The sticky hot air steamed up the car. My dad and I were heading to my grandma’s big vacant farm, and my dad insisted that we kept the windows down. Bridgeton, NJ is a big spread out town that was totally confusing. It was a wonder anybody got around, but they did. Speaking of getting around, my dad pulled into a barely visible driveway.
I hopped out of the car, and tried to shrug off that ery feeling that someone was there. I skipped to the door and jumped to a stop. The door was not locked up tight. The door was not even whole. The glass window on the door was far from repair. The window shards littered the floor. Things were missing from the wall. The unconscious fear now made itself known. What if they are still here my panicked thoughts rang through my head. What if they are waiting here, waiting to make its escape? My dad must have sensed my fear, because he assured me that theses people were long gone.
My dad still wanted to check out around the house. He could not find his weed whacker, whatever that is. No one to jump to conclusions, he kept denying that it was stolen. Without anything left to do, the weed-whacker was apparently why we came, we headed home. I called my grandma to tell her the disappointing news. She was upset, but told me it wasn’t the first time.
My dad said I could do the honors of telling my mom. I couldn’t wait to get home and tell my mom of our day’s adventures.
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