Monster High

Photo by Daniel Lincoln on Unsplash

In my dreams I am in a particular high school and everyone is dead in one way or another: zombies, vampires, skeletons. I’m told this is the premise for a children’s show, which is horrifying to me. Kids shouldn’t go to that school.

I go there because I have to. And it’s not altogether unpleasant. There’s a sense of spooky nostalgia, like the promise of a Halloween night on the outskirts of reason. But there is also dread and the putrid smell of rotting meat.

I am the only living human at the school. I have to act like I’m a vampire or I’ll be killed. The school itself is a creature. The hallways have eyes with black, pulsating veins in the walls, watching you, sensing your intentions.

It wasn’t always like this. I’ve been going to the same place for years. It used to be an idyllic town, filled with lively people. One night the horror hit. I only saw the before and after.

Whatever happened to the school to change it into a dead place must have occurred while I was awake.



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Marty Shambles

Marty Shambles


Pushcart nominated author of short fiction. Words in: Class Collective Magazine, Hearth & Coffin, The Sparrow’s Trombone.