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College of Charleston

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Harvey Pugh asks as he bring Bryce a cup of water. The tall and cherub-faced student sits next to her, ignoring the way his friends look at him. “I wish I had some deep insight to say that would help you recover from your grief. The concept of loss and death change from culture to culture, so perhaps we simply make our own path. Do you find it difficult to be out of your room? It has been two weeks since Trina died and you two were becoming serious. Although, I’m unclear as to how someone can vomit up most of their digestive system.”

“Maybe you would have an answer if you ever went to class,” Chris Garcon mutters, taking the seat on the other side of Bryce. Putting his hockey stick on the table, he leans back and tries to put what he believes is a comforting arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “I can’t imagine how horrible this is. You two were in love and now you’re alone. Harvey shouldn’t bother you with questions when you need someone to listen to. I’m always there for you. No strings attached since you’re a lesbian, so it isn’t like I’m hitting on you.”

“For the last time, I’m bisexual,” Bryce groans, her fists clenched. The only reason she does not hit either of her friends is because she would not expect anything else from them. “Yes, I find it a challenge to be in public, Harvey. At least you’re trying to be kind, which I really do appreciate. Chris, you should go make out with Jennifer’s new friend. That anatomy dummy seems more your type. Why do you have that thing here? Hello? Hey, O’Connor, are you still with us?”

Snapped out of her trance, the red-haired theater major nearly falls out of her chair. “Sorry, but I was up late pledging and part of it involved the dummy. I’ll be giving it back once we’re done here. Going to have to play the role of an idiot again. All I missed was Harvey asking an awkward question and Chris speaking from his mouth while thinking with his penis. Can’t believe future generations will be entrusted to a man like you. Don’t teachers typically have morals?”

“Like I’m going to take that from someone who’s career path will eventually involve porn and a heroin addiction.”

“Only if you mean I’ll be playing those roles in the movies.”

“Don’t try for comedy. You’re terrible at it.”

“My professor would politely disagree.”

The students are startled by the slamming of a book, all four of them turning around to see the elderly librarian glaring at them. With a slow nod, the wrinkled woman goes back to her returns and whispers as a bald man comes through the door. Professor Jason Soleman stops for a moment to talk with his coworker, the pair keeping their voices low and watching the students through the corner of their eyes. Obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, the man fixes his crimson tie and does his best to hide his anger at the librarian. For her part, the woman remains calm and sits down to polish the star-shaped medallion hanging from her neck. By the time Thomas and Apollo came running inside, their advisor has given up on arguing and trudges to the group. He takes a final look at the librarian before pushing his glasses up his nose and taking a notebook out of his jacket pocket. Professor Soleman freezes at the sight of the anatomy dummy, his eyes immediately darting to Jennifer.

“My teacher told me to imagine people in their underwear, so I thought imagining them with no skin would be even more effective,” the young woman explains with a playful giggle. She keeps smiling in the face of her angry advisor, who eventually lets out a sputtering sigh. “I will bring it back as soon as the club meeting is done. Maybe we can use it for something. There has to be some old mythology that involves body parts. Minus one kidney that I’m still searching the house for.”

“It seems that I will be leaving as soon as I speak,” Professor Soleman says, hiding his amusement with a cough. The squeak of a chair causes him to turn around, the black-haired woman in a lab coat trying to act like she has always been there. “I get the feeling that none of you are interested in mythology today. One of you may have spent the night molesting an anatomy dummy, another just returned after a terrible loss, and a third obviously has something better to do. Let me leave you with a simple task. Pick a lesser god and write a paragraph about them. Everyone knows about the gods and goddesses that modern entertainment focuses on like the Olympians. All you have to do is find one, read a bit, and leave your work with Marcy over there to get your extra credit. I do thank you for helping with this club, which I hope will become a full class next year.”

“I’ll make sure we get the work done,” Thomas declares, cutting off the latecomer. He continues smiling as the professor carries the anatomy dummy out of the library. “So, why is our great leader late? That isn’t like you, Aurora. Oh, before I forget, I’m happy to see you again Bryce. Not really sure what else to say since I know how serious you two were getting. Apollo or I can help you with this if you don’t feel up to it. Just ease back into things and let us know if you need some air.”

