Hiya Mac! Voila, a beautiful infographic showcasing results from the Mactoberfest survey, a final Halloween treat brought to you by Project Metropolis:

“One of us will be dead by tonight.”
Ms. Hajime stood at the front of the room, hands clasped in front of her, her sharp black eyes trained heavily on the ground. Their depth and focus failed to mask the avoidance of eye contact. It was no doubt an awkward situation to admit that this would be the seventh year a random teacher’s body was mysteriously found somewhere in the halls of William Lyon Mackenzie on Mactoberfest, with a puncture wound in the right wrist to mark blood drawn.
Mr. Hoffman raised his hand, “So are we actually going to stop it from happening this time?” Ah yes, the question on everyone’s mind.
Ms. Hajime flushed. “Unfortunately, we have procrastinated yet again and so, even I have no plans,” she phrased out carefully. There was a collective of nervous chuckling and muttering across the conference room.
“However,” Ms. Hajime continued, “There’s a likelihood that the serial killer will not strike until after midday. We shall have another meeting here at lunch. Until then, brainstorm some ideas, please. And also speak to students in your class who you know have been held back more than a year… see if you can find anything.” She clapped her hands. “Meeting adjourned.”
It was relatively quiet as staff - teachers, hall monitors, cafeteria cooks, and teachers alike - assembled their belongings and proceeded to their Period 1 destinations. Mrs. Joules, the science department head, swivelled around to face me.
“Splendid costume, Mr. Seavann,” she gestured at my firefighter ensemble.
“Well, what with all this,” it was my turn to gesture, but with my black-gloved hand and around the gloomy lunchroom, “we need some folks to be a silver lining.”
Mrs. Joules nodded kindly, “Yes, yes, how noble.”
There was a long silence as we headed down the hall to our respective classrooms, I to Grade 11 Chemistry and she to Grade 12 AP Biology.
“I’m so sorry for you,” Mrs. Joules’ throaty voice cut the air.
“What, why?” I asked, confused.
“Well, just that you must have to be so unfortunate. You still feel new to the school, because you’ve only been here for about seven years but there have been all these dreadful murders happening for six of them,” she rambled.
“I’ve always attracted bad luck,” I shrugged in an attempt to relieve my superior of her guilt.
“But this! This goes beyond bad luck, I’m afraid. It’s just too coincidental. I fear…” her voice dropped a pitch, “I fear you’re the one they’re after.”
My heart stopped momentarily. Poor Mrs. Joules was trembling hard at my side. I patted her shoulder gently, “I’ll be alright. We’ll be alright.” The trembling slowed down a bit, but as we parted ways, I knew that all those crazy thoughts were still running wild in her brain.
Briiiiing! Two and a half hours later, I stood at the front of the room, costume still intact, students considerably out of control as they flooded out, chattering excitedly amongst one another. “Don’t forget your lab reports are due tomorrow!” I called in vain. I simultaneously grabbed the arms of two students just before they reached the door. These two, I had been keeping my eye on during the entire period. Jessica Li and Nicolas Cartier looked up at me rather fearfully, her through her cat mask and he through his Sherlock Holmes spectacles, hands stuffed in his pockets. I had their attention. I let them go and they stepped a foot back towards the middle of the classroom, waiting for me to speak.
“The two of you aren’t doing too well right now. Jessica, you’ve missed three consecutive deadlines, and Nicolas, it isn’t attractive how you choose to nap instead of writing your tests. At this rate, you’ll end up repeating a year… again. Care to explain yourselves?” I tapped my fingers on the lab bench on my left.
Nicolas shrugged, “Why should you care what I choose to do?” The ignorant brat.
“I care because I am your teacher and because I am a citizen. It’s kids like you that eat up tax dollars sent to fund free secondary education,” I snapped.
“You educators are all after money after all,” Nicolas sneered unfazed, “you make me sick.”
He brushed past me, exiting the room.
