Neither my brother nor I know anything about the mystery of the ghost on the hill. Last night under a big fat moon, Taj and I were climbing up the slope when we heard a quiet, low-pitched, short moan that sounded like me when I see a spider. We both screamed and Taj ran over the hill and I ran down the valley towards the creek where the fish were slipping and sliding as if they were about to die with me. Something white and weirdly-shaped ran straight at me and pushed me into the slimy water of the slippery creek and I screamed, “help me, Taj!”. The light was just the fat moon and Taj was laughing at me.
Harry, aged 9.
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