Good morning, boys and ghouls. It's your old pal, NYC Dead-ucator. I hope you're having a spook-tacular day out there in the with all our fellow dead-agogues. I hope all the children in your class aren't falling a-creep in class or coffin too much. Here's a little story that will just slay you.
Mr. Creepy was in his decrepit trailer, sharing the fowl air with all the chill-dren. All of a sudden, the door opened. As there was no heat in the room, he almost failed to turn around. After all, what's another whiff of cold air when you're already stuck in a crypt? But the creek of the door made him turn around.
And right before Mr. Creepy's eyes, young Susie entered, late, which Mr. Creepy detested. As he was opening his mouth, getting ready to scream uncontrollably, she told him she had gotten her coat caught on a locker, and couldn't actually move until someone opened it for her. Mr. Creepy just stood there with his mouth still open. The story was so implausible that he realized she must have been telling the truth!
What's the world come to when children can't even make up a preposterous excuse for showing up late? Your faithful horror-spondent thinks the brains of NYC children are squeezed so tightly together in the overcrowded hallways that they're losing their creativity.
Not amazing enough? If you have any amazing tales you'd like to see in this space, send them to firstname.lastname@example.org. Drop them down the tomb and see how many corpses they awaken. The best entries will be published right here.
Stories herein containing unnamed or invented characters are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.