Asked by nn
A Dark and Stormy Story Night
1 It was the summer of 2013, a southern June when cicadas would normally be buzzing and kids would be outside until dark, playing basketball and riding bikes around the cul-de-sac. But this year was different—it had been raining nonstop nearly every day, and Jun’s childhood best friends, Tasha and Jenny, were now stuck at her house as torrents of rain drummed on the back porch and lightning lit up the sky. It was, quite literally, a dark and stormy night.
2 Things were even worse than usual tonight, though. An oak tree had fallen on power lines down the street, shutting off electricity to the entire neighborhood, and, although no one had been injured, Tasha and Jenny were stranded at Jun’s for the night.
3 Jenny was holding a flashlight to her chin, casting her face in eerie shadows. “What,” she asked her friends in her lowest, most spooky voice, “shall we do tonight?”
4 The three of them had been reading ghost stories aloud from Goosebumps for the past hour and now sat on pillows in Jun’s pitch-black room, which just happened to be in the attic. Suffice it to say, the girls were a bit more jumpy than usual.
5 “Let’s play with the Ouija board,” suggested Tasha. “I want to see what Luke and Jonathan are up to.”
6 Luke and Jonathan were the so-called “ghosts” they sometimes communed with through the Ouija board, a flat game board printed with the letters of the alphabet. When two or more people put their hands on a planchette, a heart-shaped piece of plastic with a hole in it, the planchette was supposed to move around the board mysteriously to reveal letters, spelling out messages from the spirit world. Ouija could be fun sometimes, but everyone knew Tasha was moving it.
7 “We did that last week,” complained Jun, hugging her knees ever harder to her chest as another flash of lightning cracked outside the window.
8
1 It was the summer of 2013, a southern June when cicadas would normally be buzzing and kids would be outside until dark, playing basketball and riding bikes around the cul-de-sac. But this year was different—it had been raining nonstop nearly every day, and Jun’s childhood best friends, Tasha and Jenny, were now stuck at her house as torrents of rain drummed on the back porch and lightning lit up the sky. It was, quite literally, a dark and stormy night.
2 Things were even worse than usual tonight, though. An oak tree had fallen on power lines down the street, shutting off electricity to the entire neighborhood, and, although no one had been injured, Tasha and Jenny were stranded at Jun’s for the night.
3 Jenny was holding a flashlight to her chin, casting her face in eerie shadows. “What,” she asked her friends in her lowest, most spooky voice, “shall we do tonight?”
4 The three of them had been reading ghost stories aloud from Goosebumps for the past hour and now sat on pillows in Jun’s pitch-black room, which just happened to be in the attic. Suffice it to say, the girls were a bit more jumpy than usual.
5 “Let’s play with the Ouija board,” suggested Tasha. “I want to see what Luke and Jonathan are up to.”
6 Luke and Jonathan were the so-called “ghosts” they sometimes communed with through the Ouija board, a flat game board printed with the letters of the alphabet. When two or more people put their hands on a planchette, a heart-shaped piece of plastic with a hole in it, the planchette was supposed to move around the board mysteriously to reveal letters, spelling out messages from the spirit world. Ouija could be fun sometimes, but everyone knew Tasha was moving it.
7 “We did that last week,” complained Jun, hugging her knees ever harder to her chest as another flash of lightning cracked outside the window.
8
Answers
Answered by
nn
How does the girls’ idea to split up propel the action of the story?
It causes Jun to become lost and see a ghost.
It gives Tasha the opportunity to frighten her friends.
It forces Jun to face her fears of the mysterious and unknown.
It allows Tasha the chance to impress her friends with her writing skills.
It causes Jun to become lost and see a ghost.
It gives Tasha the opportunity to frighten her friends.
It forces Jun to face her fears of the mysterious and unknown.
It allows Tasha the chance to impress her friends with her writing skills.
