Detention of the Damned
Here is a story of mine called Detention of the Damned. If things go as planned this will be part of a collection coming out through Riot Forge. But, until then, you can read it here for free.
Detention of the Damned
As he walked into study hall, Oscar ‘Dawn of the Dead’ Stevens (‘Dead’ for short) saw the pretty blonde girl sitting up front and thought, snooty Romance bitch, I’d like to play with her insides. Coming around her table, he tried to get a good look at her tits. She looked up and caught him staring down at her chest, giving him a dirty look, but she didn’t bother covering up. Yeah, he thought, she wants some of this.
There were six long, brown tables in the room, occupying most of the floorspace. Dead took a seat at the furthest one back, reclining in the hard plastic chair as he kicked his black combat boots up onto the table. Peering out from behind the locks of greasy, unkempt hair in his face, he sized up some of the other students in the room. Each one sat at their own table and kept mostly to themselves. At the table directly in front of him sat a buff-looking dude in blue jeans and a white T-shirt. He had his head down, compulsively rubbed his hands against the grain of his buzz cut. The next table up was where the pretty blonde girl sat. Dead really liked that tight, hot-pink blouse she was wearing; it really showed off a lot of skin.
Leaning back even further in his chair, Dead shoved his hand deep into his front pants pocket, pulled out an old receipt and ripped it up into several pieces. He rolled one of them up into a little ball and threw it at Romance girl up front, hitting her left shoulder. She ignored it, and so he threw another one, this time sailing it right over her head. He could tell that she at least saw the projectile, but still she refused to acknowledge him.
“Hey… hey,” he said, determined to get her attention. She continued to ignore him so he threw another paper wad at her. This one hit her right in the back of the head, finally prompting her to turn around, clearly pissed as she attempted to brush it out of her hair.
“What do you want?” she hissed at him.
“Why don’t you go ahead and show us them titties girl,” Dead said to her.
“Fuck you asshole,” she replied, turning back around.
“Come on, all you Romance kids are the same,” he said, taunting her. “Y’all act like you want something deep and meaningful, but you’re all just a bunch of horny little perverts.”
“Oh yeah?” she said, turning to face him once again. “And all you Horror freaks are just a bunch of pathetic virgins. You’ll run your mouth and talk a big game, but when it comes down to it, your little limp dicks won’t do a thing.”
A laugh came from somewhere in the room.
“Ouch,” Dead said, placing his hands over his heart. “Come on now girl, show us them sweet big ol’ tits.”
This time, it was the guy at the table between them who turned around. “Just leave her alone, man,” he said.
“Look at you in that T-shirt,” Dead shot back at him. “I’ll bet you’re an Action kid, huh? You can try to play hero boy, but ain’t nobody scared of you.” The two of them stared each other down, clearly preparing to take things up a notch. They were interrupted, however, when a gray-haired man in a beige suit coat walked into the room.
“Alright gang, I’m sure everyone here knows who I am,” he began. “if not, I’m Mr. Vernon. Now, welcome to the In-School Detention Center. I hope you’re all ready for what will possibly be the worst night of your lives. This is the closest thing to jail without actually being in jail. So, if you don’t like being here at all, then you should probably straighten up before you wind up in prison.”
“So lame…” Dead mumbled from the back.
“You can say that now, Oscar,” Mr. Vernon replied, “but I imagine you’d find prison pretty lame, too, and that won’t stop you from spending your entire adult life there.” Turning to the other detainees, he continued, “this will be your home for the next twelve hours. I suggest you all get comfortable. Around you there are books and computers. The computers have limited internet access, but they will take you to educational sites and other useful information. Do yourself a favor and learn something while you’re here.”
Dead could only snort in response.
“Now,” Mr. Vernon said, eyeballing the group of them as he left the room, “I have a very important matter to attend to, but I will return shortly. You all just sit tight and don’t cause any trouble.”
“Man, what a dick,” Dead groaned as the door closed behind him. A girl at the table to his left abruptly giggled, causing him to notice her for the first time. She was pretty enough, but with her pasty white skin and dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, she sure wasn’t trying to be. She looked like she probably had a decent body beneath that Avenged Sevenfold shirt. That shirt made Dead want to puke in his mouth.
“How you doin’?” he said to her.
“Leave her alone, sleazeball,” Romance girl interrupted. “Don’t you start harassing her, too.”
