Call the cops.

You take out your phone and dial 911. An operator picks up.

“Hello, what’s your emergency?

“Hi, umm there’s been a uhh murder…or at least we think there has. I – someone’s been stabbed, a girl. She’s bleedy – bleeding! She’s bleeding.” You’re fumbling over your words. To be be honest, you’re not really sure what the emergency is. Well, you know there’s a girl and she’s been stabbed, but how do you communicate the full extent of the situation to this operator. There should be some sort of code you can give in these scenarios. Like a 405 or something easy and succinct like that. Instead, you’re just blabbering to the operator. You hadn’t prepared what you were going to say before you called.

“Bobby dead – maybe…upstairs down the hall…uhh something about an emoji face.” Oh no, you start to think to yourself that you sound guilty. Stop sounding so guilty.

“Please, slow down. What is your address?” says the operator.

“13 Vincent Lane, in the upstairs.”

“Oh, the DK house?” Why the “oh”? Do they think this is prank call?

“Yeah…I mean yes! Yeah the DK house.”

“We’re are send a unit there now.”

“Ok, great thanks. Have a good night.”

“Please stay on th-” but you’ve already hung up. Shit, you can’t call back now. You don’t want to. You’re relieved the call is over. Why was that so stressful for you?

“Nice,” chirps one of your friends. Screw them, why hadn’t the girl run to them? Why’d she have to choose you? You aren’t cut out for this kind of pressure. Doesn’t matter now, the call has been made and the police are on their way. For now, you decide to wait it out with your friends and the bloody girl. There’s safety in numbers.

Five minutes pass. There’s commotion downstairs, a spontaneous clamor.  

“COPS!!!” yells someone from below. “Hide the drugs!” yells another. “Just plain hide!” yells yet another. The stairs begin to rumble. A hoard of students are running up the stairs. They run right past you, your friends and the bloody girl still sobbing on the floor and scatter into each and every room on the floor. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. This isn’t good. You did not think this one through. You’ve just called the cops to a house full of shitfaced, mostly underage, kids. In doing so, you’ve likely, albeit inadvertently, sent a few to their death in one of these rooms.

This is all too much. You can’t help these kids, you never could. The bloody girl chose the wrong person. All you can do know is save yourself. You go downstairs, leaving your friends behind, where you are greeted by a few cops and several kids being held in custody. The cops briefly question you, but let you go once you tell them you are an alum. It’s a full-blown blizzard outside now. The wind is howling and the snow is swirling in every direction except down. The ground isn’t blanketed yet, but it will be soon. You want to go back into the house, but you can’t go back in there now – there’s no way. Your only real option is to head back to your room so that’s what you do. It’s a good thing you chose your winter jacket.

So, congrats. You survived the night, but now carry around an unshakable burden of guilt. You wake up to hear that more than a dozen students were killed at DK last night and those that weren’t were arrested for underage drinking and, or, drug possession. Way to go. That’s what you get for calling the cops. Fucking narc.


Try again?

Help the bloody girl.

“Ok, ok slow down what happened?” you ask the girl. She’s on the floor sobbing into her knees. She’s in shock and unable to respond. You could call the cops. Tell them someone has been killed at the DK house. Although, you don’t actually know if that’s true yet. Imagine, as an alum, calling the cops into a DK party for a false alarm. You’d never be welcomed back. You’d be a narc for life. Maybe you should just investigate the situation on your own. Ok, definitely not on your own, but with a friend or two.

A) Call the cops.

B) Investigate the situation with a couple friends.

Text the unknown number.

You text the number. Hey! I’m at DK, where are you guys??

To your surprise, you receive an almost immediate response.  

Hey you!!! I was starting think I’d seen a ghost earlier 👻 we’re all upstairs catching up, it’s too crowded down there. Get up here!

You make your way up the stairs. Who do they mean by “all.” You thought this would be a small gathering. You’re now regretting coming here. Do you really need to see these people? You weren’t even that close with any in college aside from a couple people and they aren’t here this weekend. This will just be awkward. You don’t do well in these situations.

