Word count: 469
Summary: A university’s ‘horror’ society have an unorthodox way of accepting a young girl’s application.
Before I graduated, I was a member of the ‘horror’ society. We came up with horror stories, went on trips to haunted locations, and had a movie showing every Wednesday in the old campus building. No-one really came near the building, even in the daytime, so it was like our spooky little hideout: high ceilings, old stone walls, and wooden flooring that would creak loudly any time someone stepped on it.
The leader of the society was Seth Teesdale; as Seth was our leader, he decided who was allowed to join the club. Any time that somebody signed up to the society, he’d test them – If they passed, they were permitted to join, if not, he’d give them dirty looks, pull pranks on them, and ‘forget’ to invite them to social gatherings. Many left, but some stuck it out in spite of Seth’s neglectful behaviour.
Seth’s initiation trials were usually pretty predictable – walk through the woods behind the science building unaided, watch A Serbian Film (uncensored) without flinching, tell a scary story that can unsettle him, that sort of thing. That was, until Kenna filled out her application form. Maybe it was because Ken was the first girl to apply in three months, or because Seth had a soft spot for her, but she was the only one who he paid ‘special attention’ to.
Ever seen Jack Ketchum’s Girl Next Door ? I think he got the idea from that. He tied Ken up half-naked in the basement of the campus building for three days – if she stayed there without complaining, she’d be allowed to join. Everyone thought it a little harsh, but we didn’t say anything to Seth. A steel bucket was placed on the floor by her feet, and Seth brought her food and water, but that was it. Not once did she beg to be let go or cry, until the third day when Seth got his pocket knife out.
“I don’t want to mark your pretty face, Kenny, so...”
As soon as he started tracing her side with the blade, I left. He wouldn’t actually cut her, I thought, that’d be too messed up.
When I got round to seeing her the next day, my hand involuntarily shot to my mouth and my eyes widened. What I saw before me didn’t seem real, I told myself that it was Halloween make-up; I think I knew deep down that it wasn’t. Her body was completely limp, feet all dirty, skin peeling away at the hells, and she had knife wounds all over her body. I tried to shout, or cry, but all I could do was take a few steps back, eyes glued to all of her scars that could never, would never heal.
You know what he said to justify himself?
“Fake blood gets old.”
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