The Lazy Boys Club - The Candy-Box of Horror

Chapter 1

My name’s Raj. And I’m the best batsman in my school.
No—scratch that. I’m the best batsman in the entire city.

At least when it comes to cricket. Team captain with most sixes. The kid who made the Lincoln High team cry last season. Yep, that’s me. Raj, the cricket king.

I’m twelve years old, and I’ve been the top scorer on my school’s cricket team three years in a row. Captain of the squad. The one everyone counts on when the game is on the line.

And believe me—when you’re the guy everyone counts on, you feel it. You feel the pressure. You feel the excitement. And you feel the power.

Because kids my age don’t get much power. We’ve got homework. We’ve got boring classes. We’ve got teachers yelling at us to “sit straight” or “stop chewing gum” or “get back in line.”

But out there on the cricket field? The whole school chanting your name?
That’s power.

My dad loves cricket, but unfortunately, he couldn’t become a cricketer. He is a pilot. He wanted to spend his time on the cricket field, but now he spends more time flying over continents than being in the same living room as me. Sometimes he’ll send me pictures from weird airports I’ve never heard of.

My mom’s a nurse. A nurse with insane hours. Sometimes she leaves before I’m even awake, and sometimes she doesn’t come back until way after midnight. That means, most nights, I’m alone.

My dad wants me to become independent and take care of my responsibilities. And that’s what I do. I don’t complain. I’m grown up. I can make my own noodles, I can wash my own sports jersey, and I can survive without bedtime hugs. My dad could not become a cricketer, so he got me into a school which focuses on cricket and other sports.

My school, Greenfield Public, takes cricket seriously. And I mean seriously. We’ve got posters of players up on the gym walls. We’ve got practice every evening. And if you’re on the team, you get treated like royalty. Everyone knows your name. Everyone wants to be your friend.

Well—except maybe the teachers. But who cares about them?

I’ve got my crew, my squad, my brothers. Enzo, my best friend, always at my side. And four other guys who play on the team with us. Together, we’re unstoppable.

Especially against our biggest rivals—Lincoln Academy.

“Raj, you’re gonna crush them today,” Enzo said that afternoon, grinning as we stood at the edge of the park near our school.

I tapped the cricket bat against my shoe and smirked. “Of course I am. Lincoln does not have a chance.”

The guys laughed. They always laughed at my jokes. That’s the thing about being captain—when you talk, people listen. When you joke, people laugh. When you make a promise… everyone believes it.

Enzo slapped me on the back. He’s a big kid, almost as tall as some of the older boys in eighth grade. Messy black hair like mine, but his sticks up no matter how many times he combs it. He’s kind of like my twin—but louder, meaner, and not as good at cricket.

“Yeah,” he said, grinning, “Lincoln won’t know what hit them. We’ll smash their stumps into the next city.”

The other guys—Ravi, Kunal, Ashok, and Sameer—cheered. I loved when they cheered. It felt good.

We were standing in the late afternoon sun. The park grass stretched out behind us, the same park where we practiced every day after school. The concrete street ran in front, and beyond it—rows of houses, little shops, and the old neighborhood that led up toward the school gates.

That’s when she walked by.

Wanda.

The weird girl from our class.

Her head was down, as always. Her arms clutched a few books tight against her chest, like she was afraid someone would steal them. Her hair hung over her face. And her clothes—ugh. They looked like hand-me-downs from ten years ago. The kind of stuff kids wouldn’t even wear at a costume party.

Enzo spotted her first. He smirked and nudged me. “Look. Scarecrow Wanda’s on the loose.”

The guys snickered. Sameer whispered, “Maybe she’s going to meet her freak friends.”

“If she has any”, added Enzo. Everyone laughed.

I couldn’t resist. “Let’s have some fun,” I said, grinning as I stepped forward.

I planted myself in front of her, blocking her path. She stopped instantly, her head ducked even lower.

“Where you going, Wanda?” Enzo asked, circling her like a shark.

“Home,” she whispered. Her voice was so soft I barely heard it.

“Don’t you own, like, normal clothes?” Enzo teased. “You always look like you got dressed in the dark.”

The guys laughed. Even I chuckled. But Wanda didn’t look up. She just hugged her books tighter.

My eyes narrowed. “What are you holding?”

“My… sketchbook,” she muttered.

“Sketchbook, huh?” I smirked. “Let’s see it.”

Her grip tightened. “No.”

Enzo laughed. “C’mon, Wanda. What’s the matter? You afraid your little love notes will get out?”

“Yeah,” Kunal added, “or maybe she draws pictures of Raj in her book.”

That got the loudest laugh. My ears burned. “Very funny,” I muttered.

Before Wanda could move, I lunged and snatched the sketchbook out of her hands. Her other books slipped from her grip and tumbled to the pavement with a thud.

“Raj—don’t,” she whispered. Her voice cracked.

