At this point, I want someone to drag me to hell.
When I started haunting the Shack, I would knock over one or two ketchup packets to start small. No one noticed. I flickered all of the lights. Again, no response.
Then I got bolder. Late at night, with only a cashier in eyesight, I pushed all of the napkins and utensils off of the counter, crashing to the ground. The cashier looked up and yelled, “Dammit, Carl! They gave us a slippery batch this time!” Again, these were napkins and plastic forks.
I had to convince them it was haunted.
On a hot summer’s day with the store filled to the brim, where everyone would be watching, I unleashed blood from every soda dispenser. A man whose legal name is Tim the Plumber noticed first and yelled, “FREE MOUNTAIN DEW!”
At that point, everyone in Joe’s sprinted towards the machine and started trying to drink it straight off the ground. Customers, employees – I even saw Joe himself scooping it directly in his mouth. Blood was not a euphemism. It was blood boiled in the depths of hell itself.
I tried breaking Tim the Plumber’s bones as a sign of retribution against the ghoul he upset, but that, if anything, made him stronger. He pushed people out of the way with more gusto and slurped up blood at a rate that can only be compared to vacuums.
Please take me to hell.