Answered by
GPT-5 mini
9 Tasha grinned like she’d swallowed a secret. “I promise I won’t cheat this time,” she said, though Jun wasn’t sure if she believed her. Jenny, still holding the flashlight, huddled closer, her eyes wide and luminous in the beam.
10 They dug around in a box for the Ouija board, the paper crackling under their hands. When they set it on Jun’s lap, the noise of the storm seemed to swell—rain tapping like a million little fingers on the roof, wind whispering through the eaves. The attic felt smaller somehow, as if the dark had folded in on itself.
11 “If it’s Luke or Jonathan,” Tasha said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial hush, “tell us something only we know.”
12 Jun exhaled and, because she didn’t want to be the coward who stopped everything, placed two trembling fingers on the planchette. Jenny put one hand on too, and Tasha followed. For a long second nothing happened except the storm’s applause and the girls’ shallow breaths.
13 Then, as if it were answering the beat of a heart, the planchette slid. At first it moved like a child’s nudge—slow and tentative—toward the letters. J-U-N. The three of them stared at each other.
14 “No way,” Jenny whispered. Her flashlight beam wavered as her hand hovered over Jun’s knee. “Ask it something else.”
15 “Okay,” Tasha said, trying to sound braver than she felt. “Are you…Luke?”
16 The planchette drifted again. L. U. K. E. It hesitated on the last letter, then darted to a word in the board’s corner: YES.
17 Relief and a little thrill passed through them. Tasha smirked. “See? Told you.”
18 Jun’s chest stayed tight. “What do you want?” she asked, voice small in the attic’s wide dark.
19 The planchette began to move faster, letters blurring under their fingers. At first it seemed random: W, E, R, A—then it stopped and spelled one slow, deliberate word that made the hair on Jun’s arms stand up: LEAVE.
20 “That’s not funny,” Jun said, pulling her fingers away. She felt foolish and suddenly very cold. The wind struck the attic window with a hard, rapping knock like knuckles on wood.
21 Tasha laughed—too loudly. “Okay, very funny.” She put her hand back on the planchette. “Who is this really?”
22 The planchette jerked so suddenly their fingers nearly slid off. It spelled three names in quick succession: L U K E — J O N A T H A N — A N D — M A R T H A.
23 They didn’t know anyone named Martha.
24 For a moment nothing else moved. Then the attic door—down the short, steep stairs in Jun’s hall—thumped once, then twice, like a fist from below. The girls froze. Jenny’s flashlight flickered and went out, plunging them into a thickness of black broken by occasional lightning that threw the room into white, streaked flashes.
25 “Who’s there?” Jun called, her voice small and brittle.
26 No answer came, only rain and the soft, maddening creak of the house settling. The planchette, still between their pale fingertips, slid toward a new message. I’M WET, it spelled.
27 “Wet?” Jenny echoed. She bit her lip. “How can a ghost be—”
28 Another sound interrupted her—a slow, scraping noise at the attic window. Something dragged itself along the glass. Outside, a long limb banged against the pane like a skeletal arm, stabbed by the wind. Lightning painted the outline of a huge shadow. For a breathless second, the girls saw something there that could have been a person hunched in the rain. It moved, and rain spattered the glass in fingers and streaks.
29 “It’s the tree,” Tasha said, though her voice trembled. “The wind. That’s all. It fell across the street, remember?”
30 “It’s not a person,” Jun said, trying to convince herself as much as her friends. Her fingers still brushed the planchette even after everyone else had pulled away. It was cold beneath her skin. It slid again, spelling the words S O R R Y.
31 “Sorry for what?” Jenny asked, the flashlight suddenly blinking back to life as if someone else had decided it should. The beam found Tasha’s face, then Jun’s, then shone on the small heart-shaped planchette lying quiet at the center of the board.
32 They waited for another answer that never came. The attic’s noises resumed their ordinary storm rhythm; the house sighed. The girls looked at one another in the strange calm that follows a scare, when everyone’s pulse is still trying to catch up.
33 “Maybe—maybe we should stop,” Jun suggested, not wanting to move but knowing that motion felt like safety. Tasha nodded, the bravado gone from her face.