But I was already flipping it open.

And then—I froze.

Page after page… after page…

Not silly doodles. Not flowers. Not houses. Not cartoons.

Monsters.

Terrifying, hideous monsters.

One had claws that stretched across the page, dripping with black ink. Another had horns that curled like smoke and eyes bulging out of its skull. Sharp teeth filled every gaping mouth, crooked and jagged and snapping right off the page.

They looked alive.
Too alive.

My throat felt dry. My fingers trembled. I couldn’t stop staring.

Finally, I forced out a laugh. “No wonder you’re so weird, Wanda. Making all these ridiculous monsters.”

I tossed the book to Enzo.

He grabbed it—and his smirk faded fast. He flipped through a few pages, his face paling more and more with each drawing. Finally he snapped it shut. “Wanda… these are insane. You… you actually drew this?”

Wanda finally lifted her head. Her brown eyes shimmered strangely. Her lips trembled. “I like to draw them,” she said softly.

Her voice gave me a shiver I didn’t understand.

Enzo shoved the book back at her. “I don’t believe it. No way a kid like you drew this. It’s… it’s too scary.”

Wanda reached to take the book back.

That’s when Enzo’s face twisted in horror. He gasped. His eyes bulged.

“Raj—LOOK!” he shrieked. “Behind her! A monster—!”

I whipped my head around so fast I nearly toppled over.

And my stomach dropped.

Something huge was moving in the shadows behind her.

“Wh-what is that?” Sameer stammered.

“Run!” Ravi yelled.

Enzo stumbled backward. His face had gone ghost-white. “It’s real—it’s real—”

The others screamed and bolted. Wanda gasped and clutched her sketchbook tight to her chest.

I also stepped back. My legs shook as I dropped my bat. My chest heaved. The world tilted.

We crashed into each other as we tried to scramble away. We tumbled onto the pavement like bowling pins.

“IT”S COMING CLOSER!”, I shouted.

Chapter 2

Wanda ran.

Her books clutched tight to her chest, her sketchbook nearly slipping from her fingers, she bolted down the sidewalk without even looking back.

Her shoes slapped the pavement, her hair bounced against her shoulders. She stumbled once, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk, but kept going, faster and faster.

“Wait—ha ha ha!” I bent over, clutching my stomach, my laughter exploding into the cool evening air.

Enzo doubled over beside me, his eyes watering. “Did you see her face? Oh man! She was so scared!”

Arjun and Sid were on the ground, actually rolling around, kicking their legs. Nikhil slapped Ronny’s back, howling.

The whole gang was laughing—pointing—cheering at our prank.

I wiped a tear from my eye, straightened up, and called after her. “Hey, Wanda! Don’t forget your monster friend!”

She slowed. Slowly, very slowly, she turned her head.

Her eyes darted back over her shoulder. The empty sidewalk stretched behind her. No monster. No shadow. No growling. Nothing.

Her mouth opened, but no words came. She looked at us—me—with a face so red, I thought steam might pour out of her ears. Then she crouched, scooped up her scattered books, hugged them tighter, and marched off briskly toward her home.

Her shoes tapped a quick, angry rhythm until she disappeared around the corner.

Enzo grinned, still panting from laughter. “That was gold. Pure gold.”

“Best scare of the week,” Arjun agreed.

I smirked. “Halloween arrived early for Wanda.”

And with that, Wanda was gone.

But we had bigger things on our minds.

⸻

By the time we reached the school’s cricket ground, the Lincoln team was already warming up.

I’ll admit it—they looked tough. Older. Taller. Muscles bulging out of their jerseys. Their captain, Robby, looked like he belonged in tenth grade, not seventh. He was big. Big shoulders, square jaw, thick arms. His shadow alone could probably bowl faster than Sid.

But did we care? Nope. We were Greenfield. We were unstoppable.

I twirled my bat in my hand like a warrior’s sword. “We’ve got this,” I told my team.

The toss went my way. I chose to bowl first. Smart choice, right? Keep the pressure on.

Only… Crescent Valley wasn’t giving up easily. Their batsmen swung hard, hitting our bowlers all over the place. The score ticked higher and higher.

“Keep it tight!” I shouted, adjusting the field.

But they still scored 103 runs in ten overs.

One hundred and three.

That was our target.

“Piece of cake,” Enzo muttered, cracking his knuckles.

I nodded. “We can do this.”

And for a while, we could. We hit boundaries, we ran fast, we kept pace. The crowd of kids on the sidelines cheered every run. “Greenfield! Greenfield!” Their voices pumped us up.

Until the final over.

We needed six runs. Three balls left.

All eyes were on me.

I gripped my bat, stepped to the crease, and pounded the ground with the blade. My heart thumped. Thump. Thump. Thump. Louder than the crowd. Louder than anything.

