We had just gotten back from a Halloween party when John, being the only non-believer in ghosts, asked Karen and me if the stories about the many sightings of spirits in the old ghost town were true. Of course, we said they were all true, and of course, his response was, "These stories are just a bunch of made up stuff to keep nosy people from vandalizing the old town."
"Well, if it's not true, then why don't all of us camp out tonight at the ghost town and put these old stories to rest once and for all?" I replied. I told John that I would get my tent and some blankets. Karen volunteered to bring some food and flashlights, and John said he would bring some firewood, beer, and his guitar. I decided we would all ride together in my car. Everyone was excited about telling our friends at school all about our spooky tales when we got back, but little did we know that there would be no tales to say because we would never be heard from again.
As we were driving down the dusty, country road, John was strumming on his guitar as we all sang along joyfully. We were having the time of our lives just being together because we were such great friends. Just up ahead of us was a man in the middle of the road on a horse.
"Slow down!" Karen exclaimed. I immediately slammed on my brakes. John doesn't scare easily, but this man on the horse in the middle of this dark, deserted road gave John the willies. The closer we got to the mounted figure the more frightened we all became, but we just kept driving. We blamed it on the beer we were drinking and proceeded to the old ghost town. We couldn't face all of our friends the next day and say we were too scared to camp out there. We would be the laughing stock of the school, so we continued onward.
"Well, if it's not true, then why don't all of us camp out tonight at the ghost town and put these old stories to rest once and for all?" I replied. I told John that I would get my tent and some blankets. Karen volunteered to bring some food and flashlights, and John said he would bring some firewood, beer, and his guitar. I decided we would all ride together in my car. Everyone was excited about telling our friends at school all about our spooky tales when we got back, but little did we know that there would be no tales to say because we would never be heard from again.
As we were driving down the dusty, country road, John was strumming on his guitar as we all sang along joyfully. We were having the time of our lives just being together because we were such great friends. Just up ahead of us was a man in the middle of the road on a horse.
"Slow down!" Karen exclaimed. I immediately slammed on my brakes. John doesn't scare easily, but this man on the horse in the middle of this dark, deserted road gave John the willies. The closer we got to the mounted figure the more frightened we all became, but we just kept driving. We blamed it on the beer we were drinking and proceeded to the old ghost town. We couldn't face all of our friends the next day and say we were too scared to camp out there. We would be the laughing stock of the school, so we continued onward.
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