“Why does he get to say stuff like that and not get in trouble?” Chris blurts out while putting his feet on the table. Turning to Jennifer, he starts to lick his lips, but stops when she returns the gesture. “How about we split into teams? Try to find deities who are polar opposites or have some kind of connection. I’ll work with Harvey and everyone else can split into pairs. Whoever wants to go solo can do so since there’s only seven of us.”

“I’m sure that’s directed at me,” Aurora says in a strained voice. Rubbing her neck, she tries to clear her throat by sneaking a sip of energy drink from a flask. “Had to pull a late night at the farm because a calf was being born. It didn’t make it, so I’m out of it. Sorry to let everyone down, but it might be best to let me sink or swim on my own. Feel like taking an obscure death god anyway. We have to call mom and dad before afternoon classes, Apollo, so don’t take too long with Jennifer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the flustered twin asks, his loud voice earning him a glare from Marcy. Avoiding eye contact with the theater major, Apollo takes a seat next to her and puts his hands between his knees. “Not that I’m upset about working with you, Jen, but my sister made it sound like I had something else in mind. I . . . Do you want to get some pizza for lunch and help me get out of a boring phone call? Entirely as friends and it would help me get a rise out of my family.”

“I’ve always wanted to save a damsel in distress,” Jennifer teases, giving Apollo a quick kiss on the cheek. Getting both twins to blush fills the young woman with enough pride that she puffs out her chest. “This is my favorite club meeting to date. What about we all work together and choose a group of seven? That way we work and succeed together. My classes are doing a lot of team exercises this week, so I could use the practice. May I humbly recommend the Seven Lucky Gods of Japan?

Feeling cornered, Bryce slides out of her chair and crawls under the table to get closer to Aurora. “That sounds like a great idea since some of us are out of it today. Not a big fan of the topic, but don’t listen to me. Hard to believe in luck after what happened to Trina and her family not being happy about me showing up at the funeral. Never mind since that’s not club business and we need to get this assignment done.”

“Why weren’t they happy about you attending?” Harvey innocently asks. He yelps when Chris smacks him upside the head, the philosophy major covering his mouth when Marcy looks in their direction. “Okay, I think I understand. Sorry for asking. I forgot how often people refuse to accept the differences in others.”

“That is such an adorable way to say you forgot that people can be assholes,” Jennifer interjects with a giggle. The rest of the club cannot stop themselves from laughing, which is cut off by the librarian slamming a book as loud as she can. “Let’s get this done before Marcy over there starts hurling encyclopedias at our heads. Love to meet the people that still use those relics.”

(Need a refresher? CLICK HERE!)

Wells College

“So, let me get this straight,” Thomas Porter says while he waits for Apollo to finish getting dressed. Thumbing through one of his many books on bar-tending, the tall and lanky sophomore tries his best not to chuckle at his own thoughts. “You were in a class about mythology, which makes no sense for a meteorology major. This teacher doesn’t want you to fall asleep and you keep drawing a picture. After a few questions that get other students killed, she just starts wiping everyone out. You finally realize you’re in danger, run to the door, and she bites your head off like a praying mantis. There was also some message that starts with ‘never any’. Only one question I have to ask, man. How hot was this dream teacher? I mean, give me some details, so I can look for her when I go to sleep.”

“You ask that every time I wake up screaming and describe my dream,” Apollo groans while he hunts for his missing belt. Finding it under his bed, he holds it out to show his friend the dust bunnies that have gathered on the cracked leather. “I swear, we cleaned the room three days ago and these things keep coming back. Starting to wonder if they’re really alive and multiplying in here. By the way, did you finally pick a major or have you found another way to delay that decision?”

With a tired groan, Thomas gets off his bed and goes to the mirror, his green eyes looking sharper thanks to new contacts. “I still have a month to figure things out. My goal is to run a successful bar, so I need to figure out the right major. There are so many things to consider that I have to be careful. Sure, business major seems to make the most sense, but is that really the way for me to go?”

“Yes. Yes it is.”

“Like I’m going to take that from a guy who can get everything wrong and not get fired.”

“Oh, those weatherman jokes never get old.”

“Hey, did you say that one of the people in your dream was electrocuted?”

“I think so. It’s kind of blurry now.”

“Well, I heard a girl died last night when someone threw a curling iron into her shower.”

“That is so not true,” Apollo says, throwing his pillow at Thomas. Watching it bounce off his stone-faced friend, he worries and takes a seat on his bed. “Geez, I never considered that happening. Still, why would a dream I’ve had for years connect to a death now? Unless it always has and I never heard about it. Maybe I sensed it happening and merged it into my dream. With it being around all the ridiculous ones, I’d never know the difference.”