Robby stood at the other end of the pitch, ball in hand. His eyes locked on mine. He smirked. He looked like he was about to eat me for dinner.

He ran in. His footsteps pounded. The ball flew from his hand.

I raised my bat.

And—

A face flashed before me.

Bulging eyes. Dripping fangs. A grin so wide it could slice open the sky.

The monster from Wanda’s sketchbook.

“No!” I gasped, swinging too late. The ball zipped past, straight into the keeper’s gloves.

“Missed it!” Enzo shouted from the sidelines. “Raj! We’ve got two balls left! Come on! Just one six! You can do it!”

I nodded, forcing a grin. “Yeah. Definitely.”

I adjusted my gloves. Tightened my grip. Focused.

Robby charged in again. The ball spun, fast, straight at me.

But this time—it wasn’t a ball.

It was a face. The monster’s face. The bulging eyes. The grim, terrible smile. Spinning through the air, flying straight for me.

I froze. My arms locked. My bat stayed low.

Crack!

The ball smacked into my helmet. My head jerked back. Pain exploded across my skull. My vision went white, then black.

I staggered. The crowd gasped.

I dropped to my knees.

The world tilted sideways.

“Raj!” Enzo’s voice boomed. “Raj! You okay?”

Hands grabbed me, pulling me up. My helmet clattered to the ground. The boys crowded around me, worried faces hovering.

“You’re lucky you had the helmet,” someone muttered.

I blinked, trying to shake off the darkness clouding my head. “I… I’m fine,” I croaked. But inside, I wasn’t. Not at all.

Enzo’s voice rose. “He can’t play. Retire him. I’ll finish it.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to say no, I’ve got this. But the blackout feeling pressed too heavy. I couldn’t see straight. Couldn’t think straight.

So I let him.

I stumbled to the bench by the park fence, slumped down, and watched.

Enzo raised his bat, confident. The bowler charged. The ball flew.

And—wham!

Enzo smacked it. Straight. Clean. Out of the park.

The crowd erupted. Cheers. Shouts. “Enzo! Enzo! Enzo!”

Our team swarmed him, lifting him on their shoulders, celebrating.

Me? I sat there. Helmet on the ground. Head aching. Heart sinking.

I should have been the hero. I should have hit that six. But I froze. Because of her. Because of Wanda’s stupid monster drawings.

⸻

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Shadows from the streetlight outside flickered across my walls.

I replayed the match in my head. The missed shots. The monster’s face flashing before my eyes.

I clenched my fists under the blanket.

It was Wanda’s fault.

Her drawings. Her monsters. Her weird, creepy little sketchbook.

I wouldn’t forget.

⸻

The next day at school, the cheers followed Enzo everywhere.

“Nice six, man!”
“You saved us!”
“You’re a legend!”

Kids clapped him on the back, shouted his name in the hallways. Enzo grinned, soaking it up.

I pretended I didn’t care. I leaned against the lockers, shrugged whenever someone mentioned the match. “Yeah, yeah, good job,” I muttered.

But inside, I was boiling.

I blamed Wanda.

⸻

History class.

The worst.

Mr. Walter strode in, towering like a giant. Six foot three. Bulky. His footsteps shook the floor. His round little glasses perched on his big face, magnifying his sharp eyes as he glared down at us.

Every kid straightened in their seats. No one dared breathe too loud. Even some teachers were scared of him.

“Homework,” he barked. “Life in a Medieval Village. Pass it forward.”

My stomach dropped. Homework. The one I hadn’t done.

Names were called. Papers shuffled.

“Raj,” his voice thundered.

I swallowed. “I… I didn’t do it, sir.”

Silence.

Mr. Walter’s shoes clicked against the floor as he marched toward my desk. He loomed over me, blotting out the light. His shadow swallowed my desk whole.

“All your cricket,” he rumbled, “all your games—none of it will help you pass the final examination.”

His breath smelled faintly of peppermint. His voice rumbled like thunder. “Submit your homework by tomorrow. Understood?”

“Understood,” I squeaked.

He spun and stomped away.

⸻

After school, I lingered near the gate.

That’s when I saw her. Wanda.

She walked out slowly, hugging her books again.

I grinned, stepping in front of her. “So, Wanda… what monster are you dressing up as for the Halloween party?”

She kept her head down. “Nothing.”

I laughed. “Come on. You’d be perfect as one of your monsters. Creepy drawings, creepy girl—perfect match.”

Her voice quivered. “Leave me alone.”

“Or…” I smirked. “You don’t even need a costume. With your face, your ragged clothes—you already look like a monster. You could go as yourself. ‘Character: WANDA.’”

Her head snapped up. Her brown eyes flashed.

“Why do you keep bullying me?” she demanded. Her voice shook, but it was strong.

“Why?” I snapped back. “Because of you! Because of your stupid drawings. Your monsters ruined me. I missed the ball, I didn’t win the match, and I couldn’t even do my homework because your monsters were in my head all night!”

