After my recent brush with death-defying zombie-ghosts, I came to an inevitable conclusion: NO MORE DRUGS.
My grades were slipping, so were my athletics, and my parents were seriously pissed off. All because of Graveyard Gary. That, and is his affection for cannabis. Needless to say, I avoided him like homework. And for good reason. But that didn’t stop me from wondering what he meant when he said I was a Sleether. What the hell is a Sleether? I considered asking my father, but judging from his reaction to my slipping grades and torn up school uniform, I decided against it. I mean, how would I even broach the subject?
Gary was screwing with me. That’s all. He’s weird, probably why no one likes him. But then, what about the Halliburton ghost? There’s no way in hell that was fake. I saw him with my very own eyes. Hell, the damned thing nearly tore me to shreds. Ugh. My life was miserable, and I had no one to turn to.
The strangeness continued.
During lunch break, on my way to the pizza place, minding my own business, I spotted Gary’s dirty sneakers poking out from behind a tombstone. The rest of him was hidden behind tall weeds and tombstones, but I knew it was him, and I knew what he was up to. My heart plummeted. Please God, no. Don’t let him see me.
Too late.
“Hey duder,” he shouted. “C’mon over here. Wanna show ya something.” The other kids continued along the path, seemingly unaware of his presence. Then it dawned on me: Graveyard Gary was speaking directly in my mind. Head down, staring at my shoes, I kept walking. No way was I going back to the cemetery.
“Fine. Have it your way,” he snickered.
I picked up the pace, hustling towards the pizza place at breakneck speed. I gobbled a slice of pepperoni and slurped down a cold coke, then I walked back to school, hoping Gary was gone, or simply too stoned to see me. My anxiety was increasing with every footfall.
“Sam!” His voice soared inside my mind as I approached the path. “Get yer scrawny butt back here. Now!”
Then the most peculiar thing happened: There was a sonic boom, everything went gray; the next thing I know, when I opened my eyes, I was sitting next to Gary on the cold cemetery floor.
Gary was grinning like a lunatic, clearly inebriated. He offered me a bottle filled with hash smoke, to which I refused. He shook his head disapprovingly, then he inhaled the swirly white smoke, and coughed. By now his eyes were as red as a clown’s nose.
“Halliburton is getting stronger,” he said, once his coughing fit ended. “We gotta do something. Before it’s too late.”
I tried leaving, I really did, but Gary wouldn’t let me. He was holding me down, although his hands were nowhere near me. It was clear that Graveyard Gary had hijacked my mind and body. I was enraged. My blood turned cold. But I didn’t know what to do, so I stayed put, for the time being at least.
Above us, the gray and ominous clouds obscured the sun, and it got dark. Too dark. The wind whistled along the red cedars, rustling their leaves like clunky old bones; the bones of the dead. I thought again of leaving, but I didn’t dare to. Gary was staring at me with his jester-like eyes. Clearly, he was insane, and I was in danger. What the hell was I even doing here?
Gary groaned as he stood up. “The town of Gulp is in trouble,” he said. Then he farted. His fart sounded like a thousand corpses copulating; it smelled even worse. I gagged and rubbed my watering eyes. Good God, how can any one person – a teenager no less – create such a sickening smell? Finally, I spoke, anything to take my mind off the putrid stench penetrating my nostrils.
“Um, no offense Gary, but I don’t wanna hang out here anymore. In fact, I don’t even remember…”
“Shut up, Sam!” he snapped; his mullet flapping in the breeze as the cold wind slapped his plump face. “I ain’t got time for your crap. Things are escalating.” He looked serious. And sick. He was wheezing, like each inhalation hurt.
Grudgingly, I forced myself to my feet. My instincts were on maximum, screaming at me to run back to class. I was about to bolt, when Gary came at me so quickly, I nearly tumbled. His massive fist held me firmly while his other hand slapped me.
“You’re a Sleether, Sam,” he shouted. “Smarten up!”
Everything went still. Even the wind. Before I could consider a response, Gary’s face turned ghost-white. Suddenly, he looked scared, which terrified me.
Gary’s voice went low, almost inaudible. “They’re back.” He checked his watch. “Right on time.”
I didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. Across from us, to our right, the Halliburton grave opened up, and a ghoulish ghost emerged. I call it a ghost, because it was transparent, but it looked like a zombie. In fact, I was starting to believe the two terms are synonymous. That zombies are both dead and alive, and ugly; corpses that stopped decaying, and gained supernatural strength. But they shimmered like ghosts, invisible to most living beings. Whoever Harold P. Halliburton was while alive, this wasn’t it. This was something far, far worse.
Halliburton roared. His hideous face folded into a sinister scowl. His eyes locked into mine. I was petrified, and shaking profusely. My teeth chattered involuntarily, refusing to stop.
Halliburton charged.
I slipped and stumbled over a small grave and nearly knocked myself out. Gary swore. Then he did something I’ll never forget. Not in a million years. He rose ten feet in the air and started chanting. His voice was explosive.
The Halliburton ghost recoiled. His spongy arms thrashed about. He made a sickly sound, like a hiccup, then he disappeared. Relief came quickly, but it didn’t last. Before I could formulate a thought, I was blindsided.
The creature pulverized me, pounding me into submission. Blood and phlegm spewed from my every orifice. I glimpsed into the creature’s cold, lifeless eyes, and shuttered. I was staring into the eyes of evil. Halliburton’s claw-like fingers clutched my wrists. The pain was instantaneous. The monster twisted me like a pretzel, then he held me high above him, spinning me in circles. I shrieked. The idea of dying in a cemetery was insanely morbid. Even for Gulp. Besides, I was too young to die. What did I ever do to deserve such a cruel fate?
