Mom handled me with kid gloves last night, as the saying goes. My dad must've layed into me good behind my back. She didn't come out and say anything, but I could tell what was going on. She was always in my corner, but she had her doubts about this. Having her think I screamed out last week, the night I got the scratch on my throat, didn't help. Though she was careful to not bring anything about it up, I could tell she though I was going insane. Great.

I don't think my hurt feelings about all of this helped when I came home from school. The heavy air assaulted me the second I opened the door. Instead of feeling beat down, though, I lashed out. I slammed the door and screamed at the ghost to leave me alone. I don't remember everything that spilled out of me, but I'm sure I'd have made my mom and sisters blush.

I saw the blur at the bottom of the steps, and without thinking, I charged and swung my backpack at it. Just as I would up, the blur solidified into the angry ghost. It sidestepped my attack and lunged at me with its knife, its mouth twisting into words I couldn't hear. My backpack had me off balance, but I did manage to avoid the knife and kick at the ghost with my trailing foot.

Everything happened so fast I'm having a hard time explaining it even to myself. My foot must have moved right through him. My whole body went numb with cold, starting at my foot and moving up, except for a spot in the middle of my back, which heated up like it was on fire. I tumbled to the ground and rolled into a position to attack again, but it was gone. The heavy feeling in the air left, too.

I walked up to my room to do my homework, no longer afraid. I'd confronted the ghost and he ran away, not me. I felt better than I had in weeks. I even said hello to the kids, though I didn't see them. The knocks proved they were there.

As I started my homework, I felt what first was a tickling on my back, and then a bit of a sting. I put my hand over the sensitive spot and flet some lumpy tracks, like scratches. I lifted my shirt and looked in the mirror. A short message had been etched into my back, and though it looked backwards in the reflection, it was still easy enough to figure out: U DIE.

Before today it would have scared me. Now, though, after fighting the ghost, if just pissed me off. "Is that the best you can do?" I yelled.

The knock came twice, our previous agreement for "No." Didn't matter, and as I write this, it still doesn't. This damn ghost isn't going to scare me anymore. Now it's on. It's on like Donkey Kong.