“You’re the one who makes me sick!” I retorted. My eyes remained concentrated on the second suspect though. Just in case.
Jessica seemed to realize she was up next.
“Sir!” she squealed, “I’m really really sorry. It’s just that everything’s been so confusing and so busy and I… I-” her tears cut her off.
Something inside me softened. “It’s alright to not understand Chemistry,” I reassured her. She looked up at me with hopeful eyes. “But it’s not alright to take Chemistry if you know you don’t understand it. Drop the course if you’re struggling, don’t stay stuck in school because of it.”
The hope vanished from her eyes, and in its place formed distraught. “See?! Even you don’t understand me! You have no idea what I’m going through, what I have to do today, and-and… UGH, you teachers are so heartless!” she burst out of the room, brushing past me even harder than Nicolas had, her black cat tail wagging behind her. For Pete’s sake, what I would do to teach AP kids who had already passed grade 11 and knew what they were doing now.
On the way to the lunchroom for our second staff meeting, I stopped by the washroom. Inside, I found Mrs. Joules dutifully filling up her water bottle. “Any luck?” she asked me as I checked the stalls. “Two kids… reasonably suspicious,” I replied. They were all so dirty. I decided I’d be fine. “Well, see you at the meeting,” I waved. “See you!” Mrs. Joules called back, back to me as she fastened the lid.
“I swear, I didn’t do it!” I stood in the doorway, having just walked into a scene. Nicolas was in the staff lunchroom, his hair worked in a frenzy, hands finally unstuffed from his detective pants. All the staff surrounded him, over the top suspicious.
“Why were you in here alone then, playing with the food in our fridge?” Ms. Hajime inquired, once again at the front of the room.
Nicolas threw up his hands, “I just wanted to play a prank on Seavann!”
Ms. Hajime narrowed her eyes, “A prank? Could this be a murder prank by any chance? Murder by poison?”
“No! I swear, why would I kill a freaking teacher?!” He was too panicked to be suspicious now.
The staff began muttering stuff about a waste of time, when, all of a sudden, a scream came from outside. The hall monitor, who had been standing outside as a guard, burst in. “Mrs. Joules…” she gasped, “she’s… she…”
She didn’t need to finish. We all bolted out, following the direction of the chatter and whistles and shrieks, down the cobwebbed corridors and up the dimmed stairs. And then we found her. Strewn across the tiled floor, right wrist with a gaping scar, and over the body… Jessica Li.
The girl screamed and cried as she was dragged off by the police. I got congratulated for having suspected her rightfully, albeit too late. “At least this will have been the final year,” Ms. Hajime said confidently. What a relief.
That night, at home, I pulled off my firefighter costume wearily. It had been a long day, but at least it had been fulfilling. Out of my bag, I pulled out the matching black gloves I had taken off earlier. Walking into the pantry, I unfolded them, pulled out the dark vial wrapped inside, and opened the empty cupboard to add it to a neat array of six gleaming red bottles, marked by the year.

Halloween Assignment. The words stared back at me from the paper handout, menacingly because not only did it have the dreaded words “assignment,” but it had the word “Halloween” too. That meant this was a big, special assignment. Little did I know it was going to be the assignment.
Mrs. Snore cleared her throat at the front of the classroom. “So yeah. It’s not a lot. Just a doll going up five steps and asking for confirmation from the user to keep going. Once she reaches the fifth step, she stops moving and the program ends.”
Justin’s hand shot up, “Do we need graphics?”
“Nah, you kids get off easy this time,” Mrs. Snore grumbled, “No graphics. No animation. Just console updates… though I have a feeling that’ll be enough.”
As the class cheered and pumped fists, Mrs. Snore pulled out a bag. From inside, she pulled out one small package, a couple of candies wrapped inside a pumpkin and ghost-themed plastic bag. The cheering got louder. Nothing like free candy. We giddily reached out as Snore handed the candy grams out, one to each kid. A closer look revealed the two or three Hersheys, Kitkat, Smarties, and Rockets. There was also a tiny creepy doll figurine. With its hard plastic grin and shiny mat of brown pigtails, it was far from attractive. “I added that as a little souvenir of this project,” Mrs. Snore explained, “It should serve you well… just don’t neglect it on the stairs,” she finished with a grin that challenged the wickedness of the doll just gifted.
