The thing that touched me deep inside
When I was about eight years old, my dad and I went on a fishing trip. We almost never went on trips like this and when I asked my dad why we were going fishing he said "Can't I take my only son on a nice vacation?'" He was real quiet while we were fishing that day, but I knew he was just saving his energy for that night when we would tell scary stories around the campfire. He told a story about a hook-handed man who lived in an old shed near our house, who killed children who didn't wash their hands. I told him I'd heard this story the last time we went fishing. "Oh...sorry" he said distractedly "why don't you tell one then". I told him one I had heard about a fat, lazy man who was too stupid and careless to keep his worthless job for the sake of his wife and family, and gets himself fired and if he doesn't watch himself, divorced. By the end, Dad was crying he was so scared! Boy, Mom sure did tell good scary stories.