It was the second day of the festival.
This time, the school doors were open to everyone who wasn't a student—as long as they had a ticket.
"Gahh! You! What is wrong with you?! I'm your classmate! You aren't supposed to scare me!!"
At one of the gyms, the haunted house had drawn a crowd. And right outside its entrance, an even more entertaining spectacle was unfolding—one that wasn't part of the attraction at all.
A boy dressed as a zombie sat on the floor, his costume impressively detailed: old, torn clothes stained with fake blood, grey contact lenses that made his eyes look dead, and realistic-looking wounds across his face—bite marks and gashes painted on with care.
It would've been a truly cool outfit…
…if that same zombie boy weren't currently crying.
He looked up from the ground, weeping, at a clown standing over him.
