Too young for a Halloween party. Too old for Trick-Or-Treat. That's why they invented scary stories... and a lap desk to write them on.

"Who's there?" asked the young girl, peeping over her Lap Desk and Diary. "Wh-what do you want?" But there was no answer from the sinister darkness. No answer... but sinsterousity.

Olivia sighed and crumpled up yet another piece of paper. She could feel scary. Why couldn't she write scary?

"Dad!" she called out, tapping her pen on the wood of her Lap Desk. "Dad, I need help!"

"What is it, Olivia?" Tim called back from downstairs.

"Dad, I can't get up, can you come in here, please?"

The doorbell rang.

"Just a second, honey, I have to give out candy."

Olivia huffed and picked up her pen again.

The doorbell rang, accursedly. Behind it stood a vampire, bloody fangs bared to the night. When the unsuspecting father turned the golden knob, the vampire would strike... like a blood-thirsty cobra! In mere moments, there would be nothing but an ugly sweater and a pile of Kit Kat wrappers. Because, you see, this vampire also had... a sweet tooth.

"Dad?" Olivia yelled, crumpling up the next page. "Are you done yet?"

"I am, but I'm watching the door. Why can't you get up and come down here?"

"Dad, I'm sitting with my Lap Desk and Diary on my lap! I have the pillow bottom squished just right and I don't want to move! Can you just PLEASE come in here?"

The doorbell rang again.

"I'm busy down here, Olivia, but you can come talk to me if you want."

Olivia slapped the diary with the coordinated pen.

It was a moonless Halloween. The man in the cloak was taking a shortcut through the woods. He hoped to get home to his daughter, sick in her bed. But little did he know... there was a curse on those woods. And, before the night was out, the man's daughter would be... the child of a werewolf!

A third page was crumpled. "Dad! DAD! DAAAD! COME UP HERE! DAD I NEED YOU TO COME UP HERE! I CAN'T COME DOWN THERE, DAD! JUST PUT DOWN THE CANDY AND COME! UP! HERE! NOW!"

Tim looked around the frame of the door. "Olivia, come on. What are you even yelling about?"

Olivia slapped the Lap Desk with her hands. "Dad, what's scary to you?"

The doorbell rang again. Tim rolled his eyes.

"A pre-teen girl." he answered, walking back down the stairs. Olivia threw her pen at the door as it closed. Then huffed again.

"DAD! YOU MADE ME THROW MY PEN AND I CAN'T REACH IT WITHOUT GETTING UP! DAD! DAAAAAAAD!"

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