Satanic Panic- A Homage to 1980's B-Movie Horror

by Daniel P Coughlin

  He and Brock shared a house. Their rooms reflected their personalities. Brock’s room was scattered with plastic laundry baskets filled with clothes that hadn’t been washed in so long that the presence of mold was visible. Girly pictures were tacked to the walls, random DVD’s were strewn across the floor and there were puncture marks in all the walls from his knife. The room smelled of old sweat and heavy cologne. Brock was a pig. But again, it didn’t matter because he was good looking.

  Lance’s inspection of this nostalgic photo led his gaze from Brock to Brianna. Lance could look at Brianna until the end of days. Privately, he fantasized about her. In his fantasy, she would realize his greatness. He would treat her well and she’d fall in love with him. Thinking of their imaginary future drew happiness. His heart fluttered. Her wide smile and those icy eyes, not to mention her athletic build and her perfect ... everything. He’d been in love with Brianna since before he could remember.

  He knew that she was in love with Brock and had always had been, even before she knew it. Sooner or later she’d act on this attraction. Lance only hoped that she would drop those feelings shortly after she acted on them. Lance hoped and prayed she would then move on to her true destiny—him Lance.

  Brock would never change and Brianna carried too much respect for herself. If it came down to commitment, she wouldn’t bring herself to hitch onto Brock forever. Eventually, she’d want to settle down with a stable person. A guy she knew and was comfortable with, a guy that was handsome and took care of his appearance, a guy that wasn’t a pig.

  Gee, was there such a guy out there?

  He laughed out loud and hoped that Brock hadn’t heard him, but he did. Brock entered the room, lifted his leg, and let one rip.

  “Would you fuck Brianna if given the chance?” Brock sat on the corner of Lance’s bed.

  Lance didn’t want to think about Brianna, sexually, while the disgusting brand of Brock’s ass filled his room and violated his nasal passages. He grabbed a can of aerosol off of his dresser, aimed it at Brock, and sprayed a cloud of the disinfectant in his direction.

  Brock started to move, but then sniffed the air. “What is that, bro?”

  “It’s disinfectant, you nut,” Lance responded.

  Brock’s bodily functions always amazed Lance. Now, he watched Brock sniff the disinfectant.

  “You think that stuff could pass as cologne? And it smells familiar. Is that mine?”

  “No, I don’t think it could pass as cologne.” Lance shook his head. “One of your nightly conquests actually brought an overnight bag last time she came over here to bone you and ended up using my room to prepare for violation. She left a number of products. One of those products was this aerosol and another was an unopened box of condoms.”

  “Teresa.” Brock shouted, held up an index finger and smiled. He didn’t even look up. He grabbed the disinfectant and inspected the bottle. His lips mimicked the brand name. “Why would she bring disinfectant?”

  “Have you smelled your room?” Lance coughed.

  “That bad?”

  “You’re gonna end up with AIDS, dude.” Lance informed his friend.

  “That’s pretty rude, man. Can we get back to my question?” Brock made eye contact while Lance privately wished that he didn’t admire his friend’s physical appearance.

  “What question?” Lance knew exactly what question.

  “If I could talk Brianna into a three way ... with you and me ... would you do it?”

  Lance didn’t know how to answer the question and he was never very good at being put on the spot. Straight answers like yes or no didn’t come easy either. His lips began to tremble. When he was put on the spot his mouth would always move while his brain strained for an answer. His cheeks burned and his forehead turned red. “I have no idea how to answer that question.” His posture slumped.

  Brock threw the disinfectant at Lance, barely missing his head. “What the hell do you mean you don’t know how to answer that question?”

  “She’s like our sister, dude. We can’t just have meaningless sex with her.”

  “I disagree. She would be the perfect person to have meaningless sex with because she knows us so well that she can distinguish the difference. She’s matured enough to separate the two.”

  “If we both did that it would ruin our relationship.” Lance put forth a half-effort to convince Brock. Plus, while the thought of making love to Brianna was always at the forefront of his thoughts, the jealousy he’d feel if Brock were intimate with her was maddening. That alone might ruin Lance. The thought of them having sex caused his teeth to grind and his jaws to gnash.