I rushed home fast, eager to get the assignment done as soon as possible and actually get more than an hour or two of sleep. In my hurry, I threw my backpack, with its binders, textbooks, Mrs. Snore’s candy gram, and all, on the steps leading upstairs. I myself jumped onto my computer, immediately launching into productivity… accompanied by some good old fashioned procrastination-oriented gaming.
11:58 shone my digital clock, not nearly as condescending as the full yet brooding moon outside. The house was dark except for the bright blue screen displaying hundreds of lines of (unnecessary) code, quiet except for my fingers typing and untyping that code. After a final click, I took a moment to rub my dry, waning eyes underneath my glasses. Just about done. Semi-colons, user-input, and all. Time to test it out, I decided tentatively. It might end up having a few million errors, but better see it at midnight and fix it, then in front of Mrs. Snore tomorrow and have myself be the one that gets “fixed.”
Compile. Done. At least no syntax errors. I took a shaky breath, then hit Run. And run it did.
What is your name?
Gavin
Hello Gavin. I am your new doll.
Press 0 to continue.
Okay, it was going too well to break.
0
Gavin, I’m on the first step.
A loud thump came from somewhere downstairs. Something must have fallen over.
0
Gavinn, I’m on the second step.
Another thump, a bit louder this time. Boy this was starting to get weird.
0
Gavinnn, I’m on the third step.
Thump! At least the program was correctly concatenating a replica of the last character in the name?
0
Gavinnnn, I’m on the fourth step!
THUMP. Maybe it wasn’t that the thumps were getting louder, but that they were getting closer.
0
Gavinnnnn, I’m on the fifth step!
THUMP!!! By now cold sweat was dripping down my neck, my forehead creased in confusion. I reassured myself, however. This was the fifth step. If I wrote the program correctly, this is where it should end.
0
Silence.
THUMP!!!!!
I jumped from the sheer noise, taking a moment to collect myself before peeking at the console.
Gavinnnnnn, I’m on the sixth step…
Had I accidentally gone into an infinite loop? But no… that wouldn’t explain the uncoded change in punctuation. I decided I might as well see what was in store.
0
Gavinnnnnnn, I’m on the seventh step!
As expected.
0
Gavinnnnnnnn, I’m on the eighth step!
Of course it was.
0
Gavinnnnnnnnn, I’m on the ninth step!
Of course it was…
0
Gavinnnnnnnnnn, I’m on the tenth step.
My heart pulsed (not at the thumps that were still ongoing, I’d sort of gotten used to those by now) at the period. It seemed almost sentencing… and the stairs in my house had ten steps.
0
This was so stupid, why was I afraid of the code I myself had written? And yet, nothing could stop my limbs from shaking, the goosebumps from running up and down my forearms as the corners of my eyes furtively glanced back and forth, from the obtrusive monitor to the pitch black hallway beyond my bedroom door.
Gavin. I’m in your parents’ room.
No thumps this time. Almost as if the doll whatever it was was trying to be stealthy.
I didn’t want to press that damned 0 key, but almost as if it were no longer mine, almost as if it were being manipulated, my finger trembled. And then, it slid forward.
0
I braced myself.
Gavin. You’re next.
Mrs. Snore’s words echoed in my wiped out ears that had given all their sense to my eyes at midnight coding hour. “just don’t neglect it on the stairs”
Oh boy, that was a doll too… and I left it on the stairs.
0
I hadn’t even realized my frozen index finger was still hanging over the 0 key, and in my sudden realization, I had dropped it, unleashing nihility.
Gavin. Look over here.
I looked.

