Once upon a midday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious hallways of forgotten LaCroix-

While I nodded, nearly yapping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at the hallway floor.

"'Tis some kid," Leila-Sue muttered, "tapping just further beyond-

Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak first week of school;

And the bell from the cafeteria woke the students from the room.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow

From my pocket a source of comfort-comfort from this dark abode-

For the flashlight of my phone, and the bullshit from this girl-

Nameless here for evermore. Don't you come at me with that bull.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of her mass-produced shirt

Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

"'Tis some mother fucking plot entreating just before innit?-

Let's just move on and get this over with by lunch, I heard it was Sloppy Joe day;-

This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Hey," she said, "buddy or gal, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I'm a friend, and so gently you came tapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at the hallway floor,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"-zo we open this here door;-

Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before, like maybe not dealing with this bullshit more;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Um, hello?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Hello?"-

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

"Gimme that," she says, "I'll take that lantern. Who even uses flip phones in this age of space and iPads?";

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-

They are easy to charge, and with no frills, I always get reception, even in this shit;-

"I don't get charged a hundred bucks to see pictures of boobs!"

Lighting there, she flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately middle schooler like the saintly days of yore;

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, blood spewing from his face hole-

Smiled and waved, with blood dripping, missing teeth, and nothing more-

Smiling, waving, and nothing more.

Then this dirty boy beguiling my fear fancy smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

"Though thy crest be bloody and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient kid wandering from the Nightly shore-

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"

Quoth the Raven "Michael Scott. My dad was a fan of 'The Office'."

Much I marvelled this ungainly kid to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning-little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Is ever glad to see a kid bleeding and quoting "The Office"-

Middle or Highschool, bleeding there, just above the hallway floor,

With such name as "Michael Scott."

But the Kid, standing lonely on the placid floor, spoke only

That one quote, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered-not a hair then he fluttered-

Till I scarcely more than muttered "Shouldn't we, like, call the principal?-

Pretty sure that whatever fuckery's afoot is violating some municipal laws, at least."

Then the kid quoted "Would I rather be feared or loved? Easy. Both. I want people to be afraid of how much they love me. Michael Scott, Season 2, The Fight."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," Leila-Sue said, "what it utters is its only stock and store

Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore-

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

Of 'The Office, Season 2'."

But the Kid still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I walked slowly in front of the kid, and floor and hall;

Then, upon my leather shoes, I betook myself to linking

Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Kid of yore-

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of kid

Meant in croaking "This kid needs some milk, and Jesus."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the kid whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;

This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

Giving the kid my handkerchief, for a gentleman has one always at ease;

Even if said ghastly sheet makes my skin rash with ease;

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

A scream broke the silence. Coming yonder from where the kid's standing.

"Dafuc," she cried, "thy God hath lent thee-by this angels he hath sent thee

Respite-respite and nepenthe from thy memories of the blood;

Quaff, are there any more like you, trapped in the halls hidden by the LaCroix?"

Quoth the kid "I'm not superstitious, but I am a little stitious. Michael Scott, Season 4, "Fun Run." Also, yes, like dozens more."

"Prophet!" she said, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if thing or devil!-

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted-

On this home by Horror haunted-tell me truly, I implore-

Could you-could you take us there?-tell me-tell me, I implore!"

Quoth the Kid "The worst thing about prison was the dementors." Michael "Prison Mike" Scott, Season 3, "The Convict." And sure, lady, follow me."

"Ayden!" she said, "thing of evil!-prophet still, if thing or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us-by that God we both adore-

Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

It shall clasp a sainted boy whom the angels name Michael Scott-

Clasp his hand and lead the way to the wretched center core."

Quoth the me "Yeah, sure, whatever takes us out of here faster."

And the kid, never flitting, still is standing, still is standing

On the darkened hard floor hallways just behind the LaCroix;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,

And the flashlight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

The kid claps my hands, and quoths "No homo."

And now, we ran out of poem, so let's slip back into present tense and continue the story like normal people. As normal as it can be ringing a bloodied kid behind the hallway of a LaCroix vending machine that only speaks in "The Office" quotes.

And there we are, both Leila-Sue and me, grabbing this snot-machine's hands, as the dim flashlight of my MySpace-era flip phone lights the way through the narrow hall.

Honestly, I dunno why we even need this kid to lead us. There's only one, long hallway leading down as far as I can see. One would think that a secret cult hell-bent in creating a stone capable of shaping reality as we know it would have a bigger sense of the decor. The last cultists I faced were really into Vaporwave. Now that's aesthetics!

After walking for a bit in absolute silence, in which I mean Leila-Sue and the kid quoting "The Office" quoting things back and forth, we arrive at the end. Just one door at the end of the hallway. Mighty good door, if I might add. Mahogany. Expensive, if I do say so myself. Maybe that's where all the budget went.

