Back in my frat days, I was one of the guys helping with the hazing. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but it was nowhere near the kind of horror you see in the college movies. It wasn’t just about humiliation, it was about getting to know people and dedicating yourself. They say that the best way to befriend someone is to ask them to do something for you – that way they are invested in you. It’s harder to justify disliking someone, or something, if you’ve done them a favor.
That’s why we ask so much of our new pledges. Time, sweat, and dedication. More often than not, we get it. It might be community outreach, small jobs, charity events, fundraising… all kinds of stuff. Like the year before me, where four of the pledges had a background in IT – we effectively set up a campus computer support hotline. Crazy days.
In my final college year, we had a more intense hazing than usual. The guy who was in charge had seen a few too many college flicks and went a bit overboard. To make up for it, we decided we were just gonna do something fun and stupid for the final night of hell week. Rick, the guy who handled our finances, came up with the idea of a softball game. Then some asshole added to that;
“What about a softball… drinking game?”
So that’s how it started. We were gonna play a game where everyone had a drink in their hand. You couldn’t touch the ball or bases unless your cup was empty, and we’d have a refill station right by the batter, and another further out in the field. It was gonna be a complete shit-show, but a funny one. Something to let a little steam off.
Previous years, we had a guy who could make his own alcohol. Cheap stuff. A moonshiner named Elton, lived not too far out of town, and made stuff from some kind of bark. Real prepper kind of guy. That year, Elton was having trouble with the law (not too surprising), so we had to try to find another guy. Rick had the brilliant idea to check Craigslist.
We ended up with a guy out in suburbia. This strange loner kind of guy who made his own hooch in his back yard. We talked to him a couple of times and decided to go see him in person. There was no point tiptoeing around it. The guy was a weirdo, but we were asking for something weird, so it kinda worked itself out.
The guy was named Ramses. That tells you half the story right there. Lived in this huge two-story house all by his lonesome; not even a cat.
He looked like pretty much anyone. Tall, lanky guy with slick horn-rimmed glasses. Had a quiet voice, but a sturdy handshake. Shook our hands and immediately showed us his garage.
He had half his garage full of just… boxes. This guy was taking and making deliveries on the daily, it seemed. He had a workbench with a bottling kit, a scale, and a label-maker. I couldn’t see what he was putting labels on though. He talked to us like we were on a tour as we made our way over the mounds of empty boxes.
“Been working on this stuff on and off for years,” he said. “Got three fresh batches rolling out on Monday.”
“Can you get it by Saturday?” asked Rick. “It’s kinda last minute, but we got a game.”
“Saturday?”
Ramses turned towards us, stroking his beardless chin. After a few seconds, he nodded.
“If I heat it a bit, maybe. Could work. But that’s gonna cost ya’ extra.”
“Not too fast,” I smiled. “We’re tryin’ it first.”
Ramses looked at us. We had a solid six seconds of quiet before he nodded and reached for a couple glasses.
The liquid had a strange smell to it. It was like a very mild fungal whiff, mixed with old water, and salt. Upon closer inspection, there was a clear mix of bark – possibly pine. It had a mild discoloration. Red, almost, and a sort of heft to it. Texture. Ramses explained as he poured.
“Mostly sunflower seeds, maple, and a bit of blueberry. Oily, but, uh… rich.”
I declined, as the designated driver. Before Rick had a chance to down it, Ramses added a little drink mix. Coconut, I think. Rick chugged it, wincing a bit at the taste. He looked up at me with a deep cringe.
“No fucking coconut,” he spat. “Holy shit, that’s vile.”
“I like it,” shrugged Ramses.
Rick kept nodding at him, over and over.
“Yeah, uh… this’ll do. This’ll fuckin’ do.”
We ordered three kegs for the softball game and went on our merry way. I didn’t think twice about it, I wasn’t the one holding the money. Ramses told us it’d be tricky, and that he’d need as much time as possible, so he promised to drive up there with it himself. All we had to do was bring whatever drink-mixes we wanted, and enough ice to freeze a gaggle of penguins.