Apollo stops talking when he hears a brief chuckle from Thomas, his friend practically shaking from his restrained laughter. Realizing he has been tricked, the red-faced young man gets his pillow back and tries to hit his roommate again. Thomas is quick to get out of the way and grabs his jacket as he runs out the door. Apollo is right on his heels as the chase goes down the hallway and into the lobby. Several students in the lounge stop what they are doing to watch the welcomed distraction, all of them familiar with the roommates’ antics. A few people cheer as the pair run around a table, leap over a chair, nearly knock over the resident advisor, and charge out the open door. People laugh at the sight of Apollo and Thomas in the snow, one of them without his shoes and the other without a jacket. Like two chastised children, they trudge back inside to applause and take a bow before returning to their room.

“That wasn’t funny,” Apollo mutters as he changes into a dry shirt. He tosses Thomas a pair of socks, which he keeps near the heating vent. “It was a really weird and vivid dream. Since I’ve had it for years, I assume it has to mean something. You’re pretty good at figuring out puzzles. Not to mention a bartender has to learn how to listen to customers and give advice when asked. What do you think?”

“Pretty sure bartenders don’t act like NPC’s in a video game. At least not since the invention of electricity and indoor plumbing,” Thomas replies while drying his feet. Seeing the pained expression on his roommate’s face, he sighs and leans back in his chair. “I have no idea. There are so many factors and I’ve never read up on dream deciphering. I would need some time. Off the top of my head, you seem distracted and unsure of your path, which is why you focus on a drawing and have trouble answering questions. This Mrs. Addison is probably an amalgamation of several teachers that have inspired you over the years. Since you’re the type to take things so seriously, you probably worry that you’ll let them down.”

Putting on his jacket and hat, Apollo nods his head while he thinks. “That makes sense to me. Beats Aurora’s theory that I’m crazy. Not sure why she doesn’t say the same about herself since she has the dream too. Yes, we’re weird and no you can’t date her. I forbid it and remind you that kissing my twin sister would be like kissing me. Just keep thinking about that whenever you get the urge to flirt with her.”

“I’ll be a proper, uninterested gentleman,” the long-haired student declares before taking a fake rose and half a box of chocolates out of his bag. Double-checking his feet, Thomas grabs a scarf and holds the door open for his friend. “We need to stop goofing off and get to the club meeting. Jennifer sent a text about Bryce coming back. Probably a good idea for us to get there before Harvey and Chris open their mouths. Not sure if the curious one or the teasing one will piss her off first.”

“Wait, what does that make you?”

“The one whose roommate needs to start having sex dreams instead of freaky massacre dreams.”

Apollo misses his kick when Thomas darts into the hallway and runs away with his arms held up in victory. Locking the door, the young man jumps when he touches the handle and a static shock zaps his fingers. Shaking his hand, he freezes at the realization that the dorm has become very quiet. Fearing that he is asleep again, Apollo reaches up to pinch his cheek, but stops when he hears someone yelling from the lobby. Breathing a sigh of relief, he hurries to catch up to Thomas, who is already outside and waiting with a snowball. The friends stare at each other through the door until the projectile is dropped and they silently agree to a temporary truce.

(Missed the previous installment? CLICK HERE!)

Albion State Normal School

Apollo Chambers is jolted awake by his teacher smacking his desk with her ruler, the wood nearly cracking from the impact. Taking a sip of water from the pink thermos next to him, the young man tries to remember when he got to class. He looks around the room and has trouble focusing on his surroundings until he sneezes. Posters of gods are on the walls that have been painted a sterile white until being carpeted a foot from the tiled floor. A marble statue is standing at the front of the classroom, its armless torso positioned so that it appears to be looking over its shoulder. Apollo scratches his head while flipping through his notebook, which is filled with incomprehensible jargon. He glances up to make sure his teacher is not watching him before making a quick sketch in the margin. The black-haired student focuses too much on the horned bird that he is creating, so he never notices the shadow that falls over him.

“Pay attention, Mr. Chambers!” his professor angrily shouts, smacking his desk with her giant ruler. Leaning over the young man, she smiles and lets some of her brown hair fall on his hand. “You are my favorite student, but that will not get you out of trouble every time. We have the final coming up and that’s two hundred percent of your grade. You don’t want me to send you back to high school if you fail. Now, tell me about the two-faced god.”

