It first started when my Dad, having been elected President of the United States, was more and more disheartened by the limited time he could spend with me and my mom. After 3 months my Dad took the difficult step of resigning the office of the presidency to reallign his priorities and spend more time with the family. We gathered our things, made one last pass around the Lincoln bedroom, saluted the Oval Office, and got into our Dodge minivan headed to the wind-blown nowhere rock of northeastern Montana to begin anew.
When we got there, the town was called Swallow Falls. But my dad became the mayor, so they changed the name of the town to Creepy, I suppose to take advantage of some name recognition from the only president to have resigned to spend time with his family. We'd been in Creepy for three years when the dreaded Halloween in question came about. I couldn't wait.
That night I went to sleep stuffed to the gills with my candy spoils, buzzing from the sugar, but something was wierd, tingly, more than just the sugar. Something was gone. I could feel it in my bones. I wanted to see if everything was in the house, so I got up and checked around the house for everything, but my grandma was missing. So I went out in the neighborhood, looking around every house; but I found no luck...and no grandma.
I was panicked! I wanted to die. I wanted to run to my mom and tell her that grandma was gone and I couldn't find her. But she was asleep and she HATES when I wake her up. So I just tried to go to bed, thinking maybe grandma had gone out, or to her friends house for a sleepover, or needed to go back to the White House to get some of here things.
The next morning I told my mom. We looked around the entire neighborhood. We even knocked on peoples doors and asked, but no one had seen her. We had canvassed every house with only one last house to go: the neighbors. I was thinking my neighbors had always been a little suspicious of the macabre. They were always sneaking into our house while we were away on picnics and eating our dinner and stealing leftovers. We really had a problem with them. They were Armenian immigrant gypsies from Baku on the Red Sea and spoke a jubilant broken english with crafty, shifting eyes. They would give you the shirt off their back while they were stealing your whole wardrobe.
More to come...
My family was so worried.My dad was MAD.He was mad because I didn't tell him early enough.Then I thought about something.Maybe if I told them it was okay they would settle down.But it didn't work it backfired.