At the top of the stairs you look around and spot your friends lounging on a couple couches. Keen to avoid an intimate encounter or give away that you don’t know who you’ve been texting you give a not so enthusiastic, “hey guys” without looking anyone in the eyes followed by a lousy wave.

“Hey!!!” “You made it!” “What’s up bitch!” “Nice jacket”

You spend the next half hour catching up with old friends. Old drinking friends really, the type you only spent time with when you went out in college. You had nothing to talk about with them when you were sober then and you certainly don’t now.

“Hey! How are you?”

“Good, it’s so weird being back.”

“I know right? I feel so old.”


“So how’s your job? You still at the same place?”

“Yep, same place. It’s good, pays the bills.”

“Haha yeah…”

The two of you stand awkwardly exchanging soft smiles while you wait for the other to check their phone first. A piercing scream cuts through the deafening silence. Thank fuck, you were about to resort to commenting on the weather. The screaming is getting closer. You look down the hallway and see a girl running towards you. She’s covered in blood. Is it her blood? It’s hard to tell.


Emoji? What the hell is she talking about? She sees you guys. She sees you first and is running right towards you. She grabs your arms, getting blood on your jacket in the process. Shit, your new jacket. C’mon.

“HE’S DEAD!!! STABBED!! THEY TRIED TO KILL ME TOO!! HELP, PLEASE HELP!!!” she pleads to you. She’s trembling uncontrollably. You don’t care about your jacket anymore, now you’re scared.

You want to help. This girl is begging you, you can’t just leave her. She’s been stabbed and needs your help. Be a hero! Yet, if what she is saying is true there is a murderer up here and the thought of that makes you want to get out of here as fast as you can. You could jump out of the nearest window. You did it once after a brother caught you stealing Patagonias from the bedrooms on this floor so you’re confident you’ll survive the fall. Fight or flight, what will it be?

A) Help the bloody girl.

B) Jump out a window.

Throw the pill away and go look for your friends.

You drop the pill on the ground and walk out. Probably smart, that could’ve been molly for all you know. Now, where are your friends? You could text the unknown number that invited you here, but you still don’t know who it is and would rather not risk having to stand around awkwardly as you wait for a response. They’re probably in the basement playing beer pong like the old days.  You could just head there.

A) Text the unknown number.

B) Head to the basement.

Play something else.


You Died

Ok you haven’t actually died…not yet, but your DJ career has. In a panic you choose the first song not named Mr. Brightside that comes to your mind, “Mr. Smiley.” The crowd stands still. Nobody dances aside from a single kid that starts skanking in circles around the room, but they can’t save you. You are booed off of the stand. More accurately, you are forcibly removed from the stand by a pack of brothers. In a sullen shame, you leave the room to find a quiet place and figure out how it all went so horribly wrong.

It’s here, in this quiet place, that you are stabbed to death. Unbeknownst to you, there is a slasher in the DK house tonight and you aren’t their first kill. You are however their easiest. You don’t see it coming and you don’t even fight back. Frankly, what’s the point? You just played Mustard Plug as your first first song…at a frat party. You deserve this.


Try again?

Play “Mr. Brightside”

Smart choice. It may not have been a creative one, but it works just like you knew it would. It only takes one beat and the crowd is locked in.

“Coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine!” screams literally everyone in the room.

This IS your moment! You’ve bust out of your cage and are doing more than fine! Look at you, you’re on drugs AND you’re a DJ. You are everything you never were in college. Oh, if your friends could see you right now.

You are in total command of this crowd. If they weren’t dancing they would bow for you can do no wrong tonight. Every song you pick is perfect. You have saved the party, you are god! This reunion marks your long-anticipated second coming, and this set is nothing short of miraculous if not transcendent.

Hours pass up on that DJ stand. Hours that feel like minutes. Minutes that feel like the best time of your life until abruptly – they don’t. Satisfied with your queue, you look up from your phone and notice students hurriedly emptying the dancefloor.

Somebody yells, “COPS!!” Simultaneously, someone else flicks on the room’s abrasive fluorescent lights. “Hide the molly!” yells another.

