Not a Single Damn Was Given

I didn’t give a damn when my friends called me lame. Piercing screams that I’ve heard from different horror movies filled my head, like Death Metal on repeat. A cold and creepy atmosphere sent chills up my spine and made goose bumps all over my skin. I imagined pale, bloody faces with big dark eyes that jumped out of pitch-black rooms. The temperature in my body rose at each racing pump of my heartbeat. My palms began to perspire, until I felt a drop of sweat slide off my fingertips. No way was I ever going to the Haunted Plantation.

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