Meanwhile, Gary’s chanting grew louder, filling all of space. His raspy voice sounded like a fleet of transport trucks, honking unanimously.
Halliburton groaned. Long and slender snakes crisscrossed from his nose and eye sockets. Those squirming snakes slithered across my face, slapping me with their treacherous red tongues. I hate snakes. Always have. I was weeping, and nothing could stop me. Then, Gary’s voice entered my mind; “You’re a Sleether,” he said. “Remember: this is just a hallucination.”
Something in my mind snapped, like a trap door being slammed. The snakes slithered back inside Halliburton’s eyes and nose, then disappeared. He grumbled and growled, then he dropped me. I fell with a thud. The pain was as real as the terror in my heart. Just as I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the unthinkable happened: a row of graves started stirring.
Oh good God no, I thought. Not more of them. Please, not more of them.
A fleet of zombies emerged. The creatures croaked as they marched towards me, like the army of the undead. I counted thirteen of them. How lucky. They were filthy, with flaky skin falling from their brittle bones. Some of them still had hair, knotted and dirty, others were so hideous they showed no signs of ever being human. They wore cruddy rags that had more holes than the plot of an episode of Star Wars.
Gary descended next to me. “Fly with me,” he whispered.
I could’ve killed him, right then and there; but then, to my amazement, he grabbed my hand. We flew twenty feet in the air, straight up. I screamed the entire time. When we halted, mid-air, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The lowly town of Gulp lit up. From this terrifying height, not only could I see the students ambling into the school, some carrying backpacks, some clowning around or fidgeting with their phones, I saw more. Much more. To my horror, those unholy creatures of the dead were everywhere: the cyclists, pedestrians, Uber drivers, the police – you name it. Even teachers and teachers!
How did I not notice this before? I watched a delivery driver – with four arms and wearing a necklace made of human skulls – deliver a parcel to a house as bleak as a Dickens’ story. I could see inside the box: it was a severed head. What kind of hellish town was Gulp, anyway?
I didn’t want to know.
Meanwhile, Gary removed his backpack and was rummaging through it. He grabbed a fistful of giant, golden nails. These glittering nails of gold were extraordinary, and clearly made of magic. How he fit so many inside his backpack is impossible. Gary dropped them like bombs, while speaking in a language that sounded as old as time and space. Yet the words he spoke seemed eerily familiar to me, like a language used in dreams.
The golden nails fell furiously, digging deep into the creature’s rotting flesh. Blobs of blackened blood billowed from their gaunt and sickly faces; their dark and sordid tears soaked the ground below them, creating pools of mud and guck. I gasped, having no idea those creatures could cry.
Vertigo was getting the best of me; my arms and legs were flailing, and my stomach was having none of this. Then I witnessed a golden nail plummet into a zombie’s eyeball. The creature wailed, and pulled out the nail, using both hands. It’s eyeball popped out, and rolled away. All at once, my pepperoni pizza ejected, coating the cringe-worthy creature below. It roared its disapproval, and wiped away the befoulment. Then it evaporated.
My mouth tasted terrible. I felt even worse. Panic struck me. What if I fall? Those hell-bound hucksters would devour me. Then I’d become one of them.
All the while, gravity was pulling me downward. My strength was deteriorating faster than the Leafs in the third period of a playoff hockey game. My pleading eyes fell upon Gary, who did the unthinkable. Reaching deeper into his backpack, he produced a crucifix. It was extremely old and made of silver. “Take it, and point it at Halliburton. Then repeat after me.”
The crucifix was extremely heavy. I nearly dropped it. When Gary spoke, I did as told, and repeated what he said.
“GOD ALMIGHTY: PLEASE TAKE BACK WHAT YOU’VE LEFT BEHIND; PLEASE REMOVE THESE UNHOLY INHABITANTS OF HELL ON EARTH. AND MAY THEY ROT IN PEACE FOREVERMORE.”
The last of Gary’s golden nails plummeted. His grip on my hand tightened. Below us, the creatures cried and cackled as their decaying corpses crawled back into their final resting spots. Halliburton was the last to leave. Slippery snakes slid across his repulsive body as he descended inside the cold, dark ground.
Before he disappeared, our eyes met. Absolute terror engulfed me. His voice, like a chainsaw, cut a hole deep inside my heart. “You’ll pay for this, Sam. You and your stupid, fat friend.”
Then the dirt covered him and he was gone.
Gary sighed, and snapped his fingers.
…
SONIC BOOM.
My head snapped like a twig. I tripped, and stumbled over Emily, a girl whom I’ve had a crush on for years. Kids laughed and teased, calling me Sideways Sam (a name that stuck ever since). Emily huffed and walked away, clearly unimpressed.
Dumbfounded and deeply embarrassed, I brushed the dirt from my school uniform, and tried to act cool. Here I was, standing on the path next to the cemetery, surrounded by groups of kids returning to school, and having no recollection how I got here.
Just then, a text arrived, and my heart leapt into my throat. Gary Cooper’s name flashed on the screen, like an omen. Wearily, I clicked the text, and a sense of doom devoured me. Nothing made sense anymore. I reread his text over and over, even during science class:
REMEMBER SAM, YOU’RE A SLEETHER.