Her face darkened. Her eyes narrowed. They gleamed in a way that made my stomach tighten.

And then—she looked past me. Her eyes went wide. Horror spread across her face.

I smirked nervously. “Ha ha. What’s this? You trying to scare me now? Like I scared you yesterday? Nice try, Wanda. You can’t scare me.”

But then—

I felt it.

A shadow fell over me. A massive shadow.

The ground darkened.

And then—

A hand landed on my shoulder.

Huge. Fingers as thick as sausages. Cold. Heavy.

It gripped me, firm and unyielding.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat.

Wanda’s eyes were locked above me, wide with horror.

This time, I knew.
This wasn’t a prank.
This wasn’t my imagination.

It was real.

Chapter 3

I felt my whole body freeze when I turned around and saw Mr. Walter towering over me. His shadow swallowed me like a giant tree blotting out the sun. His voice rumbled down like thunder, low but sharp.

“What are you doing, Raj?”

My throat went dry. My lips moved, but no words came out. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure Wanda could hear it too. I tried to speak, but only a weak croak slipped past my lips.

Mr. Walter bent forward, his circular glasses glinting in the afternoon light. His face loomed closer, and I swear, for a second, I thought I saw one of Wanda’s monsters hiding behind those glasses.

“You should focus on your history subject,” he said slowly, each word slicing me open like a blade. “You have not been doing very well. If you do not improve, I am afraid you may fail. I suggest you pay attention to history rather than wasting your time bullying students or running around on ground with a stick.”**

I swallowed hard. “Y-yes, sir. Definitely. I’ll do that.”

And just like that, I bolted. I didn’t even wait to see if Wanda was still standing there. By the time I dared to glance over my shoulder, she was gone.

⸻

Do I care about studies? Yes. I mean, of course I do. Everyone does, at least a little. But do I care about studies more than cricket? Absolutely not.

I mean, who in their right mind has ever become rich and famous reading history textbooks? Nobody. Well, okay, maybe Mr. Walter, he’s spent his whole life memorizing kings and wars, and where did that get him? Standing in front of a blackboard, scaring kids half to death, yelling about homework.

Now look at cricketers. They swing a bat, smash sixes, and the whole country chants their names. They’re legends. They make fortunes—millions, billions, maybe even trillions. Just look at Sachin Tendulkar! I bet he didn’t waste his time memorizing about the Civil Rights Movements in America. No way. If he had, he wouldn’t be the God of Cricket.

And then there’s me. Raj. Still sitting in a boring history class, while my head buzzes with the sound of bat against ball. If that’s a crime, then fine—lock me up.

⸻

But all that aside, something else was gnawing at me: the Halloween party. Just two days away. And I still had no costume. Enzo and David probably already had their outfits laid out—knowing them, they’d show up as some superheroes or vampires and look perfect. And me? I’d be the one standing in the corner like an idiot, the only kid without a costume.

Not this time. No. This year, I was going to win. I was going to walk away with that “Best Costume Award.” Last year, Sameer won dressed as Indiana Jones, swinging around with a fake whip. Seriously? Indiana Jones? Half the kids didn’t even know who he was. And still he won. There were kids dressed as zombies, mummies, even a vampire with fake blood dripping down his chin, but nope—the whip guy took the trophy.

Not this time. This time, I was going to crush it.

⸻

That evening, I found myself standing outside an antique store I had never noticed before. The sign above the door said "Freddy Collectables". Something about it drew me in—maybe the crooked wooden door, maybe the dusty windows, or maybe the way the whole shop seemed to lean into the street like it was whispering, Come inside.

The moment I stepped in, a chill wrapped around me. The air smelled of old wood, rust, and something damp—like forgotten cellars. The place was cluttered, every inch filled with strange objects. Masks hung on the wall, some smiling, some grimacing. There were shelves lined with cracked clay dolls whose glass eyes followed me as I walked. A grandfather clock stood in the corner, its pendulum ticking like a heartbeat, though the glass was shattered.

On the floor leaned a broken bicycle, its bell rusted and dented. On one table lay a stack of yellowed newspapers. And everywhere—on shelves, in glass cases, on hooks—there were carved wooden animals, tarnished silverware, vases with faded paintings of dragons.

“Hello?” I called out. “Shopkeeper? Anyone here?”

Silence.

I walked deeper into the maze of relics. Some things looked harmless, others made my skin crawl. A cracked puppet grinned at me with too many teeth. A candlestick twisted into the shape of a claw seemed to reach for me when I passed.

The sun outside dipped lower, and the dim shop grew darker. There were no lights, not even a bulb. Just long shadows that stretched across the walls. My footsteps echoed, and every creak of the floor made me flinch.

“Hello?” I tried again, louder this time. “Is anyone here?”

