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Not All Who Wander Are Lost.

Harris Burdick: Under the Rug

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Under the Rug

As I began to doze off to sleep, the quiet noise started to roar like a old car. Startled I tumbled to the ground with a thump. I stand up and try to reassure myself that it wasn’t the same noise that I have heard for the last three days around this time. But I knew it was. I picked up and slipped on my brown glasses so I could see. I had a cold breeze sprint down my spine because the noise seamed to be getting further away. I wasn’t sure if that was my mind playing tricks on me or the “loud thing” playing tricks on me. I finally get the guts to sneak down stairs to where I hear the noise. As I reach the living room , I silently bounced up and down with excitement because I thought that this Wednesday evening would be the last night I had to put up with this noise. I look for the closest weapon. My great grandfathers rickety old chair was what I picked up. I held it over my head to be ready for anything. I looked up then down. Left then right. I found what look to be rather suspicious. That same freezing cold breeze from earlier shot down my back again. Which wasn’t helping at all with me being so scared. I lunged forward towards it. It makes a high pitch growl. Something that I thought I would never hear in my life. It was under the yellow hand made carpet that I bought at a garage sale for 10$.I creep four steps forward to be exact. I grab the carpet with the chair still in one hand ready to attack. I pull so hard that I ripe the carpet but I still manage to see the “crazy thing’ sitting under my rug. Its arms were covered in huge bumps that ran all the way up to his bony shoulders. That’s all I saw of him that night.

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