Spooktacular Classics are dried-up chunks of word vomit which I like to regurgitate every time a Halloween Spooktacular event rolls onto the Interwebs scene.
You’ve been warned.
“Step into my Chamber, the one right over here.
My Chamber of Everlasting Death. You have everything to fear.
“I’ll slice, I’ll dice your body to bits.
I’ll sizzle your brain and mash it to grits.
I’ll pierce your fingernails and puree your guts.
I’ll stew your eyeballs and roast your nuts.
I’ll yank out your lungs and fill them with blood.
I’ll rip out your veins and chew them like cud.”
The man points with his knife into a darkened room.
I step inside and shiver hard, frozen inside the tomb.
“Place your hand into the bowl, and feel the skinless grapes.
Feel the walls, the skin I’ve meticulously sewn into drapes.”
My friend laughs, and so do I, as we entertain our worries.
We take our time, feeling, touching, never in a hurry.
“Beneath your feet—squish, squash—are the maggots from a grave.
Go ahead, reach on down, caress them, if you’re brave.”
I do as he says, stifling giggles as my friend does the same.
We play by the Butcher’s rules, knowing it’s just a harmless game.
The spaghetti on the floor feels warm and moves so slightly.
I stand back up, a-trembling, moving forward, stepping lightly.
“Feel the hearts of the dead, beating to this very day,
Pounding so shrilly in your hand. The dead, they wish to stay.”
Warm water balloons in a bowl do not impress me much.
But when they beat within my grasp, I wonder what I’ve touched.
“Who wants to be buried alive inside this coffin?
Come on, now, don’t be shy, the dead shall visit often!”
My friend, always impulsive, raises his hand and shouts.
I remain as silent as is possible, for I have some nagging doubts.
He clambers forward awkwardly, as if having second thoughts.
He climbs into the coffin, stiff, muscles balled up in knots.
“Watch, all of you young ones, as I nail down the lid
And end the fruitless life of this ignorant, obnoxious kid.”
The Butcher whips out a hammer, hefts it high, and wails away.
The crowd gathered around me stares, with nothing at all to say.
Then the Butcher grabs a shovel and lowers the coffin into the ground.
He shovels dirt onto it swiftly, not uttering a single sound.
When The Butcher is finally finished, he wheels around with a smile.
He bows graciously before us all and spreads his arms open a mile.
“That concludes your tour of my humble little Chamber.
May you come again next year, lads, unless your bravado does waiver.”
I leave that night, pondering, laughing nervously, and shaking.
Is the bulbous Butcher real, or was the dud just faking?
When I do not see my friend at all for several long, long days,
I call the local police station, heart pumping, temper ablaze.
I explain what we saw that night at the County Autumn Fair.
I explain what happened that night and how many people were there.
“But there was no such Chamber at the Fair this year, son.
Either you are on some good drugs or you’re exaggerating a ton.”
I hang up angry as can be, and my body becomes so tense.
My anger is never in check again; I act out without any sense.
My best friend never returns, and he is reported missing.
And every year at the County Fair I walk around tense, listening,
Watching and waiting, ears open to hear,
“Step into my Chamber, the one right over here.”
For if I find the bulbous Butcher and his Chamber of the Dead,
I will kill him ever so slowly using every technique that he said.
I’ll slice, I’ll dice his body to bits.
I’ll sizzle his brain and mash it to grits.
I’ll pierce his fingernails and puree his guts.
I’ll stew his eyeballs and roast his nuts.
I’ll yank out his lungs and fill them with blood.
I’ll rip out his veins and chew them like cud.
I’ll extricate his esophagus and use it as a bong
And I will make sure that the torture lasts long.
I’ll bury him alive, with maggots and the body of my friend.
I will be relentless in finding him and bringing his Chamber to an end.
Oh, yes. I will hunt down the Butcher until the very end of time.
I will make him pay dearly, and then claim the Chamber as mine.