A Good Reason To Be Afraid of the Dark

 

My paternal grandmother was always a superstitious woman, to the point where it was overbearing at moments. One thing she was very anal to us about was staying outside after the sun went down. "It's because wicked things always happen during those ungodly hours." That's what she told us often.

 

The night before my thirteenth birthday, my grandma suffered a terrible stroke. She was hospitalized for several weeks. 

My younger sister, our cousin, and I were left to our own devices while dad and our Aunt Linda were at the hospital with grandma. Our mother was away on an important business trip during that time and was unable to return home.

"Lauren, Maureen, Joshua, all three of you are old enough to stay home by yourselves now." Dad and Aunt Linda gave us a run down of their expectations. "You all need to be in before night fall. Are we clear?" They were very clear. "Call us before you three head to bed for the night." Dad and Aunt Linda told us they would be back before nine.

Not long after their departure, Lauren, Joshua, and I were outside playing with our neighborhood friends, Brandon, Katie, and Wyatt.

"Lauren, Joshua, we need to start heading back inside now." Everyone whined and groaned. We were having a good time. No one wanted to stop just yet. However, I gave dad my word.

"Maureen..." My sister whined. "Can we play a little bit longer? Please?!" My sister and cousin begged. I gave them a firm no. 

"We gave dad and Aunt Linda our word. It's time to go inside."

Maureen and Joshua continued to argue back. "Come on, Maureen. Mom's away for work and dad is going to be at the hospital until nine. One more hour, please? I won't tell if you don't tell." As the oldest, it was my job to lay down the law. I should have told my sister and our friends "no" or threatened to call dad for their defiance. 

But in the end, I was still just a kid too. 

"Let's play hide-in-go-seek in the dark!" Wyatt suggested. 

The person who was deemed "It" had to wear a green, neon glow stick around their neck. The rest of us had to wear yellow neon glow sticks around our neck. Once found, the caught ones had to join "It" as seekers when found.  As I thought about it, the game was stupid to play with glow sticks because it defeated the whole purpose of hiding in the dark. 

No one wanted to be "It," so we all played Rock-Paper-Scissors to choose who. In the end, Wyatt was chosen. 

 

"Ugh! Of course I'm 'It.'" He was sorely disappointed about being chosen as the seeker, but he also lost fair and square. While he counted to thirty, the rest of scattered into the darkness. 

Half of our subdivision was still under development. Brandon and I hid in one of the unfinished houses. I hid in one room while he hid in the other. 

 

We waited for what felt like an eternity. With the hour dwindling to its end, we decided to leave our hiding spots and re-group with the others. "Wait!" Brandon stopped me. "I hear someone coming." Quickly, we returned to our hiding spots, thinking Wyatt and the others had discovered us.  

We waited and waited and waited, but heard no footsteps or voices. "I think we've won." Brandon whispered in my ear. 

"We need to be heading home. It's almost 8:30. My dad and aunt will be home soon." If they came home and figured out we were still outside playing after hours, our dad's head would have exploded. 

Brandon and I started to leave for the second time, until we actually heard Wyatt and the others that time. We decided to stay put again since the game was drawing to close anyways. 

"Stop it, Brandon." I felt him stroking his fingers down my back. "You're being weird."

"What are you talking about? I'm not touching you. Also, why are you breathing down my neck so hard?"

"Brandon...how am I breathing down your neck while talking to you?" We assumed it was one of our friends pulling a prank.

"You can stop trying to scare us now. You've found us." Whoever it was said nothing. 

"Um...Maureen..." Brandon touched my hand. It was sweaty and shaking, like he was terrified. He whispered, "We need to run. Now!" 

Brandon and I bolted from our hiding place. Behind us, we heard thundering footsteps following closely. We never saw what was chasing us. We were too terrified to look. Whatever it was, it sounded like a large animal of some sort. 

We didn't stop running until we reached the safety of our house. Thankfully, Lauren, Joshua, and Katie had made it inside too. "Have you guys seen Wyatt?!" Lauren yelled when she saw me.

"What are you talking about?" I realized Wyatt was the only one who wasn't present. Brandon and I learned from the others they had been attacked by a rabid animal in the darkness. 

