“AHHHH!” I screech as I clasp my hands to my cheeks. I carefully tiptoe through a maze of hallways, checking each room, making sure no one is left in the house. Blood rushes to my face and I can feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes, once the fact that I am alone hits me like a punch in the stomach. When I am home alone, all the ghosts crawl out of the walls and the possibility of a burglar or kidnapper coming to my door increases by one-hundred percent.

As I turn the corner to enter the desolate living room, a piercing scream escapes from my throat as my cat, Fluffy, pounces off the couch and lands at my feet. Everything in the house comes alive; the doors sway back and forth, the chairs dance around the kitchen, and even the carpet begins to crawl throughout the house. My mind races with the thought of what could possibly cause this great disturbance. Ghosts, ghouls, maybe even witches are in my house, here just to drive me insane. I slink softly toward the noise in the kitchen; but nothing is out of place and everything is in its home. Another eerie creak comes from upstairs, and my wide eyes avert to the ceiling, dreading the thought of the creatures lurking in my room. Taking my time to get up the stairs, I repeat to myself over and over “This is an old house, Annie, it creaks all the time.” Reaching the top of the stairs, my confidence is boosted a little until my ears perk up at the creaking in my room. I turn the knob swiftly and swing the door open in one easy motion; I figure it will be less painful if I do it quickly. My eyes dart around the room, trying to find the cause of such commotion, but none is found.

The house continues to creak and screech, and with each little noise a flood of fear pours over me with the thought always plaguing my mind that it could be a burglar. My heart is racing and my palms are sweating as my cat speaks softly to me, reassuring me nothing is wrong. I sit on my bed, contemplating my next move, when a soft creaking noise comes from the other bedroom accompanied with a deep bang. I can already picture a masked man rummaging through my house, leaving not even a crumb big enough for a mouse. Stepping carefully into the next room, I see no man dressed in black, no ghost, nobody. I am convinced now that there must be a sneaky burglar in my house, and I must find him. I snoop through the closets, digging in deep to find him, but he is nowhere to be found. Still the image of a man dressed in black ransacking my house eats away at me. Another thought immediately fills my mind; a kidnapper is in the house trying to capture me. With this realization, I make a mad dash to the kitchen and pull out a knife, just in case. I wait for him to come to me at the table plotting what I will do when he tries to bind me up. Time ticks away and I realize I have been at the table for over an hour.

Giving up the hunt, I plop onto the couch and flick on the news. Once the television is clear, a picture of a scraggly man with a gray beard and black eyes takes over the black screen. The next words out of the reporter’s mouth are “Antigo” and “lock your doors.” I jump at the sound of this and sprint for the front door. Just as I am rounding the corner, the doorbell chimes, ding-dong, ding-dong. I screech to a stop, my feet planted to the ground, as my entire body begins to shake and I turn a ghostly shade of white. The window is fogged from the cold air outside, so I cannot see clearly through it, but suddenly I see that same scraggly gray beard. Then I notice the man is holding something up to the window and pointing at it. I am struck with confusion and gingerly step closer to the door. I slowly pull the door knob, opening the door inch by inch. Then I spot the uniform, and I burst into laughter, realizing I have been so frightened over nothing. The old man gently says “The total is twelve dollars for your medium pizza, miss.”