2. First Sacrifice
T he sound of a horrifying scream jolted me from sleep. It took me a moment to realize that it was only the television playing idly in the background. Thank god, I thought to myself as I released the tension from my muscles and allowed myself to relax under the warm covers.
I found myself so focused on analyzing every bit and piece of my dream that I almost forgot about what was happening before I passed out. A pulsating throb coming from underneath me was just the reminder I needed. The abstract and erotic nightmare I had just experienced was vivid enough that I was still rock hard. Guess I’m not the only one, I thought as I adjusted my head and took in my full surroundings.
What I had presumed was my cozy comforter keeping me warm was, in fact, a combination of Stacio’s big arms fastened tight around my torso and his legs slung over mine. I was like his human body pillow and it was absolutely amazing. He was sleeping on his back—propped up by several pillows—obviously content with my head burrowed between his shapely pecs. Should I move? I asked myself. I already knew what the logical answer was. Yes, I should, because Stacio is the kind of guy who is teetering on the edge of bisexual and a true emotional entanglement with him will only lead to heartbreak on my end. All that aside, I’m not into hook-ups anymore, remember? Horny, dream-sequence Crispin even turned down Mateo.
However, I was a big boy. I could handle myself. Plus, I was thoroughly enjoying the tenderness of the moment (not to mention the throbbing of his dick against my ass). And—although I wasn’t keen on admitting it—I was a little spooked out by my dream. I’m sure it was just a combination of current events mixed in with visuals from the Fraternity Row Exorcism marathon that’s still on.
After a few minutes of listening to Stacio’s heartbeat, I was absolutely positive that he couldn’t be the dark, evil demon version of himself that I witnessed in my dream.
My mind raced back to the house basement and Riley’s promised pentagram party favor, and I couldn’t help but wonder if what I saw was my Grandma Nadine trying to show me something. She ran a psychic business for many years before retiring and moving in with my parents and I for most of my middle school and high school years. My mother—her daughter—called her a scam artist, while my dad called her much worse. I recalled many dinner table discussions where she would earn the ire of my parents by sharing what she called prophetic dreams of things to come. The revelation that stuck with me most was the night she told me we’d be having our last dinner together, particularly because it was the next day that I discovered her cold body perched in her favorite nap time recliner.
As my mind wandered back to that afternoon, I couldn’t help but wonder if everything she had told me was actually true. The day I came out to my parents, she came into my room to console me. I was crying, upset at their cold reaction, but I only ever found acceptance with Grandma Nadine. As she often did, she put her frail hands on my cheeks as she studied my face before assuring me that things would get better in time; that as long as I didn’t shun my gifts like my mother did, I would see things more clearly one day, too. Did Nana Nadine have dreams like me? A true sixth sense?
I was so lost in thought that Stacio stirring caused me to let out a high-pitched yelp. He responded with a low groan, his grip on me tightening as he finally rolled over to his side and brought me with him. I looked over to see if he was awake, but his eyes remained closed. He shifted once again before swinging his right leg over both of mine and pulling me in close. As long as he doesn’t suffocate me, I’ll stay, I decided. I allowed myself to enjoy the moment again, savoring his touch, his warmth, his smell.
Soon, I was asleep again, and this time my dreams were sweet, happy nothings.
B ang, bang, bang!
Out of fear of someone barging through our door and discovering Stacio and I in the same compromising position we fell asleep in, I shot straight up out of bed. It was morning and my alarm didn’t wake me. Fuck!
“Um, uh, just a sec!”
More surprising than the pounding sound that awakened me was the fact that I was actually in my own bed—and I was alone. The imprint of two grown men cuddling together was still visible in Stacio’s bed, however.
My morning wood was still extremely obvious—and, not wanting to keep my early morning caller waiting, I panicked and grabbed for the nearest piece of clothing and threw it over my shoulders. It was a basketball jersey belonging to Stacio, and fortunately it was long enough on me to land mid-thigh.
I was greeted only by a small gift basket placed at the entrance to my suite. I rubbed my eyes before grabbing it up. “We wish our party organizer an exciting Spirit Week celebration,” I read aloud from the anonymous gift tag.
