BY SHREG GIANO
“I don’t like this place dude. Let’s get out of here,” Brad pleaded to his pledge brother, Jack.
“Don’t be such a pussy dude,” urged Jack. “What, you think ghosts of Zeta’s past are gonna be lurking here or something? They got kicked off a few years ago, they’re gone bro.”
Brad knew his fear was irrational, but it did not put him at ease. It could just be jitters or the cold, he thought.
“Alright, give me a beer and let’s go in.” Brad ordered.
“That’s the man I thought I pledged with! Let’s get fucked up. I wonder if they left some alcohol behind when they got kicked out?” Jack thought out loud. After finishing their beers, the guys entered the former Zeta house. They could still hear the bustle of College Ave as they walked in, but it quickly faded to the eeriest of silences.
“Damn, did they cut all heat to this place or something? I’m freezing.” proclaimed a shivering Jack. The cold only augmented Brad’s fears that something about this place seemed haunted. The house felt dead, but it was not the same peaceful dead one imagines death to be. This was a restless death, one that was somehow about to boil over. Like a beer left in a freezer, the frosty house seemed the catalyst for an explosion or release of some sort. But what could it possibly be? Brad pondered.
Then he heard a scream from Jack.
“Not Chill bro! Who the fuck are you?” Jack demanded.
It was too cold to describe the scream as chilling, but the distress and horror in Jack’s voice was evident. Quietly, Brad tip-toed toward Jack’s voice.
He had to cover his own mouth to stop himself from screaming.
In front of him stood the most monstrous frat bro he had ever seen. A mountainous 6 foot 7, the bro towered over Jack. He was whiter than the walls of a Rutgers Dorm, decked out from head to toe in Lacoste and Vineyard Vines. His polo snapback perfectly complemented his somewhat tattered Sperry’s.
Although he likely knew his fate was sealed, Jack courageously faced his silent adversary. He drew out his beer and prepared for the vital chug-off. In Brad and Jack’s world, to the winner of the chug-off goes the spoils, and to the loser goes swift death. If Jack lost, he would be executed by being forced to funnel 2 bottles of Everclear.
Jack counted to three, and the chug-off began.
Unfortunately for Jack, it was over before it started. As he guzzled down the last fateful drops of the Everclear, his opponent exited the scene. Although Jack was overcome with remorse for the death of his best friend, he swore that the body laying on the floor in front of him was not entirely lifeless.
“Jack. Wake up. Jack!” he begged. He peeled back Jack’s eyelids. His pupils appeared bright orange, like a new Keystone can. And somehow, some way, Brad knew there was life in them. Or, perhaps, that same restless death he noticed earlier.
It took a split-second for Brad to realize that Jack had grabbed him by the throat and had already started pouring Everclear into his mouth.