Spooktacular Tales Part 1

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                                                                Spooktacular Tales

By Aryan Mukherjee


I was supposed to be dead. Supposed to, but obviously, that isn’t the case. Here I am, a horrendous, eerie-looking zombie with skin the color of vomit dripping down my face and ragged clothes adorning my crooked figure. I was standing, hunching actually, alone next to a grave with my name on it at the dead center of night, hoping that my foggy memory wouldn’t let me down in deducing just exactly how I got here. How in the world did I, Wilbur Soot, a 16 year old mediocre high-schooler with nothing better to do with my life than slump on the couch and play video games all day long, end up looking like the main character in “The Walking Dead”. That’s when it dawned on me what had happened…


It all started two weeks ago, when I was lumbering through the drudgery hallways of Westminster High School, lugging my bags full of books that weigh more than I do, and trying my best to avoid trouble, the usual routine. That’s when the one person with whom I would endeavor to never encounter shoved his protruding belly into my face. Derek Snyder, the school bully, easily a foot taller than the tallest teacher in school, with a mean bio and an even meaner look was staring straight down at me, his two goons at his side. I don’t know what Derek's problem is with me, but whatever the reason for the encounter is, it seldom ends up working out for me. This time was no different, and Derek’s voice boomed through the hallways and pierced my ears.


“Lunch money, NOW!” he commanded tersely, and I sheepishly chucked him all I had on me. He smirked, and socked me in the gut before walking off.


“Stupid brat,” I coughed out between breaths, praying to remember to tell his mom to pack him something worse for lunch the next day. Worrying about my current discomfort, I didn’t even realize what doom was impending until I noticed the 10 foot long shadow engulfing my petite self. Derek launched me into the air and pinned me against a nearby wall, his teeth clenched like a fist and his eyebrows as menacing as ever. If looks could kill. 


“What did you say, grunt?” Derek bellowed, and I prepared myself for a severe beating. What I got was oh so much worse. As I popped open one of my eyes, I contorted my face in horror and let out a shriek that could be heard across the globe, my lips quivering, and my hopeless self desperately making futile attempts to free myself from his burly grips. Dereks was wielding a knife, with full intent to stab it through my guts. I screamed, I squiggled, I wailed, I did everything I could, but the world had abandoned me, and I was left in the meaningless depths of lost souls. 


Finally, in those abandoned halls of Westminster High School, with tears in my eyes and life flashing before my very eyes, I was killed by Derek Snyder on October 13, 2020, on a Friday afternoon.


And that takes me back to where I am right now, stranded in the midst of an occult, spooktacular cemetery, with a zombie configuring my outwards appearance, and an unimaginable loathing filling my inside. It was time to take action. It was payback time.



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