You put the thinner, sexier jacket and bound out the door. Are you really going to let them see you in that frumpy old thing? First impressions matter.
You weren’t sure you knew the way, still, but your feet have minds of their own. Left at the science building, right at the top of the stairs, three hundred steps past the clock tower that lorded over the campus. Then it was straight into the forest, directly to the left of the old oak, looking older than ever, it’s branches twisted and gnarled.
And suddenly you’re in the same old clearing, The stream trickles in the distance, the wind howls through the trees. A hooded silhouette looms in the center, barely visible in the quickly fading daylight. As you approach them, a hand slips out and extends a flask.
Homecoming of Horrors 