My sister is good at hide-and-go-seek, but I’m better.
Once, she climbed in the linen closet in the bathroom, crawled all the way to the back, and moved the towels so you couldn’t see her at all.
When I gave up, she hid another fifteen minutes before coming out.
As I learned all her best hiding spots, she had to improvise and find newer, more clever places to hide. No more hiding in the back of dad’s closet, behind his ties.
No more hiding under the sofa, pressed so close to the floor that she had to slither like a snake to get out.
The last game we played, she went above and beyond. I searched all over. Mom and dad even participated. And when we gave up and called for her to come out, she wouldn’t do it.
Other people came to help look. Nobody could find her.
I told them, “She’s a good hider, but I’m better.”
Dad was the one to eventually locate her. It was cold one night, so he got a nice log fire going in the den, but smoke started billowing out and filling up the room.
That sneak had climbed up into the chimney and somehow managed to shut the damper.
Mom and Dad were in such a haze after that, they didn’t even notice after the viewing when I crept in and hid in the casket.
We’ve been picked up and put down a bunch, and I’ve heard people saying stuff right outside, but nobody’s peeked in once. I am the best hider after all.
They’ll be so surprised when they can’t find me.