Strange, I thought as I picked the basket up and closed the door behind me. Its contents were even stranger. Two bottles of Rosé wine were snugly tucked on either side of an industrial bottle of personal lubricant and a long, rectangular wooden box. The wine definitely made me happy. Though I occasionally got some playful grief for my drink preference, it was thoughtful of my brothers to remember what I enjoyed. The lube was cause for a raised brow, but I also knew that a bottle that size had to retail for at least fifty bucks. So I can’t be too mad, I decided.
“Wonder what this is,” I said to myself as I placed the basket on my desk and took the wooden box in my hands. It was fairly sizable. Large enough to hold something like a board game, I thought. My fingers traced over the weathered engraving on the wood. It looked to be an amateur carving job from a pocket knife. I read the inscription to myself as I dug my nails into its jagged, rough edges. “Big Delts Forever - To Keep Our Lost Brothers Close.”
“Boo!”
Had I been more aware of my surroundings, I might not have missed the hunky man in a damp towel preparing to ambush me from behind. I felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around my chest and lift me up. If all else, the familiar scent was a giveaway as to who my surprise assailant was. “Anastacio, you jerk!” I exclaimed as I dropped the box on my bed.
“Hey, now!” Stacio replied, spinning me in the air before carefully placing me on the floor facing him. He examined me in his clothing. “You’re the one who stole my ‘fit for the day.”
I blushed. Now, not only did I completely submit to what felt like a non-platonic cuddle session, but I was following it up by parading around our dorm wearing his jersey like a nightie. This wasn’t exactly the impression I was going for, but Stacio’s reaction surprised me. “It’s not what it looks like. You see, I?—”
“Look pretty cute in my jersey,” he interrupted, a smug grin finding its way to his extremely kissable lips. Freshly showered and ready for his day, he looked absolutely gorgeous. I, on the other hand, probably had the worst bedhead and morning breath ever. “But next time, I expect there to be a jock on underneath it.”
No sooner had Stacio’s words left his mouth did I feel the elastic band of my underwear snap against the small of my back. No doubt his doing, I thought to myself as I giggled. “You better be careful with all this innocent bro flirting, Mr. Andrade.”
“Yeah?” Stacio asked, moving around me and over to his bed. He began to rummage through his drawers in search of socks and underwear. “Or what? You’ll whimper for me in your sleep like you did last night?”
It felt like my cheeks were burning hot. “Huh?” As I looked back at him, it surprised me to see that—aside from a shirt—he was already dressed. Realizing this, I quickly pulled off his jersey and tossed it to him.
He turned to face me with a smile, accepting his jersey with an overly platonic pat on the back. “Last night. You must’ve been dreaming. Said some other stuff, too, and…” His eyes were now on the gift basket and the mysterious box I had pulled from it. “No fuckin’ way, man! Did the boys really gift you the Big Delts legacy Ouija board!?”
“Huh!?” I spun around to find that Stacio had already opened the mysterious box with the ominous engraving. “Th-th-that’s what it is?”
An involuntary shiver rushed across my skin as I leaned past him to look closer. There was no Hasbro branding on it, but it was a fucking Ouija board.
Stacio already had it in his hands, tipping it back and forth in the light that spilled out of the window at the head of my bed. “Whoa, it’s completely custom and handmade, too.”
Though I still hadn’t fully processed all of my nightmare, my mind was racing. Is this connected to my dream? Who would give me something like this? A bunch of smelly frat boys really have a custom Ouija board passed down through the generations?
I studied its craftsmanship. Though the mass-produced cardboard versions were recognized as a common junior-high sleepover staple back in my day, this one was carefully carved out of wood in a custom design akin to the one most commonly seen. At the top, however—instead of Ouija—were the meticulously carved words Big Delts Talking Board . I reached into the box and pulled out a matching planchette. Around it, there was a string tight enough to hold a worn, hand-written piece of paper.
My heart raced as I looked to Stacio, who I knew was already studying my reaction. Confirming we both were on the same page, I finally got up the courage to ask him the question on my mind. “And what do you think this says?”
In one quick movement, Stacio plucked the piece of paper out from between the string and planchette, unfolded it, and placed it in my free hand. I read it to him. “For festive fun, the house recommends calling upon the spirits of the Big Delt Three. User beware.”
“No way!” Stacio snatched the note from my hand, disbelief in his voice.
“I’m learning to expect the unexpected, I guess,” I replied.
He looked down at me. “Seems a little fucking spooky. Guess we’ll have to break this out at the party tonight.”
