It all began, innocently enough, with a college prank. I’m an archeology student at Columbia University, higher learning in the lower reaches of New York City. My name’s Tom Reynolds. The prank was going to be committed against my roommate, John K. Stevens, John K. for short. John K.’s an English major, although what he’s really about is football. There are no real Big Men on Campus at Columbia in the traditional sense (some of the journalism students think they are, but that’s another story), but John K.’s as close as they get. Big, tough, handsome, and smart. Think of a young Denzel Washington with more brawn. Think of Mike Tyson with brains and manners and no gaps in his teeth. That’s John K.

I decided to steal his diary, and substitute a new one with a few forged entries, some pretty juvenile stuff; John’s so quiet and studious that I thought some descriptions of John’s secret life as a serial killer would liven it up. Funny what seems funny when you’ve just finished an all-nighter. But when I opened the book, I discovered that the diary was weirder than anything I could have come up with. Take this, for instance, the opening passage:

Isn’t John K. a little old for Dungeons and Dragons? I continued to leaf through the diary and found some even weirder stuff.

I know weird stuff goes on around campus – look at the frats – but cults? And worse, chastity cults? That sounded downright un-American.

I was prepared to dismiss what I had read. I like John K. a lot. I’m not sure whether it was mutual, but everything about the guy, his intelligence, his dignity, his maturity, was something I wanted to respect. I put the diary back without reading it further. I figured I could make a few jokes about it later, when I wanted to startle him.

I headed to the rec room. The television set had been left on by some pinhead, and I could hear the news blurting something about Angel burning down yet another building. I yawned and prepared to turn the channel to The Simpsons.

"The third body turned up in Baton Rouge in the so-called Vampire murders. Police believe a superhuman serial killer is on the loose. They are advising people to stay off the streets and not to invite people into their homes…"

<Click>

"Hi Lisa, we’re gonna be in a pie!" Ralph Wiggum exclaimed. I love that Ralph. I sat back to watch The Simpsons and enjoy myself. Still, there were things I couldn’t get out of my head.

So-called Vampire murders.
We’re gonna be in a pie.
Angel.
We’re gonna be in a pie. All of us.

The existence of the supernatural is a known quality. Just look at the 700 Club, they never shut up about it. But until it touches you, you really don’t think about it. But it’s out there. Maybe John K.’s thing is as harmless as a game of Dungeons and Dragons. But what if it isn’t?

I had a troubled time. I managed to avoid the temptation of picking up the diary again. Instead, I tried to work on Dr. Belanger’s Colonial history assignment. I wondered if there were vampires back there? Witches, warlocks, ghosts? How many of them were real, and how much was hysteria?

About three hours later, John K. came back to the room. He never seemed to be out of breath; he had perfect hair that never looked unsettled, perfect eyes that never seemed tired, perfect teeth. He never stumbled, or looked anything except perfectly poised. He never even snored or got sick. Could it be magic?

"Hi." I said.

"Hey man! How are you doing, Tom?"

"Pretty cool. Out on a date?"

"Test tomorrow." Tom explained. "I was crashing over at Butler."

"They’re going to have to start charging you rent."

John K. gave a chuckle. "Something bothering you Tom? You usually don’t take up this many bandwidth."

He was astute, too astute. I decided to go to something close to the truth. "Just the news." I said. "Some vampire murder in Baton Rouge. You know it’s something I don’t think about…"

"Vampires, cougars, serial killers. They’re all the same really. Scum that kill people."

"I like cougars." I said.

"Yeah. At least they have the excuse of not having a supermarket. But when you strip them to the core, they’re all just predators."

"But it makes you think." I said. "Like how much of that stuff is out there? How many witches and warlocks and cults and covens and all that stuff. Are there guys out there sacrificing virgins, summoning demons? Are there forces out there that could snuff out this world like a candle?"

John K. took a long pause. "Well," he said. "From what I heard about this stuff, most of the time, it don’t bother you unless you bother it first. And there are good guys out there who use the stuff to help us, and try to protect those who don’t want to get involved."

"They don’t always succeed."

