“I can’t face Earl on my own,” you say to yourself. “I had
better go for help.
You run out of the creative writing room, through the lunch
room, and into the hallway towards the office. But you don’t make it very far.
Before you even get to the ramp, the candy machine falls
over, almost crushing you. You stop in time to avoid being squished, but not
soon enough to avoid the machine all together. Your shoe slides on the slick
wrappers of the spilled candy packs and you fall on top of the now-broken machine.
“How the heck did that happen?” you think to yourself. AS if
answering your unspoken question, four nearly transparent forms float out from
behind the milk machine. It’s the ghosts of the chickens that Miss Haws’s
history class mummified years ago!
“Stop, human child!” the ghosts cluck, “We need your help!”
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