Reflections of Terror

On the spookiest night of the year, twelve-year-old Timmy found himself alone in the rumored haunted house by Maple Street. A dare from his friends had led him there, courage mingling with chocolate induced adrenaline. The moment Timmy took a step , the rusty hinge creaked menacingly as if welcoming him into its haunted depths.

He tiptoed into the house, every thud of his heart echoing his fear, amplifying the eerie stillness. Suddenly, he spotted an old mirror lying oddly in a corner. As he looked into it, his face turned pale. He saw a pair of glowing red eyes staring back at him. He turned around in fear, but there was nothing.

Summoning his courage, he looked back into the mirror. There it was — a ghostly figure with those haunting red eyes. He squinted, and the ghostly figure squinted back. Covered in a white sheet, it looked a lot like…

…him. Timmy let out a sigh of relief and rolled his eyes. A glob of his spilled milkshake had smeared on his face during the commotion. His friends would get a kick out of calling him “Timmy the Milkshake Ghost” for eternity!