 

They thought it was Wyatt messing with them, but quickly realized it wasn't him. They heard the animal growling. Lauren even had three deep marks on the back of her thigh from where it attacked her.

"Maybe he's just messing with us." Wyatt was salty about being chosen as "It." I assumed it was all a prank on his part because he was a sore loser. Everyone else wasn't so certain. We would confront Wyatt the next day about it.

Katie and Brandon called their parents to pick them up; they were too scared to venture back out into the darkness even though they lived a few houses down. 

Terrified of the night's event, Lauren slept in my bed. We hadn't slept together in the same bed since we were four and six. 

"Maureen. Maureen. Maureen!" My sister nudged me awake with a sense of urgency. 

"What's-what's wrong?" Lauren heard something at the window. We laid still for a couple minutes, listening. "I don't-I don't hear anything." I got out of bed to look out the window. 

"Maureen, are you okay? Why are you shaking?" Staring back at me from the other side of the window were a set of glowing, yellow eyes. The most terrifying part about that experience was the fact that we were on the second level of the house. 

I grabbed Lauren and we ran into our parents' room. We told our dad we watched a scary movie earlier and were having nightmares. "No more scary movies for a while." He told us as we climbed into bed.

Dad slept on the side of the bed close to the door; I slept on the side close to the window. I made sure I kept my back and gaze away from the window. That night, I didn't get much sleep at all. 

The next morning, Wyatt's parents and the police came to our front door asking about Wyatt's whereabouts. To the anger and disappointment of our dad, we told them how we had been out after dark playing around the previous night. We had no idea where Wyatt was and we never saw him again after that night.

 

After spending almost a month in the hospital, grandma finally returned home to us. She wasn't the same, however. The stroke left her right side completely paralyzed. Dad and Aunt Linda had to put her in a nursing home which was a painful decision on their part. We kept her home with us only until her birthday passed. 

"Goodnight grandma." It was my turn that week to put her to bed for the night. 

"Wy-Wy-Wy..." She mumbled. Her speech had also been affected by the stroke. "Wy-Wy-Wy..."

I leaned in closer to hear her better. "What are you trying to say?" 

"Wy-Wy-Wy-Wyatt... Wyatt!" Grandma raised her shaky left pointer finger. She pointed to the window. I saw nothing but a dimly lit street. I suspected my grandmother knew something about Wyatt's disappearance, but unfortunately she could never tell me what it was.

 

They never figured out what happened to Wyatt. Two years after his disappearance, Wyatt's parents sold their house and moved away.

 

·        

In A Crowded Place

 

Beyond the birch tree woods, near the shores of a quiet lake, there is a cottage where a hermit lives.

He loves the solitude and spends each day in his garden, by the window with watercolors or with a book. There is a cat, a canary, a donkey, and a turtle which keep him company during his self-exile. 

"Oohhh!" The old Hermit stretches while he sits on the side of his cot. "It's that time of year again I see." He sighs heavily. It is that time of year for one day where the Hermit departs his humble abode and ventures into town.

He has done it many times over the years since becoming a hermit. Even so, the anxiety he is experiencing only grows more crippling as the years go by.

Toralei the calico-colored cat rubs against her owner's legs. She senses his stirring anxiety and tries her best to calm his nerves. It helps, but just a little.

"It will be all right, my darling." He cradled Toralei in his arms and showers her with affection. The cat meows with content. "It will all be all right." 

When the Hermit steps out of his cottage, his knees begin to ache. On a heavy sigh, he says, "That means its going to rain some time today." He is right about his statement. Overhead, storm clouds being to slowly move in. Any time it rains, the Hermit's old war wounds flare up, causing him much discomfort. "Such are the perks of growing older." He laughs amusingly to himself.

Before he makes his trip, the Hermits puts the old donkey in her pen. Upset with having to go inside, she brays at her owner, expressing her discontent with his decision. 

 

"Don't be ugly." The Hermit strokes her muzzle gently. "There is rain in the forecast today. I can't leave you out to get soaked. I'll be gone all day." The donkey brays more quietly that time. She understands but it still unhappy. "I'm leaving you in charge today. Keep the others, especially Toralei, in line while I'm gone." The Hermit then departs his cozy homestead.