Still no answer.

That’s when I heard it. A sound. A hiss. Low and long, like a snake slithering in the dark.

My heart jumped into my throat. I spun around, my eyes darting everywhere. And then I saw it.

On a dusty shelf, inside a large inverted bell jar, there was a mask. Not just any mask. Its face was twisted, monstrous. The skin was pale and stretched tight, the mouth curled into a grim smile. Its eyes—God, its eyes—were glowing faintly, like embers in a dying fire. And as I stared, it growled. The sound was muffled through the glass, but I swear it growled.

Every hair on my body stood up. My chest tightened. My legs wanted to move, to run, but they didn’t. They froze.

“Okay… okay… it’s just a mask,” I whispered to myself. “Just a mask.”

But then the glow in its eyes flared brighter. The hiss grew louder.

I turned, desperate to escape. The door was there, only ten feet away. Just ten feet. But suddenly, it felt like a mile. My legs were heavy, my knees weak. Every step was a struggle, like walking through mud. My breath came short, shallow, ragged.

“Move, Raj. Move!” I urged myself.

The hissing grew into a growl, the growl into a roar. I could feel it vibrating through the floor, through my bones. My feet stumbled forward, but the distance to the door stretched farther and farther, like the shop was warping, twisting, trapping me inside.

Chapter - 4

The hiss stopped as suddenly as it had begun, replaced by a sharp click! A yellow light blinked on overhead, flooding the shop with a dull glow. I blinked, squinting against the sudden brightness.

And that’s when I saw him.

A man stood in the middle of the cluttered aisle, smiling at me with the kind of grin you don’t quite trust. He was middle-aged, maybe in his forties, with curly hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in weeks. He wore these wild boho clothes—loose linen pants that flapped around his ankles, a shirt patterned with swirls of purple and orange, and a long patchwork vest stitched from fabrics that didn’t belong together. Around his neck hung several pendants, clinking against each other every time he moved, and on his feet were sandals with mismatched socks.

He looked like a fortune teller who had just walked out of a circus.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice slippery, sly, almost like it slithered around me instead of coming straight. “I see you’ve found my new red monster mask.” He nodded toward the glass jar where the mask still sat, glowing faintly. “It has glowing lights in the eyes and comes with a speaker that growls. Kids are snapping it up like candy. Flying off the shelves this year, especially for Halloween.”

I stumbled back, dusting my shirt like I wasn’t just nearly scared to death. “Yeah, uh… it looks scary. For a moment, it almost scared me.”

The man laughed, a short, high-pitched laugh that made the hair on my neck stand up. “Almost? Ha! You nearly peed in your pants, boy. Don’t deny it. That mask is that terrifying.”

Heat rushed to my face. “I wasn’t that scared,” I muttered. “I don’t get scared that easily.”

He tilted his head, still grinning. “Alright, whatever you say. I am Freddy Foster. Proud owner of this shop... So… do you want the Red Monster Mask? It’ll make you the talk of the party.”

I turned to the jar, pretending to think. The mask’s eyes still seemed alive somehow, glowing faintly like coals. Creepy didn’t even begin to cover it. “Yeah, it’s… kind of creepy.”

“Go ahead,” he urged. “Try it. You’ll love it.”

“I don’t think—”

“Go on,” he pressed, stepping forward, opening the jar with a soft hiss. Before I could protest again, he held it out.

And against my better judgment, I slipped it over my face.

The world darkened, and when I looked into the cracked mirror propped against the wall, I almost jumped back. The reflection wasn’t me anymore—it was something hideous. The eyes bulged out like balloons ready to burst. The skin peeled away from the cheeks, leaving raw, red flesh underneath. Jagged teeth jutted out, crooked and yellow, while a slimy tongue hung from its mouth like a dead snake.

It was grotesque. Horrifying. And for one terrifying second, I couldn’t tell if I was looking at a mask—or if it had become my real face.

I yanked it off, gasping for air, and dropped it on the counter.

The man chuckled again, this time softer, leaning forward. His eyes glittered with something I couldn’t read. “Want to know a secret, boy? Something I’ve never told the other kids?”

I hesitated. “What?”

He leaned closer until I could smell the faint whiff of cloves on his breath. “The eyes you see in that mask… those aren’t painted. They’re real. From a real monster.”

I rolled my eyes inside my head. Yeah, right. And I suppose the claws on it were real too, and the skin was peeled straight off some demon wandering around.

“How much does it cost?” I asked, more to change the subject than out of real interest.

He spread his arms dramatically. “Normally? One hundred pounds. But for you…” His voice dropped into a whisper. “…only ninety-nine.”

“Ninety? That’s insane!” I scoffed. “I only have, like, ten bucks.”

He sighed, shaking his head like I had insulted him. “If you want regular stuff, I’ve got plenty. But if you want true terror, you have to pay the price, kid.”

