The Caretaker
by Annabeth Mellon and Cecilia McGuffin, both age 12, Oxford
Oct 28, 2010 | 948 views |  0 comments | 6 6 recommendations | email to a friend | print
The sound of typing was all I heard for the past five hours. How much of my writing had I gotten done? None! Stupid writer’s block was keeping me from finishing or even starting on my magazine article. I needed to be somewhere quiet and relaxing, where I could write. At that moment, an idea occurred to me, and I knew exactly where I could go.

I was going to my mountain vacation home about two hours away.

Finally, I was there. I walked straight inside and set my laptop down on the desk. I opened it up and turned it on ready to get to work. It wasn't helping at all. I still wasn't able to write anything. I was just about to give up and go home when something pulled my hands off of the keyboard and started typing.

All the message had said was, "Get out! NOW!"

"Why? Who is this?" I replied with a shaky motion, typing on the keyboard.

"It's dangerous here! I am the ghost of a former resident!" he typed.

"How did you die?" I was typing with a curious yet frightful look on my face.

"The caretaker of this vacation home murders everyone who rents this place out. You have to leave!" He typed almost impossibly fast.

"Are there other ghosts?" I typed anxiously.

"Yes. I hear him coming! You have to leave!" He typed excitedly.

"I'll hide and call the police!" I typed as quickly as I could, getting out of my office chair.

I ran silently to the basement, where I could sneak out and go hide under the porch. I called the police and, just a few seconds before they came, I saw the caretaker, looking for me. Right when the police pulled in, his flashlight pointed right to me. He started to run toward me, but was caught right in time. They asked me how I had known of murdering people. All of their eyes had blown up in shock. I couldn't tell if they believed me or not.

They ran inside because they heard a yelling. It was the policewoman’s scream. She had found the bodies. The other police officers discarded them and drove off with the caretaker, who had been sentenced to death for manslaughter. Right before they had put the bodies in the trunk, I saw one smile fall upon a man's face. I knew who it was.

When I was going to bed after the long night, I closed my eyes and I saw what I was looking for: a story.
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The Caretaker by Annabeth Mellon and Cecilia McGuffin, both age 12, Oxford

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