“I know the answer, Mrs. Addison!” a young woman hollers from the front. Her pig tails wave in the air instead of her hands, calling the grinning professor over. “Janus was a Roman God with no Greek counterpart. He presides over beginnings, gates, doorways, time, and transitions. Janus has two faces because he looks to the future and past. Some say he also presided over war and peace. Personally, I-”

“Thank you, whoever, but you spoke out of turn,” the teacher states before hitting the student in the head with the ruler. The young woman shatters into pieces that melt into the carpet and sprout into twisting lilies. “How many times must I tell all of you that speaking out of turn is a punishable offense? Now, I have to make a bouquet to send to her parents. I swear, you have to be the dumbest students I have ever had. Unless you like my punishments, which I take as a compliment. I’m truly gifted in that regard. Now, what about Morpheus? Who can tell me about him?”

The marble statue shakes and tries to turn around, which draws the professor to her own desk. Apollo takes advantage of the distraction to finish his sketch and add enough details to make it appear real. He can feel his mind wandering as the tiny creature abruptly rises from the page and wanders around his notebook. Even though he knows he is falling asleep, he cannot stop himself and lets the looming dream take over. Apollo smiles at the way the horned raven pecks at the gibberish he calls his notes and straightens the mess into words. It only gets two words into a phrase when the ruler comes down to crush the tiny animal into a splatter of black ink.

“Unicorn or raven. Never combine the two or you will have to finish the semester without any pants,” Mrs. Addison states, a golden glint in her eye. Without warning she leaps to her desk and stands with her ruler above a set of buttons. “Sudden death pop quiz! Mr. Carmicheal, please answer the previous question.”

“Morpheus is the god of sleep and-” a slow-talking boy says before a button is pushed. He is electrocuted in his seat, which bursts into flames and topples over.

“Wrong! Tell me, Ms. Victoria, who is the oldest deity in the Mesopotamian pantheon?”

“We’re still on Greek and Roman!” the girl argues, a ceiling panel flying down to smash her into a pancake.

“I demand to know the only goddess to come out of modern America! Tell me, Captain Blunderbuss!”

An old man in the corner with a pith helmet and a mop merely shrugs before a clawed hand erupts from his water bucket. The giant paw grabs the janitor and crushes him into paste, which is lapped up by a tongue that comes out of the monster’s wrist. Mrs. Addison whistles to stop the creature from eating and glares until it whines like a puppy. As the hand sinks back into the bucket, the professor begins smacking at the other buttons. Students are slaughtered in every direction, none of them looking shocked or putting up any resistance. A few smile and wave an instant before they are murdered, each one dying in a grotesque and unique way. When a glitter-covered cheerleader’s chest is crushed by her sports bra tightening and shrinking, Mrs. Addison frowns and hits the button again. The student reappears only to be killed when she pops her gum and her head explodes instead.

Unable to move, Apollo sits in the middle of the carnage and works on a new sketch. He does not look up until everything is silent and the rest of the class has been killed. For the first time since he woke up, the young man begins to feel afraid. Sweat trickles down his face and he gets the sense that he is being hunted. Looking around, he cannot see anyone else in the room, including Mrs. Addison. The statue remains behind the teacher’s desk, its marble skin splattered with blood that drip in a way to give the illusion of arms. Apollo slowly gets to his feet and steps over a student who has been melted into a pool of ooze. Going around the corpses, all he can think about is escaping the classroom. He stops when the water bucket in his path bubbles, the memory of the clawed hand making his heart race. Clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, he tries to sprint for the exit, but finds that he is not running any faster than he was walking. No matter how hard he pushes his muscles, Apollo cannot get his body to move at more than a terrifying crawl. It feels like it takes hours to reach the door, which falls off its hinges when he throws it open.

“Such a disappointment,” Mrs. Addison sighs from the other side. Her mouth extends to the floor, allowing her to quickly bite Apollo’s head clean off his shoulders. “Not quite ripe yet. I guess we’ll have to meet again another day.”

(Check out the previous section here.)