I hesitated before replying. “Uh, you think that’s a good idea?”
Stacio shrugged, placing the board and the note back into their box. “Why not? Oh… Wait. You’re the one, aren’t you? My one scary movie-loving friend who is totally freaked out by a kid’s game where you talk to ghosts.”
My mouth and throat felt like sandpaper rubbing together as I swallowed. My lips moved to form words until I lost them. Even though I wanted to say something to Stacio—wanted to explain my irrational fear—my mind carried me far away. Like, really fucking far.
I reached for the water bottle on my desk—and when I finally put something to my lips and relieved my parched tongue, everything in front of me changed.
I was back in the kitchen of my childhood home. The only sound was a soft rattling coming from the family den just two rooms away.
Click, click, click, click!
“Mom? Dad?”
Reaching the other side of the kitchen and cutting through the dark dining room, I struggled to understand why I was reliving this memory.
Click, click, click, click!
The unforgettable salmon color of Grandma Nadine’s recliner was all I needed to see. From where I stood, I could only make out her tiny little green house slippers at the foot of the chair. Curiously, they were vibrating to the rhythm of that strange noise. The TV was on in the background, but that sound somehow didn’t register in my eardrums.
Click, click, click, click!
“I-I had one of these as a kid,” I said aloud, my words for Stacio even though I couldn’t visualize him now. “A t-t-talking board. Did it a few times. But threw it out one day after…”
Click, click, click, click!
I heard Stacio respond to me, even though I was still stuck in my visceral memory. “After what, Crispy?” His voice echoed across the room like a ghost.
The terror of the moment made me want to reach to grab for his hand. Instead, I reached to place my hand on the back of the recliner.
Leaning forward, I peered down at what I expected to be my cheerful grandmother. Instead, what I saw was an image that will forever be stained into my memory. Grandma Nadine was foaming at the mouth, my Hasbro Ouija board placed in her lap. Her body twitched idly, the force of her cadaveric spasms enough for her tiny hands to tap the planchette against the cardboard. Click, click, click, click!
Stacio was the one to pull me out of my realistic flashback. I felt his hands on my shoulders, gripping them with tender concern. Platonic or not, it felt comforting in that moment. “Crispin?” he asked as my daydream world was ripped away from me.
“Um, long story.” I tried to play it cool—and failed miserably at doing so. Sweat ran down my forehead and my heart was pounding in my chest. “Okay, fine. In high school, I came home and found my sideshow psychic grandma keeled over dead in the middle of an Ouija board session.”
“Whoa, I’m sorry.” Stacio gave me another squeeze. “That sounds awful, Crispy.”
“Kind of scary, too, to be honest,” I added.
“Agreed,” Stacio replied. “It’s fucking terrifying, lil bro. You want me to get rid of this thing?”
I replied fast, almost too fast. “No! No. It was a well-intentioned gift. I mean, let’s not do anything rash.”
Stacio raised an eyebrow. His face told me he was listening intently.
“I’m the chair of the fraternity’s Spirit Week party planning committee. We’re the fraternity that has a spooky spirit theme as opposed to celebrating our school colors, right? I mean, hell, our frat president told me he designed a pentagram as part of the decor. This—well, it really seems like a fitting gift. I guess I’ll keep it until the party is over, then hand it over to Harlow.”
Stacio gave me a sympathetic head nod. He kept eye contact with me a bit longer than I expected him to, stepping forward and pushing himself close to me. “Kind of sounds like the perfect start to a paranormal horror film, huh?”
“Well,” I began, testing my luck as my eyes studied his body, then returned to his face. I reminisced on my strange dream—and on our interactions over the last day. “More like an erotic paranormal horror.”
“Erotic, huh?” For the first time in a long time, I saw my roommate—Mr. Popular, star athlete, voted most confident on campus—stutter. “Um, well, i-if I asked you out on a date, would that make it a paranormal romance? Or romantic horror?”
I was still savoring the overnight cuddle session with my presumed straight roommate. Still processing a realistic nightmare where he turned into some kind of evil demon. Only now beginning to digest the fact that I had an Ouija board hand-delivered to my room. But nothing prepared me for something this unexpected. “Huh!?”
Finally pulling his head and arms through his jersey and coaxing it down his muscular core, Stacio was uncharacteristically short with me. “Uh, just wondering is all.”
