This is a small Halloween short story that I wanted to put up, in honor of Spooky Season. Because if it isn't December, I'M A SCROOGE.

Dick: a pretty good one at that, but you have yet to say bah-humbug.

Damian: why does she need to say that?

Jason: I feel offended.

Tim: guys, we need to let the story happen.

No, go ahead with your conversation. The more words, the better. This chapter is only 692 words without all of your yammering. Please, continue.

Dick: is that sarcasm?

No, I'm being serious. Keep going.

Jason: it feels like we shouldn't. But there is something I wanted to say to the readers.

What is that?

Jason: Sweet didn't come up with this story. It belongs to some dude on Reddit named Scoopwhoop.

Dick: ...

Tim: ...

Damian: ...

Bro... did you just do a disclaimer?

Jason: you'll be thanking me from your jail cell.

What?

Jason: what?


Dick put a finger to his chin in thought.

These stories weren't exactly the worst ones he could tell. They were all sunshine and rainbows lately, and he didn't like that.

He needed to tell a scary story.

With an evil smile, he cracked his knuckles and looked around at his family.

"Change of plans, guys," he said. "I'm telling a different story."

"But I like Jack," Steph pouted. Dick patted her on the head, prompting her to glare at him.

"Well, I'll still tell that one," he said. "AFTER I tell a different story."

"Well, what is it?" Damian asked. Dick's evil smile melted into more of a smirk which, surprisingly, seemed to make his family more nervous than his smile had done. He filed that information away for later.

"Instead of Jack and the Beanstalk, I'm gonna be telling The Chair."

"That sounds interesting," Jason said with a roll of his eyes. Dick's smirk grew.

"Oh, it is," he said. Jason frowned at the tone Dick was using. It was very suspicious.

Dick stood up and closed the blinds. He turned off the lights in the room and made his way to the other end of the room. The only light was coming from the kitchen, and even that was cut off when Dick shut the door. He sat back down, the room totally dark.

"Ok, so, you ready?" he asked. Barbara sighed.

"Is this a scary story?" she asked.

"Is it? Huh, I wonder what gave you THAT crazy idea," Dick said sarcastically. He cleared his throat.

Once, there were two siblings who lived in a farmhouse. They always ran around and explored and stuff, like kids do. But something that was limited only to them, as far as I know, was their friend.

"Everyone has friends, Grayson," Damian said with a roll of his eyes. Tim nudged him.

"Not everyone," he said. Damian snorted.

Their friend was a ghost.

"Oh… nevermind, then," Damian said. He leaned forward slightly in interest.

They called the ghost 'Mother.' Some mornings, when the kids woke up, they would find little cups full of water on their nightstands. They always appreciated it, believing that she was worried they would get thirsty in the middle of the night.

There was also an old wooden chair in their shared room. Whenever they would watch TV or play games, she would move the chair towards the center of the room, sometimes pushing there all the way. They found it nice, her trying to get closer to them to watch them play.

"I thought this was a scary story?" Jake asked. Dick nodded.

"It is. Just be patient," he said. Jake nodded. Mari leaned her head on his arm.

Years later, once the kids had grown up and moved out, one of them found an old newspaper article. There was a widow who used to live in an old-looking farmhouse. She had two kids. One night, she murdered her two children by giving them poisoned drinks before they went to bed, and after that, she hung herself. There was a picture.

The picture was on the woman, hanging from a beam. She was in her farmhouse's living room. There was an old, wooden chair in exactly the center of the room.

There was another picture, of the farmhouse itself. It was the same exact farmhouse that the two kids had grown up in.

"The End," Dick said. His siblings remained silent. "Which means- "

"Wait wait wait wait wait," Cass interrupted him. "So, the two kids were in the farmhouse where a mother, aka their ghost friend, MURDERED her two children and hung herself? And she still gave them cups and moved the chair?"

"Yep, pretty much," Dick said. "That was a pretty short story, huh?"

"And everyone was totally cool with that?" Mari asked. Dick nodded.

"Yep, they were. Now…"

No one had realized that Dick had stood up until he opened the curtains, getting dramatic hisses from his brothers, four facepalms, and a small giggle from Mari.

"Our next, hopefully longer, story is Jack and the Beanstalk."


(I'm not actually going to jail.)