As he patiently waits at the bus stop, the Hermits mind starts to wander off to a faraway place. Memories from his past come trickling back like forgotten dreams. Every year when he ventures into the city, he thinks back on his days as a soldier. 

 

 

The atrocities of war left the Hermit a broken man. Upon his return home, the Hermit didn't recognize the man he once knew anymore. 

In his early years, when he was naive and full of life, he never thought once to bat his eyes about serving his country. He wore the honor upon his chest like a medal. But when the war claimed his friend's life and the lives of all the other young men, the Hermit became a sullen man. He resented his country and the government who watched them die from the comforts of their mansions, protected by high walls. It left a foul taste in his mouth that never went away.

The Hermit felt like his life and purpose lost its meaning after he outlived his usefulness. So, he decided that only death could bring him absolute peace. 

The following winter after his return home, the Hermit tried to take his life by jumping into a thrashing and freezing river. But there was a higher power at work, which had other plans for the Hermit. His life would not end on that frigid day.

The river carried the Hermit into a lake, where the water spat him out on its shores. It was near that very shore where the Hermit made his homestead. And where he continued to live currently.

With the Hermit at his destination, the memories of his tragic past dissipate and fade into blackness. Since the previous years, the Hermit wonders just how much has changed. 

The town's marketplace is crowded with people and life is bustling. All around him, busy people pass the Hermit by, going nowhere in particular. He takes in every scene and smell that comes his way as he wades through the crowd. 

The baker Marion offers the Hermit a loaf of bread in exchange for half the bouquet of flowers he carries. The Hermit obliges to the trade, thanks the woman, and continues on his way.

 

In a dark alleyway stirs the whispers of secret lovers who can never be together. Betrothed to other partners, they meet in the shadows to reiterate their love for the other each day, but will never run away together.

 

At a produce stall, a middle-aged man and a seventeen-year-old girl get into a nasty argument. She slaps him across the face. In a fit of anger, he pulls out a knife and stabs her dead before a crowd of horrified bystanders. Her young blood soaks the street, mixing with the filth in the gutters.

“At the end of the day, two lives were lost.” The Hermit sighs disappointingly and trudges on ahead. He refuses to gawk and concern himself with matters that distract him from his end goal.

Across the way, two elderly women and a man engage in their gossip for the day. Unbeknownst to any of them, a thief steals out of their purses and pocket. The man slips away quietly into the roaring crow of the marketplace.

Around the corner, three thugs beat down a young father in front of his family. He owes them money, but is unable to repay his debt.

Inside the church, a young couple celebrates the birth of their first child with a baptism.

One street over, some orphaned children finally succumb to starvation. The street cleaners collect their bodies. They will be taken to the dump outside of town.  

 

So many tragedies, so little joy to balance them out. The Hermit presses forward still, paying no mind to the tragedies taking place around him. The sight of them makes his heart ache, but he refuses to falter.

 

At last, the Hermits makes his way to the oldest section of town wherein lies the cemetery. The place of his friend's eternal rest. “I have come to see you again this year, my dear friend.” The Hermit makes himself comfortable before the grave. “I’ve written another story for you. I’ve also brought some homemade wine as well.”

Before he can catch up with his friend, the Hermit tides the headstone as he did every year. He places the flowers, which he grew in his very own garden, before the grave and pours a cup full for his long departed friend.

 

“This story is called Stranded, which is about a stranded sailor on a deserted island." 

When the Hermit finishes his story, he decides to reminisce on their days long past. He misses their schoolboy days, and their childish antics. He misses their adventures and the love he let get away.

“Every day, I wake up cursing the sky. Damn that war! You would still be here." He curses to the sky.

 

Thunder booms loudly in the distance; the visit is at its ends. The Hermit begins to cry. Though it is not his last time at his friend's grave, the Hermit cannot help but become emotional. Surviving the war, living on and growing old makes the Hermit feel as though he's leaving his dear friend behind.

“It never gets any easier as the years pass by.” The Hermit weeps upon his friend's grave. “I just hope we'll meet again in our next life. Rest easily, my friend. Until the next year.” 

