Settled comfortably in the study, we chose a Netflix children's film, turned off the lights, and started watching our British movie. A time-travel narrative during World War II on a beautiful estate with mysterious atmosphere.
One of them, on seeing the slow appearance of a ghost child in a movie, let out the longest-loudest-mostpiercing scream I had ever witnessed and the other covered her face leaving only the widest-open eyes I've ever seen visible.
Why was that scary? I asked when I could collect myself.
Ghost girls always frighten me, the 11-year-old answered.
Do you believe in ghosts?
I believe in reincarnation, he replied.
I don't, the 9-year-old said, and I wasn't scared.
Then why did you cover your face and unpeel your eyes so they looked like saucers? I asked.
Because his scream scared me, she said.
It gave me a headache, I said.
However, 15 minutes later, I started laughing so hard that my diaphragm constricted, and it really hurt, and I couldn't stop, and they started laughing too, and then we all laughed. Finally, we talked about Munch's scream, and all of us imitated it, and we kept laughing and laughing and laughing.
A little later, he and I walked into the kitchen.
When I saw this in the window above the sink, I started. He exclaimed, Wow! What is that? I didn't know, till I turned around and saw that I had left the light on in the little washing machine pantry. The window reflected the light leak. You should blog about that! he added.
And so I have.