He might use a jump-scare, put on a ridiculous costume, or photobomb a professional photoshoot.
I scrambled up the ladder and poked my head out. There, perched on the highest peak of the gabled roof, was Leo. He wasn't doing anything dangerous; he had a telescope, a thick blanket, and a bag of gas-station nachos. "Leo?" I whispered, trying not to startle him into a fall.
Breakdown
When I first heard the faint thud above the kitchen, I assumed it was just the house settling. After all, our old home makes noises at odd hours. But when a second, deliberate scrape echoed through the ceiling, I knew something was wrong. I opened the back door and looked up: the silhouette of a small figure moved along the ridge of the roof. It was my husband’s stepson.