 

The marketplace is empty as the Hermit makes his way back to the bus stop.  The last of the stall owners are sweeping, cleaning, and packing up before the rain arrives. 

 

It is quiet. It is peaceful. But it is also lonely. 

More memories from the past begin to flood the Hermit's mind as he makes his way out of town. A part of him truly misses the positive aspects that come with being a part of the town, of a community.  

 

In the spring, wedding bells could be heard all around town almost every single day. The children would pick wildflowers and stir the gophers from their holes. The air would be ripe with the fragrant smells of food and perfumes. When midday rolled around, the town would gather at its center and watch the men and older boys race through town. The women and children would cheer loudly, waving their colorful scarves in the air. The smaller boys who wanted in, sulked at their mother's sides, unable to participate with the others. They never gave up hope though. For they knew that one day, they too would be able to join.

When autumn arrived, the town would gather in the fields to harvest the labors of the year and sing jubilant songs. During the Harvest Festival, singing and dancing could be heard all through the night. The children were permitted to stay up late to enjoy the festivities.  Offerings would be made to the gods, thanking them for another successful harvest year. The festival would close out with the elders and their fables of mighty heroes and monsters.

Once summer circled back around again, the men would take their boats out on the lake and rivers to fish or go boar hunting in the woods outside the town. The women would shear the sheep, spin the thread, dye it, and weave beautiful tapestries. The children would build forts down by the river and play late into the evening. They would catch fireflies in jars but release them when it was time go home. 

But those days are long gone. They've become something like a faint dream to the Hermit. It is time to say goodbye, but only for today. The only life that awaits the Hermit is one of solitude, through the birch tree woods, near the shores of a quiet lake.

As the Hermit steps off the bus, the first few drops of rain strike him upon his head. "I rather enjoyed my trip." He warmly greets Torelei, who has been awaiting at the bus stop for his return. She greets him with a soft meow. “I’ll return, someday.” The wide-eye cat stares at the Hermit in disbelief. “One day.” He says again as he and his cat start up the path home. 

 

 

The Witch House

 

They told Thalia she was too young, immature, and irresponsible to own a house. Despite their barrage of criticism, the determined young woman aspired to prove them wrong. And she did.

Thalia bought her first house all on her own, silencing her naysayers. It was an older home, built in the Clapboard-style. The house sat at the end of a dead end street away from all the other homes in the neighborhood.

Thalia’s house was not like the rest. Her was much older and its architectural style was simple. The other homes down the street were newer and more intricate in design. The original owner of Thalia’s house had it painted black while the other homes were colorfully vibrant.

Its lack of charm made sense as to why it had stayed on the market for so long. Thalia's family and friends were turned off by her house. They didn't understand why she had taken a bizarre interest in it when there were better houses on the market.

Thalia paid their opinions no mind. She didn’t care. That house was a prize to her. Only she saw the potential it had to offer. She would renovate and decorate the house in the way she so desired.

“Your keys.” The realtor quickly handed them off to Thalia. She was relieved; the house was finally out of her hands. “Congratulations on your new home, Thalia! I wish you the best. Good day.” The realtor hurried to her car and sped out of the neighborhood quickly.

Thalia thought it odd, but didn’t dwell on the realtor’s strange behavior too much. Her primary concern was getting her house in order.

“Are you the new owner of this house?” Two the neighborhood children walked up to Thalia as she was unloading some boxes out the car.

 

Thalia proudly answered, “Yes I am.”

“I don’t know if anyone has told you this yet, but your house used to belong to a witch.” The unsolicited claim from the children frightened Thalia. “They said she was murdered and her killers buried her under the floor.” Thalia was unnerved by the children’s words. She craned her neck at them. Thalia hoped the children were just messing with her.

“Um…where are you parents? You kids shouldn’t be talking to strangers. It’s dangerous.” Thalia attempted to change the conversation quickly, but the children continued to impart the frightening history of the house upon her.

“It’s cursed, you know. Your house is cursed.” The girl told her matter-of-factly. A crowd of neighbors began to gather across the street. They watched Thalia like she was some animal in a zoo. They whispered and sneered at her. 