  “I really don’t think it would ruin our relationship. Can you just think about this for a minute.”

  “She has a boyfriend.”

  Brock laughed, “That’s funny.”

  “How is that funny?” Lance took an angered step toward Brock.

  “Because Grady’s kind of a twerp. He’s a California turd and he’ll be gone by the end of next year. Their relationship is temporary. Don’t worry about him. Plus, it is kind of fun to fuck somebody else’s girlfriend. It’s thrilling, naughty.”

  Remembering that he’d never get through to Brock, Lance calmed, shook his head and said, “You’re unbelievable.”

  “So, you would? Just entertain the idea for one second. Think about what you would like about it.”

  Lips twitching, Lance frantically searched his brain for an articulate, concise sentence. The form of an answer trembled and begged to come out, but the damn words wouldn’t spill. The answer was too complicated to give on the spot and he wished his lips wouldn’t tremble when he was at a loss for words. “We can’t, dude. It’s Brianna. That’s it. Game over.”

  “What if she’s down? Would that ease your mind?” Brock’s eyebrows bounced.

  “Well, ass-wad, because we’re such good friends ... and that we care so much for our friend, we should tell her that it would not be a good idea. And as far as I’m concerned, this conversation is over.”

  “Dude, just think about it. Like everything else in life, there are pros and cons. No right answer and no wrong answer, only interpretation and instinct. Maybe this is important to me.”

  “Brock, the philosopher.” Lance shook his head. There was something comical about Brock when he exploited his selfishness. “You’re the most selfish, self-indulging ... ”

  “I get it. You’re right. I’m a total narcissist, but hear me out. One, all three of us think about what it would be like to sleep with each other. You can’t argue that the sex drive is a normal part of humanity. That’s science. I mean ... well, I don’t think about you and I.” Awkwardness stole the moment. Then he waved this thought. “You know what I’m saying.” He raised his index and middle finger into a peace sign. “Two, we’ve known each other our whole lives and done everything together ... bullshit aside, if we all agree on this then we can explore our fantasies with trusted partners. We eliminate risk. I know you like that. There’s things that I want to do and try and if we have an open understanding of what’s going on then we can heighten our friendship.”

  Lance hated that he understood Brock’s philosophy. While he wouldn’t admit it, Brock had an arguable point.

  But he had to be wrong. He just had to be.

  Lance kept his mouth shut.

  3

  The glass window was cold against Brianna’s forehead when she rolled her face to see the world below her dorm room. Eight stories down to be exact. People were visible and she could recognize faces.

  Nostalgically, Brianna smiled at her passing thoughts when her friends strolled into view along the sidewalk. Brock was easy to single out. He walked with confidence. He was big, but not bulky-big. He was bigger than life. Avoiding his presence was impossible.

  “Are you having sex with one of them?” Her roommate Caroline startled her when she entered the room.

  “You scared the hell out of me,” Brianna grabbed her chest. She stood from the wi
ndowsill, and asked, “Why would you say that?” She fought a smile, but eventually laughter won the battle.

  “The only people who look this happy—like you do when those two arrive—are young couples in love. And girl, you got that goo-goo eyed vixen crap going on,” Caroline remarked and laughed. “I probably would have slept with them years ago.”

  “Those guys are like brothers to me. We grew up on the same street, had the same friends in school. All of my memories are with them.”

  “That don’t mean you’re not a human being with needs, sexual desires, and a dirty mind. You got memories ... you got a vagina too. Tell you what, I’d do just about anything Brock Hills asked me to ... just for one night. I’d work that cock, girl. And what does growing up with two boys have to do with a steamy night of unadulterated fun? I need to find my dildo just thinking about Brock Hills. And Lance ain’t so bad either. Quiet type. He probably cries after sex, but like the good kind of cry, not that mommy-issue kind.”

  “Never a boring minute with you, Caroline.” Brianna bit her thumbnail then stopped when she noticed Caroline watching her.

