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The Black Sheep The College Newspaper That's Actually About College
Vol. 7, Issue 5
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10/24/13 - 11/6/13
KalamaBOO! Chilling College Tales to Spook Your Friends BY: Hannah Weyer The Black Sheep discovered a dusty book buried in the back of Waldo. Inside were some of the spooookiest Halloween stories we’ve ever read. We’ve transcribed them for your enjoyment, but please, read on with caution… A Nightmare on Water Street: It was a cold, rainy night in October, and Buster was troubled. In a mere six hours he had a physics exam, and he had forgotten all about it until two in the morning, six episodes into a Game of Thrones marathon. Buster quickly realized that there would be a time to sleep, but it was not this night. “Coffee,” Buster thought. “I need coffee in my body.” So he got into his car and he drove around to find the nearest coffee shop. A light flickered in the distance and Buster gasped at his good luck. “I thought Water Street closed at 11! Jesus IS my friend!” Buster parked his car and ran out of the rain into the cute little coffee shop. The lights were dim and the shop was empty, save for one pale, skinny woman at the counter. “Goooooood eeeeeeveniiiiiing,” the cashier greeted Buster. “Hi, yes,” he answered. “I need a coffee with extra coffee, please.”
“For heeeeeeere?” the woman asked. “Or to goooooooo?” “Here, if you don’t mind. I’ve gotta study.” The cashier gave Buster a wry smile. “Foooourteeeeen niiiinetyyyy threeeeeeeee.” “What?!” Buster said. “Why is it $14.93?!” The cashier frowned. “You’re being very ruuuuuuuuude.” Buster blushed and gave her fifteen dollars. “Sorry. Keep the change.” Ten minutes later, after Buster had sat down and tried to focus on algorithms or whichever thing physics is, the cashier brought him out a coffee the size of his head. Buster nearly wept. “I love you,” he called after the cashier before she disappeared to the back. He took a sip of the coffee. Immediately, he knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. A ghostly voice echoed in the shop as Buster drank his coffee. “If you fall asleep in your dreeeeeeam,” it whispered, “you fall asleep in real liiiiiiife…” Suddenly it hit Buster. Decaf.
Paraphile Activity: Buster had really lucked out finding Betty right after last call at The Library. And he had majorly lucked out that Betty’s apartment was half a block away. He just couldn’t believe how much he’d lucked out that her roommates were gone for the weekend. So when Betty brought out the zip ties, Buster didn’t even want to try his luck by asking questions. His hooves were a little tight on the bedpost, but what’s playful light bondage without a little sting? “What are you gonna do to me?” Buster asked cheekily. Betty smiled and grabbed the whipped cream from the nightstand. “Shut up. I hate you.” Buster laughed and waited for the whipped cream. But instead of putting it anywhere fun, Betty began huffing fumes from the almost empty can. “I CAN SEE YOUR SOUL!” she shouted, laughing. It then occurred to Buster that no one knew where he was and his phone was dead. Betty put on a clown nose and dinosaur hand rubber gloves. “Okay, you suck on my toes. I’m gonna shave your belly with a dull kitchen knife and Ivory soap. Ready? BREAK!”
“Wait!” Buster shouted. “I don’t like any of that!” “Don’t be a pussy!” Betty shouted, shoving her feet into Buster’s mouth. “Smile for the camera!” “Mu faid vah weh wigh meanv off!” “Ha!” Betty said. “You’re a stupid idiot! Red lights always mean on! Now hum Christmas music while you suck on my feet! Silent night, holy night…” Buster’s last conscious thought of the night was “What smells like eggs?” The Scary Bitch Project: No one likes group projects, except for the people who make group projects miserable. The letter M loved group projects, a fact that knocked her down from a solid 8 in Buster’s eyes to a -17. His other groupmates, Sparty and the letter C, glared at M and Buster sighed. “Let’s meet in the library tomorrow night with our notes,” M said. “We can divide and conquer the topics so we cover more ground. I want to be as thorough as possible!” “Great,” said C after a pause. “So… what’s our topic again?” Sparty and M both rolled their
eyes and sighed angrily. Buster did too. He hated C. M assigned chapters and topics and Buster pretended to understand. The next day, Buster was seriously hung over and not up for listening to M bitch about globalization theory or whatever the class was about, so he sent a group text. “SRY. FAMILY EMERGENCY. CANT MAKE IT TO LIBRARY.” Twenty seconds later, C responded. “ME EITHR. MY GRANDMA IS GETTING HER PROSTATE REMOVED.” Sparty answered, “I have the cancer.” By democracy rules, the study session was cancelled. And yet, Buster felt a pit in his stomach as he waited for M to answer. Two hours and half a cold pizza later, Buster’s phone buzzed with a text from C.
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“Gross,” he said. “Phone herpes.” But he opened the picture up. It was a red letter G lying on the floor. Buster looked closer and gasped when he realized it wasn’t a G at all. It was C, with one of her motion blurs broken off and stuck back on grotesquely. The phone buzzed again. E. C was bent at agonizing angles that made Buster’s bones hurt. Again. T. T. O. T. H. E. L. I. B. R. A. R. Y. Buster was paralyzed with horror. He couldn’t decide whether to call the police or his mother about the dismembered C. All he knew is that he wasn’t safe. Buster got up to barricade the door when his phone buzzed again. This time it was a picture of Sparty’s head lying next to the broken C. The last thing Buster did was scream.