The bell of a church nearby rang three times. The living room lay dark and quite. Dazzled, she rose a hand up to cover her eyes as the headlights of a bypassing car flooded the room with light for a second and painted shadows on the wall, before it went dark again. Slowly and carefully she moved, heading for the stair at the end of the room leading up to her room. Sometimes she stopped to listen. Everything was quiet. Slowly, she went up the stairs, step by step. Suddenly, the stair creaked. She paused. Listened. Her heart was beating. Light flashed on.
“You’re grounded for two months!”
Tintenfleck 
Ich war ein braves Kind – ist mir nie passiert.
Aber man wüsste doch zu gerne, wo sie gewesen ist und wie sie vorhatte, das vor den Eltern zu verheimlichen :)
Das sind aber alles wieder andere Geschichten, die (noch) nicht geschrieben sind ;)
Aber es noch werden?
Wer weiß? ;)