“Well, then I guess I’m not buying it,” I said, turning toward the door. “Because ten bucks is all I’ve got.”

I had barely taken two steps when he called after me. “Wait. Wait! Don’t leave just yet. I have something else. Something just for you.”

He vanished through a beaded curtain in the back and returned carrying a small black box. With a theatrical flick, he opened it, revealing a pair of vampire teeth—plastic, with two long fangs. They glistened faintly, with red stains at the tips.

“These,” he whispered, “are not ordinary teeth. They’re the fangs of a real vampire. Rare. Powerful. Dangerous.”

I picked them up, turning them in my hand. And there it was—cheap plastic seams sticking out from the sides. The red stains looked like someone had scribbled marker on them. I almost laughed out loud.

“Uh-huh,” I said flatly. “Real vampire fangs, huh?”

His face darkened. “I’m telling you the truth. If you scratch yourself on them, you might turn into a vampire yourself.”

I forced a laugh. “Yeah, right. Nice try.” I set them back on the counter. “Not buying it.”

“Wait!” His voice rose suddenly, desperate now. “Did I tell you about the special offer? Buy the fangs, and I’ll throw in a bottle of fake blood. Free. On the house. Our shop is just starting up—I want good word of mouth.”

I paused. Fake blood could actually work. A bed sheet, some old clothes, splash of blood, vampire teeth—boom. Instant Halloween costume. Maybe it wasn’t the Red Monster, but at least I wouldn’t show up empty-handed.

I smirked. “Ten bucks, right?”

“Ten,” he nodded, smiling again.

I handed over the crumpled bill from my pocket. He slid me the box with the fangs and a small bottle filled with thick, red liquid.

“Nice doing business with you,” he said smoothly.

⸻

On the way home, my mind buzzed with possibilities. With these fangs and the fake blood, I could be a vampire. Or maybe a werewolf—just scratch up some old clothes and add the blood. The costume was practically ready in my head already.

But then another thought hit me like a cricket ball to the chest.

History.

Tomorrow, I had to turn in my history paper to Mr. Walter. And there was no way I could finish both the paper and the costume. One of them had to go.

And if I had my way, it was going to be history.

I just had to convince Mom not to send me to school tomorrow.

And I had a plan.

Chapter - 5

I woke up before the alarm. For a while, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my stomach buzzing with excitement. Today was the day—the day of the Halloween party. But more importantly, today was the day I was not going to school.
Mom’s footsteps echoed up the stairs. She was calling.
“Raj! Come on, get down. You’re getting late for school. And I have to go to the hospital. I’ve got a late-night shift today.”
I pulled the blanket tighter over my head. Not answering was part of the plan. I heard her calling again, sharper this time.
“Raj! Don't be lazy.”
I rolled over, ruffled my hair, and squeezed my eyes until they watered. When the door creaked open, I made my best droopy, dying face.
“What’s wrong with you now?” Mom’s forehead crinkled as she stepped closer.
I groaned. “I… I don’t feel so good. My stomach hurts.”
Her eyes narrowed instantly. “What did you eat last night? Don’t tell me you went out with Enzo and your cricket friends again. Pizza? Burgers? I told you—”
“No! No, no, I swear.” I clutched my stomach for dramatic effect. “I ate the Paneer and Paratha you left for me. But my stomach feels so bad. I can’t go to school today.”
Mom sighed, rubbing her temples. “I’ll have to call someone at work to take my shift.”
Panic shot through me. If she stayed, my plan would be ruined. “No, no, don’t do that! Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine if I just rest. I’ll stay in bed the whole day. Promise.”
She studied me for a second, her nurse instincts no doubt scanning for lies. Finally, she said, “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” I nodded, trying to look weak but brave at the same time.
She touched my forehead lightly. “No fever. Hm.” She picked up her bag. “Fine. But don’t make me regret this, Raj.”
The front door shut a minute later, and silence filled the house. I jumped out of bed, fist-pumped the air, and whispered, “Yes!”
It was time to become the vampire.