 

The children hurried across the street where they were surrounded by the crowd. Thalia was certain the crowd was asking the children about her. 

 

She grabbed the last few boxes and hauled them into the house. “Weirdos.” She commented before closing the door. It was obvious to Thalia that she would not be making friends with her neighbors.

Two weeks later, the neighborhood came together to host a BBQ. Thalia realized she and her odd neighbors had started off on the wrong foot; Thalia wanted to try again before she wrote them off completely. The night before, Thalia made a strawberry cake which she took to the party.

Judging by their body language and facial expressions, the neighbors didn’t want her there with them. They were all cold and avoided eye contact with her.

She tried (and failed) to spark conversations with her neighbors. Eventually, she gave up and left. “Thank God…” She heard one of the women mumble. When Thalia turn around, she saw the neighbors throwing her cake in the trash. That act devastated her.

That night, Thalia phoned her father and cried about how poorly her neighbors were treating her. “They threw it in the trash like it was nothing.” She cried like a child whose dreams had been crushed. “I don’t understand why they don’t like me, daddy. They don’t know me. They won’t even get to know me.”

“Why don’t you come back home for a few days. Get away from those assholes for a while.” Thalia took her father up on his suggestion.

In the early hours of the following morning, Thalia awakened to the loud sounds of sirens and red lights outside her house. The wife of a neighbor was transported to the hospital. The woman’s husband immediately confronted Thalia when he spied her. “You! Did you poison that cake?” The man lashed out at Thalia mercilessly.

“What-what are you getting at?” The accusation infuriated Thalia. She would never stoop to something so nefarious. “No one touched that cake. You all threw it in the trash whole; I saw it with my own eyes.”

Thalia was innocent, but the neighbors weren’t buying it. They believed she was responsible for the wife’s sudden illness. They accused her of being evil and that her presence in the neighborhood would only bring misfortune to everyone.

The hostility and ostracism Thalia experienced at the hands of her neighbors escalated in the coming days. They went from ignoring her presence to bullying and harassment. Thalia found her house vandalized after returning home from work one evening. Someone wrote across the front, “A WITCH lives here” in red spray paint.

The children pelted her with rocks and attacked her with silly string every chance they got. “She’s a witch! She’s a witch!” They sang as they tormented her.

“Fuck. Off!” She shrieked at the children. They scattered like roaches, laughing and screaming as they ran home.

Thalia brought the issues up with the HOA, but they told her they couldn’t do anything without proof. “You’ve got to be shitting me right now!” Thalia went to the police, but they were little help as well.

Defeated, emotionally and mentally exhausted, Thalia gave up and returned home. “No. No. No. No. No. No!” Someone had ignited a fire on her front yard. They had tried to burn her house down or worse, tried to kill her. Of that, Thalia was certain.

The neighbors gathered in a crowd on the other side of the street. They smiled and whispered among themselves. “Who did this!?” Thalia screamed at them. No one said a word. “Why the fuck would anyone pull some shit like this?! Fuck you horrible ass people!”

Thankfully, the fire department arrived just in time and extinguished the blaze before it reached the house. Thalia’s yard was left charred and blackened. The grass never grew back which further solidified the neighbor's claim that she was a possible witch.

She tried once again to file a report with the police but again, nothing was done about it. She didn’t have proof of her neighbors' involvement. 

Thalia phoned her realtor and berated the woman for not disclosing her neighbors’ psychotic behavior.

“They’re really nice people.” Thalia knew the woman was trying to force the lie. She heard it in her voice. “No one’s ever complained about them. Maybe you’re the problem.” Thalia was appalled by the accusation. She cussed the realtor and called her every obscenity under the sun. “I’m sorry Thalia but I have to go now. I have other clients to attend to.” The woman hung up in Thalia’s face. She tried to call her back, but the call wouldn’t go through that time. The realtor blocked her number. 

The bullying, the harassment, the torment and the accusations continued. Increasing viciously as they days went on. Thalia was afraid to leave her house anymore. Her neighbors would stand outside, watching her, and yelling obscenities. They also dumped garbage on her yard.