We were all getting excited for it – especially the pledges. We had sort of a “new guard old guard” kinda match-up, and it was gonna be nice to just let off some steam. For the rest of the week, everything boiled down to shit-talking the other team in good fun, printing custom jerseys, and making chants. People were going crazy for it, and I wasn’t about to stop them.
Once Saturday rolled around, we made our way out to a secluded spot – an abandoned schoolyard just out of town. Most of us got there after lunch classes ended. We took our time setting up tables, snacks, and drinks. And of course, a beer pong table for those who couldn’t play for one reason or another. Bluetooth speakers rocked “Shook me all night long” hours before the first pledges arrived.
We were starting to worry that Ramses had just taken the money and ran. It wasn’t much cash, but the guy had some definite scumbag vibes to him. But at about two in the afternoon, he rolled up with his semi and dropped it all off. He was gone long before I even got the chance to thank him.
We filled up the coolers as best we could with various mixes and what we’d dubbed “Ramses’ Redshine” by now, thanks to the strange coloration. It was forbidden to start drinking until the first ball had been thrown though, as to not pre-party ourselves into an early forfeit.
One by one, the pledges dropped in. The new guard had dressed up in various shades of red, while us seniors were all blue. To round it all off, we had judges dressed in white stripes. We hadn’t really planned on it being a patriotic theme, but goddamnit, we were gonna lean into it.
I was so hyped for it, until it was time to draw straws for designated driver.
You can guess who pulled the short one.
I was put in charge of music and, if need be, driving. In return, I got a free pass to drink at the next event. It just kinda sucked that I’d be the only sober person at the last outing of the hazing. I was kinda bummed about it, but it was nice seeing everyone so relaxed. Good vibes all around.
The game was on. First cup of the game was chugged by Brandon. Didn’t quite make it all the way but made a decent first run. The outfielders were eager to get drunk and were already sipping their drinks in-between batters. Slogans and cheers were being thrown back and forth, and I could see a few in the back row already getting into the groove.
And that should’ve been it. That should’ve been the whole night. Nothing else was supposed to happen, just… bros being bros.
But something did happen.
What happened next is why the frat isn’t allowed to drink anymore. Why people get quiet when they talk about what is now an eight year old party legend. Why some people fell off the map, and why others are only talked about in hushed tones.
But it wasn’t obvious from the start.
I sat by the sidelines all day long. To me, it all just looked like drunk guys doing drunk things. Someone slipping. Some people hugging a little too hard. It didn’t seem all that irregular, until one of the guys in the back row stepped out of line – drunk off his ass. I don’t think he even had that much, maybe like… two cups. This guy, Stephen, was not a lightweight. Got in on a football scholarship.
So Stephen steps up to me and pulls out his car keys. I figured he wanted me to make sure he didn’t drive. But no, instead he put the keys between his fingers, like some kind of improvised claw, and stared at me.
His eyes were pulsing. Like, I could see the blood push through them.
Breathing.
He leaned in, inches from my face. Eyes so big I could see myself in them.
“I was an eagle,” he whispered. “In the other world, I was a fucking eagle.”
He let out this shrill, animalistic screech, and just started slashing at me. He was nowhere near close, but I fell out of my chair trying to get away. When he realized he’d missed, he just started stabbing into the nearby table, over and over, bloodying his hands – screeching like a fucking maniac.
I backed off, expecting someone to pull him away – but no one did. Instead, my attention turned to whatever was happening out on the field.
Fucking pandemonium.
One of the guys had fallen to his knees next to second base, screaming at the top of his lungs;
“I’ll never forgive them! I’ll never forgive them!”
… as he clutched the base plate.
Two guys started fist-fighting, one of them claiming he ‘died a mother of three’, and another crying about how he would be ‘six generations of leeches’. One of the judges tore off his jersey, shrieking to the sky.
“I was born of machines! A world without sun!”
It devolved so fast. Their pulsing eyes and convulsing movement, turning them from partygoers into… whatever. All in a few minutes. Screaming out nonsense, contorting their bodies like they were remembering something they weren’t.
