It’s about time that I finally upload some actual stories on here. This isn’t my usual genre, and it’s certainly not my best writing, but it’s fairly entertaining at least, especially if you are a fan of the horror genre. This was written for my Horror class as a final paper this semester, and I really had fun with it. Now I present to you my parody of bad slasher movies, complete with under-developed characters, cheezy monologues, sleazy dumb blondes, and keys that just won’t work at crucial times. Oh, and if you want to see a neat little piece of cover artwork I did, go look in the Graphics and Logos section of my Gallery.

1.
It was a brisk October afternoon at Cityburg High, date of Friday the thirteenth. The final bell had rung, filling the halls with the teenage multitudes. I stood in the open air hallway, staring at two thick jocks blocking my locker. Steeling myself for the smell of moist armpits, I pushed forward, wedging my way between them with elbows forced against padded ribcages.
They didn’t see me. They never did. But I didn’t care. I had fifty sweaty dollars clutched in my right hand: an early present from grandma. It was my birthday, and as soon as I got my backpack, I was heading straight to the store to pick up Silent Hill 8: Rhombus Toe Rampage – as if the survival horror of my teenage years wasn’t enough.

Finally, after prying my stuff out of my locker, I turned toward the street, ready to unleash my angst upon some foul undead by blowing their heads off with a pixilated shotgun. Yet my feet didn’t move. A familiar sound amongst the rabble had stopped me in my tracks. It was the voice of an angel, and her name was Devon Wong. She was chatting with her wheelchair-bound friend Sam Sheldon.

Again, they didn’t see me. They never did. But I didn’t care. To hear her voice and pretend she was actually talking to me was enough. I had been infatuated with her ever since the first time she bowled me over in the lunch line in second grade. That was the best day of my life, though this one was quickly becoming a close second.

It was at this moment I knew somehow, someway, destiny had brought us together on my birthday. I inched forward until I was nearly toe to toe with her and Sam, yet they still didn’t notice me. I told myself to say something, but the words didn’t come. I was hypnotized by my own reflection in her lip ring, but I could hear their conversation on the edge of my consciousness.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” said Sam. “You can think of it as a weekend at the freak show.”

“Yeah, right. Since when do you even get to talk to cheerleaders, anyway?” Devon asked.

“Apparently Britney thinks being crippled is ‘in’ right now,” Sam explained. Meanwhile, I wondered if Devon would notice me if I broke both my legs in a skiing accident too.

“Britney Duke? Well you know what else she thinks is in style? Herpes.” I let out a wistful sigh. Only Devon could make the sound of that word magical.

“I’m sure that’s just a rumor. Besides, you’re my only hope, Dev. She says I can only go if I get her a ride and you’re the only one I know with wheels!”

“I already told you I don’t have any gas money. Why don’t you just sit her on your lap and roll her there yourself?”

Sam began to explain something about not being able to fit two people on his lap, but something inside me stirred, and I could not help but interrupt him. This was the moment of truth.

“I’ll pay for the gas!” I announced, thrusting those crumpled bills out before them in a heroic stance. I should have known that my money and I would soon be parted if ever I spoke to a girl, but it was a price I was willing to pay for sweet, sweet Devon. Of course, the two of them began to stare at me like I had a hedgehog crawling out of my nose, but the silence was soon broken as Devon asked me:

“Who are you?”

“No, wait, I know this kid,” said Sam, clutching his chin. “It’s Carl! Good ol’ Carl.”

I shook my head. “It’s Craig, actually.”

“Good ol’ Craig,” says Sam, reaching for the money.

Devon continued to stare at me through squinting eyes as I lifted the money slightly higher than Sam could reach. “You look familiar.”

“I sit at the table with you and Sam every day at lunch,” I explained. You may think that I would be crestfallen that the girl of my dreams didn’t know my name, particularly when I spent so much time near her, but I was actually pleased that someone thinks I look familiar for once – especially since that someone was her.

“Oh, I think I’ve seen you before.”

“I gave you my Jell-o every day last week,” I mention.

She didn’t seem to hear me. Sam was talking again. “Well, our problems are solved. Good ol’ Kent pays, you drive. It’s settled.”

“It’s Craig, actually,” I repeated, wondering if Sam was deafened by the accident as well.                                                                                                             

After some obvious deliberation, Devon spoke. “I guess I’ll do it, Sam, but if you ignore me the whole time just to follow that bimbo around, you’re dead.”

“Relax! I won’t. Besides, you’ll have Greg.”

“It’s Craig, actually.”

