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| The Thing at the Window |
They say that 3 A.M. is the hour when the spirit world is most active. After what happened to me last summer, I believe it. I don't have a long tale to tell, but what I'm about to reveal still disturbs me.
Every morning, at 3 A.M., my father would come to my bedroom window. Each time, he'd say he had locked himself out of the house. "I don't have my keys, Paul. Please let me in, son; it's too hot to be out here in the Texas heat."
"Go away," I would answer. "My Dad is buried in the Haven Cemetery, not two miles from here. Whoever or whatever you are: I won't be tricked into letting you inside this house."
The thing - whatever it was - would sigh scornfully. It would turn from my window toward the woods. I could see it disappear into the tree line.
The next year, I left home for college. When I returned home to visit, the thing at the window didn't bother me. I often think about asking my brother and sister if they have had any strange experiences. However, I won't talk about it unless they talk about it first, because I don't want them to be scared in their own home. Hopefully, the thing posing as Dad will just leave them alone.
The End
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