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When I was a child, our family moved into this large two floor house. I didn't have any idea of where I was going half the time. One evening, I came home to a dark house.

"Mom, I'm home", I called. But there was no response. I wandered upstairs, searching for her. When I could not find her, I figured she must not be home yet. Since both my parents worked quite a lot, I was often home alone.

As I walked on the creaky floors, I heard noises and sounds of unwrapping. I grew a bit scarred, wishing my mom was here to comfort me, as a mom's presence does.

But as I made my way to my room, I saw decorations on he floor leading to a door at the end of the hall. It was opened slightly. "Mom?"


"Oh, so you are home", I said, feeling relieved. She must be decorating. I walked into the room, but no one was there. "Mom?"

"Yesssss?", she said from the closet, her voice cheery.

"Oh, I was just wondering -" I began, when suddenly I was interrupted. I turned around to see my mom.

"What was that, sweety? I just got home." Nervously, I turned around.

"But I thought you-"

"Oh! I almost forgot, we have a pot pie in the oven!", she said, dragging me downstairs. As I turned around, I caught a small glimpse of the door at the end of the hall. And just for a second, I thought I saw someone looking back at me.

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