Ghost stories

I have been telling these kids some ghost stories. Of course I don't know any ghost stories, but in my inspired moments I can cobble together a pretty good spine-tingler from the fragments I dredge up from what I have heard, decapitation stories, headless horseman, tailey-bone, the teeny-tiny woman, Phantom 309. Tonight we sat on the back porch for a very fine hour, listening to the thunderstorms gain and flow, and with each terrifying tale, the younger child, not quite even four yet, would get very quiet and still. When brother and I would ask him, did you like the ghost story? He would shake his head no. We sit quietly a moment longer. Then young man says: tell another ghost story. So of course I would. He wanted more and more. Then mrs. Tobit came out and learned what I had been up to. I don't think it is a good idea to be telling these stories to a three-year-old, she says. We sit for a while, and the boys ask for more scary stories. I am all out, I maintain. Mrs. Tobit says the same. But then, in response to the little ones' persistant cries, Mrs. Tobit improvises the creepiest, most bone-chilling tale I have ever heard in my life. It involves a young boys' stillborn twin ghost haunting the cellar of an old house. Speechless and stunned, the three of us can but gesture, please....tell another one...