"Who does!" John K. exclaimed. "But it’s better that somebody tries, rather than nobody trying at all.

I found John K.’s remarks oddly comforting. Perhaps John K., if he was involved in the occult, was one of the good ones. It was real hard to think of him as one of the bad guys.

The next day, I decided to sneak another peak into the diary. I came across a number of interesting entries.

Interesting time? As in magically interesting time? Blood and gold? I sat on my bed with a hole in my stomach. My roommate was a cultist. And it seemed pretty obvious that he was a black magician, and not black in just the racial sense.

I debated what to do. They mentioned the name Lordruu. The next step was to do an Internet search. It took awhile, but I finally found a number of interesting entries. This entry was the most concise and informative:

I really had to take a step back and figure out what’s going to happen next. John K. may not have done anything criminal yet, and I had no evidence of anything except the vaguest of threats of a conspiracy to commit a felony. "Blood and gold" would not quite suffice in a court of law without more concrete evidence.

Confronting John K. seemed out of the question. He’d either deny it, and use my theft against me, or he’d acknowledge it and get violent. Me against John K. in a fight wasn’t something I really wanted to think about.

He had made a note about something happening under Friday’s new moon. That sounded like a good place to start. I’d follow him on Friday and observe the cult in action. If they weren’t dangerous, I’d confront John K. and ask him what was going on. If they were dangerous, I’d have a chance to gather evidence for the authorities.

I managed to get the diary back in place without too much trouble. John K. came back an hour later.

"Hey, how’re you doing Tom?"

"A little tired."

"Yeah, I can see something’s gotten to you. What’s the problem?"

I didn’t quite have the courage to answer. "I really don’t want to talk about it."

John K. sighed and looked at me with an almost parental look of disappointment. "I know we haven’t been the closest of roommates, but I did think I was someone you could talk to." John K. said. "But I don’t want to put pressure on you. To be perfectly honest, I could use a confidante away from the team, and you seem like a decent guy."

"Thanks John K. But I’m sure you’ve got your own problems."

"Tell you what I’ll do." John K. said. He handed me a rabbit’s foot. "My sister always said this would bring me luck. Hold onto it for a week and see if anything gets better."

"I can’t…"

"Hey! You’re the one who was worried about the supernatural. Maybe this will help."

John K. changed into some sweats and crawled into bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was sound asleep. How does he do that?

Friday didn’t come soon enough for my taste, and yet I was dreading it. I didn’t dare try to get a look at the diary again, and could barely focus on my homework. I hardly did any of the readings that week. I avoided my usual confidantes – didn’t want them involved. I tried to avoid John K., which, of course, made things even more uneasy between us.

Finally Friday arrived. John K. came in after football practice, rummaged through some personal stuff, and said he was going out.

"Don’t be out too late. Tomorrow’s game day."

"Thanks coach." John K. grinned. He was in an unusually light-hearted mood. "What’s your plans for tonight?"

I was changing into a pair of black sweat pants. "Thought I’d go out for a moonlight jog. Trying to get back in shape a little." I patted my slight ponch to accentuate the point.

"Just don’t think about taking my spot on the squad." John K. said. "But be careful. You won’t get any moonlight tonight, it’s a new moon. You watch yourself."

"Sure."

John K. left the room, and my career as a tracker began. He had a brisque, smooth walk, and although he never broke into a run, it was hard to keep up with him. Fortunately, he didn’t go far, just across the lot and into one of the furnace rooms in an engineering building. It was a quiet evening, and every step I took terrified me. I was incredibly certain that I was going to get caught.

I took a surveillance position across from the building, spotted about six other people enter the building: at least two of them looked like a professor or an older graduate student, and two of them were women. Three of the guys were as big as John K., and one of them wore a campus security uniform. After the last one arrived, I waited five minutes and snuck into the building. The door was unlocked.

The building was a mess of passageways, and I wandered around for close to five minutes before I heard the gathering. There was the sound of chanting in one of the larger storage rooms:

This was probably not written by an English major. I spied the scene. The storage room had been cleared of boxes, and there was a circle of cultists, all wearing crimson robes. The leader, standing above the others on some sort of pedestal, had a gold mask that was shaped like a giant serpent’s head. He held a jeweled dagger, raised it above his head, and sang in a Gregorian chant.

