*Chapter 2: Smile for the Scream*
591 Words
By the time school ended, I was *exhausted.*
Not just “I stayed up playing games until 3 a.m.” tired — I mean *soul tired.*
Like every laugh had sucked a little piece of my sanity out through my nose.
I walked down the hall with the stunned shuffle of someone who’d just finished hosting the Oscars on Red Bull and anxiety.
People waved. Giggled. Whispered.
Someone even said, “You should be a comedian!” like that was a *compliment* and not a threat.
Then this kid—tall, red-haired, braces that could pick up radio—ran up beside me.
“You’re Derek, right? Locker 108?”
I nodded. “Yeah. You want an autograph or to stab me? Just checking.”
He grinned like I’d said the world’s funniest thing. “Oh my god, you’re *on fire,* bro.”
“No,” I muttered. “I’m pretty sure I’m having a breakdown.”
“Name’s Jason,” he said, offering a hand. “And I know what’s happening to you.”
That made me pause.
He leaned in. “Locker 108 doesn’t make you funny. It *feeds* on funny. You’re just the latest snack.”
“…You’re saying I’m a haunted vending machine?”
Jason looked dead serious. “You’re the gum someone finally bought after 10 years.”
I blinked. “That’s… both insulting and deeply concerning.”
He grabbed my arm. “Listen. I was you. Two years ago.”
Now *that* got my attention.
“You had 108?”
Jason nodded. “Wish number: ‘I want people to like me.’ Result? I became the most popular kid in school—until everyone started copying me. Obsessively. Dressing like me. Talking like me. *Being* me.”
“Wow. Narcissist’s nightmare.”
“I lost control. And when I tried to stop, they turned on me. *Like ants when you step on the queen.*”
I was about to make a joke about ant royalty when Jason looked over his shoulder, eyes darting like he expected something to jump out of a locker and tickle him to death.
“I got out,” he whispered. “But only because *someone else* opened it next. That’s the only way it moves on.”
I froze.
“Wait, so… until then, I’m stuck telling jokes until my personality combusts?”
Jason hesitated. “Or until the locker finishes feeding.”
I laughed nervously. “Feeding on what?”
He didn’t smile. “You.”
---
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I heard it:
> *Giggle.*
Not cutesy. Not human.
This one echoed.
Like someone laughing *through the pipes* of the house.
I stared at my ceiling. My brain wouldn’t shut up. I couldn’t stop **thinking in punchlines**.
I tried saying random, serious things.
> “The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”
> “My taxes are due.”
> “Existence is pain.”
But even *those* made me chuckle.
It wasn’t me anymore.
I was a walking sitcom.
A puppet strung on banana peels and rimshots.
And the worst part?
Deep down, *a little part of me liked it.*
Liked the attention.
The laughs.
The way people looked at me like I *mattered.*
But that’s how it gets you.
That’s how **Locker 108 wins.**
I sat up in bed, sweating. My mouth moved before my brain did.
> “I’m dying to make you laugh.”
And in the darkness, behind the closet door—
> *Heeheeheeheehee.*
- Writer
