by Ryan Ramsay
“Oh… my… God!”
It hits me hard. I clench my abs and clamp my thighs shut around the vibrator tip, thrashing about at the unexpected tumult.
There are three knocks on the door. I click the device off and throw it under the pillow.
Hastily I catch my breath, wipe my forehead and pull down my skirt.
If my parents ever know that I do this, they’ll likely disown me.
“Come in,” I say a little loudly.
“Sis?” Alex asks, as the door pans wide.
Oh. It’s just him. Golden boy.
“I just wanted to say goodnight, Jesse.”
“Then goodnight, Alex. You can shut the door behind you.”
He stands there stupidly rubbing the base of his skull.
“I also wanted to know if you’re celebrating Halloween.”
“Why? What’s the point? Mom and Dad won’t let me.”
“And that, Messy Jesse, is why you should stop telling them stuff.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“See? Why don’t you tell him that? He knows you hate that name.”
“You know how he is. You of all people know that.”
“Yeah, but I’m the basketball player. You’re the one majoring in pre-law. Who do you think has the most pull here?”
Hmm. Good point.
“Just because of what happened doesn’t mean you have to shell yourself. They’re nosy, I get that. But you don’t have to give in.”
I laugh.
“Who’s the older one again?”
“I’m taller. That must count for something.”
“I owe you a hug.”
“Yeah, right. Three years of zero contact and all I get is a hug.”
Ouch.
“You know I didn’t mean to—”
His silhouette nods.
“I know. You don’t have to worry about it. You had to study and get on with your life. You work hard, Jesse, and you deserve to rest and have fun. You know you’re my hero, right?”
“Gosh, Alex. You don’t have to kiss my ass—”
“Just take it, you dummy.”
“I’ll take it.”
He quiets down and turns to the corridor light.
I can see his muddied face.
The wind is quite strong tonight.
“Goodnight, then,” he says. “See you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Alex. Try not to catch a cold tonight.”
The door clicks.
I am alone once more, except for the biting cold coming through the window. I head to it and clasp the lock shut. This will be my exit.
Simmering down, I pace around my room, careful not to make any sounds with my feet. The carpet helps a lot, but I don’t know if Dad made the walls thinner.
He could have heard what I was doing. God, I hope there’s no camera in here. What would he do if he saw?
No matter. That’s his problem. I’m a grown woman, and should stand up to them, like Alex says.
Easier said than done, though, when I’ve been conditioned my whole life not to.
I pick up the golden brown bag from my shoe rack, hidden inside one of the winter boots. Inside it is my rest and relaxation package. I got the gist that Mia meant it to be one heck of a slutty party, and this was the one sexy costume I could find at the mall outside of town. It’s a witch.
It was a risk, lying like that, but this won’t be like that night. No. This time I’ll be ahead of the curve. This time, Mom and Dad will not catch me.
I rest my head on the pillow, smiling. Waiting.
It’s vibrating. Oh fuck. I never turned it off. Horror strikes me as I just realize Alex could have heard it the entire time.
I don’t have time to think about that now, though.
It’s time to make my escape— something I’m pretty good at doing by now.
Chapter 7
Jesse
The Becket house was quiet at thirty minutes to midnight. Not a sound could be heard, save for Mom’s audible teeth clattering and Dad’s heavy timber competition going on in his airways as he slept.
The window was as easy to open as it was three years back, on my first adventure away from the grips of my parents’ strict teachings. So was the fast Lyft that was two minutes earlier than the app had told me he would show up.
He didn’t know me, I realized, as I climbed into the backseat. I didn’t know him.
Good.
A mutuality of silent interests was merged as I gave him the direct location.
We sped off.
He was nice; kept his eye on the road at all times and not on my weird robe. At the time, I must have thought he was thinking, “is she in a cult?”
I would ask of myself the same, if I was him.
But I guess it doesn’t seem too weird tonight.
It is Halloween night, and there’s enough proof littering the streets to prove it.
Kids go door to door— but to my parents’, of course, because even without the sign, everyone knows they’re not welcome there or at any house with family members belonging to my church— knocking in fast and reckless joy, opening their sacks wide for every neighbor to contribute.
I could see ghouls and little slasher kids, some of whom walked alone in the bump of the night. The flurry of activity made me feel safe, especially when we leave the outskirts of Newport and go out into the middle of lit streets, empty of children and full of clubs and adult-themed clubhouses.
We keep on going. The driver doesn’t question me.
My worry is the dimmed expectation of civilization as we near the little red dot on my phone.
Three miles to go.
One mile to go.
“You have arrived at your destination.”
His accent throws me off completely. Welsh, with a slight upturn, as if he’s from New York.
I push the button on the app that gives him a tip.
When I have one foot out the door, he asks, “You sure this is the right place, Miss? It seems deserted.”
It sure does.
We had parked in front of one heck of a dilapidated building. I really wondered, too, if this was where Mia wanted us to meet for her game.