But it wasn’t me who corrected him – it was Devon. I knew right then it just had to be love. The minutes went by in a blur of light and sound as I stood there knowing I was grinning like an idiot. Before I knew it, they had gone home to get ready and I realized that I forgot to ask them where we were going.

2.

“You guys are so going to love my dad’s timeshare!”

It was Britney talking, and I took her words to mean that we were going to her dad’s timeshare. The gang had just picked me up, and I could see why Sam could not have hoped to take Britney by himself. She brought along her on again-off again boyfriend along with her: star quarterback Jamal Jenkins. If there was one person I would have liked to avoid, it was a guy who used me for towel-snapping practice before going on to torture more socially prominent nerds. Luckily, my mom picked a shirt out for me that blended in perfectly with the musty grey interior of Devon’s van, so if I sat really still, it was like I wasn’t even there.

“Where did you say this place was, again?” asked Devon.

“It’s up at Lake Butcher,” said Britney. With a subtle glance to the side mirror, I could see her applying lipstick in the back seat with Jamal’s arm around her. It was a good thing Jamal didn’t seem to notice Sam staring down her shirt.

“That’s a creepy name,” said Devon. “Where is that?”

“Like two towns over, in Slaughterville,” said Britney.

“Yeah, we kicked those Slaughterville Leathermasks in their leatherasses at Homecoming,” said Jamal.

“Hey, that is kind of creepy,” said Sam, perking up out of his stupor. “Where is this town? Murder County, Killerado?”

“Isn’t that like the place with all the jewelry?” Britney asked. There was a moment of silence as everyone pulled a brain muscle trying to figure out what she meant. Several weeks later, I figured out she probably meant El Dorado.

Devon shook her head and glared at Sam through rings of dark eyeliner in the rearview mirror. “If this turns out all Timeshare Chainsaw Massacre, I swear I’m coming back to haunt you, Sam.”

“Don’t be silly, Dev,” said Sam. “If there’s a massacre to be had, you’d probably be the only one to live out of this bunch.”

“What makes you so sure of that?” asked Jamal. “I’d bust a cap in a leather freak’s ass.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sam. “The one that lives is going to be a female, nine times out of ten.”

“Wait, you mean like… the girl one, right?” asked Britney.

“Is there another type of female?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, you know, like the IRS,” explained Britney. There was another moment of silence. Several weeks later, I figured out she probably meant a tax collector was a “fee male.”

“Um, no, I mean a chick,” said Sam. “A girl usually is the main character in a horror flick.”

“That rhymed! And hey! That’s me! I’m the girliest one here,” said Britney, squealing out a giggle and bouncing in her seat. Jamal and Sam exchanged a smug expression after lifting their eyes from her chest.

“You are so dense,” groaned Devon.

“Oh my gosh, I know right?” said Britney.

Jamal could explain this one. “Yeah, I told her she passed her breast density scan last month.”

“But it’s almost time for another checkup,” Britney said, biting her lower lip.

“See, this is what I was getting at. The girl who lives is usually more… pure than you,” said Sam.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” asked Britney.

“He means sluts die, whore,” said Devon. She was so delightfully assertive. I nearly swooned.

Britney was appalled. “I am not a slut! Or a whore!”

“Didn’t you have an orgy at your house last week?” Devon asked.

“Hell yeah,” said Jamal.

“So what?” asked Britney. “I’m still like half a virgin.”

“What’s half a virgin?” asked Sam.

Jamal could explain this one, too. “That means she won’t take it up the-“

But Devon screamed. “Shut up! Nobody wants to hear about your tainted holes anymore!”

I could tell Sam cared to disagree, but wisely kept from doing so. “Ahem. Well, getting back to the subject, I think Devon would live and if there were any other survivors… probably me.”

“How do you figure? You can’t even walk, chair boy.” asked Jamal.

Sam laughed nervously. “Well, no offense, but the token black guy is usually never significant enough to live.”

“Yeah,” said Jamal. “Fuckin’ Hollywood. The only time a brother’s ever gonna make it through a horror movie is if Tyler Perry makes Blackula come to Madea’s Family Reunion.”
It was at that moment I was compelled by the idiotic notion of contributing to the conversation. Slowly, I leaned around to face the backseat and asked, “Why couldn’t I live?”

I had hardly finished my sentence before Britney shrieked and latched onto Jamal. “Oh my gosh it’s the killer! I’m too cute to die!”

Sam used this opportunity to pat Britney on the thigh. “It’s okay, it’s not the killer.”

Jamal squinted at me. “I forgot you was even here, Cliff.”