Notre Dame

Trina tries not to giggle as Bryce kisses her to deliver a fourth shot of whiskey, the tipsy girls having claimed a corner of the room for themselves. Curled up with each other on a large beanbag chair that reeks of beer, they ignore the drunken guys that stare at them. At first, they would wave at the leering faces, but an hour of being asked if they were interested in a threesome by men and women has made them more reclusive. Wearing jeans and nude-colored shirts that mark them as first and second place winners, Bryce and Trina enjoy being warm and covered. The rest of the party is nothing more than background noise, which a panicky young man is desperately trying to keep down to a mild roar. Playfully whispering to each other, the couple reach for their final shot and take it by clumsily twisting their arms together. Most of their drinks get on their shirts, but they are more upset about the wasted alcohol than the damp clothing.

“You go get another few rounds,” Trina slurs as she rolls off the beanbag chair. She uses the wall to get up before helping Bryce stand, the pair sharing a short kiss before stumbling away. “I have to go the bathroom. Drank a lot of water before the race. Meet you back here as soon as I’m done. Get some tequila this time.”

“Shouldn’t we go back to the room?” Bryce asks with a lazy smile. Her eyes begin to close, but she shakes herself awake. “I know we don’t have classes tomorrow, but I wanted to hit the gym for a little cardio. Then again, I’ll be lucky if I can walk in the morning. I can get us a bottle and we can have a private party back in our place.”

“Sorry, but we can’t afford to get in trouble again. I’m sure both of us would be expelled for the noise alone,” the smiling freshman says while crossing her legs. Seeing someone else heading for the bathroom, she lets out a whimper and emphatically nods her head. “Fine, we’ll risk a third strike, but we have to be quiet this time. Now, let me go pee before I have an accident.”

Nearly shoving people out of her way, Trina rushes to the bathroom while keeping an eye on the other girl. She guesses her opponent for the toilet is a sorority pledge with the way she is repeatedly stopped to chant something. Even with the delays, the cheering girl is nearly at the door by the time Trina gets around a group of boys singing a common drinking song. With a growl of determination, she barrels through a barely clothed couple and grabs the doorknob, her butt flicking to the side to knock her enemy away. A few people move to catch the defeated drunk, who is cursing at the top of her lungs and unwittingly showing that she no longer needs the bathroom. Trina feels a pang of guilt as she closes the door and locks it before scrambling to the toilet. With a sigh, she relaxes and grabs a can of air freshener to read, the words partially blurred by her faltering vision.

A cold breeze runs up the tired girl’s spine and she practically jumps to her feet before realizing that the window is open two inches. She considers closing it, but stops when she catches sight of the lake. Memories of the dancer flood her mind and she anxiously looks for any sign of the mysterious woman. For a brief moment, she swears there is a horse standing in the shadow of a tree, but the silhouette is gone after a few blinks. Leaning closer to the window, Trina jumps back when a raven lands on the sill and silently stares at her. The bird’s unblinking gaze makes her uncomfortable, a feeling that is made worse when it manages to push the window further open. Opening the air freshener, she sprays the animal and drives it away, many more joining it in the air as they leave the trees.

Trina continues watching for the birds while she finishes up, her hands fumbling with her belt. A bang on the door snaps her out of her trance, but she can only manage a slurred reply that is met with another impact. Clearing her throat, the young woman goes to wash her hands and checks herself in the mirror. Her stomach gurgles and tightens, forcing her to cling to the edge of the sink. She coughs and fights back the urge to throw up, the taste of sweet alcohol rising from her gut. Trina spits up some of the whiskey and watches it go down the drain, the red tint making her swear to never order cinnamon-flavored drinks again. Hearing another loud bang on the door, she opens her mouth to shout back, but a flash of heat through her body nearly causes her to pass out.

Needing more air, Trina lurches to the window and throws it open, which attracts a pair of ravens. The birds remain on the ground where she cannot spray them and they refuse to move no matter how much she yells. She sucks in a big gulp in the hopes of clearing her head, but instead she spews alcohol and her dinner into the grass. More ravens land on the branches while the first two bravely fly onto the sill, their beaks mere inches from Trina’s dilated eyes. She is about to wave the animals away when a fresh bout of nausea causes her to throw up again. Not wanting to be seen, she covers her mouth with her hands and hurries to the toilet. The panicking freshman is vaguely aware of the birds entering the bathroom and surrounding her while she continues to vomit. A voice in her head screams that something is not right, a thought that becomes stronger when blood begins coming out of her mouth. No matter how hard she tries, Trina cannot stop herself and the last thing she sees is the dancer reflected in the metal toilet handle.