Oct 22, 2018 3 min read

A friend of mine requested a scary story for the Halloween season. I recalled a recent true tale of terror. A story so frightening, I felt it needed a warning. Please, read further … only if you dare. This story is guaranteed to give you chills!

There will be chills, as well as sniffling, sneezing, coughing, stuffy head, fever and more awful symptoms of the common cold!

Imagine, we’re sitting around a campfire on a crisp, autumn evening, toasting marshmallows, as I weave my spooky saga. Picture it, we are sitting side by side, but not too close, because it’s cold and flu season.

Once upon a time – actually, mere days ago – I was sitting on the bus on my way to work when it came without warning! It was a distinct noise that echoed of impending doom. Oh, the horror!

I heard the wet, sloppy sneeze that reverberated through the cavernous vehicle. It was a terrifying trumpet blast, a spasmodic contraction of chest muscles, expelling toxic material into the air. It sounded like Archie Bunker giving his famous raspberry salute. If I were searching for an onomatopoeia that would best encapsulate the sound, it would be the German number 7,254.

Siebentausendzweihundertvierundfunfzig!

I could feel the germs blasting their way toward me, a microscopic stampede throughout the bus. I pictured that scene from “Outbreak” where the germs explode from the nose of a patron in a movie theater – moving in slow motion, indiscriminately landing on patrons and popcorn alike. My instinct was to jump off the moving vehicle like an action hero, but we were on the top of Green Tree hill in the middle of the morning rush hour. I wanted to shout, “There’s a bomb on the bus!”

OK. Maybe not a bomb, but there was germ warfare. I was determined to arm myself against the incoming peril.

I covered my nose and mouth with the sleeve of my jacket, convinced that a thin layer of cotton/polyester blend would protect me from the oncoming onslaught.

A second sneeze erupted from the aforementioned man, another wet, sloppy sneeze. This time, it was followed by a dry, hacking cough. This was no throat tickler. Nay, it was a resounding blast that came from deep in his diaphragm. There wasn’t just one frog in this dude’s throat. It was a freaking toad army.

I slunk down into the seat. Now, I had both hands over my nose and mouth. The second sneeze was just as vociferous, a second trumpet blast. I don’t want to gross out anyone who might be reading this over breakfast or lunch, but the second sneeze had an odor. It was a wet, sloppy, smelly sneeze.

I didn’t think we’d make it downtown alive.

At the first stop, I leapt out. Okay, I proceeded with caution in an orderly fashion off the vehicle.

Ironically, there was a poster at the bus stop where we disembarked that read, “If you’re sick, stay home.” Patient Zero missed the memo.