“That’s not Cliff,” said Britney. “It’s Sean. You made him do my algebra homework that one time.” That was way off. Several weeks later, I figured that she probably took my name, connected it to Daniel Craig, and then to James Bond, and then to Sean Connery. Or maybe she was just an idiot.

“It’s Craig, actually,” I said.

“Yeah, whatevah. But there ain’t no way some dude who nobody can remember his name or that he’s even here is gonna live if I can’t.”

“He has a point,” said Sam.

“Yeah.” I really had to agree, so I faced forward again and slumped down in my seat, resolved to my fate. It was a good thing this wasn’t a horror flick… or so I thought.

3.

It wasn’t long before I was roused from my brooding by a change of pace. Devon was pulling the car into a gas station. “All right, Craig. Time to pay up.”

She didn’t have to tell me twice. The sound of my name coming from her lips could have gotten a lot more out of me than a measly fifty dollars. Without a word, I forked over the cash, and when our hands brushed together, I melted in my seat as I watched my darling tuck the money into her skull-patched wallet. Britney and Jamal piled out of the van to head in for some snacks while she filled up the tank, while Sam reached for his folded wheelchair a couple of times before apparently giving up and hanging back. However, Britney paused to ask us all a question.

“Oh my gosh, do you guys want me to buy beer?”

“Beer?” asked Sam. “You have a fake ID?”

“No, silly! I’m twenty-two,” she said.

“I thought you were in the eleventh grade?” he asked.

“Duh!” she said, tossing that blonde head of curls about. “Of course I am!”

“I think we’re going to be all full up on imbecilic, irresponsible behavior without getting inebriated,” Devon grumped.

“Whatever, I don’t need you making fun of me with your French talk,” she said, and trotted off.

“That explains why she looks so… mature,” said Sam.

Briefly, I mused that perhaps the reason so many teenage horror flicks were populated by actors who could barely pass as college students, much less highschoolers, must have been because they were actually mentally challenged and got held back a bunch of times. It would certainly explain why so many of them thought it was a good idea to explore strange, murdery-sounding noises in the dark, all alone, armed only with some makeshift useless weapon like a coat hanger. I thought about bringing this up, but before I could, we were approached by a haggard looking old man with only one shoe and a spot of mustard caked to the side of his chin. He leered at us with one eye while squinting the other and began to speak to us in an unsteady rasp.

“You kids better not be headed up to that ol’ timeshare on Lake Butcher!” he said, punctuating his sentence with a watery cough.

Sam appeared to make himself invisible in the shade of the van’s interior, while I found myself backing away slowly without even thinking. Devon , trapped at the still-ticking gas pump, rolled her eyes and sighed at us, then turned to the man, reciting in a dull tone. “Why, yes, we are. How did you know?”

“I remember that girl and her daddy came up here to the timeshare convention. I warned them that it was haunted, just as I’m warnin’ you now!” The man spat on the ground.

Devon and I exchanged genuinely worried glance, but the man went on talking again as he patted the side of the van. “It’s a good thing this thing runs on unleaded. That there diesel pump is haunted!”

The worry melted away from Devon’s face, replaced by the familiar look of skepticism. “I see. Lucky us.”

Just then, a squat lady dressed in crisp scrubs came waddling over to us in a hurry. She was holding a shoe. “Oh there you are, Mr. Clifford. I found your shoe in the restroom. Come with me, now, and leave these youngsters alone.”

Mr. Clifford became belligerent. “Get that shoe away from me! It’s haunted!”

The lady smiled at us and winked. “Oh, it’s okay, Mr. Clifford, I had it exorcised before I came over here.”

“Well, all right then,” he said, and with little more struggling, he put the shoe on his foot and began to let his nurse escort him away.

Devon and I began to laugh nervously, shaking our heads. “Haunted timeshare,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Suddenly, the nurse whipped her head around at us. “Did you say haunted timeshare?!”

“Uh, yeah. That’s what the old man said. It’s not really haunted, is it?” Devon asked.

“Well I wouldn’t say haunted, but it was built on an ancient Indian burial ground, and there was also a gruesome and mysterious murder of a group of timeshare tenants a few years that was never explained… Actually, I think it was ten years ago this very night…” The woman looked off in the distance before returning her attention to us with a cheerful smile. “Well, like I said, it’s not exactly haunted. More cursed, if you ask me. Have fun, kids!” And the two of them were gone.

“That doesn’t sound foreboding at all,” said Sam, finally stirring in the van.

“I hate you,” replied Devon.

See also Parts 4-6 & Parts 7-9.