with one boy, one girl, three dogs, a ferret, and a toad named Phillipo. They lived in a charming two story house, complete with a delightful brick fireplace. The father would work, the mother would teach her children, and the animals would wreck good-natured havoc throughout the day. They lived by routine, right down to the very sandwiches they ate for lunch, which, of course, always consisted of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
ali oleary 