𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐌

𝟏. 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

It wasn't the muffled screaming that drew you toward the room at the end of the upstairs hallway, but it was certainly what inspired you to press your ear against the door. At first, you weren't sure what you were hearing—the music from the party downstairs was making the floor thrum beneath your feet and it was impossible to try and hear anything over the deafening, base-heavy music blaring in the downstairs hallway. Especially in your state. But then through the thin wooden frame, there it was again—the screaming, the pleas of terror reduced to stifled, high-pitched whines.

You held your breath, reaching down to set your Big Gulp full of jungle juice on the floor of the hallway. The entire first week of Zeta orientation was focused solely on helping sisters in trouble and recognizing unsafe situations at parties like this one. And with your ear plastered to the door, you could tell that there was nothing safe or orderly going on in the room behind it, and not even the joint you stole from the guy dressed as Danny Zuko downstairs was going to change that.

You had seen date-rape Frankie hanging around downstairs, slinking around the kitchen on the prowl for incoming Zetas to prey on, but you hadn't seen him in a few minutes. In fact, you hadn't seen him much at all since you lost track of your new freshman friend, Tara. You bit down hard on your bottom lip and rapped your knuckles against the wood. There was a slight pause before the sounds of struggle grew louder. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

"Tara?" you called, it felt like your mouth had been stuffed with cotton and you could still taste the sour Hawaiian Punch mixer on your tongue. The last thing you wanted to do was interrupt someone's fantasy of hooking up in Pike house on the Thirsty Thursday before Halloween, but you would rather not just walk away when it sounded like someone was being gutted—or worse.

The knob turned with ease and you found yourself stumbling into the room before you could reconsider turning right back around and locating one of your sober sisters to investigate on your behalf. You had half a mind to slap a hand over your eyes to avoid seeing anything you rather live your life without ever seeing. "Tara, is that you? It's—" You peaked between your fingers for a fleeting second but all you saw was red.

Desperate, angry red claw marks marred the off-white carpet in a breadcrumb trail leading all the way from the door to the back wall just underneath the window. You stumbled, ankles wobbling in your strappy pink heels as you reached for the doorknob to catch your balance. There was a figure cloaked in familiar black robes wearing a gaunt white mask that you knew all too well. His hand was raised with a knife poised to stab the girl currently wriggling in his arms. They both watched with bated breath as you gaped at the scene before you.

"Uhm...?" you mumbled, not entirely sure you were seeing this right. You glanced over your shoulder to find that you were completely alone in the upstairs corridor. You coughed and shook your head disbelievingly. You really needed to thank Danny Zuko for his potent product. Or maybe you needed to stop stealing people's weed when they were too busy making out with girls dressed as Marie Antoinette to notice.

The girl's head lolled to the side, blood running like rivers through the crevices of her face. Her eyes were half-lidded, the entire front of her slutty cowboy costume drenched in blood. You squinted down at her, unable to place her face at first. But then it hit you like a slap to the face.

"Courtney fucking Carter." You pointed almost accusingly down at her limp body. It was Courtney. She posted a mirror selfie in that exact same outfit just a few hours ago, minus all the gore. Ew, you really needed to take her off of your Snapchat.

You felt like an idiot for believing all those heartfelt 'Your first college roommate will become your lifelong friend!' Facebook posts that your mom sent you the entire summer before your freshman year because Courtney fucking Carter was the furthest thing from a friend that you had at the moment.