34 They folded the board closed, slipping it back into its box. When Jun slid the lid on, there, tucked under the cardboard, was a small, damp leaf—an oak leaf, darkened and clinging to the edge as if it had been pressed there by careful fingers. None of them had gone outside.
35 A laugh bubbled up from Jenny, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “Okay,” she said. “That was…weird.”
36 They carried the board down together, the stairs groaning under their feet. In the kitchen, Jun’s mom had lit a few candles and a neighbor—Mr. Alvarez from across the street—sat wrapped in a damp jacket, coughing and apologizing for banging on doors in the rain, trying to check on everyone.
37 “We thought the storm might have gotten worse,” he told the girls when he saw their faces. “Did you see that old oak? Tore up half the sidewalk.”
38 Jun clutched the little oak leaf in her palm. It was no bigger than her thumbnail but it was soaked and smelled faintly of wet earth. She didn’t tell Mr. Alvarez about Martha, or about the way the planchette spelled sorry. She didn’t tell him about the shape at the attic window.
39 That night none of them slept much. Every now and then, when the wind hiccuped and the house answered back, Jun would turn on her side and feel the damp leaf under her pillow like a tiny stone of proof that something—whether the weather, a falling limb, or something else—had touched them in the dark.
40 In the morning, the street was a mess of branches and wires and rain-splattered newspapers. The crews were already cutting up the fallen oak. As Jun walked to school with Tasha and Jenny, they passed the stump where the tree had stood. A strange little mound of mud at the base caught Jun’s eye. Nestled in the earth, almost as if the ground had returned something, was another tiny oak leaf—dry this time—and beneath it, half-buried and perfectly ordinary, a small metal charm engraved with a single name: MARTHA.
41 None of them knew a Martha. They didn’t tell anyone that either. But every summer after that, when storms came and the sky went black, Jun kept the charm hidden in a drawer and, sometimes, when the lightning came quick and hard, she would turn it over in her hand and feel the planchette’s cold slide beneath her fingertips again.
10 They dug around in a box for the Ouija board, the paper crackling under their hands. When they set it on Jun’s lap, the noise of the storm seemed to swell—rain tapping like a million little fingers on the roof, wind whispering through the eaves. The attic felt smaller somehow, as if the dark had folded in on itself.
11 “If it’s Luke or Jonathan,” Tasha said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial hush, “tell us something only we know.”
12 Jun exhaled and, because she didn’t want to be the coward who stopped everything, placed two trembling fingers on the planchette. Jenny put one hand on too, and Tasha followed. For a long second nothing happened except the storm’s applause and the girls’ shallow breaths.
13 Then, as if it were answering the beat of a heart, the planchette slid. At first it moved like a child’s nudge—slow and tentative—toward the letters. J-U-N. The three of them stared at each other.
14 “No way,” Jenny whispered. Her flashlight beam wavered as her hand hovered over Jun’s knee. “Ask it something else.”
15 “Okay,” Tasha said, trying to sound braver than she felt. “Are you…Luke?”
16 The planchette drifted again. L. U. K. E. It hesitated on the last letter, then darted to a word in the board’s corner: YES.
17 Relief and a little thrill passed through them. Tasha smirked. “See? Told you.”
18 Jun’s chest stayed tight. “What do you want?” she asked, voice small in the attic’s wide dark.
19 The planchette began to move faster, letters blurring under their fingers. At first it seemed random: W, E, R, A—then it stopped and spelled one slow, deliberate word that made the hair on Jun’s arms stand up: LEAVE.
20 “That’s not funny,” Jun said, pulling her fingers away. She felt foolish and suddenly very cold. The wind struck the attic window with a hard, rapping knock like knuckles on wood.
21 Tasha laughed—too loudly. “Okay, very funny.” She put her hand back on the planchette. “Who is this really?”
22 The planchette jerked so suddenly their fingers nearly slid off. It spelled three names in quick succession: L U K E — J O N A T H A N — A N D — M A R T H A.
