The Chilling Tale of Locker 666
Reading Time: 4 minutes
The piercing shriek was heard from the 11th floor pool to the scanners by the bridge entrance. A crowd formed around the fated hallway, where a freshman, now passed out, lay in front of the lockers.
A trail of blood seeped through the grate of Locker 666, flowing down the hallway in front of him. Amidst the gasps and faces frozen in shock, a janitor walked past. He took a look, muttered, “I should have taken the job at B-Tech,” and just kept walking.
“STEP ASIDE, COMMONERS!” a voice boomed through the corridor.
Principal Yu pushed his way through the crowd. “Man, Contreras said that this would never happen again.”
He shooed away the crowd, assuring them that everything was fine. The freshman’s unconscious body was carried to the nurse, and Locker 666 was sectioned off from the public.
“I’m gonna check the locker out.”
“Do NOT check the locker out!”
“Trust me, I know demons. I battle them––internally––on a daily basis. This is nothing.”
Eshaal takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “Admin’s not just going to let you waltz into the sophomore bar and check out the locker because you said ‘it’s fun’ and ‘I won’t get hurt, I swear.’”
“Pfffft. Come on, it’s a haunted locker, and we’re not off-brand Ghostbusters for nothing,” Alexander scoffs. “We got the car and the theme song too.”
“For the last time, a glow-in-the-dark skateboard is not a car. I don’t care how invested you are in Stuy Skate…”
A door slammed as Student Union Vice President Ryan Lee stepped into the room, never without a dramatic entrance.
“Okay!” shouted Lee, slapping an envelope down onto the table. “I got you the file on Locker 666. Will you PLEASE leave the SU room now?”
“Only if you make us official unofficial Ghostbusters!”
With a shrug, the two investigators from The Spectator (Privates Chu and UbaidUbaid) found themselves sifting through the file of pictures of the hallway, looking through everything from firsthand accounts of Locker encounters to black and white Polaroids of demonic hands snatching kids from the sophomore bar.
“Ew,” grimaced Alex. “I think that’s a real skeleton. Or a freshman––I can’t tell.”
“Nonsense, our editorial overlords would never write something as grotesque as a skeleton in this article. It’s probably a plastic one from the Bio Department.”
The duo proceeded to stroll to the notorious locker, where Eshaal ran her finger through the red stains that the janitor hadn't mopped up yet.
Alex winced. “That’s blood.”
As they approached the infamous Locker 666, rattling was heard. Something seemed to be moving around in there. The vibrations shook the entire locker block and that one computer trolley that the English department has been using since 2003.
“Look at how the locker’s vibrating. There’s DEFINITELY a ghost in there,” Alex exclaimed.
“A new friend!” Eshaal cried excitedly.
“Well, a new lover seemed like a bit much,, but you do you, Alex.”
“I’ll think about that later. Right now, we gotta summon this thing so we can get rid of it.”
One quick supply run later, they had seated themselves around a circle of various textbooks, No.2 pencils, and one Stuy gym uniform (used, approximately one pandemic old, locker-aged), all doused with Ferry’s coffee in front of the cursed locker. They began the chant.
“The FitnessGram Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test....”
The uniform evaporated as the textbooks levitated. A ghostly apparition appeared from the vaporized coffee droplets, one of a young lad in dated clothing: a Red Hot Chili Peppers t-shirt, slightly ripped jeans, and worn-out Jordans. He scoffed.
“You DARE disturb me? You make me face this godforsaken school again? Shame on you.”
“OH MY GOSH HI GHOST FRIEN—”
Eshaal slappedped Alex’s mouth shut. “Yeah, uh, hi ghost-person. You’re kind of freaking everyone out right now. You feeling okay, bro? Want to talk it out? Bottling these things up is not healthy.”
“No, fools. I’m taking my REVENGE. You think I’d get over my untimely demise? The stairs? CHEMISTRY? You all even have escalators now!”
“Clearly you haven’t heard about that whole broken leg incident-”
“Actually, it was a toe,” Alex chimed in. “Don’t give him more ideas. Besides, I wanna know why he’s a ghost.”
“WHY I haunt your school? I…. well… well actually…I do a little trolling, as the kids say nowadays.”
“Well, you’re doing one hell of a job. People think you’re from Hell.”
“This school will NEVER see the light of da—wait, what? Really?” The apparition placed a hand over his translucent heart. “You mean it?”
“Well yeah. You got people to avoid the 7 to 9 escalator for a month with all those ungodly screams. That’s a real achievement.”
The apparition wiped a tear away, staring into the distance of the Hudson. “I’m touched. Flattered, even.”
“How do you touch a spirit?” Eshaal inquired.
“LET ME HAVE THIS MOMENT. Anyway, you see, I’m taking revenge because I was angry at the stairs, at the chemistry department for ruining my will to live, but most of all, the kids. You all complain time and time again over Wi-Fi or Talos and whatnot. I don’t even know what those words MEAN. I had to write everything down on my arm. Barely showered for the sake of organization! You say I’m from Hell when this place was a real hellhole! I suffered with the technology of my time, and you with all of this privilege still complain?”
“Fair enough,” Alexander said. “But will you leave? Please?”
The apparition sighed. “Fine. I appreciated the compliment, though.”
“Bye, Mr. Ghost!” Eshaal waved.
“Please. Call me Carl.”
With that, the lad from 1990s Stuyvesant rose into the sky, eventually reaching StuyHeaven, the fated realm where everyone gets an admissions letter into an Ivy League and the Peglegs win every game. The levitating books slammed to the ground. Eshaal and Alexander looked at each other in relief. It was over, and the suspicious ketchup would no longer reign supreme.
Principal Yu sat at his desk, tired after winning a rap battle against the Principal of Brooklyn Tech. He kicked off his shoes and fired up ye olde Gmail, only to find a chilling message at the top of his inbox, where there would usually only be dozens of interview requests from The Spectator’s News department.
“I’ve modernized! This Halloween’s gonna be groovy. First target: PupilPath.