  “Why are you so nervous?” Caroline asked.

  Brianna’s hand darted to her side and she wiped saliva on her pants. “I’m not nervous, weirdo. I’m uncomfortable because you’re talking about my friends like they’re meat.”

  “Let me get this right. You grew up with Lance and Brock? Brock Hills, the biggest stud this side of the Midwest. You’ve shared all of your experiences with them. Why the hell haven’t you been the meat in that sandwich? I would have done awful things with both of them. Times have changed, sister. Get with it and get on it. Girl, you’re past due for some kinky, neighbor-boy sex.”

  They both laughed.

  “That would only complicate my feelings for both of them. The last thing I want to do is ruin our friendship.” Brianna stood, grabbed her purse, glanced at her reflection in the mirror and ran her fingers through her hair. “Have fun tonight.” She opened the door and walked out, leaving Caroline in the living room with her thoughts.

  In the lobby, Lance and Brock argued. They always argued like brothers. And like a mother, Brianna stood in the stairwell and watched them adoringly for a moment before announcing her presence.

  “You look awful.” Brock said, checking out Brianna. “Really ugly.”

  She knew he was kidding. Conversations with Brock started with light-hearted insults.

  “Thanks, you look dumb—really dumb—like, when I look at you I think, now there’s a person who wears a football helmet to school.” Brianna enjoyed insulting Brock.

  Always the observer, Lance laughed at the flying insults.

  Brock shook his head. “You know, Brianna, you’d be better off dumb. Being smart will only get you heartache. You’re into all this women’s rights shit, you’re majoring in business, thinking about becoming a lawyer, but you’d actually be much happier if you were an idiot, like a stripper. Just plotting along through life one dick after the next until your looks started to fade and then you could jump onto a sugar daddy.”

  “How long did it take you to think that one up?” Brianna extended her middle finger. “You look—and have always looked—utterly and completely moronic. I mean, if your IQ were a couple points lower you’d be shitting your pants and rubbing spit all over your face.” Brianna smiled, breaking the friendly tension by hugging Brock then Lance. She couldn’t help but to inhale when Brock held her.

  “Let’s go before you guys draw a crowd and this turns into a comedy insult show.” Lance always initiated the breaking up of mindless banter on the brink of an all out roast. “We’re meeting Grady at The Quarter?”

  “Really?” Brock asked, annoyed.

  “Yes, we are really meeting my boyfriend at The Quarter. He probably wouldn’t think too highly of me if I ditched him for the porno and wine party.”

  “Why?” Brock sounded like a two year-old asking his mother questions simply for the sake of asking.

  “What the hell do you mean, why? He’s my boyfriend and I don’t do shit like that. It would give him the wrong idea and it’s not appropriate.”

  “What idea?”

  “That something ... inappropriate was going on between me and my two oldest friends.” Brianna looked down. She didn’t want her boys to see her cheeks flush. She meant what she’d said and hated that she’d felt obligated to say it.

  “Well, he knows our past, why would he feel like that?” Brock persisted.

  “Leave it alone, dumb ass.” Lance dove to Brianna’s aid.

  “Would you let your girlfriend go to a boxed wine and porno party with two guys that weren’t you?”

  “That’s why I don’t date.”

  “Well ... I do and it’s rude. If you don’t want to go to The Quarter then don’t.” Brianna shrugged her shoulders.

  “We’re going to The Quarter first.” Lance shot a grim look at Brock.

  “Are you cool with that?” Brianna looked to Brock.

  “Are you in love with California-boy?”

  “Put me on the spot, why don’t you.”

  “Don’t dodge the question.”

  Brock didn’t look like he was kidding anymore.

  Was he jealous?

  She hated being turned on by Brock, especially when he attempted to make her feel guilty. She didn’t tolerate other men that treated her like this, but Brock’s persuasion was different from everyone else. His dominance was her weakness. Her father wasn’t the dominant male type. Her mother had been the dominant figure in her household. But her father had told her, repeatedly, throughout the duration of her life that she should never let a boy treat her badly or dictate her life. She’d been taught to treat herself with respect. She did. There hadn’t been a boy yet that could hold her beneath their thumb. There was no high school sweetheart. No boy that got away. She wasn’t disrespectful to the men in her life, but she wasn’t very respectful either. Respect had to be earned and she gave it when it was due. And thus far, the only respectable men were teachers and her father. Brock was not in that category.