How lucky I am, then, for her to appear from the silhouette of the building in nothing but an angelic gown.
“It’s okay,” I tell the driver. “I’m here. Thank you.”
He’s wary, I can tell. But I smile and nod, prodding him to move along. The man sighs and faces the road.
I shut the door and the tires lick the tarmac. It’s just Mia and me now. I turn on the soles of my feet in her direction and hold the opening of my robe together, lest I get dusty. She walks closer.
“You came. You’re early. I like that.”
I beam.
“Compliments like that are quite rare in my world.”
“Would you like to come with me inside? There’s a fire I would like for you to sit by.”
“Sure thing.” I paused. “Do we have smores?”
I quickly find out that there are no smores.
My appetite for adventure is soon filled just by being here. I sit here by the fire overlooking the grounds, wondering about Mia’s origins and how a chick so young, a year younger than I am, could create something like this.
Whatever this is.
The clouds hide the moon well, letting it come out once in a while to peep in and see if anything has started yet. Mia is calm all the way through, eyes staring deep into the red and coaled pit.
Then the limo arrives, and three men, I think, get out of it.
“That’s them?” I ask.
She nods. I gulp.
As they walk closer, I can see that all of them are tall, dark and handsome. And apparently filthy rich.
They have money they want to spend to take my virginity— that much, I’ve figured out and accepted.
It’s about time I lose it.
And why not to one of these three men who look so amazing hot?
It’s going to be one hell of a Halloween night.
Chapter 8
Jerry
So this is what the twilight zone feels like.
I was easy. I was cool. And then Simon came along with an idea.
Brilliant? Maybe.
Fresh? I don’t know the definition of the word anymore.
Moira Kowalski had invited everyone for a good time downstairs at Café de la Luna, the firm’s cafeteria. I was walking down the clean and sterile offices of MPP next to Mike, rubbing my scalp at the great offer he had given me back at my office.
“A revolving table of five items: daiquiri, keg, Walker, a rose of your choice and this baby,” he said, while drawing back his chair and pulling on his desk drawer.
He fished out what seemed to be a vintage brand of something, scuffed up at the wooden edges and marked in what I could only assume to be a mix of Russian and Hebrew.
“What the fuck is that?” I asked.
My throat had lumped.
“This right here,” he said, “is the mother of all vodka. She was distilled on the hills of Ecuador and double distilled in the valleys of the Motherland under the careful gaze of Hans.”
“Hans?”
“He’s my fourth cousin, twice removed. It was a gift from him.”
“And you just casually brought it home with you through customs.”
He chuckled.
“No.”
“Then… you know what? I don’t even wanna know.”
I really didn’t.
The fairy lights under La Luna’s warm and tapered walls glowed eerily on the surface of my drink. I was down two shots of brandy and a sip of wine when Simon showed up—to the unfettered joy of Mike’s wonderful game.
I thanked whoever listens to prayers when the conversation led to something else.
A waitress passes by. Her schoolgirl skirt deliciously hugs her thick and toned thighs.
We have the dumb conversation about how the girl in a skirt could be our niece, which I find ridiculous. I don’t even have any nieces.
I just think Moira could have dressed the girls up in at least some tight, high-waisted jeans and a half-unbuttoned flannel shirt, like a cowgirl. Jesus, at least leave something for imagination’s sake.
“Wow, Mike, it’s been that bad, huh?” Simon interjects.
We have another equally dumb conversation about why the Kleenex is a Mr.
Every day could be the same, with us. It really does get old and boring. I guess Simon’s right.
I’d tried to find hobbies to make life more interesting— playing racquetball, running, drinking, even taking fencing lessons. But it always came down to working a lot more than I played.
Now, I join them in turning to the stage. I watch as Henry, the number one guy in the mailroom, stretches his fingers out and play what I believe to be the Blue Danube.
“By my count, boys, I have you beat on the inclusion numbers this quarter,” announces Mike smugly.
I turn to him. God, I fucking hate it when he brings work up like that. I mean, who fucking cares who brought who in during what fucking quarter? Isn’t it our firm’s win if anyone brings in the client? Fucking hell, dude. I fucking hate that. I fucking—
“What would you boys say to a little game?” asks Simon smugly.
It feels like there’s a fishbowl between us, and his face looks enlarged and out of proportion. Fuck. I’m drunk.
“What kind of game?” I ask.
My eyes fall warily on Mike’s lingering hand, which caresses the brown and grey vodka bottle to sway seductively. Simon pulls his phone out of his jacket breast pocket and passes it around.
Mike stares at it and scoffs.
“Is this for real?”
“As real as it gets. I took screenshots, before it self-deleted.”
“What is that?”
Mike gets me into the action. Wow.
“You hired a redhead?” asks Mike, withholding no pride.
“The billionaire of the story?”
They both turn to me.
“That’s what you get from all that? Jesus, Jerry, hide a ball or two. Your ego is showing.” Simon pauses and takes a long swig out of the glass in my hand.