Dead turned to glare at the cock-blocking whore. “What the fuck do you care what I say to her? What is she, a Drama kid or something? What’s it to you?”
“I’m Dramedy, actually,” the girl said, obviously taking offense.
“Ugh,” Dead groaned, rolling his eyes. “A cross-genre kid? I mean come on…”
“Hey,” Dramedy girl said, “you know some of us don’t want to be stuck in just one group, okay? So what if we like more than one thing. What difference does it make in your life?”
Dead just shrugged and pulled out a cigarette, striking a match off his boot heel.
“You can’t smoke in here,” Romance girl said.
“Shut the fuck up,” Dead replied. “The only thing I want from you is to see those titties. I sure as shit don’t wanna hear any of your lip.”
Dead puffed on his cigarette and looked around the room, scoping out the kid at the table in front of Dramedy girl. He looked a bit younger than the rest of them and had been especially quiet thus far. His nose was buried in a book, but Dead was pretty sure he recognized the dude from his oversized trench coat.
“Hey kid,” Dead said. “I’ve seen you around, haven’t I? Aren’t you one of those Mock kids?”
“Yeah, Mockumentary,” he replied.
“I know some Mock kids that are pretty cool guys,” Dead said. “You know CB4?”
“Dude, that’s my brother.”
“No shit? Huh, what’s your name man?”
“Name’s Rob, but I go by Spinal Tap.”
“Sweet name,” Dead was willing to concede. “I’m Dawn of the Dead, but everyone usually just calls me Dead for short. How about the rest of you guys, you all got names?” he asked the group. Action guy turned around and glowered at him for a few seconds before saying anything.
“Yeah, I’m Freddie Moses,” he said. “Die Hard.”
Dramedy girl was still a bit peeved over Dead’s earlier remarks, but decided to throw her name out there anyway. “Cheri Tuesday is my real name,” she said, “but nobody calls me that, just Breakfast Club.”
“What about you, sweetie?” Dead hollered up to Romance girl. “You got a name?”
She just gave him the cold shoulder in response.
“Hey man,” Die Hard said, “why don’t you just lay off.”
“Why don’t you eat a dick dude,” Dead shot back.
Die Hard jumped up so fast, he nearly knocked his chair over in the process.
“It’s okay,” Romance girl said, placing a hand on Die Hard’s shoulder from behind. “I’m Alexis ‘Notebook’ Daniels. Happy now?”
“Yeah,” Dead replied. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? We’re all like friends now.”
The group sat in silence for a while after that. None of them really had anything in common to talk about. Eventually, though, Dead had to break the ice.
“You guys wanna see a demon?”
“What are you talking about?” Notebook asked, turning around in her chair.
“I’m saying I got a spell on me that will conjure up a demon,” he replied. “I’m just wanting to see if anyone’s interested is all.”
“You have a spell on you?” Die Hard snorted. “How the fuck do you just so happen to have a demon-summoning spell?”
Dead got up from his seat. “Why is that so hard to believe?” he asked. “I got this spell, and I think we should try it out.”
“I’m game,” Breakfast Club said, mischief glinting in her eyes.
“I gotta admit,” Spinal Tap said, nodding in agreement, “I’d like to see if it will work.”
“Yeah, okay,” Die Hard said. “I say we go for it. But only just to prove its bullshit.”
“What about you sweet tits?” Dead asked. “What do you think?”
“Fine, sure, but only because I agree with Die Hard. I think you’re full of crap.”
“Alright then, if everyone’s on board with this, first thing we’re gonna need is some virgin’s blood.” Dead walked over and slapped Spinal Tap on the arm. “That’s you buddy. C’mon, give us a lil’ sum’in sum’in…”
Spinal Tap looked up at him like he was crazy.
“I’m not a virgin,” he claimed.
“Come on man,” Dead laughed, “I thought you Mockumentry kids were mostly all virgins?”
“Nah man, what do you think we are, Independents or something? I got me a girlfriend, getting it pretty regular, too.”
“Here, I’ll do it.” The others turned to Notebook in utter disbelief. “What, I’m a virgin,” she said.
“Yeah, right,” Dead said. “Me too!”
“Why would you think I wasn’t a virgin? Just because I’m pretty or something, you automatically assume that I give it up?”
“No, ‘cos I know how you Romance kids are.”
“You’re just stereotyping her,” Die Hard said. “She said she’s a virgin; what’s it matter anyway?”
