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The sun pushed through some idyllic looking, snow-white puffy clouds, on a vibrant, true-blue, Saturday, morning. Far less than a cruel summer’s weekend planned, and mom wanted us out of the house, “Pronto!” Presumably, to do the mountain of weekly laundry, that piled up at the bottom of the wickedly dark and creepy stairs.
By Ghost Writer In The SkyThe sun pushed through some idyllic looking, snow-white puffy clouds, on a vibrant, true-blue, Saturday, morning. Far less than a cruel summer’s weekend planned, and mom wanted us out of the house, “Pronto!” Presumably, to do the mountain of weekly laundry, that piled up at the bottom of the wickedly dark and creepy stairs.