Her relationships with her family and friends became fractured and estranged. Eventually, she lost her job. Her sanity soon followed. The house she so loved became a physical, emotional, and mental prison. 

 

When Thalia had finally had enough, she decided to abandon the house. She asked her parents if she could return home, which the obliged happily. Thalia would retrieve her belongings at a later time. The only thing she was focused on was getting as far away from those deranged neighbors as possible.

Thalia loaded up her car with the few items she could take. It devastated her having to abandon the house she worked so hard to purchase, but had she stayed any longer, her neighbors more than likely would have killed her, or drove her to suicide.

“You assholes won!” She yelled at them from across the way. “I’m done. I’m leaving!” The neighbors whooped and cheered. Thalia gave them the finger as she drove away.

The nightmare wasn’t over for Thalia just yet, however. The neighbors had one last thing in store for her.

Three trucks came up from behind and surrounded Thalia’s car on every side. Their blinding headlights made it hard for Thalia to see the road. The green truck rammed Thalia from behind; the other two cars joined in, ramming her from the sides.

A rock was launched through her back window which struck Thalia in the head. She lost control of the car and plummeted down below into the river. She kicked at her window, but tragically it would not budge. Thalia was hopelessly trapped. There was no way out for her.

As Thalia’s car sank deeper into the river's depths, she uncovered a horrifying secret. Dozens of cars littered the riverbed like a watery graveyard. Horrified, Thalia realized she wasn't the only one. Unfortunately for her, she wound up as their newest addition.

“I guess she wasn’t a witch after all.” The children remarked disappointingly, as the last bit of Thalia's car was swallowed up by the river's dark waters.

Thalia’s house went back on the market, but it sat vacant for the next three to four years.

Eventually, the house was purchased by a young couple, Martin and Cynthia. Cynthia was pregnant with the couple’s first child and was excited about buying their first home together. “We can’t wait to make this house a home.” Martin told the realtor.

“It’s the perfect house for a couple just starting out. Congratulations on your new home and your pregnancy.” She turned over the keys to the couple.

As she had done with Thalia before, the realtor hurried to her car and sped off down the road which raised eyebrows with the couple. The excitement of their new house, however, overshadowed the realtor's suspicious behavior.

While getting ready to take some boxes inside, the couple noticed the crowd of neighbors gathering on the other side of the street. They waved but were only met with blank stares. “Okay… Odd…” 

 

Two of the neighborhood children walked up to Martin and Cynthia as they were unloading their car. 

“I don’t know if anyone has told you this yet, but your house used to belong to a witch.” 

 

 

Death & The Moon

 

 

 

Death & the Moon,

Forever they push & pull.

In their endless dance,

They chase one another,

But never able to catch the other. 

Photo credit: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/bKr9Aa

The Rules of Hazing

 

If you had met me back in my college days, I guarantee you wouldn’t have found me to be the most likable person. I rarely went to class and cared little about going. I was an undeclared student and made no attempts at trying to figure out what I wanted my major to be. I just didn’t want to go at all. It was my mother who forced me into going. She wanted me to get an education and do something, anything, with my life.

Halfway through the semester, my first roommate dropped out. The second one was a little too unstable for my tastes and I immediately requested someone else. That’s how I came to know Paul.

Paul was a chill dude. He was well known around the campus and popular. And while we got along well, I wouldn’t exactly refer to him as my friend. We were simply acquainted with one another.

Sigma Tau Sigma was one of the many fraternities that operated on our campus. I couldn’t stand them. They were arrogant and they were elitist bastards. No one was ever good enough to be in their frat, unless the price was right.

Sigma Tau Sigma was well known around the university for their brutal hazing practices. Many of their prospective members ended up dropping within the first week.

I overheard a guy in my chemistry class tell a peer about his Sigma Tau Sigma pledging horror story. He was assaulted with billiard balls and ended up with broken ribs as a result. Another guy was left with a nasty concussion. One of the baseball players had his collegiate career cut short due to a knee injury from pledging on year. The list went on and on.

The university administration turned a blind eye to the fraternity’s heinous activities. A lot of the fraternity’s alumni were wealthy and powerful of society. As long as they kept making hefty contributions to the school, the administration continued turning a blind eye.