“Like I said, it matters because we need virgin’s blood to summon the demon,” Dead sighed. “I just wanna make sure she’s actually a virgin before we take her blood.”
“I believe her,” Breakfast Club said.
“Yeah, you would.”
“Look, I’m not lying,” Notebook said. “I’m a virgin, alright?”
“Alright then, if you say so.” Dead finally conceded. “Does anyone have a knife on them?”
“I got just the thing,” Notebook said, standing up from her seat. “Hang on a sec.”
With that, she made a bee line for the broom closet on the other side of the room. While waiting for her to return, Dead got to work moving chairs and tables out of the way, creating space to perform the ritual.
“You guys just hang back and don’t worry about helping,” he said to the others, arranging the tables in a rough circle. Breakfast Club sat on the floor and watched him, a wicked smile playing across her lips whenever she caught his eye. Spinal Tap wandered over to the computers and Die Hard perused the periodicals shelf, neither one of them paying much attention to what Dead was doing.
A few minutes later, Notebook exited the closet. Dead turned to face her as she walked up to him, setting a white paper napkin on the table between them. He regarded her offering skeptically and then looked her in the eye.
“What’s this?” he asked, picking up the napkin and unfolding it in his hands.
Inside was a bloody tampon.
“What the fuck?” he spat, dropping it on the floor. “That’s just nasty!”
Notebook laughed and Breakfast Club followed suit, attracting the attention of the others.
“Man, you deserved that,” Die Hard sneered, crossing his arms as Spinal Tap stepped up beside him.
“You said you needed virgin blood,” Notebook said. “Does it really matter where it came from?”
Dead bent down and picked up the tampon by its string, dangling it at arm’s length as he carried it into the ritual space.
“Man, ask some girl to see her titties, and she tries to get vagina blood on you,” he mumbled to himself. “That’s just messed up…”
Kneeling in the center of the circle, he squeezed the blood-soaked tampon between his forefinger and thumb, consulting a diagram on an old scrap of paper as he drew some sort of symbol on the floor. He gagged and made faces with each stroke of red, prompting much abuse from the rest of the group. He’d look up periodically to shoot them dirty looks, but it did no good; they just laughed and made fun of him even more.
“Alright, yeah, yeah,” he said to them, wiping his hand on his jeans as he stood. “You’ve had your fun. Now, if you wanna see this thing, I need you all to join hands in a circle.”
Dead sat down on one side of the symbol and the rest of the group reluctantly followed, Die Hard and Spinal Tap taking a seat on either side of him. The two girls finished out the circle, seated directly across from them.
“Really?” Dead asked, glaring at Notebook. “You’re gonna make me hold hands with two dudes?”
Breakfast Club giggled.
“Yeah, well, think of it this way,” Notebook said, “you get to stare at our titties all you want from over there. I just didn’t want any period blood on my hand.”
Breakfast Club fell over on her side, laughing so hard that she clutched her stomach in pain. Spinal Tap turned to Dead, looked down at his hand, and with a straight face he asked, “You wiped it pretty good, right?”
“Yeah, sure dude,” Dead replied, forcing his blood-stained hand into his. “Don’t be such a little bitch. Now, everyone repeat after me: Klaatu Verata Nicto.”
“What?” Notebook asked.
“I dunno, it’s like Latin or something. Now, like I said, repeat after me: Klaatu Verata Nicto… Klaatu Verata Nicto…”
Doing as instructed, the group began chanting together, reciting the incantation over and over again. About twenty seconds in, loose sheets of paper took flight as if a gust of wind had blown through the room, swirling them up into the air. The ground began to shake and the walls trembled and groaned against an unseen force, but still they continued to chant.
Repeating the words, louder now so as to be heard above the rising tumult, the group watched in awe as Notebook’s menstrual blood began to glow with bright, fiery light. But as the floor split apart and fell away, and the first massive claw emerged from the gaping hole before them, they abruptly ceased their little kumbaya session and scrambled back as fast and far as they could.
“Holy shit!” Die Hard yelled over the commotion, punching Dead in the arm. “I gotta be honest, I didn’t think you could do it!”