“They say, the ghost of Benjamin Sullivan comes to life on the night of Mactoberfest to haunt the fresh souls of WLMAC.”
“I heard, Sullivan was Mackenzie’s arch-nemesis throughout his entire life, and even in death, the two have never stopped trying to destroy each other’s legacies.”
“I heard, that because Mackenzie arrested Sullivan way back in the day, Sullivan wears the biggest chains that go clank… clank… clank…”
“I heard, Sullivan only likes the taste of grade 9 souls.”
“I heard that Sullivan best likes the taste of grade 9s who don’t work on math in math class.”
We looked up to see the owner of the shadow, Mr. Nelson towering over us. “Mactoberfest comes and goes,” he grumbled, “and so do failures.” I panickedly attempted to cover my scrap work, a pathetic effort at drawing what was supposed to be a simple line relation. “You might want to fix that before tomorrow’s test, Bella.” He had seen it. Darn. The burn in my ears deepened as he passed by my chair to check on the next table of victims. “It’s okay Bella,” Cat reassured me, “Only Marlie actually does good in this class anyway.” She gestured her head towards the serene-looking, spectacled kid at the back of the class before bringing her attention back to me. “So what are you dressing up as?”
“Huh?”
“You know, for Mactoberfest? I heard that here at WLMAC, Halloween is taken ultra seriously.”
“Oh… I don’t know. Probably as myself?”
“Ewww. That’s freaking boring. I’m dressing up as a black cat.”
Figures.
“I guess I’m gonna be a ghost then.”
“Oh, that’s actually sick! Are you gonna wear some fancy material cloak or something?”
Expectations, expectations.
“No. I’m wearing my old white hoodie that says ‘Snowbody.’”
“Aw… I guess that’s all you got, huh.”
“Uh-huh.”
Cat knitted her eyebrows as if to say I was being lazy without actually saying it. I didn’t mind, though, I knew it myself. I couldn’t care less about Mactoberfest or about ghosts. But, wearing an oversized white hoodie that questioned my existence for the sake of the day, it wasn’t too much to ask.
That night, after hours of struggling over math, I decided the struggle was not worth it and dragged myself into bed at 2 am. My dreams weren’t much better than my reality. Thoughts of the impending test the next day, and of how Mr. Nelson might just summon the ghost of Sullivan to be rid of me, the worst grade 9 student in William Lyon Mackenzie CI’s long and legendary history of terrible grade 9 math students, flooded my brain, threatening to suffocate me. My heart jolted when a wicked face that must have been Sullivan obscured my dream vision. His long spindly fingers reached out for me like spiders for prey trapped helplessly in their cobwebs. I tried to scream but choked instead as the icy cold hands, shackled by chains, wrapped around my throat. Sullivan’s eyes bulged with intensity and fervour, delight at finally dangling the life of a Mackenzie niner over a cliff. I squeezed my own eyes shut in fear, to spare myself some terror as I prepared myself for the defining snap in my neck. The burst in my chest came first. So painful and so sudden that I was launched out of the nightmare. I was back in my bed. In the dark, but in safety. It was just a dream… just a dream… I told myself, hoping that enough repetition would make it believable. Somehow, I eventually managed to slip off consciousness until morning.
Sizzle sizzle… bacon. I gingerly hopped out of bed into the crisp morning air, pulling on the old ‘Snowbody’ hoodie I had promised Cat I would wear. At least it would keep me warm.
From downstairs, I could hear Tommy already wolfing down his breakfast, the clatter of dishes as my parents warned him not to choke. Choke. That word had a whole new meaning now, but I chose not to ponder over it. “Mom?” I called as I approached. It was Dad who came running up, seemingly to greet me, except that he plowed right past, a look of angst on his usually bright face. “What’s up?” I tried to ask, but he was already gone, somewhere in one of the bedrooms. Mom came up next, also looking grim. “Heart must have stopped in his sleep,” she was muttering, and my blood ran cold. Could it be that Granny had finally kicked the bucket?
