Joe Byron by Indiana Fischer, age 12 BAM! A sound comes from outside. I looked out of the small window. The dark blue of the cold night covering everything, only the bright fiery street lights break through. “I wonder what it was?” I think but don’t think anything more of it. In NYC, there is always noise. Still that felt really close—I settle back into bed letting my music lure me to sleep. The beautiful beat of rap: tap, tap, tap is my version of a lullaby. THUD! This one is closer now. I’m paying attention now. “What’s that inside our house?” I pull up the covers a little. What if it’s a robber or a serial killer? I hear the rattle of footsteps in the hallway. I’m super scared now. Thump, Thump, Thump. My door creaks open, the squeaky sound felt like forever. Like an opening to the scariest scene in a horror movie, the one that keeps you up at night. I hear a voice, “Finn did you hear that?” I breathe a sigh of relief, it’s only my dad. To think, I thought it was a robber. But it’s not totally over yet. “Yeah, I don’t know what it was, but it sounded like it was inside our house.” “Okay then, I’ll go check it out,” he said. I jump up not wanting to miss action. “I’ll come too!” I shout bursting through the door. I see my dad’s familiar beard smiling down at me. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!” I shout behind me bursting down the stairs. I swagger into the kitchen, it’s probably just . . . Suddenly there in front of me is the most horrifying thing I had ever seen. I just stood there trapped in my own skin. Finally I let out a long scream louder than I knew I could scream. “Ahhh!” Because there stood the ghost of Coney Island, Joe Byron! I hear my dad rush into the room probably hit with the same shock I had. I can’t do anything though, just stare at that brown hat. “Why’d you yell, Finn I don’t see anything?” “What are you talking about? He’s standing right there!” “Who is?” He asked, not seeming to get it. “Joe Byron,” I say, upset now. I close my eyes. Is this some kind of joke? Is dad trying to trick me or am I just imagining things? I open my eyes but Joe Byron’s creepy smile stares down on me. He’s closer now, walking towards me. His face frozen in a smile. I look away. I look at dad still in the doorway, confused. “Are you okay Finn?” he asked. “I’m not in the mood for games right now.” He yawns. “I’m going back to bed,” he announces, taking one more look before running up the stairs. I run after him and take a quick look back. Still following me. I run into my bedroom and lock the door. I put back on my headphones trying to calm down. I open my eyes. “Oh thank god he’s not here.” I slowly put back on my headphones and drift off to sleep. I wake up with a jolt. I wonder if it was a dream. I cautiously open the door and look out. I walk out still wary. “Finn is that you?” Dad shouts from downstairs. “I made bacon!” I lick my lips, my favorite! I run down the steps. “I’m coming!” After days passed, I’m convinced it was just a dream. I calmly open my closet, and there sitting on my laundry is a brown bucket hat.
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