Ignoring him, Dead kept his eyes glued to that widening chasm, witnessing the emergence of the thing they’d unleashed. As the demon pulled itself up into their realm, the group marveled at its sheer stature, towering over them like a giant, its face a cross between that of a bat and a human skull, and as wide as a car tire. Its shoulders, chest and arms were furry, but the rest of it was distinctly reptilian, its scaly, muscular torso covered in fresh gashes and old scars. The thing must have stood at least twelve feet tall, its long, spiraled horns scraping the ceiling tiles above. Black, sinewy wings spread out from either side of its back, equaling the demon’s height if not surpassing it.
Hanging between its legs were two fat dicks, both of them every inch of three feet limp. They reminded Dead of a Rhino he’d once seen at the zoo, thick and gray and gnarly, except that each of these dicks had a hideous face on their heads. Crowned with rows of bone-white barbs where their eyes should’ve been, they writhed in midair in front of the demon’s pendulous nutsack, flicking thin black tongues in and out of their mouths.
Transfixed by its monstrous genitalia, Notebook fainted and Breakfast Club let out a blood-curdling scream. Spinal Tap grabbed Dead by the arm. “I just shit my pants…” he said between clenched teeth. Dead could smell that the kid wasn’t lying.
Paralyzed with fear, the group could do little more than stare back at the demon staring down at them, its eyes like those of a starved, slavering beast. Suddenly its arm shot out, snatching Notebook off the floor as Breakfast Club screamed once again. Those fortunate enough to dodge the attack went scurrying beneath tables and ducking behind shelves for cover.
Lying helpless in the hellspawn’s palm, Notebook’s hair fell back in golden curtains, her arms dangling limp through its claws, legs spread open. Sliding one sharp claw up the front of her blouse, the demon easily sliced the fabric and cut her bra in two, exposing her round, perky breasts as the cups fell away. Despite their dire situation, Dead couldn’t help getting a little stiff in his pants; he’d been serious about wanting to see them titties, after all. He reached down and adjusted himself.
The demon held Notebook at crotch level, its penises hovering over her smooth, milky tits, black tongues wound tight around hard, pink nipples. When her eyes fluttered open, she slowly sat up in the demon’s hand, looking first into its leering, lascivious face, and then down at the cocks licking her naked breasts. She didn’t seem shocked or surprised at all; rather, she reached out and grabbed the nearest demonic dick with great fervor, pulling it towards her face and kissing it passionately on the lips. It’s long, snaky tongue darted in and out of her mouth.
Opening her mouth wider than she had ever opened it before, she swallowed the entire head of one cock, taking it down her throat in several slow, deep strokes without even gagging.
“I don’t think she’s a virgin,” Spinal Tap observed.
“Yeah, she takes dick like a fucking pro,” Dead agreed, never once taking his eyes off the action. Spinal Tap looked over at him, following his arm down to where his hand disappeared into his pants.
“Sooo,” Spinal Tap said, averting his gaze and turning to Die Hard, “are we gonna help her or what?”
Die Hard didn’t even say anything in response; he just took off running straight at the demon, grabbing a chair along the way and raising it overhead.
At first, the demon didn’t seem to notice that its leg was under attack from behind; it was too busy getting deep-throated by the hottest bitch in detention. The muscular jock swung that chair with all his might, over and over again, until it no longer even resembled a piece of furniture. Still the demon took no heed. And then, with one great upward swing, Die Hard smashed the chair right into his scaly nutsack. The demon bellowed in reaction to the exquisite, unexpected pain in his balls, dropping Notebook to the floor as he turned around to face the nuisance at its source.
Lost in a daze and clearly unsure of where she was or what was happening, Notebook lifted her groggy head and peered confusedly at her surroundings. While the demon was distracted by Die Hard, Dead ran out and grabbed her, pulling her up and leading her back behind the shelves where they’d been hiding.
“Thanks…” she said, gradually coming back to reality.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied, eyes still glued to her tits. “So, not really a virgin are ya? You sure looked like you knew what you were doing with that thing’s cock…”
“No, alright?” she sighed, “I’m not a virgin. I only said that because I was bored and wanted to see you fail. But what I was doing with that demon’s dick has nothing to do with it; it was like I was under some kind of spell. I had no control over what I was doing!”
“Yeah, that’s convenient,” Dead said, finally looking her in the eye. “When this is all over, I sure hope you have no control over what you do with my dick.”
Notebook slapped him hard across the face.
“That is never going to happen.”
“Oh shit guys,” Spinal Tap said, crawling up beside them. “That thing’s got Die Hard!”