I guessed I would ask Tommy.
As I neared the dining room table, I realized that what was probably supposed to be my bacon was starting to burn in the frying pan. Eh, I thought, it’s not like I like bacon anyway. I grabbed an apple and without looking back to ask Mom or Dad to confirm the depressing news, headed out the door.
At school, everyone was in a much more festive mood. Witches, Count Draculas, mummies, Frankensteins, creepy dolls, and devils alike swamped the halls. SAC was clearly up all night because the school itself was revamped in every way possible. Fancy banners hung from every doorway and cobwebs lay strewn across the floor tiles and in between drawn cracks on the walls. From the ceiling hung sparkling orange and black streamers, and it was under one especially ornate cluster that I found the black cat I had been looking for.
“Cat!” I yelled. She didn’t seem to hear me. I ran up to her, waving wildly. “Cat! I’m wearing the hoodie. Just like I promised.” Cat shook her head, the eyeliner-drawn whiskers across her cheeks twitching annoyedly. “Unbelievable,” she grumbled. I stood, frozen, as she pushed past me and towards the cafetorium. Was the problem that I hadn’t put on ghost makeup like she had put on cat makeup? That was a dumb reason to get so angry. My eyes stung. It felt pretty crappy to be ignored so much within less than two hours. A drop of liquid threatened to abandon the protection of my eyelids. I sniffled. Gosh, I needed some privacy. Dropping my apple, I made for the girls’ washroom on the second floor. The one nobody ever visited in the morning.
Cracked glass. This is me, I realized. Hopeless. Unimportant to my parents, a disgrace to my math teacher, and an irritation to my best friend. I splashed cold water onto my face. Some drops splattered onto my hoodie. It was cold. But not nearly as spine-chilling as when I heard the chains.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
They were heavy… they must belong to someone who can carry their weight… or someone who has carried their weight for a hundred years…
Clink. Clink.
I thought it was just a legend.
Clink.
I turned around.
I was looking into the piercing eyes of a frail old man. His cheekbones would have won him a fine part in a Russian ballet, his long and nimble extremities too, were it not for the occasional limp with which he walked. I could see the heavy metal watch just barely fastened on. That must have been where the sound came from. I knew better than to ask him what he was doing in the girls’ washroom. The antique dusty suit and time-worn mask of a face were all too real and terrifying to be costumes. But this wasn’t Benjamin Sullivan. This man, I recognized. It was William Lyon Mackenzie.
The ancient politician regarded me fiercely, as if waiting for me to beg for his mercy. He didn’t need me too. I was already on my knees. “I’ll try harder in math!” I blurted, “I’ll actually listen to Mr. Nelson, and if I flunk today’s test, I swear I’ll take it to my parents. No more forging signatures.” Mackenzie didn’t budge from towering right over me. “Please!” I pleaded, “Anything. I’ll do anything, just don’t consume my soul!”
This brought on a raspy chortle, but he didn’t back up. Instead, he cleared his throat, rearranged his wristwatch with a clink, and then, finally, he spoke.
“Young one,” he began, “do I look like someone who would murder the students of the very school that bears my name?”
Frankly he did. The man didn’t wait for me to respond, however.
“You think so, huh? Well then, allow me to share with you my wisdom.”
He stepped forward with another awful clink. I hoped the hoodie was concealing my terror.
“For a century I have been dead. Watching the living. Observing what we have in common,” clink, “and what is so discriminant.
“Over the course of my research, I have come up with three conclusions.
“One, that the saying that only the dead see the end of war is false.”
I didn’t even know there was a saying like that. Mackenzie seemed to find its inveracity exceedingly depressing, though, by the hardness at which he scratched his head.
“Two,” he continued in his raspy voice, the clinks sounding on his wrist as he got excited, “only the dead cannot die.”
Now wait a minute, what did that have to do with anything? The pieces came together just as Mackenzie raised his index finger up to make a point. Clink.
“And three. Only the dead may see the dead.”