A swift wave of disgust almost knocks you out. Molly, really? How could you have been so stupid? You get a good look of everyone around you for the first time tonight as they rush to clear the room. They look so young, so repulsively young. What are you doing here, you came here to meet up with your friends not roll your way into an aux enabled messiah complex. You are not a god, all you did was shuffle through Top 40 hits from the 2000’s. You’re disgusted with yourself now. Truly, you hate yourself at this moment. You decide to not even bother looking for your friends. You hitch a ride back to campus with some students and head to your dorm room. You lie awake in silence with a blanket pulled over your face for the remainder of the night.

So, congrats. You survived the night. You come to find out that the cops showed up not to bust the party, but because a slasher has killed multiple people in the house. Normally, you’d be grateful to have survived, but truth be told you’d rather be dead. The way you feel right now, this self-loathing and existential dread is pure horror. This is horror of the highest order.


Try again?

Take the pill.

You reassure yourself that this is a good idea and swallow the pill. After all, this might be a longer night than your used to and could use a little help staying out. Until now you haven’t taken notice of the music, but oh my god “Shake It” by Metro Station has just come on You LOVE this song. Maybe it’s the drugs or maybe it’s just the intoxicating synths of keyboardist Blake Healey. Either way a sudden urge to dance rushes over you. You’re still sober, you think, but there is a giddy tingle of anticipation flowing through your limbs. What have I just taken? You don’t care. All you care about is getting to the dance floor in time to yell ‘Let’s drop!’

It’s close, but you make it.

“Let’s drop!”

You’re jumping up and down now. You think maybe you should shake it, but everyone knows this is a jumping song. Every thumping kick from Anthony Improgo’s drum kit commands your left arm to pump as high as it can. Enter Mason Musso’s powerful, yet airy, voice. You know every word but your favorite parts are the backup vocals.

“Leave me at the front door!” … “Get inside!”

Without realizing it you’ve fist pumped your way to the middle of the dancefloor. It’s crowded in here. You’re shoulder to shoulder, it’s hot, and you love it. In fact, you’re loving everything right now. This school, these people, every member of Metro Station, you love it all and this puts a great big smile on your face.

As the song ends you realize you have been sweating, like, a lot. You run your fingers through your hair to keep it off your face. It’s so soft, this must be what a unicorn’s mane feels like. It’s incredible and you can’t stop feeling your hair. You make eye contact with a student next to you. You love this person.

“Oh you’re rolling for sure,” they say.

The deep bassline of an EDM song unknown to you overtakes your ears and your body before you can even comprehend what has just been said to you. You don’t even like EDM but right now your body is chained to the music. You can’t stop dancing. It’s utterly cathartic. Song after song you dance without inhibition and without break.

Abruptly the music cuts out. You look over and see that the “DJ” has unplugged their phone and is now walking away from his post. They weren’t even really djing! They were just queuing songs on their phone and now they have abandoned us! At first, this upsets you, but then you realize this is an opportunity. No, it’s a calling! The aux is yours – right here, right now. This is your moment, seize it! You know music. You can do this.

Without hesitation, you assume position behind the DJ stand. Aux in one hand and your phone in another. You’ve never felt this much power before, it’s exhilarating. Yet, with great power comes great responsibility and your responsibility is to pick the perfect song. This song marks your djing debut, it’s your first first song. You want it to reflect your unique taste, to separate you from other DJ’s, but it also needs to please tonight’s crowd.

Your first thought is “Mr. Brightside.” A surefire crowd pleaser at any college function. No no no, you’re better than that. Maybe you take a risk. Play a song they’d never expect or even know. You don’t have much time, the crowd is getting restless. Oh god, the pressure. So what do you choose DJ?

A) Play “Mr. Brightside.”

B) Play something else.

Grab a drink in the next room.