Poking their heads around the corner, what they witnessed was far worse than anything they could’ve possibly imagined. The demon had Die Hard gripped in its fist. Having ripped his pants down around his ankles, the other cock was slowly working its way up his virgin asshole, rhythmically thrusting at about the quarter mark. Every so often, Die Hard would stop jerking off and reach back to spread his ass cheeks, giving the demon easier access.
“Well,” Spinal Tap said, “either that thing really does have mind-control powers, or Die Hard is now officially playing for the other team.”
“Hey now,” Dead snapped back at him, “just because a guy likes a little backdoor action now and then, that don’t make him gay!”
Notebook and Spinal Tap shared a questioning look, but Dead was spared their interrogation when they were interrupted by Die Hard’s ungodly screams. They looked up just in time to see the demon giving one last final thrust, burying all three feet of its bone up the Action kid’s thoroughly destroyed anus. Die Hard’s eyes bugged out of their sockets as blood and demon jizz came blasting through his open mouth.
Meanwhile, the insatiable demon was already scanning for its next victim. Something must have given her away, because it wasn’t ten seconds later before he zeroed in on the desk that Breakfast Club was hiding under. Lifting it high into the air and smashing it right through the ceiling, the demon roared upon discovering the second-hottest bitch in detention. She screamed as she caught sight of Die Hard’s dead body, still shish-kebabed on the shaft of the demon’s right cock. Swooping her up with both hands, the infernal beast wasted no time at all in ripping her clothes off completely.
“We can’t just let the same thing happen to her,” Spinal Tap said. “We gotta do something!”
“You knew how to conjure up this demon,” Notebook said to Dead. “Do you know how to get rid of it?”
“Yeah, I got a spell to banish the demon we were supposed to conjure,” he replied, somehow glaring at her while simultaneously checking out her chest. “But since someone lied about being a virgin, the spell fucked up and we got this crazy bastard instead, so I don’t know what the fuck we’re gonna do…”
“I got an idea,” Spinal Tap said, pointing to the computers across the room. “Let’s Google it!”
Notebook and Dead shared a sideways glance.
“Hell yeah, that’s a great idea!” Dead replied. “So, which one of us is gonna run over there and Google that shit?”
“Well, I’m pretty confident in my search capabilities,” Spinal Tap said. “So, if you two can somehow distract the demon from fucking me to death, I can get online and Wikipedia that bitch straight back to Hell.”
“Ugh, that’s a wonderful idea…” Dead groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Come on, we have to do this,” Notebook said. “It’s our fault for bringing it here!”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I don’t like the idea; I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.” He looked back over his shoulder at the demon, who’d already commenced giving Breakfast Club the full works. Dangling her by the ankles, it had spread her legs like a wishbone, slobbering all over her hairy snatch while his left cock slowly wormed its way up her throat. “I think we’d better hurry.”
Abandoning the safety of their hiding place, Dead started yelling and clapping as he ran towards the demon, doing his best to get its attention. Notebook ran her own diversion in the opposite direction while Spinal Tap made a dash for the nearest computer terminal.
Approaching the demon from behind, Dead figured his best bet was to go for its nuts, hoping maybe this would work a second time. But before he got close enough, the brute spun around and nearly took him out in the process, Die Hard’s limp, lifeless body narrowly missing him as it swung past on the demon’s cock. Though it continued munching on Breakfast Club’s box just as greedily as ever, the demon was obviously not pleased with the interruption, and was just about to trade her for Dead when Notebook’s voice rang out behind it.
“Hey big boy, over here!”
The demon turned around and saw her standing there on the other side of the chasm, rubbing her breasts and pinching her nipples in an attempt to entice it.
“How are we doing over there?” Dead hollered over to Spinal Tap, searching the demon’s back for some kind of weakness as it stomped off around the pit’s edge.
“Well, I’ve got a Wikipedia page on this thing,” Spinal Tap replied. “It’s got a lot of good information, hopefully something we can use!”
Watching the demon advance upon Notebook, it suddenly dawned on Dead that there was one thing they hadn’t tried. Charging up behind the beast, he cocked back and punched his fist straight up its asshole, driving it in elbow deep. This had the unfortunate affect of thrusting the demon’s hips forward, however, slamming its balls against Breakfast Club’s face and ramming its cock all the way up her throat, through her guts, and out the other end. Breakfast Club’s body went limb as blood and demon spunk poured from her violated orifices.
