Free Twelve Impossible Things Before Breakfast by Jane Yolen

Hilary had tucked the boys into their beds and pulled up a rocking chair between. Then she told them stories for almost an hour until first Adam and then Andrew fell asleep. In one night she’d become their favorite baby-sitter.
    She had told them baby stories that time—“The Three Bears” and “The Three Billy Goats Gruff” and “The Three little Pigs,” all with sound effects and a different voice for each character. After that she relied on TV plots and the books she’d read in school for her material. Luckily she was a great reader.
    The twins hated to ever hear a story a second time. Except for “The Golden Arm,” the jump story that she’d learned on a camping trip when she was nine. Adam and Andrew asked for that one every time.
    When she had asked them why, Adam had replied solemnly, his green eyes wide, "Because it scares Them.”
    After she smoothed the covers over the sleeping boys, Hilary always drew in a deep breath before heading down the long, uncarpeted hall. It didn’t matter which stairs she headed for, there was always a strange echo as she walked along, each footstep articulated with precision, and then a slight tap-tapping afterward. She never failed to turn around after the first few steps. She never saw anything behind her.
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    The Mitchells called her at least three times a month, and though she always hesitated to accept, she always went. Part of it was she really loved the twins. They were bright, polite, and funny in equal measure. And they were not shy about telling her how much they liked her. But there was something else, too. Hilary was a stubborn girl. You couldn’t tell from the set of her jaw; she had a sweet, rounded jaw. And her nose was too snubbed to be taken seriously. But when she thought someone was treating her badly or trying to threaten her, she always dug in and made a fuss.
    Like the time the school principal had tried to ban miniskirts and had sent Brenda home for wearing one. Hilary had changed into her junior varsity cheerleading uniform and walked into Mr. Golden’s office.
    â€œDo you like our uniforms, sir?” she had said, quietly.
    â€œOf course, Hilary,” Mr. Golden had answered, being too sure of himself to know a trap when he was walking into it.
    â€œWell, we represent the school in these uniforms, don’t we?” she had asked.
    â€œAnd you do a wonderful job, too,” he said.
    Snap. The sound of the dosing trap. “Well, they are shorter than any miniskirt,” she said. "And when we do cartwheels, our bloomers show! Brenda never does cartwheels.” She’d smiled then, but there was a deep challenge in her eyes.
    Mr. Golden rescinded the ban the next day.
    So Hilary didn’t like the idea that any Them, real or imagined, would make her afraid to sit with her favorite six-year-olds. She always said yes to Mrs. Mitchell in the end.
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    It was on the night before Halloween, a Sunday, the moon hanging ripely over the Mitchells’ front yard, that Hilary went to sit for the twins. Dressed as a wolf in a sheep’s clothing, Mr. Mitchell let her in.
    â€œI said they could stay up and watch the Disney special,” he said. “It’s two hours, and lasts well past their bedtime. But we are making an exception tonight. I hope you don’t mind.” His sheep ears bobbed.
    She had no homework and had just finished reading Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, which was scary enough for her to prefer having the extra company.
    â€œNo problem, Mr. Mitchell,” she said.
    Mrs. Mitchell came out of the kitchen carrying a pumpkin pie. Her costume was a traditional witch’s. A black stringy wig covered her blond hair. She had blackened one of her front teeth. The twins trailed behind her, each eating a cookie.
    â€œNow, no more cookies,” Mrs. Mitchell said, more to Hilary than to the boys.
    Hilary winked at them. Adam grinned, but