One of the cultists shifted aside, allowing me a brief view of a naked woman lying on a table. The knife was about to fall.

"No!" I shouted and I sealed my fate. Before I knew it, several cultists tackled me and held me on the ground. The knife fell on the sacrifice…

And it did nothing. The knife vanished when it touched her flesh. The woman rose from the table and assumed the robes of Lordruu. What the…

"And so the faith of Lordruu will protect us from the rites of chaos, from the power of our enemies! But the Anti-Sacrifice is not complete." the Golden Face proclaimed, and then he turned to me. I was brought to my feet by two cultists. He held the dagger again and pointed it at me.

"Do you have the faith to survive?" he asked. It sounded like a man’s voice, though badly muffled through the big mask..

"You’re nuts!" I said. "Nuts!"

"Do we have to kill him?" I recognized John K.’s voice coming from one of the cultist’s robes.

"Bring me serpent venom. Now." the Golden Face commanded.

A cultist lifted a ceramic jar from a makeshift Bunsen burner that was burning on a table across the room. The Golden Face leader dipped his hand into the jar, and spread serpent venom on my brow and neck, chanting in some unrecognizable language as he anointed me.

"What are you going to do? John! Help!"

"You are not ready for the fellowship of Lordruu, Mr. Reynolds." This Golden Face knew my name, and that made the situation even more frightening. "How do you know our secrets? Mr. Stevens?"

"I don’t know. Honest!" John K. exclaimed. "I didn’t think I could approach him about us until next semester. I’d just started working on him."

The Golden Mask concentrated on me, getting brighter and brighter. "Speak the answer to my questions, Mr. Reynolds."

I couldn’t resist the mask, or any of its demands. Without comprehending my words, or controlling them, my throat began to speak. "John K.’s diary…"

John K. was more shocked than angry. I got the impression that the Golden Mask was, however, more angry than shocked. "Burn the book!" The Golden Mask told John K. "Now!"

John K. nodded and removed his robes. "John! Please! Don’t leave!" I managed to blurt. But John K. knew his master well. He didn’t even look back at me while I was screaming.

"He cannot help you. He will not help you. You have transgressed against Lordruu. Be thankful that your death would bring too many questions, Mr. Reynolds. Although you will not understand it, this is a mercy."
"What are you…" But my mouth was immediately gagged and I was dragged into the center of the room. The Golden Face drew a chalk circle. The cultists joined hands and began to chant, led by the man in the mask. Something was happening in the circle around me. I felt like I was freezing. I attempted to rush out of the circle, but I hit some sort of barrier and bounced back. The Golden Face smiled… wait, how could the mask smile?… and I heard him shout another incantation, a language that was thick and slow and virtually incomprehensible. The serpent venom on my brow and neck began to burn. I was screaming.

"Hey! Hey Tom!"

I rose slowly from the ground. The campus clock said it was two in the morning. I could feel myself being hoisted, kept steady on my feet. Gradually, I could discern John K.’s large form, grinning as he supported me.

"John…"

"Easy guy. When you go jogging, I guess you don’t kid around. I’m just thankful you’re alright."

"I feel sick."

"Guess the rabbit foot didn’t work." John K. shook his head. "What happened?"

"I just fainted, I guess." I said. The evening was something of a blur; in fact, the entire week was pretty wretched and unclear. "Maybe I had too much to drink."

"Well, that’s not a crime on this campus. You need to see a doctor?"

I shook my head. "Just get me back to the dorm."

I felt John K. supporting me, strong and as sure as a brother in my time of need. I had to admit to feeling a lot better with him at my side. "If you’re going to barf, try to give me some warning. If you can’t, don’t sweat it, they’re only clothes."

"John, thank you." I said. "I just have to say one thing. You’re the best."

"Stop it." John K. laughed. "I’m not the best. Not yet anyway. Maybe one day. We can only hope, you know."