aka 'Clive Mendonca'
I took up the matchbox, put it in the pocket of my pajamas and went to retrieve my torch from the cupboard under the stairs.
I refused to believe that the spirit of a dead flea was haunting this matchbox. I wasn't sure if parasitic insects even had a spirit with which to haunt the living. I'm no theologian, but the whole idea seemed far too ridiculous to even contemplate.
I found the torch and took it and the matchbox into my study. I sat at my desk and placed the matchbox in front of me. I once again opened it, and once again it was empty.
Or at least, it seemed empty. I hoped my torch could shed some light on the mystery.
With torch in hand, I searched that matchbox for over an hour, but found exactly nothing. My spirits were deflated, and in despair, I slammed the torch onto the desk.
This sudden motion must have triggered a secret mechanism inside the box, because no sooner had I slammed the torch to the desk, than a trapdoor opened in the bottom of the matchbox revealing a hidden chamber.
I took up my torch once more and shone it into the no-longer hidden chamber. What I saw amazed me. The chamber was sparsely decorated, and my eyes were immediately drawn to the bed in the corner, and to the man sitting on it. It was my uncle George!
He stared up at me and shouted "Gotcha!", and waved a pogo stick at me. No, the matchbox was not haunted by my 'late' uncle, for he was very much alive.
After helping him out of the matchbox, he revealed to me that he had faked his own death and hidden himself inside the matchbox, using the pogo stick as a device to make the whole matchbox hop. "But why?" I asked.
"Just to see the look on your face" he replied, "You gullible twat!"
Yes that's right, the whole saga had been a practical joke. My uncle couldn't stop laughing, remarking that the look on my face was "classic".
But I would have the last laugh.
I inquired how he had managed to stay alive inside the matchbox. He told me he would sneak out of the box after I had retired to bed and retrieve provisions from my fridge. He then complained that it was never adequately stocked.
I told him there was a reason for that.. I then revealed my own secret. A secret I had kept hidden from the rest of the world for years. For I had something in common with my uncle's precious fleas.. We both drank blood!
I informed my dear uncle that I was in fact a VAMPIRE!..
That night I feasted on the blood of my uncle, knowing that nobody would ever find out, because he was already dead!
Whether you liked that story or not, just consider one thing.. It was completetly true!..
Or made up. I can't remember which.