Once upon a Halloween night, in the eerie town of Broomstick Bend, lived a young boy named Jack. Despite all the ghost tales and horror stories that swirled around his town, Jack didn’t believe in ghosts. “Hogwash!” he’d say, dismissing any spooky tale with a roll of his eyes.
Every year, the old, decrepit Victorian house at the end of the street was reputed to be haunted. Encouraged by a dare, Jack decided to unearth the truth this Halloween.
Masked as a vampire, Jack bravely approached the sinister looking house. Creaking stairs and cobweb-infested hallway later, he landed in a dusty room haunted by silence. Suddenly, an old woman appeared before him. “I’m glad you’re here,” she croaked, pointing towards a leaking tap. “Last one I summoned floated right through it!”
Jack fixed the tap and left confused. The next morning, he read a newspaper article about the generous ghost of Broomstick Bend that helped the elderly with repairs. A picture of him, dressed as a vampire, with a toolbox accompanied the story.
So, this Halloween, if anyone asked Jack whether he believed in ghosts, his answer was a rosy-cheeked, “Maybe…but they do believe in me!”