My house. My friends. Sleepover. Everyone tells a story – and it better be scary! So this night, after someone had told a pretty spooky story (I thought) and we were all just recovering, this sneering voice comes from a corner. ‘Call that a scary story?’ I love a good dramatic entrance. Even I jumped a little as a tall boy stepped out of the shadows. A strange tall boy. His skin was pale, marble white, making his yellow eyes and dark red lips stand out. I had to look away. And his voice. His voice … ‘That wouldn’t scare pimples off my Aunt Petunia,’ he said, smirking. We made room for the mysterious stranger in the circle of the Nightmare Club and he started to tell his story. ‘You know Frankenstein wasn’t the monster?’ he said. We all sighed at the same time. (We knew that.) ‘Frankenstein was the mad scientist who made the monster. He’s the really scary one.