A drink it is. Probably a good idea, you haven’t seen your friends in years, let alone spoken to some of them, so you could use some social lube for the occasion. You enter the room. It’s hot…and wet. Why is it so wet? Steaming bodies dance, violently you might add, in mass around a makeshift DJ stand, strobe lights and two tall speakers at the end of the room. Everyone is sweating. Even the walls seem to be sweating. You’re not one for dancing, sober that is, and you’ve never felt more sober than you do in this room right now. Grab a drink and get out you say to yourself. There’s a short, but slow, line at the cooler. Everyone in front of you is filling and chugging at least two or three cups at the cooler. Fill, chug, repeat. Finally, you’re up. You grab a plastic cup, reach down and fill it. The drink is clear; vodka soda maybe? Or G&T? You remember years of sugary punches, the kind that split your head the next morning and stained every white shirt you ever made the mistake of wearing out. You take a sip…this is water! Confused, you turn to a student behind you.

“This is wa-,” but before you can finish they’re at the cooler filling two cups with uncontained excitement. They chug the first and pour the second over their head.

“I love water! Water is lyfe, l-y-f-e lyfe” they say through a wide smile to no one in particular. You not even sure they heard you.

This is fucking weird. You want to get out of this room, maybe find your friends, but before you can make it out you’re stopped. A student, sophomore maybe, of an almost astonishingly nondescript appearance grabs your right arm.

“Alumni, huh,” they say. Your not entirely sure if this is a question, but you can tell they have more to say so you just nod your head yes. “For you,” they say as they drop something into the palm of your hand. It’s a pill.

“What is this?” you ask.

“Welcome back! For alum – free,” and with that, they disappear into a well-timed puff from the smoke machine near your feet.

You shout hopelessly into the smoke, “Hey! What is this!?”

You try to see what it is, but under the stobe’s rapid flurry it’s impossible to tell. It’s not like you know anything about pills anyways. You haven’t touched any drug other than melatonin in years. You don’t have time for drugs these days, or if you’re being honest the money. But you’re back at college, you did drugs in college a couple times! Like that one time you did whippets with an empty can of Cheez-whiz. You can practically hear your friends chanting Do it! Do it! Do it! Hell, this is a special occasion right. Besides, it’s probably just Adderall or something similar. So what will it be?

A) Take the pill.

B) Throw the pill away and go look for your friends.

Frat House Crawl

It’s cold out, like proper cold. Maybe you should have worn your winter coat, but it doesn’t matter now you’re almost at the DK house and you feel sexy. Although you’d never admit it, you’ve had this outfit picked out in your head for weeks. You don’t care for most of the people you’re about to see, but there are some friends you want to impress and some old flings you might just so happen to run into. A text from an unknown number lights up your phone.

“HEYYYY, YO! I can’t believe you came back. I saw you on VINCENT LANE and it totally brought me back. How you been?! Some of the old crew is meeting DK house at 7, you should come by!” Cool — you’re remembered!

You reach the house, pass the brothers on the front porch with swagger and enter. Being back in the DK house is making you thirsty. You spot a crowd of sweaty bodies gathered around a cooler in a room to your left. Perfect, you can step in and grab a drink. But wait, your friends. Where are they? Maybe you should go find them first.

A) Grab a drink in the next room.

B) Find your friends.

Find a place to hide your jacket.

This jacket is warm, it needs to come off and to you there’s really nothing worse than having one or more hands full for the night so you head to the library to hide it. You and your friends always hid your jackets in the library when you came here – everyone did. On most nights there were more jackets than books, not there have ever been many books in there. As you enter the empty library you look around for a good place to leave your jacket. The best places have already been taken, under the couch cushions, inside the globe, behind the desks. Still, behind a shelf of books should do. As you reach up to tuck your jacket behind a row of old yearbooks you feel the first stab. It’s quick, a rough stab between your shoulder blades. Then the second, third, fourth and so on in rapid succession. Each stab more violent and less controlled than the next. As you fall to your death you turn to get a look at your assailant. All you see is in place of a face is this emoji: 🤪

There is a slasher in the DK house tonight and you are their first victim. They’ve taken out their pre-mass murder nerves on your back and will now continue on killin’ with poise. Tough luck, but someone had to be the first ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Try it with a new coat?