Down in the basement, I rummaged through old boxes until I found what I needed: a faded black bedsheet. Perfect. I cut it into a rough cape shape, then glued strips of cardboard covered in black cloth to make tall, pointy collars. They stood up like wings behind my head.
Next, I dug out some plastic sheets from a junk box, cut them into sharp-looking triangles, and taped them over my gloves. Vampire claws. A little floppy, sure, but from a distance, terrifying. I splashed some red paint over the cape for bloodstains, but it was too thin. That’s when I remembered the bottle Freddy gave me. I opened it carefully and dribbled the thick, syrupy “blood” across the sheet. It oozed and spread like the real thing.
By the time I was done, the living room looked like a murder scene. I didn’t care. My vampire costume was shaping up better than I had ever imagined.
Twice, my phone buzzed with Mom calling. I answered in my best sick voice. “I’m feeling a little better, Mom. Don’t worry. Just resting.”
She sounded satisfied and hung up.
Later, when the phone rang again, I didn’t even look before answering. “Mom, I’m fine! Really. You don’t have to worry—”
“Uh… bro?”
It was Enzo.
I almost dropped the phone. “Enzo?”
“Yeah. Man, how long are you going to take? The party’s been going on for an hour already. People are here, the decorations are crazy, and you’re missing everything!”
I glanced at the clock. Eight o’clock. The party had started at seven. I was already an hour late!
“Yeah, yeah,” I stammered. “I’m leaving right now.”
I hung up and rushed to the mirror. And oh boy, I didn’t just look good. I looked terrifying.
The cape fluttered around me when I moved, my claws gleamed under the light, and the vampire fangs fit perfectly. They weren’t shiny plastic anymore—they looked almost real. My mouth curled into a grin, and with the fake blood dripping down the cape, I looked like something straight out of a nightmare.
Better than any vampire in the movies. Better than anyone at school.

The streets were alive with Halloween. Kids in masks and capes dashed around, their candy buckets clattering, their laughter sharp in the chilly air. Ghosts, witches, mummies—they screamed at one another, chasing shadows.
I spotted Jack, the seven-year-old kid from next door, waddling along with two of his friends. He was dressed—ironically—as a vampire too. His cape was crooked, his fangs too big for his mouth, making him drool a little. Amateur.
I thought, Why not give him a scare he’ll never forget?
I crept up behind him, lowering my voice into a growl. “I vant to suck your bloooood…”
Jack turned, unimpressed. “Raj, I know it’s you.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re not scary,” he said, sticking out his tongue. His friends giggled.
Frustration boiled inside me. Oh, he thought I wasn’t scary? I leaned close, bared the fangs, and stared straight into his eyes. Then, in the deepest growl I could muster, I whispered, “Bow to your elder vampire… or face the curse.”
Jack froze. His little hands trembled. His eyes widened as he stumbled back. Finally, a scream tore from his throat.
I grinned. Mission accomplished.
But then something shiny in his candy bucket caught my eye. Among the chocolates and lollipops sat a rusty, hexagonal tin box. Strange markings swirled across its lid, faded and chipped away.
Without thinking, I snatched it. “This,” I said, “is your punishment for disrespecting your elder vampire.”
Jack yelped. “No! That’s mine! Give it back!”
“Off you go,” I said, sweeping my cape dramatically. “The night belongs to me.”
Jack and his friends shrieked and bolted down the street.

I turned the box over in my hands. The paint on its lid was faded — an old picture of a child reaching up for a jar full of candies. The edges were rusted, rough to touch.

I opened it. Inside there were candies of all colors, red, green, yellow and every color in between.

I plucked one out, and tossed it into my mouth. The taste was weird at first—sharp, bitter—but then it melted into something sweet and rich. Addictive. Before I knew it, I popped another.
The box slid into my pocket. My little prize.

As I hurried toward the party, people on the street kept staring. Some pointed. Others stepped aside nervously.
At first, I thought they were just impressed with my costume. But then one guy—an older student from school—took one look at me, paled, and backed away two steps.
“Dude,” he whispered. “You look… hideous.”
Hideous? I thought. That wasn’t right. I wanted to be scary. Smart. Terrifying, but cool. Not hideous.
Still, maybe that was a compliment. I shook it off and marched toward the party.

The music thumped from inside the decorated hall. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, orange lights flickered, and carved pumpkins glared from every corner.
I spotted Enzo right away— Frankenstein’s Monster. His face was painted a sickly shade of green, with dark lines drawn across his forehead to mimic stitches. Two silver bolts stuck out from the sides of his neck, wobbling every time he turned his head. I crept up behind him, grinning, and placed a clawed hand on his shoulder.
He spun around.
His face drained of color. His eyes bulged wide. With a yelp, he dropped to the floor, his whip clattering beside him.
“Wh-who are you?” he stammered.
I froze. My grin faltered.
He… didn’t recognize me?

Chapter - 6

I couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Enzo, who never got scared of anything—who once stood face-to-face with a street dog growling at him—had jumped back in terror when he saw me. And now, as he was slowly picking himself up from the floor, his eyes were still wide, like he was staring at… something else.

But then, the strangest thing happened. Instead of laughing at me, instead of teasing me like he usually did, Enzo said in a hushed voice, “Dude… that’s insane. I’ve never seen a vampire look like that before.”

And then, almost immediately, more and more kids crowded around me. They weren’t shoving me away, or ignoring me, or laughing. No. They were whispering, gasping, staring at my face as if it were… alive.

For a second, I thought I was dreaming.

Me—Raj, who always came second to Sameer in last year’s Halloween costume contest, who never had the coolest cricket bat, who always got scolded for history homework—was suddenly the center of attention.

