Halloween Nightmare: Stuy Edition

You open your eyes and see… nothing. “Where am I? Did I fall asleep for too long in my AP English class?” you wonder. Feeling around for anything useful, your hand finds a familiar object… is that the bunsen burner that you used to set the lab table on fire last year? Suddenly, the flame turns on, and to your horror, you realize that you’re in room 939 in Stuyvesant—the room that hosted all of your failed AP Chemistry tests. You take the bunsen burner with you and hurriedly walk toward the door, not wanting to be in the vicinity of the electron shell model any longer.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps approaching you. “Don’t tell me that’s Orlando,” you groan. But as you turn around, you see two shadowy figures that exactly resemble the couple you saw in the Hudson while studying for your Mandarin quiz a week ago. They shout after you, “Don’t you want to hang out with us in the Hudson? Our free periods are six, nine, and 42! We even have free extra credit opportunities!” Despite the tempting offer, you quickly get up and run out of the nearest exit, and are greeted with the familiar, unholy sight of the dozens of apples sitting on the “People’s Pantry.” After having run down four flights of stairs, you are so hungry that you decide to try your luck at the roulette wheel that is the cafeteria vending machine.

You search your pockets for spare change. No luck. Maybe you shouldn’t have spent all your money buying Muji notebooks and Starbucks coffees. In desperation, you bang on the glass, shake the machine, and violate at least seven other safety rules listed on the side of the machine. Somehow, you manage to avoid getting flattened and successfully retrieve a Rice Krispies Treats bar. But as you sit down to enjoy your snack, you are completely oblivious to the furious lunch ladies slowly approaching you with plastic forks in hand. “HEY, WHERE’S YOUR FRUIT?” You jump up so high in shock that the Rice Krispies bar flies out of your hand and smacks one of the ladies right in the face.

Oh no. They’re angry now.

As you try to apologize, they take out their spatulas and start chasing after you, chanting “TAKE A FRUIT! YOU NEED A FRUIT!” But you also hear a familiar voice saying, “Did you know that fruits contain high levels of organic molecules like glucose and citric acid?” Mr. Orlando has teamed up with the lunch ladies. That’s not good. You sprint out of the cafeteria so fast that you don’t even see the glowing red eyes of another figure standing ominously down the hall. You yank open the door of the West staircase and, to your horror, you can hear four distinct pairs of footsteps following you. Running down the hall, you narrowly avoid tripping over a decapitated knight from the Senior Bar chess set, and finally spot a room that reads “Principal’s Office—Enter at Your Own Risk.” AHA! You’ll be safe in here—your teachers wouldn’t dare step foot in this sacred room.

You slam the door shut behind you and muffle a scream as you bump into… a row of life-sized BTS member cardboard cutouts? As you creep silently through the dimly lit room, you look around and see that on each of the cutouts are words along the lines of

“Jungkook please marry me <33”

“Jin you World Wide Handsome man!”

“Suga meow meow!”

“RM sing Expensive Girl to me!”

“Stop sending my e-mails to your Spam folder pls <4”

Wait, that last one doesn’t seem—

Mr. Yu jumps out of the cardboard disguise and bellows hellishly, and for a brief moment, you are too shocked to do anything as he stumbles towards you, kicking the stack of homework from his Leadership and Decision Making class out of the way.

Panic-stricken, you grab the nearest weapon at your disposal, which happens to be a Special Edition BTS Lightstick. You throw it at him, but the strangest thing happens—instead of damaging Mr. Yu for 13 health, he just seems to absorb the stick, and you see faint text that says “Level Up! 1 → 3” hovering above his head. Well, there goes any chance of fending him off.

You dash out of the office and back into the pitch blackness, where the sound of angry footsteps is deafening. Looking back to see 12 pairs of glowing red eyes rapidly approaching, you realize in terror that you have mere seconds left to escape, and in an act of desperation, you madly run into the darkness, praying that you’ve found the bridge exit. You hear a voice call after you, yelling, “Hey! Where’s your completed health screening?” But nothing else matters anymore, as you sprint as fast as your flimsy Stuyvesant brand legs can carry you, nearly slamming headfirst into two sets of double doors as you see a brilliant light…

The blinding light of day meets your eyes as the door of locker 6-666 flies open and you fall face-first onto the floor of the Sophomore Bar, startling the three couples that routinely sit on top of it. You turn around just in time to see the locker expel 73 pairs of thoroughly deep-fried AirPods, and then slam shut.

Just then, Mr. Moran walks by, sees the congealed mass of AirPods, and sighs in disappointment. “Alright. Hand those over.”