How I accidentally orchestrated a Halloween uprising
You know those pop-up Halloween stores that materialize in empty retail spaces every October? The ones filled to the brim with motion-activated ghouls, shrieking witches, and skeletons that cackle when you so much as blink? Well, I decided to brave one of those labyrinths of latex and cheap thrills to find the perfect costume.
As I meandered through the aisles, I felt that familiar tickle in my nose—the kind that warns you a sneeze of epic proportions is imminent. I tried to hold it back, I really did. But nature had other plans.
“ACHOO!”
It wasn’t just any sneeze; it was the kind that echoes. The kind that makes nearby birds take flight. Immediately, the motion-sensor zombie beside me sprang to life, groaning and reaching out with its plastic hands. My sneeze had set it off. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
The zombie’s groans triggered a chorus of howling werewolves stationed on the next shelf. Their howls activated a trio of demonic dolls, which started laughing maniacally. The cacophony escalated as more decorations joined the fray—vampires rose from their coffins, ghosts swung from the ceiling, and a fog machine somewhere in the back started belching out mist like an overzealous locomotive.
Shoppers began to panic. A toddler in a superhero costume clung to his mother’s leg, eyes wide as a pirate skeleton brandished a cutlass in his direction. A group of teenagers tried to capture the chaos on their phones, but the strobe lights flashing from a nearby haunted house display turned their videos into psychedelic nightmares.
Employees darted around, desperately trying to silence the decorations, but it was like playing whack-a-mole with poltergeists. Every time they turned one off, another sprang to life. The sound system, perhaps sensing an opportunity, started blaring “The Monster Mash” at full volume.
And then things got *really* out of hand.
The combined vibrations from all the animatronics set off the store’s security system. Alarms wailed, sprinklers activated (because why wouldn’t they?), and suddenly we were all being doused with water. Wet, plastic spiders rained down from the ceiling, their strings tangled and knotted.
In the midst of the watery bedlam, a life-sized inflatable Frankenstein broke free from its moorings and floated ominously toward the exit, scaring a group of witches who had been peacefully plotting over a cauldron of discounted candy.
I stood there, soaked and bewildered, watching as the store transformed into a scene straight out of a B-rated horror movie directed by a lunatic with a slapstick fetish.
“Is this how the world ends?” I mused aloud. “Not with a bang, but with a sneeze?”
Eventually, the power overloaded, plunging the store into darkness. The animatronics slowed to a halt, their last groans tapering off like deflating balloons. The sprinklers ceased, leaving only the sound of water dripping onto the linoleum floor.
The emergency lights flickered on, casting an eerie glow over the disheveled aisles. Shoppers and employees alike stood in stunned silence, costumes and makeup running, plastic pumpkins floating in puddles at their feet.
An employee with a name tag that read “Hi, I’m Bob the Skeleton Crew” approached me, his expression a mix of exasperation and awe.
“What happened?” he asked.
I considered lying but decided the truth was stranger than any fiction I could conjure.
“I sneezed.”
He blinked. “You… sneezed?”
“Yeah. Allergies. Sorry about that.”
Bob looked around at the wreckage—the toppled displays, the soggy decorations, the exit sign hanging by a wire after being clipped by the rogue Frankenstein.
“Next time,” he said slowly, “might I suggest antihistamines before entering a store like this?”
“Noted,” I replied sheepishly.
As I squished my way toward the exit, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of embarrassment and absurd pride. After all, how many people can say they’ve single-handedly incited a Halloween riot with nothing but nasal power?
Outside, the sun was shining as if the universe hadn’t just witnessed my descent into accidental anarchy. I took a deep breath of fresh air—careful not to inhale any sneeze-inducing particles—and headed home.
Maybe this year, I’ll just reuse last year’s costume.