Sigma Tau Sigma’s hazing was so brutal and vicious that it earned them the moniker “The Frat from Hell.”

So, when Paul confided in me about pledging that fraternity, I tried my hardest to talk him out of it.

“It’s not worth it. You need to drop out. Now!” My pleas of concern fell on deaf ears.

“I just have to make it one more week.” Paul was determined to make it through the choppy storm. He needed Sigma Tau Sigma, their connections, and the opportunities that came with being a part of their social circle. “I’ll be okay. I’ve made it through worse.” Paul revealed to me that he and his family had immigrated from South Sudan. He told me about the horrors of war he had experienced as well as overcame.

Dalton, Sigma Tau Sigma’s president, was one of my psychology course classmates. One day in class, I overheard him bragging about the brutal hazing he had in store for his pledges on Hell Night. “We’ve upped the ante this year.” He boasted like the deranged psychopath he was.

Before I knew it, I had sucker punched him in the side of his jaw. “What the absolute fuck is wrong with you people?! How can you sit here and take pleasure in the torture and suffering of other people? Your fraternity is going to burn to the ground one day.” Dalton deserved a lot more than a sucker punch.

And he got it too. It just wasn’t from me.

In the days leading up to Hell Night, I saw Paul less and less. In our last conversation, I begged him to stop while he was ahead. Paul, with a defeated look in his eyes, told me, “I can’t… I’m almost there… I’m worthy. I’ll make them see.”

The morning following Hell Night, a chorus of screams and shrieks echoed across the campus. I looked outside and saw a massive group of people gathered on the Quad.

Quickly, I threw on some clothes and bolted downstairs. “What’s-what’s going on?” I asked the woman in front of me.

She turned around slowly; there was a horrified expression on her face. “There’s a dead body hanging from the tree.” For some reason, I had a terrible sensation in my stomach. Immediately, I pushed my way to the front.

It was Paul. Around his neck was a large sign that read, “SIGMA TAU SIGMA made me do it.”

I was haunted by that scene for the rest of my young adult years.

 

Paul’s family would come to collect his things two hours later. I made sure all his belongings were boxed up and ready for his parents.

While I was clearing Paul’s bedside nightstand, I came across a journal he kept. It wasn’t right of me to go through it, but I was curious to know if there was something that could help me better understand why Paul had taken his life.

As I had already expected, Paul described in horrific detail the physical, emotional, and psychological abuse he and the other pledges were subjected to at the hands of the fraternity. Despite proving his worth to the fraternity and enduring their cruel hazing for weeks on end, the fraternity wasn’t going to extend its membership to Paul.

Paul “just didn’t fit their standards.” A.k.a., they didn’t like the idea of someone from a Blue-Collar family joining their elite and exclusive social circle. That sent Paul over the edge. I believed that’s why he ended up taking his life.

But that was only half of Paul’s revenge against Sigma Tau Sigma. His pain and humiliation became the ruin of the fraternity. Secretly, Paul managed to bring the depraved acts of Sigma Tau Sigma to light. He secretly recorded all the brutal hazing acts done against him and the others, which somehow made their way to the internet.

Unfortunately, none of the Sigma Tau Sigma members were ever charged for their crime against the pledges. They got off easy given their families access to powerful attorneys.

Even so, their reputation was forever tarnished by their diabolical actions.

The chapter at our university was kicked off and banned from ever operating on campus again. Several more universities and colleges across the country followed suit by banning Sigma Tau Sigma on their campuses. No amount of money from the fraternity could extinguish the raging fires of the backlash they received from the public.

Once I finished the semester, I withdrew from the university. Every time I saw that tree on the quad, I kept picturing Paul’s lifeless body swinging back and forth in the early morning breeze. It was too traumatic for me to handle. There was no going back after Paul’s death. For me and for Sigma Tau Sigma.

With his dying breath, Paul damn well made sure of that. 

 

 Photo credit: https://www.istockphoto.com/photo/young-african-american-man-holding-a-banner-with-a-confident-expression-on-smart-gm1043958626-279430842