Ghostalistic
By Jess Wallace, 13
My name is Tyrone and I’m a ghostalistic (pronounced
Ghost for short. I don’t have any family.
Well actually that’s a lie. I have a lot of family but they don’t like me anymore. Ever since my accident. It’s like
I’m a beast now. My little brother even dresses up as me at halloween. Isn’t that rude?!
Most of the time, I’m lonely. I have
to talk to for the majority of the time. Grandma and Grandad are too
busy being all loved up and happy to be reunited so they don’t even notice me.
When I get sad, mostly in winter, I walk up the heavy steps that lead to Chillingham Castle. I stomp in the snow
yet I leave no footprints. It’s good sometimes, when you’re creeping around, hiding from big bad bullies. They
never used to be big bad bullies. I used to like them, in both my human life and my ghostalistic life. We DIED
together. It’s not really something I actually like talking about because it gets me all teary eyed. Yes, that’s
right, I’m one of those ghosts that gets all sad when they talk about their death. But it’s true. It was not very
pretty. We were walking through the woods, late one Halloween night when we heard a twig snap behind us.
We turned around to face our death. And that’s how it happened. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.
My name is Tyrone and I’m a ghostalistic.
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