Stunned momentarily, the brute wasn’t fast enough to stop what happened next. Withdrawing his shitty arm, Dead cocked back and slammed it home once again, this time sinking it all the way up to his shoulder. The demon roared with indignity as it dropped Breakfast Club’s legs, letting her bob on his shaft like an upside puppet while he frantically clawed at his anal assailant. With his arm now trapped inside its clenched-up bunghole, Dead had to duck and dodge each swipe as the demon thrashed about in rage.
“Dead! I think I figured it out!” Spinal Tap shouted, running towards him. “You’re gonna need the same blood as before, the blood we used to conjure it! Then you gotta say this phrase: Cracktow Flacktow Badda-badda-whacktow.”
“Are you serious?” Dead asked, still shoulder deep in the demon’s asshole.
“That’s what Wikipedia says! Did you hear me? Cracktow Flack—”
Unfortunately, that was as far as he got before being sliced clean in half by an errant claw. Notebook screamed as his entrails spilled out across the floor, distracting the demon sufficiently enough to loosen its sphincter. Yanking his arm free at last, Dead managed to roll between its legs, and grabbed Notebook by the arm, dragging her back behind the shelves.
“Alright,” he said, gripping her shoulder tight with his one clean hand, “did you catch what he said before he died?”
She nodded silently in response, swallowing hard as a single tear rolled down her cheek.
“Man this is fucked…” Dead sighed. “How the fuck did I end up playing hero?” He looked back over his shoulder at the demon, still standing near the chasm at the center of the room. Clutching the left half of Spinal Tap in his claws, he was obviously hungry after having expended so much energy sexually gratifying himself. The demonic brute ripped what he had of Spinal Tap in half with his teeth and sucked the dead kid down it’s gullet in two big gulps.
“So,” Dead began, turning back to Notebook, “how’s the flow?”
Unbuttoning the top of her jeans, she slipped a hand down into her panties. “Still flowing pretty good,” she replied.
“Alright then,” Dead said, “we ain’t got time to screw around…”
There was simply no denying the sense of urgency they both felt in that moment. Locking eyes with Dead, Notebook pulled down her jeans as he crouched down before her, summarily yanking down her panties. Ignoring her perfectly shaped, smoothly shaved labia, he went straight for the string dangling between them instead. Extracting and tossing the soiled tampon over his shoulder, he promptly stuck two fingers up into her vagina. She moaned softly as he dug in deep, but all too soon he was pulling them back out again, checking to see if he’d collected enough blood.
“Listen,” he said to her, slowly rising to his feet. “Don’t don’t you forget about me, okay?”
“I… I won’t,” she managed to stammer, reaching out for him as he turned and walked away. “But you could have just taken the tampon!”
Leaving the safety of their hiding place for what would likely be the last time, Dead set his sights on that demon and proceeded to charge straight for it. Leaping high into the air, he scrambled up onto its massive right cock, still sheathed in Die Hard’s mangled corpse. Climbing over Breakfast Club’s reamed-out husk and onto the demon’s back, he used his remaining strength to pull himself up, grabbing fistfuls of back fur until he’d reached the demon’s neck.
And then, shoving his bloody fist deep inside its ugly, slavering maw, he cried:
“Cracktow Flacktow Badda-badda-whacktow!”
The demon bit down, severing Dead’s arm at the elbow. He screamed as he fell forward, but managed to grab hold of its chest fur with his one remaining, shit-covered hand. Repeating the incantation over and over again, a fiery light gradually emerged from the chasm below. Dead could feel himself being sucked down, and the demon felt it too. Hanging on with everything he had left, the unlikely hero continued to chant until they’d both sunk into the hellish depths.
Notebook stood and pulled her panties and jeans back up, but couldn’t do anything with the torn shirt that barely covered her breasts. Cautiously, she walked over to the black pit that was torn into the floor. Even though he was a dick, she was saddened by Dead’s death. She felt alone, the last survivor of something that she would never be able to explain. What she saw happen in this room would haunt her forever, she knew that. She was weary of getting too close to the portal to hell, but wanted say thank you to the fallen hero who sacrificed himself for her. She blew a kiss into the darkness and turned to walk away. Her foot became tangled in a chunk of mangled up carpet and she lost her balance, falling backwards into the fathomless void.
Notebooks screams had barely dissipated when the door to study hall swung open and Mr. Vernon walked into the room. Beholding the carnage and destruction all around him, he wondered just what in the hell had happened while he was gone taking a shit.