#HistoricalGhoulsRule

I flipped through the pages and squirmed. The faces of a hundred pale corpses stared back at me. I looked into their empty eyes and unsmiling faces and my stomach turned. I slammed the book shut. A trickle of blood ran down my finger as I moaned in regret. A paper cut. History books are the worst.

History is basically just like those celeb biographies on E-News but for old dead people. Without the drunk driving. Or offensive tweets.

Ms Cooper was raving about this wooden structure on her desk. An accurate model of a Mongol crossbow, she claimed. I was on my phone, living vicariously through some vegan model’s instagram when Ms C said something that caught my attention. “In his youth Genghis Khan murdered his half-brother Behter.” That’s cold. It reminded me of when my favourite boy band broke up. So sad.

Suddenly, I felt this warmth, like furry pelts and fire-pits. “A chicken has more honour than Behter,” said a thundering voice. I turned around and saw the moon-shaped face of Genghis Khan. “You’re... a ghost?”

He grunted in affirmation. I realised the entire class was packed with historic ghouls only I could see. Aristotle was taking notes, Cleopatra was fixing her hair and some Aztec dude was trying to eat the class pet.

Khan leaned towards me and pointed at Ms C. “I don’t like her,” he growled. She was a harsh grader. “Me neither.” Khan grinned.

He raised his hand and the crossbow moved by itself, just ever so slightly. Then he pulled his arm back and jerked it forward really fast.

That day I learned an important lesson. Only very special dead people make it to the history books. The rest of us can only hope for a catchy hashtag. #ripmscooper #youweresupercooper #MsCiswiththeBigG