Hit came from Outer Space

While cleaning out my old blogs I came across this. This is a slightly revised version and didn’t we all love revision.

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The plethora of teenage slasher movies in recent years are all based on the true story of a mysterious assailant who targeted schoolchildren in a Scottish school circa 1982. All of the following is true.

One of the perks given to the fifth and sixth year pupils in the comprehensive was that they could take their lunch in the games room far away from the pell-mell. The games room had comfortable chairs that ringed-a-round the perimeter walls, though the various cliques rearranged the seating in their preferred way; normally an enclosed circle. Three net less table tennis tables stood in the centre of the room, nobody played on them, there were no bats, there were no balls, they kept getting pinched. These tables were used as overspill seating and tabling for late coming pupils.

At lunchtime the clientele would gather there in the full bloom of their youth; freckled, dimpled with acne of varying degrees on display. Aping the bed-sits of older higher students of learning that they hoped to be one day, the mottled crew draped their holdalls, satchels, blazers and plastic carrier bags on the ground, untidily cluttering the floor. The sexes for the most part stayed to their own species though a few relationships of sorts were formed. Some of the boys had the good fortune to have girlfriends and the pulsing pain of envy surged from their virginal contemporaries. Scorn, however, was poured on the effeminate male or two who had infiltrated the boundary of the boudoir of the blossoming women only to sit limply as neutral as PH7. Why do women like gays so much?

The assembly’s diet ranged across the syllabus. Sweet snacks were popular though some of the larger X chromosome distaff quested for a size 8 measurement and drank Diet Coke while secretly tucking into hamburgers when the coast was clear. Big girls, you are beautiful. Unsavourily though, lunchtime in the games room had just become dangerous. Because of this, some preferred the safety of the less perilous playground inhabited by younger, snot-nosed, Brut unsprayed, Indian-inked delinquents to the menace lurking in the games room. There was a serial confectioner killer on the loose.

His modus operandi never changed and his reputation grew as long as the guitarist’s hair in the school’s rock band; his reign of terror was on a French history lesson scale. The signature weapon used to devastating effect was the common Mars Bar, Glutinous Maximus. It was the scientific preparation and the unknown formula that has intrigued criminologists and biologists, not to mention cocoa processors, to this day. Without warning, without any whistling kettle noise whatsoever, the Mars bar projectile streaked through the air and Skudded into unsuspecting civilians.

It was guessed that the early missiles were bought from the school canteen. After the first wave of attacks they were no longer stocked as tough school board legislation passed the Anti Bars of Mars (ABM) act. This had all the deterrence of a cardboard house versus acid rain. The killer simply imported the bars from outside. Pariah shops traded freely defying International agreements. And worse still, he could use king size bars. The escalation of the violence gave school kids the excuse to flunk, flunk I said, behind the bike shed.

Detectives could find no motive for the crimes. Each victim seemed to be as random as Revels. A few of the victims of circumstances included the rugby captain whose mother had just bought him a Lions crested boot bag. From the skies flew the bringer of war and it dumped a melted bar on the badge. The flanker cried for all he was worth and ran back to mummy. There is something not right about boys that prefer handling balls rather than kicking them. Another casualty was the good-looking girl who only dated teachers. She’d just had her long blonde locks highlighted before a gooey Martian struck and stuck to her head. Screaming in agony, the hair had to go and with it went the affectations and pass marks of the teachers.

No one knew what became of the confectionary killer or who he was. Suddenly, like a good P.E. lesson the action stopped. Theories abound, mostly unfounded. The few facts that emerged are countdown conundrums. All that was known was that from somewhere in that games room unwrapped, chewed, licked Mars Bars were thrown and the innocent were hit. Of course, a few missed as technology wasn’t as drone proof as it is now. One wayward bomb plastered to the ceiling where it stands today as a monument to the wounded. Their names are written beside the other graffiti.

APPENDIX 1-
Scotland Yard opened up the cold case and after much investigation they found the Confectioner Killer’s methodology for his weaponry. The chocolate on the outside of the bar would be nibbled off leaving the caramel exposed. This would then be salivated on profusely giving it glue-like properties. Now primed this chocolate gelignite was a stick grenade ready to wreck havoc.

APPENDIX 2-
At a Top Secret nuclear plant, scientists re-created one of the Mars Bar missiles.

APPENDIX 3-
Copycat confectioner killers came out of the woodwork class. Thankfully, Kit-Kat wafers were not adhesive.