teachers for dinner

“Gushy.” Mr. Malcolm thought to himself as his canines pierced the epidermis of Mrs. Kablowski, his annoyance of a colleague in the English Department. “Polish people…polish sausage.”

Mr. Malcolm retained all his mental faculties as the disease–given to him from his wife as the result of a sneeze–continued to domesticate anatomically. Surely such a simple sneeze only lays waste to mild germs, but who would have ever guessed supernatural bacteria hid so well beneath generic germs?

Anyway. No need for lengthy back story. Mr. Malcolm is almost finished feasting fatally on flesh. No less on a woman whom Mr. Malcolm didn’t fancy much anyway. “Brains. A mind is a terrible thing to waste–so I leave you with empty skull; poetic justice is served to me tasty.”




Gus Hiser walks in. Now why would he do a thing like that?

“Hey Mark I…” Gus is paralyzed in fear…A dormant cliche. Mr. Malcolm was insanely 28 Days Later and World War Z quick…maybe even quicker. There was no screams. “Going for the jugular” now has new meaning. Mr. Hiser’s jugular was already removed from his neck–now he was a mute just like his son.

“Gus. I’m sorry. But soul food…so good for my soul. Beans and cornbread…I understand now why blacks fancy it so well.”

Two kills, no, two meals in one classroom. So much blood–so much where a puddle requiring chivalry and jacket spills into the hallway. The Principal sees it…”What the Hell?!”

Mr. Malcolm has a new nose for new flesh. Instantly the cafeteria food scent carried on the words, “What the Hell?!” immediately hit Mr. Malcolm’s nostrils. He looked up at the door window.




The Principal burst in. Now why would he do a thing like that?

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