My high school was built over an old cemetery. The graves were all transported elsewhere, however, and the rest of the cemetery was kept across the street and away from the property. So, it goes without saying that it was 100% haunted. However, the fact that it was near the cool, moist grounds of a cemetery and partially located underground made the halls a welcome place for more than just wayward spirits. There were bugs--bugs of the worst kind--bugs that looked like they were unholy vessels for the most nefarious souls of the damned. The time when I saw the king of these horrible creatures is a day that was burned into my subconscious.

I was in the middle of my Spanish class senior year. The freshman and sophomore classes were usually large so the typical, above-ground classrooms were all filled for the period. That meant that my Spanish class was banished to the "dungeon," also known as the stuffy basement that had bars on all of the classroom windows, meaning that if there were a fire we would totally die. This area was prime for strange insects, as my unsuspecting class would soon find out. Toward the middle of the class period, we were all completing assignments individually when the girl next to me shouted, "What is that?!" I looked over, and there was an insect so large that I first mistook it for a leftover Halloween decoration. I later discovered that it was a house centipede. Have you ever seen one of them before? Even if you have, take a breath before you focus your eyes on the picture bellow, because this is the kind of Jumanji crap that I don't want anywhere near my house.

Look at it! Feast your eyes on God's biggest "Screw You" to the natural world. Soak in the evil.

Here's a picture of it to scale:

I hope you know that this is the worst Google image search that I've ever done, and I've had some strange skin abnormalities that needed identifying.

So this is what was on the ground right next to me, and was crawling toward my backpack. Now, I've started hyperventilating three times on amusement park rides and they've had to stop them so I could get off. I've been openly insulted by three different boys in the same night during the never-ending misery that is seventh grade. I've left a trail of vomit all over the ground in St. Peter's Basilica in Vatican City and am probably going to hell. But seeing that bug existing in the same universe as me was one of the top five worst moments of my life.

Before you judge, we all have our fears. I remember this one girl in my cabin at camp who was afraid of ladybugs and would cry whenever anyone talked about them. My fear just happens to be a bug from the Jurassic period appearing in my classroom, a place of learning, and coming anywhere near myself or my belongings.

The big question is: what does one do with a bug like this? No one really wanted to come near it, let alone pick it up and carry it outside; but the bug activists stood firmly to their "no squishing" policy, even in light of the circumstances. So, someone had to capture the beast. There was, as it turned out, one person who was willing to save us all and transport it from the floor to the field outside. However, I will never thank her for doing so.

The reason why I won't thank her is simple: she's an "it's just a bug" kind of person. The "it's just a bug" can manifest itself in many different forms. One I encountered a few years ago was in the form of a girl in my choir, who told us all to be quiet and pay attention when a bird flew in through the window. This person has no patience for chaos and will openly mock those who feed it. The girl in Spanish class went over to that centipede and, while letting it crawl onto a notebook, continuously said antagonistic phrases like, "Seriously, guys? Calm down" and "Why don't you leave the room so it can't eat you?" Um, I'm sorry, but I've seen the Indiana Jones movie with the giant ants who feast on human flesh. That thing definitely has the disposition to eat me. But, go ahead, put it close to your hand while you're condescending everybody. Man, seeing a centipede that's as long and wide as your hand will really harden you.

The End

That concludes this short glimpse into my past. I commend anyone who reads the entire thing, as there's no way to get those ten minutes of your life back and there was clearly no purpose to this story. However, I think there are two important lessons that can be learned from this experience: never trust a school that's built on a cemetery, and never trust a girl who isn't afraid of house centipedes.