"A Chain-Letter Tale"

Or

"Why You Should Always Check Food Labels"

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Haley Alastair sat at her computer one dark, stormy night, reading her e-mail. As usual, her inbox contained enough spam to feed China and repair the Great Wall all in one go. With the speed and fluidity of one well practiced in the art of deletion, Haley cleansed her account of the junk.

One e-mail caught her eye, however. It was from her friend Lawrence, who was a legend in chain mail circles. No one could approach Lawrence in his ability to create and send chain mail. Haley smiled to herself and rolled her eyes. Someday, Lawrence would learn. Right now, though, she needed a laugh, so she opened the letter. “Somethin good better happen a 10:42 Body: Body: Body: this is by FARRRRRRR the nastiest thing I have ever read...gross..uhhhhhh yuck ...scroll down plzz,” the email proclaimed. Haley shrugged to herself and scrolled down. After the letter urged her several times to continue scrolling, Haley reached the bottom. It read:

“MY NAME IS MICHELLE LOUIS
I AM 15 YEARS OLD
WITH MASSIVE LICE
AND A TIGHT PURPLE SWEATER.
I HAVE NO LEFT FOOT OR EARS.
I AM DEAD.
IF U DO NOT RESEND THIS IN THE NEXT 5 MIN.,
I WILL APPEAR TONIGHT BY YOUR BED
WITH A fING CAN OPENER AND WILL MAKE YOU HELP ME
THIS IS NO JOKE
SOMETHING GOOD WILL HAPPEN TO U TONIGHT AT 10:42. SOMEONE WILL CALL U
OR TALK TO U ON THE INTERNET
REPOST THIS WITH THE TITLE:
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.”

Haley sat for several seconds, wondering what a “fing can opener” was. She thought about correcting the letter’s grammar and sending it back to Lawrence, but he probably wouldn’t notice to change. She glanced at the clock. It read ten forty-five. The magic moment for this letter was past, anyway. Haley deleted the e-mail, shut down her computer, and went to bed.

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The clock read eleven forty-six when Haley woke. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt certain that she wasn’t alone. She also felt very tired. If some sort of deranged murderer were standing beside her bed, he would do well to go ahead and leave. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with that sort of thing.

Haley clicked her bedside lamp on and sat up. Standing at her bedside was a girl about fifteen years old. She wore a purple sweater that might have been made of spandex and appeared to be infested with mutated fleas. The girl’s face was a pale oval with burning black eyes, and she had long black hair to cover her missing ears. She was also leaning to her left side, as though her left leg was shorter than her right. Haley thought that she might be dead. Then the girl at her bedside took a deep breath. Haley upgraded the girl’s status to “not-quite-dead.”

“Are you Michelle Louis?” Haley finally asked.

The girl nodded.

“How interesting,” said Haley.

Michelle nodded again. Then she held up a can opener. “You will help me,” she rasped.

“I’d rather not,” said Haley. “You see, I’m very tired. I have to go school tomorrow. If you could come back around three-thirty tomorrow afternoon, though, I’d be happy to assist you.”

“You will help me,” Michelle rasped again, holding out the can opener to Haley.

Haley shook her head. “No, I’m afraid that I cannot help you at this point in time. Now, please see yourself out of my house. It’s not good manners to just come waltzing in, you know.”

“You will help me,” Michelle rasped once more, as near a shout as she could.

Haley sighed. “Oh, very well. What must I help you with?”

Michelle dropped the can opener on the bed and pulled out a can of beanie-weenies. “Open,” Michelle said.

“Say the magic word,” said Haley. Michelle’s eyes flashed and she began to murmur in soft Latin. The almost-dead girl’s hair stood straight up, exposing her earless head. “Most impressive,” yawned Haley, “but I meant please.”

“Amabo te,” replied Michelle.

“Good enough, I guess,” said Haley. She set the can opener on the can of beanie-weenies and gave the device a few twists. “Try not to make a habit of this.” Haley turned off her light and went to sleep.

Michelle the not-quite-dead took her beanie-weenies and left. Little did she know, the can of beanie-weenies was close to five years old and long since spoiled. Still, Michelle ate every beanie and every weenie despite their rancid taste and contracted a terrible case of botulism. Then Michelle the not-quite-dead became Michelle the very-much-dead. And she never interrupted anyone’s REM cycle again.

The End.

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Oh, what nonsense chain mail breeds.