I wanted to grin, but I thought, No, stay cool, Raj. Vampires don’t grin like fools. Vampires are smart, mysterious.

The music thumped in the background, kids were dancing, but everyone kept throwing glances my way. Some even pointed.

“Raj! Is that you under there?” one of the seniors, Rohan, called out. He squinted at me and whistled. “That mask is… wow. Dude, it’s unreal. Where did you even get it?”

I puffed my chest, feeling proud. “Oh, this?” I said, trying to sound casual. “I spent all day working on it.”

Which wasn’t exactly true. I hadn’t made any mask—it was just the costume and those silly fangs. But hey, a vampire’s gotta keep some secrets, right?

Still, a small part of me thought… Mask? What mask? I didn’t wear any mask.

Another kid, Winnie—this girl from ninth grade—came up to me. Her eyes sparkled under the party lights as she tilted her head. “Raj… I’ve never seen makeup like this. Not even in movies. The texture on your skin… it’s like it’s rotting. It looks so real!”

I laughed nervously, waving her off. “Yeah, yeah… I spent all day doing this. Took a lot of effort.”

Inside, I was glowing. This was better than I had imagined. People weren’t just impressed—they were amazed.

Later, while grabbing a soda, a guy from my cricket team, Aditya, nearly dropped his cup when I turned toward him.

“Raj! What the… bro, your eyes! They… they look like they’re glowing. You seriously nailed it. But how are you doing that? Are they contact lenses? Glow in the dark material?

I opened my mouth to reply, but he interrupted himself, shivering a little. “Never mind. Don’t tell me. It’s too creepy.” Then he walked away quickly, as if he didn’t want to keep looking at me.

I froze for a second. Glowing eyes? That wasn’t in my plan. But maybe it was just the lighting in the room. Yeah, had to be the lights.

By this point, kids were buzzing about me. Wherever I walked, they whispered. Wherever I stood, they stared. Some were impressed. Some were clearly scared.

I wasn’t expecting this, I thought, trying to keep my vampire act together. I just wanted to be cool. I didn’t know I’d end up being the star of the whole party.

Soon, Jerry from tenth grade—this tall guy who always acted like the “cool announcer” type—got up on stage with a mic. The music lowered, and everyone gathered around.

“Alright, everyone!” Jerry shouted. “What a night! We’ve seen some amazing costumes—pirates, ghosts, witches, you name it. But there can only be one winner for the Best Costume Award.”

I waited, bouncing a little on my feet. My heart thudded like a drum. Could it really be me?

“And the winner is…” Jerry paused dramatically. “RAJ! Our very own terrifying monster!”

A monster? I wasn’t a monster.

Cheers and claps erupted all around. For a second, I just stood there, stunned. Then I walked up to the stage, my cloak brushing the floor behind me.

Jerry handed me a Halloween lamp shaped like a grinning pumpkin. Its orange glow flickered eerily as I held it up. Some kids took pictures from their polaroid camera. “You deserved it, man,” Jerry said, his voice a little shaky. “Your makeup and costume are out of this world. I mean, seriously… it’s as real as if you’re a monster.”

I leaned into the mic with a smirk. “Correction—I’m not a monster. I’m a vampire.”

The crowd laughed and clapped. But I wasn’t joking. Not really.

When the music came back on, kids crowded me again. “So cool!” “So creepy!” “How’d you do that skin texture?” They were throwing compliments left and right.

I should’ve felt amazing. I should’ve been thrilled. And I was… mostly. But deep inside, one thought kept nagging me: Why does everyone think I look hideous? I’m supposed to be a scary, smart vampire—not some ugly monster.

The party finally wrapped up, and I walked home under the dim streetlights, holding my pumpkin lamp like a trophy. My mind buzzed with all the comments.

“Your eyes look like they’re glowing.”
“Your skin looks rotten.”
“It’s as real as if you’re a monster.”

Why were they so afraid? I didn’t feel hideous. I felt cool. I felt powerful.

By the time I got home, Mom still wasn’t back from her hospital shift. The house was dark, quiet. Perfect. I tiptoed into my room, placed the pumpkin lamp proudly on my desk, and smiled at it.

“Best Costume Award,” I whispered. “Finally.”

Then I went into the washroom to wash my face.

I flicked on the light.

And froze.

Because staring back at me from the mirror… wasn’t me.

It was a monster. A vampire, yes—but not the kind from movies. Its skin was cracked and peeling, grayish and wet. The eyes burned a sickly yellow. The teeth jutted out, sharp and glistening. The mouth curled into a twisted grin that wasn’t mine. The nails were like claws.

And worst of all… it moved when I moved.

It was me.

I let out a scream, stumbled back, and crashed onto the cold bathroom floor. My heart pounded, my breath caught in my throat.

This wasn’t a mask.
This wasn’t makeup.
This… was my face.

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