  Funny how all that worked.

  Brock’s control over Brianna was degrading and she was a hypocrite to tolerate and accept it. Hypocrisy was an annoyance of hers. How could she feel content if she was treating someone else lesser than she was being treated? That wasn’t fair, but she knew that she’d done it. Her relationship with Grady proved her point. Wanting to sexually experiment with her best friend was becoming harder to suppress. Humanity, or God, or the universe, or whatever created all was cruel in the construction of humanity. Brianna believed in reason and logic, yet there were aspects of her life that she couldn’t control, which were illogical. Her mother was a Born Again Christian and therefore she had impressed upon her the idea of heaven and hell, but this didn’t matter. Brianna struggled with her faith. There was no logic to the Immaculate Conception. She refused to believe in it. The idea that a supernatural entity had created all ascended from the heavens one night and impregnated a woman without sexual intercourse was absurd. People who believed this were lacking specific knowledge and common sense, she thought. Life and religion didn’t work together. Life would be so much easier if Christianity could be proven with logical evidence, but it could not. That said, her attraction to Brock was also illogical in terms of her beliefs and convictions and she believed in the contradictory nature of humanity—an even more flawed ruler of all. Many aspects of her life were illogical these days. Being unable to control her fantasies about Brock, questioning God and her faith, and losing enthusiasm for the sport that had provided her a scholarship were causing her to question everything.

  What next?

  4

  A staggered line of university students, and some townies, waited to get past the security guard and into The Quarter, which had met full capacity as it often did. Music blared, but the crappy kind—billboard top ten dance music. A cloud of cigarette and marijuana smoke lingered over the crowds as they drank their
way to mental incapacity.

  Lance wasn’t particular about The Quarter. He also couldn’t understand why the bar was named The Quarter except that at the rear of the establishment, by the pool tables, the wall was papered with a large photo of the New Orleans French Quarter during one of their Mardi Gras, maybe from the nineteen eighties. The owner was of Italian descent and came from Milwaukee. Whatever. In life, sometimes it was best not to think about such things, he thought.

  Making their way into the bar was easy. They knew the bouncer, Ricky Mack, a big linebacker for the university football team, or at least he had been. He and Brock were friends, which had been convenient at times. Brock and Ricky often went out drinking and looking for tail.

  Once inside the bar, Brock led the way as Lance followed. They weaved through crowds of drunken-horny patrons who whined about finals, coursework or where the next theme party was going to be held. Finally, they reached the bar. Brianna was always the center of attention. Lance hated to watch all these inebriated Neanderthals grabbing at her. It annoyed him that she brushed it off. It wasn’t right. She probably enjoyed it. Actually, he couldn’t say that. If someone were to touch her—in a private zone—she would stop, get in said Neanderthal’s face, and express her mind until the bouncers closed in and diffused the situation.

  Finally, all three found an opening and wedged themselves into the bar after a group of flighty freshmen were pulled onto the dance floor. Brock ordered a round of shots while they waited for Grady.

  Twenty minutes and two shots later, Grady made an animated entrance by leaping onto Brock’s shoulders and shouting, “Brock, you crazy man-slut!”

  Brock didn’t look thrilled but played the part and spun Grady, bumping into a crowd of drunks who looked annoyed.

  Grady’s juvenile behavior annoyed Lance, but he played along. He laughed, raised his glass, and downed half of his pint. The alcohol immediately began to take hold of his thoughts. He was buzzed enough that he hadn’t realized he’d been staring at Grady and Brianna. He and Brock’s relationship with Brianna had to feel somewhat awkward for Grady. His girlfriend spent all her time with the campus stud, and his sensible friend who were both single. There had to be an element of jealousy. Had to.