I bit my tongue as he took a seat at his desk. I could see that he had his basketball duffel bag laid out on the floor next to his backpack, and all he had left to do was put on his sneakers before strolling out for the day.
What an interesting way to frame something like that, I thought to myself. In his defense, I guess my initial response wasn’t that great, either. Do I say something now?
Stacio spoke up again before I could. “I’ll be back around five-thirty from practice,” he began, slipping on his second shoe and grabbing up his bags. “Gonna help Ronnie roll in the kegs, hop in the shower again, and then I’m all yours. You gonna be okay with this whole Ouija thing, Crisp-man?”
I suddenly felt ridiculous for even bringing up my talking board trauma. Imagine if he had just asked me out on a date instead. Admitted he was bisexual and had feelings for me. Something. Anything other than us having this conversation.
“Y-yeah, totally, ” I was quick to reply as I feigned a smile. “Already over it.”
Stacio walked up to me before turning to the door. Though he wasn’t smiling, it almost looked like his eyes were. “And if you want to, I can help you get rid of whatever pentagram the boys vandalized our house with before the guests even arrive.”
My fake grin became a real one. I’m happy he’s considerate of my superstitions, but why does this seem so familiar?
Just like the sight of the Ouija board triggered my neurodivergent mind to flash back to Grandma Nadine’s cold body, this moment triggered a replay of last night’s dream like a best-of clip show. Stacio’s eyes were black as night. I was somewhere dark, both scared and turned on.
When I blinked, I was back in my room.
The sound of the door closing caused me to jump. Stacio must’ve just left.
“Fuck!” I cursed. “This is the last time I agree to organize a party.”
M y best friend and I sat in comfortable silence on the screened-in porch of my fraternity house. He carefully unfolded the brown paper sack that carried his lunch like he was a professional origami artist, an anxious look on his face. As my smartwatch beeped to remind me it was lunchtime, I realized I had been daydreaming about this morning’s events for the past fifteen minutes. I knew I had an excuse to be quiet, but what was Bridger’s?
“Speak up, Sherman,” I commanded, sure that my usual sarcastic undertones would mask the uneasiness churning inside of me. “For the shyest kid on campus, you’re unusually quiet today. Like serial killer quiet.”
The crumpling sound of his paper bag ceased. Adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses, the shaggy-haired brunette across from me looked up. “Same could be said for you, Kramer. Fantasizing about Pistachio again?” he asked, emphasizing the silly nickname he had devised for the hot roommate of mine he was undoubtedly sick of hearing about.
“No way,” I replied defensively. “Okay, kind of. But there’s more.”
Bridger finally pulled an apple from the bag before him and bit into it. Fruit in hand, he gestured for me to keep going. “More?”
“We had one of our scary movie nights last night.”
I was already prepared for his next reaction, but it still annoyed me to see Bridger roll his eyes. “Let me guess. The Fraternity Row Exorcism movie marathon on TV last night, which was superb, by the way, because it featured the uncut version of parts three through seven.”
“Um, yeah, actually,” I said with surprise.
“I can picture it now. Your horned up and bicurious roommate got turned on seeing Lindsey Blair’s tatas flopping all over the place, invited you into his bed, and jack-hammered your hole into oblivion.”
“Okay, uh, not exactly.”
“Then it’s a non-story,” Bridger yawned. “Face it. Meadowhaven’s golden hoop boy is never gonna come out and profess his undying love for you, Crispin. You’d have to exorcise his hetero-normative and conservative upbringing out of him first. Which —interesting tie-in for my big reveal— but I actually had a dream last night where you and I did some kind of seance and it ended up with your whole frat getting possessed by demons.”
I was so busy processing the cold, hard truth that Bridger served to me about Stacio that I nearly fell over when I finally processed his revelation. “You’re right about Stacio, but it’s—well, hold up. You had a freaky dream last night, too!?”
Bridger seemed unfazed by my raised voice and the panic in my tone. “Come on, C. Those films are like nightmare fuel on steroids. Everyone who fell asleep jerking off to those hot nineties teens getting systematically slaughtered probably had one.”
Okay, fair. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m probably just on edge because of the Ouija board that showed up for me this morning.”
Bridger was in the middle of another bite of apple when he spit it back into his bag. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t you like hate those things ever since your Grandma Nadine?—”