When I was in middle school
there was a girl who loved scary things.
She would always bring in ghost story books
and taunt me like an ant with a magnifying glass
because I didn’t like scary things.
That was uncool of me.
And now everytime I see the clock strike
I think of her,
and a chill runs down my back.
It gets cold.
Because in her ghost story
she said a couple of teens died in an accident,
and when they died
the clock flashed
and that was the way they communicate with the living.