23 They didn’t know anyone named Martha.
24 For a moment nothing else moved. Then the attic door—down the short, steep stairs in Jun’s hall—thumped once, then twice, like a fist from below. The girls froze. Jenny’s flashlight flickered and went out, plunging them into a thickness of black broken by occasional lightning that threw the room into white, streaked flashes.
25 “Who’s there?” Jun called, her voice small and brittle.
26 No answer came, only rain and the soft, maddening creak of the house settling. The planchette, still between their pale fingertips, slid toward a new message. I’M WET, it spelled.
27 “Wet?” Jenny echoed. She bit her lip. “How can a ghost be—”
28 Another sound interrupted her—a slow, scraping noise at the attic window. Something dragged itself along the glass. Outside, a long limb banged against the pane like a skeletal arm, stabbed by the wind. Lightning painted the outline of a huge shadow. For a breathless second, the girls saw something there that could have been a person hunched in the rain. It moved, and rain spattered the glass in fingers and streaks.
29 “It’s the tree,” Tasha said, though her voice trembled. “The wind. That’s all. It fell across the street, remember?”
30 “It’s not a person,” Jun said, trying to convince herself as much as her friends. Her fingers still brushed the planchette even after everyone else had pulled away. It was cold beneath her skin. It slid again, spelling the words S O R R Y.
31 “Sorry for what?” Jenny asked, the flashlight suddenly blinking back to life as if someone else had decided it should. The beam found Tasha’s face, then Jun’s, then shone on the small heart-shaped planchette lying quiet at the center of the board.
32 They waited for another answer that never came. The attic’s noises resumed their ordinary storm rhythm; the house sighed. The girls looked at one another in the strange calm that follows a scare, when everyone’s pulse is still trying to catch up.
33 “Maybe—maybe we should stop,” Jun suggested, not wanting to move but knowing that motion felt like safety. Tasha nodded, the bravado gone from her face.
34 They folded the board closed, slipping it back into its box. When Jun slid the lid on, there, tucked under the cardboard, was a small, damp leaf—an oak leaf, darkened and clinging to the edge as if it had been pressed there by careful fingers. None of them had gone outside.
35 A laugh bubbled up from Jenny, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “Okay,” she said. “That was…weird.”
36 They carried the board down together, the stairs groaning under their feet. In the kitchen, Jun’s mom had lit a few candles and a neighbor—Mr. Alvarez from across the street—sat wrapped in a damp jacket, coughing and apologizing for banging on doors in the rain, trying to check on everyone.
37 “We thought the storm might have gotten worse,” he told the girls when he saw their faces. “Did you see that old oak? Tore up half the sidewalk.”
38 Jun clutched the little oak leaf in her palm. It was no bigger than her thumbnail but it was soaked and smelled faintly of wet earth. She didn’t tell Mr. Alvarez about Martha, or about the way the planchette spelled sorry. She didn’t tell him about the shape at the attic window.
39 That night none of them slept much. Every now and then, when the wind hiccuped and the house answered back, Jun would turn on her side and feel the damp leaf under her pillow like a tiny stone of proof that something—whether the weather, a falling limb, or something else—had touched them in the dark.
40 In the morning, the street was a mess of branches and wires and rain-splattered newspapers. The crews were already cutting up the fallen oak. As Jun walked to school with Tasha and Jenny, they passed the stump where the tree had stood. A strange little mound of mud at the base caught Jun’s eye. Nestled in the earth, almost as if the ground had returned something, was another tiny oak leaf—dry this time—and beneath it, half-buried and perfectly ordinary, a small metal charm engraved with a single name: MARTHA.
41 None of them knew a Martha. They didn’t tell anyone that either. But every summer after that, when storms came and the sky went black, Jun kept the charm hidden in a drawer and, sometimes, when the lightning came quick and hard, she would turn it over in her hand and feel the planchette’s cold slide beneath her fingertips again.
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