Author's Note: Wondering about the numbers in the chapter titles? They're the publication years of the Stephen King novels that make up the chapter titles. Just thought I'd mention that, in case you were wondering. Here's Chapter 4.

Chapter 4: Creepshow (1982)

Gym. What a great way to end the day.
Not at all.
Go to Hell gym clothes. Go to Hell gym shoes.
Why is there no clock in here? I really need to get a watch.
If the bell doesn't ring-
Thank you. For slamming me into my locker.
"Hey, yo, piss wad. You're in my way."
Oh. Good. It's Gabe. Again.
"I'm sorry. I was breathing here."
"Yah, see, that's the problem," he said, obviously not enjoying my attempt at humor, "You're occupying my air, anal probe."
Luckily Stan showed up and distracted Gabe's short attention span before I could manage to get my ass kicked. Again.
How nice of Stan. Right.
"Hey, yo, Stan. Tomorrow night. Let's get her done. Yeah!"
Hearing jocks talk is like watching bacteria try to evolve. They just shouldn't try. It's obviously too hard and way beyond their comprehension to make any coherency of it.
Gabe left and I glanced at Stan. "It must really blow being you."
Smart, Casey. I must really like to see how many times in a single day I can risk being pummeled into the ground.
But he just looked at me for a moment.
"You have no idea." He said and left for the showers.
Is it possible that Stan is actually a good person? He never has given me any crap, actually. Maybe he is-
"Casey is that you?"
Huh?
I glanced down the row of lockers.
"Mrs. Brummel? What the fuck!"
What? Mrs. Brummel?
Something's not right.
I ran to the shower room. Stan was there and Mrs. Brummel was clinging to him, gasping for breath.
Something's definitely not right.
Stan looked at me, a scared look in his face.
"Get help!"
Yeah. Definitely.
I ran like Hell was biting at my heels. I nearly ran into Coach Willis who tried in vain to grab my shirt collar as I went past.
"What are you doing, son." He called after me.
"The... showers!" was all I could manage before I was out of hearing range, out of the locker room.
I stopped when I was outside and looked around, bewildered.
What now?
I could hear yet another commotion from the locker room.
Judging from Coach Willis' shout of "Stan! What the hell is going on?" my guess is that Stan bolted.
He joined me suddenly with a look that clearly said, "Yeah. I know I'm only wearing a fucking towel, but you can fuck off because I don't give a shit right now."
He looked around for a moment, then looked back to me. I nodded and we ran off to get to the principal's office and, instead, ran into Mrs. Olsen.
"Boys, boys." She blinked a couple times and smiled incredulous of anything we might tell her. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Mrs. Brummel is-"
"The showers were-"
"She might be dying and-"
"I'm not sure if-"
Her face grew more and more serious as we fumbled through an explanation. When she seemed to realize what had happened, her eyes narrowed and she looked at Stan. "Go wait in my office right now."
Then she turned to me. "And don't move once you're there."
She glanced back at Stan.
"Get dressed first."
I left for the office and he reluctantly went back to the locker room purposely trailing as far behind Mrs. Olsen as possible.
It didn't take him very long to change, and now he and I are sitting and waiting. He looks kind of pale, but I don't blame him.
He worked on expelling the water from his ear and I fidgeted with my camera. Mrs. Olsen came in, breaking the odd silence.
Stan stood up, immediately investigative. "Is Mrs. Brummel going to be okay?"
"Stan," Mrs. Olsen began, faltering with how to begin, "Mrs. Brummel has... been diagnosed with cancer and she's on a lot of medication at the moment." She paused. "It causes disorientation." She paused again, "We were hoping that she would get through the school year, but unfortunately..."
I stopped listening as something outside caught my attention.
Ah, just the sprinklers on the football field. I normally don't have such a short attention span, but-
Wait.
Who - or what - is that in the middle of the football field?
"Casey?"
I picked up my camera and zoomed in on the figure.
"You understand?"
It was... the coach...
"Casey, you understand?"
What is going on?
Mrs. Olsen cleared her throat as a warning. "Casey?"
I blinked and pulled my gaze away from the window. "Yeah... Sure."
What the hell is going on?