“I CAN’T DO THIS!” yelled Slim Shady, as our group of five stood in line inside the EL Public Library.

During the long weekend in the beginning of October, the police cadets hosted the local thrill: The Walk of Horror. “Slim Shady, if this baby can do it, you can too!” E-Dawg said, pointing at a drooling infant staring at us from its mother’s arms.

As we approached the doors that led to the trail, a spooky- looking monk (also a police officer who most likely pulled
over E-Dawg a few weeks ago for speeding) warned us of the terrible danger we were about to endure.

“Last night, someone was so incredibly scared. They were so deep in fear…they pooped their pants!” the monk exclaimed.

The comedic story relieved some of the tension among my friends, but the monk stepped aside to reveal the entrance of the dark, spiderwebbed trail and whispered, “Good luck.”

“NOOOOOOOO!” screeched Kenny as he gripped my arm so tight so tight it felt like it was going to fall off, and planted his feet in the deep into the ground.

“Keep walking!” I growled, dragging him with me as we walked forward into the impending doom.

We approached an ominous witch with glowing yellow eyes– eyes that looked hungry for our souls.

“STAY BACK! STAY BACK! DON’T GET NEAR ME!” screamed E-Dawg. He bolted past the witch, dragging us along with him, forcing us to enter a new room.

It stunk of rotting flesh and was deafening with the sounds of grinding bones. Giant meat sacks punched us in the face as they violently swung about. Some liquid (which I hoped was water) spritzed us, covering our faces with mysterious droplets. The men dressed in rotting pig-like masks cornered us in the room; their faces flashed with horror in the blood-red strobing light.

“LET ME GO AND I’LL GIVE YOU A KISS!” Kenny screamed and pushed his way through the burly pig-men.

The path led us to a circus tent, with at least 100 clowns…

“19 dolla Fortnite card,” whispered Kenny, trying to soothe himself.

The petrifying clowns positioned themselves in front of our faces and refused to let us through. Nervously, we pushed our way past them. Yet because we were all connected through linked arms, when we frantically ran, we became dominoes.

One by one, we toppled over onto each other like a pile of carcasses. We could feel the jumble of clowns slowly sauntering towards us.

Slim Shady raced up like a character from “Scoobv Doo,” and fled away from the soon-to-be crime scene. Kenny, who was tangled up with me, began to stand up, but I pushed him back down onto the other victims as I desperately raced after Slim Shady.

Slim Shady and I caught our breath outside the tent and saw E-Dawg and Kenny quickly follow after us.

“Where’s JFK?” I asked.

I heard a scream.

“MY SHOE!!! MY SHOE!!!” we heard JFK yell.

Suddenly, she raced out of the tent, shoe in hand.

“YOU LEFT ME!?” she screamed, angrily.

“It was fight or flight, JFK. Every man for himself,” laughed E-Dawg.

Throughout the rest of the walk, we endured chilling kid-zombies, rooms of creepy crawlies, a rattling bus of ghouls, and many more scares.

As we continued down the path, we made our way toward the exit of the trail, our heartbeats eventually slowing down.

“That wasn’t even scary,” Slim Shady said.