by Noah M, age 11
Twas’ the night of Christmas. I fall asleep only to hear something in my closet. “Marky, come over here,” said the voice. “No way, mate. I ain’t even coming an inch over there,” says Marky. “I’ll give you a present.” ” I know your plan.” “I’ll give you five presents.” “Deal.” Marky was found dead in his apartment. His girlfriend, Panica, killed him, but that was 605 years ago. The ghost haunts the Chicago, and now, she haunts me.