She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. Part 2 Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. I never let her read stories, or have pets, dolls. ” They returned to the crypt. “Stop! Don’t put your face there. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. Good night.
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