Mike’s eyes widen in anticipated horror as he shrieks and spits.
“What the fuck is this?” he coughs to Mike’s laugh.
“That, my friend, is the real deal.”
I do my best to pat the man’s back and bring him back from whatever hell-hole Mike’s bet would have taken me to. Thank God for thirds. He calms and calls for a pitcher of water, what seems to me to be the ultimate adult drink as of now. The sandy-haired waitress leaves to go get it, glancing my way.
“So, where is this?” I ask hurriedly.
“There’s a link to a land mass in the middle of nowhere in that email. Check the other screenshot I took of it,” Simon says.
I don’t need to.
“Tell us you’re not considering going,” I say.
It’s Simon’s turn to glare.
“And why not?”
Mike upturns his neck and shakes it menacingly.
“Yeah, why not?”
“Oh, come on guys. An email comes from nowhere. They say they know you, a fact which you’re clearly not refuting— the call girl is something we actually need to talk about, man; that’s not healthy— but point being, you wanna go to a place you’ve never been, with no sense of what is going to happen, on fucking Halloween night? Am I making sense here?”
“It says we are going to hunt a virgin, Jerry,” Simon points out. “What word of that makes no sense?”
“We?” I ask, exasperated.
“Dude,” adds Simon smugly, “you didn’t think I was going on this alone, did you?”
Chapter 9
Jerry
A knight, a vampire and Tarzan walk into a creepy mansion in the still of night. I cannot make this stuff up.
One of them, a tireless sex god— myself, of course— tucks his tongue deeper into his mouth, hoping not to come off too strong. The other three stand by his side, the red and yellow fire bouncing its life off their freshly-shaven and lightly oiled skins.
The knight stands still, watching and listening, hoping that the nonexistent chirps of crickets do not forebode an ominous fate for him and his friends.
The knight is me. Tarzan is our dear invitee and the vampire is no more than Mike, the sadistic son of a bitch.
How I wish this was made up. The pale woman is in nothing but a white gown, silky and glowing— how, I don’t know, not yet— and she stands behind the fire pit with hands below her navel joined at the fingertips, almost symmetrical in standing to a white clay pot the size of a child’s doll.
She has a pear-shaped face, black hair the shade of pencil lead and lips a light pink that subtly matches her complexion. Her name is Mia, and she invited Simon.
So she says.
“Welcome to tonight’s maiden event. Simon, our caveman of the night; you were selected amongst the top 1% of the financial world to come here and sate your devilish tastes. You came with two of your friends, Jerry Philip and Michael Philip—”
“No relation,” pipes Mike heartily.
Mia laughs. So does our mystery woman.
“You did well in coming here, and for your bravery, given the certain clandestine nature of your invite,” she winks, “I applaud you. The instructions were clear, and you abided. And now, here you are.”
She pries her fingers away from each other and spreads her arms slightly apart, still maintaining her composure. Impressive.
“There are rules of the game, and they are simple. You will all search the entire mansion for a golden bracelet individually. It is well hidden, and thus you will need to employ your best efforts. There have been others like you who have attempted this game—”
“Attempted?”
“Others?”
“Like us?”
She laughs a little too lightly for the occasion.
> “This is not the first time, and neither will it be the last. Great measures have been taken to ensure the safety of all the predators, you, and well, the prey.”
Mia turns to the girl in the red robe. Her curls are one thing. Her eyes are another. Just by looking at her, my blood seeps below my metal and leather interior.
“She is Jesse, and she will be the virgin treat you’re hunting on this fine Halloween night.”
“What are the rules?” asks Simon, a little too eagerly.
“I am glad you asked. Each of you will pledge a million into this pot.” So that’s what it’s for. “There is a pen and a piece of paper in the pot for each of you. One million is no small amount, and yet it is enough compensation to the winner. Whoever finds the bracelet gets the virgin.”
“And what do we do when we get her?” asks Mike, pointing his sharpened fangs at her and putting the last signature on the paper before handing the pot back to her.
Mia smiles as we’re all slightly idiotic but very nicely says, “You get to take her virginity.”
The testosterone instantly rises in the air. She goes on.
“In exchange, the virgin will the get the money. Minus a hefty house fee, of course.”
She winks at us.
It’s paltry amount for such beauty, if you ask me.
“Also, Jesse may help any of you try to find the bracelet, if she is so inclined. And if she finds the bracelet herself, she can choose who to give it to.”
I look at Jesse, feeling confident she’ll pick me. Most women do.
“Any questions?” Mia asks at last.
All I can feel are heavy breaths and sweaty palms.
This is really happening.
“Good luck,” says Mia, throwing something into the fire.
A great ball of blue smoke whooshes from the flames. I cover my face with my gloved hand, and when the smoke dissipates, she is gone.
Jesse stands before the flame now, disrobed, revealing to my uttermost satisfaction a smutty witch costume. Not even the peeking moon can hide that tasteful smile of hers.