Scary Stories

“Knock, knock.”

“Who’s there?”


“Hal who?”


Elena loved that one. But she also would have loved it if you’d said “Stanley.”

“Stanley who?”

“Stanley who dressed like a robot on Hal-who-ween.”

Get it?

I didn’t think so. The only thing Elena told worse than a knock knock joke was a scary story. She loved to put on her scary, quivery voice. She’d look at me and Maggie to make sure we were listening and then she’d say, “There was a dark dark house.”

Maggie would roll her eyes and look at me. “Oooooh,” she’d say, “like we’re, so scared.”

I’d glare at Maggie and tell Elena to go ahead with her story.

She’s pause and look around with that same scary story telling look on her face. Then in her scary, quivery voice she’d say, “and in the dark dark house there was a dark, dark staircase. And up the dark, dark staircase there was a light.”

“Elena,” Maggie interrupted, “that doesn’t make sense. If there was a light at the top of the staircase it wouldn’t be dark – would it?”

“Yuh huh,” Elena replied. “It would be dark if the light was off.”

Maggie rolled her eyes again and gave me the look that said she was indulging Elena. I told Elena to wrap it up.

“O.K., o.k. at the top of the dark, dark staircase was a light that was off.” Elena paused to look at Maggie. Daring her to interrupt again. When no interruption came she continued, “and beyond the light that was off was a dark, dark, hallway. And down the dark, dark hallway was a dark dark room.”

“Elena,” Maggie said, “are we getting to the dark, dark point?”

“Grrrrr,” Elena would scream at Maggie, “stop interrupting me.”

“Well get to the point.”

“Dad,” Elena would start.

“You,” I’d say to Maggie, “stop interrupting her. And you,” I’d say to Elena, “get to your dark, dark point.”

“Yeah, Elena,” Maggie would say.

“Yeah, Maggie,” Elena would say, “dad bit you up bad.”

I’d glare at her a bit and she’d continue, “now where was I.”

“About to go into some stupid, dark dark closet?” Maggie guessed.

“No, I was about to look under the dark, dark bed where there was a darker, darker underpart of the bed. And there under the bed was a …. a….” Elena paused searching for what to make up next.

“You don’t even know,” said Maggie.

“Ummm. Oh yeah, there was,” Elena paused to start back into her scary, quivery voice, “there was a ghost.”

Maggie rolled her eyes again. “Oh, brother.”

“And next to the ghost was a … a … a skeleton.”

Elena would go on like this until finally I said, “enough, wrap this up.”

The three of us would then laugh about the way she’d told the story. We’d pretty much retell the story, giggling together. “Daddy,” Elena would ask, “did you like the part where the skeleton’s bone’s fell off?”

I did like that part.

“Knock, Knock.”

“Who’s there?”


“Boo, hoo?”

“Don’t cry daddy, your favorite ghost will stop by to haunt you every hal-who-ween.”

I sure hope so baby. I sure hope so.

Published in: on October 31, 2006 at 10:28 pm  Comments (5)