"There," says Micheal Scott. "Just behind that door. And I knew exactly what to do. But in a much more real sense, I had no idea what to do." Michael Scott, Season 5, "Stress Relief"."

"Thank you for pointing the obvious," I almost say, but that's what a bad boy would say. I pat him on the head in solidarity and turn the doorknob.

What is behind it is something I would've never expected.

It was Jungkook and Harry, both dressed head to toe in dentist uniforms, hat and all, even if they're bald. A single dentist chair is sitting in the middle of the room, along with other electrical equipment.

And in the corner, reading a Teen Vogue magazine, and sitting with all the panache of a scream queen five minutes into a horror flick? You take a guess.

"what the shit, scott? what took you so long?" asks Brayden, putting the magazine aside. "oh, if it isn't ayden. you know, when i told ya to bring that bleeding idiot, i didn't mean a new one. where is billy?"

"I'm an early bird and I'm a night owl so I'm wise and I have worms." Michael Scott, Season 2, Office Olympics," says Michael Scott.

"that you do," says Brayden.

"Hey, bro? What the fuck, maybe?" I ask. I mean, this is totally Brayden's aesthetic, all barren and baggy and threatening, but I doubt he would consent to have a mahogany door installed anywhere, with his environmental principles and all.

"slow down there, buck-o. who's that hottie behind you?"

Leila-Sue, instead of being a good girl and answering the question in a concise manner, takes out a switchblade, which she brandishes as someone who has been homeschooled all her life. Poorly, I mean poorly.

"My name is Leila-Sue Higgins, you killed my parents, prepare to die," she says, lunging towards Brayden.

What she doesn't know is that Brayden is, perhaps, the most protected person in the whole Hill Valley Mountain Woods High. She doesn't even take two steps in when Jungkook and Harry were all over her, injecting her neck with some kind of nighty-night juice. It takes a second for her to drop the knife, and another for her to go limp.

"rude," whispers Brayden, walking towards us.

"To be honest, she does think you are part of a cult who murdered her family in cold blood."

"wack. what gave her that idea?"

"Says the man in a dank basement, smelling of blood, and with goons dressed in surgical masks," I point out. "What in the sweet mustache of Tom Selleck are you doing down here? What's all this nonsense?"

Brayden grabs Michael's hand and hands him over to Jungkook, who gently helps him get back into the dentist's chair.

"okay, so," says Brayden, shaking his hair out of his eyes in that sexy convulsing dog kind of way, "you know I'm like, a millionaire, you dig?"

"Go on," I say, watching how the sausage fingers of Harry get inside the kid's mouth.

"but that's daddy's money. blood money. i don't want blood money," he says.

The crazy amount of blood I've seen today speaks otherwise.

"so, i, like, got an idea of a new racket. legal racket, mind you. i mean, i think it's legal. like, you can't find it's illegal anywhere."

"There is a man putting his hand on a boy's mouth," I say. "That seems illegal everywhere."

"see, you know how kids have these fake ass teeth, right? they fall off and shit. instead of throwing them away, i tell these kids to come to me, and i pay good money to let us help them get those loose pearls off. and, of course, we get to keep the teeth."

To punctuate the idea, Harry holds a tooth up, letting out a triumphant grunt. I see where this is going.

"And lemme guess, you put the teeth under the pillows of kids in high-income neighborhoods, then collect the money?" I ask. "Southpark did it first, you know."

Brayden looks from left to right, as if someone is lurking in the shadows. "hell naw. that's small time shit. i'm amassing a huge pile of teeth, like, something too big to pass, and set up a trap for the tooth fairy. the name of the game is 'ultimate magic championship', like the ufc, but with magical beings. we will charge a huge ppv fee to make the tooth fairy beat the shit out of santa claus, and i collect the moolah. brilliant, innit?"

Sometimes, I forget that this man is an idiot.

"But wait," I say. "Weren't there a bunch of cultists down here?"

"oh, that's what they were?" says Brayden. "i legit thought they were, like, weird janitors. they're by the corner."

Lo and behold, they are on the corner, all wearing very expensive silk robes. Shame they are soaked in blood and piled one after the other.

"Did you-"

"hell naw," he interrupts. "dunno what happened. they were here since this morning. silver lining: i found this hella cool rock."

In his hand is a red rock, almost a pebble, red as the reddest blood, and pulsating with an almost fleshy consistency.

"ill add it to my rock pile," he says. "now, why don't we move this girl out of here before anyone gets sus?"

Finally, a way out of this dangerous plot.

But still, something feels off. Even off-er, of course. I feel a draft behind me, as if the LaCroix path hath been open.

And what do I see when I turn around?

The slender yet voluptuous figure of Lee Vazquez, arms crossed, with the bleeding kid we left outside just behind her. Shit just got real.