As I turned to run, I spotted something in the cooler.
Little white insects, making their way along the edge of the ice cubes, slowly spinning counterclockwise in unison.
To this day, what strikes me the most is just how damn fast it all happened. Everyone had been drinking on and off for quite some time, at different paces and speeds, but it all hit them at the same time anyway; like a resonance.
I thought that maybe someone had spiked it. Some kind of drug. I’d seen people tweak out before, but this was just… off the scale.
I backed away, reaching for my phone. They were all too deep into their own worlds to notice me – even Stephen and his impromptu eagle claws. I took a few steps down the path towards the parked cars, only to realize that they were all lowering their voices.
Turning around, I recoiled from Rick; standing just a few feet ahead. He pointed at me with an arm he could barely keep up. His mouth agape, like a fish out of water. His eyes blinking at different speeds, looking in different directions.
Even from there, I could see his tongue was dry. A redness around his eyes, telling me he wasn’t blinking.
He just made this noise, like a human siren. A long, monotone scream, like one long ‘E’.
Then – nothing. I just stood there, looking at him.
I could feel their reaction before I heard it. How every pair of eyes turned to me, and how they joined Rick in his outcry. This long reverberating note, digging into my skull. It made my stomach churn, like something was bubbling inside me. I tried to keep walking, but my balance was so offbeat that I kept tripping on my own feet. It felt like my head was on a swivel.
By some miracle, I made it back to my car. I fumbled the keys, scratching a deep cut into the paint, but I got the door open. The moment it clicked open, I saw movement – they were coming.
I slammed the door shut, feeling my insides relax as the sound was blocked out. I could see the windshield vibrate.
I pulled out my phone just as two pledges flung themselves onto my car. One of them completely smashed the windshield, while the other just flopped to the side, pulling down a side-mirror. I felt my heart jump out of my chest as my fingers went cold. I put the car in reverse and prayed.
It went faster than I expected. I could barely control my feet, so I just floored the gas, sending me practically flying down the dirt road. Just seconds later, I was flung forward, smacking my head into an airbag. I’d hit a tree.
It is all sort of a blur after that. I stumbled out just as I saw these vague shapes coming down the road. I rolled onto the ground, landing flat on my back – knocking the air out of me.
Looking up at the sky, I could hear them coming. Uneven steps and mishaps all along the way. They didn’t care. It was complete, reckless abandon. At a glance, it might’ve been funny. Stumbling over one another. Over their own legs. Bumping into each other. All making that awful noise, their faces slack, stupid, and ugly. Eyes reverberating with the pulse of that awful tone.
With the car still running, I crawled underneath it.
I saw their legs come into vision as they gathered in a circle. Their screams slowly lowering back into their conversational madness. No one bent down to check under the car. I just saw dozens of legs anxiously stomping back and forth. Then, one of them smacked his fist against the hood. That set the others off.
“A spike!” one cried as he smacked his head into the driver side window. “A spike in my fucking head!”
“E-ever. Forever. Ever dark,” bawled another as he started to tear out the passenger side seat.
As a pack, they took out their inane frustrations on the car. Tearing out electronics, breaking plastic panels, ripping into every soft surface with their bare hands and teeth. I saw one of them come away with the steering wheel, then he bit down so hard that three teeth dropped out of his head.
They completely smashed it. They tore into the motor while it was still running, making the machine cry out in a metallic pain before it died.
I reached into my pocket to send a text for help – only to realize I’d lost my phone when I’d dropped to the ground. It was a few feet to my right; among the sea of legs.
There was nothing I could do but to hold my ears shut, close my eyes, and stay as still as possible. Breathing in the dirt - still smelling that strange drink on their collective breaths.
Growing stronger.
I don’t know how long I stayed there. At some point I saw one of them stumble backwards, clawing at his own open eyes, crying like a child. Had it not been for his swollen, bleeding eyelids, he’d have looked right at me.
The sky darkened, as their voices grew hoarse and weak. Hours later, they were still tearing into the car, littering the ground with everything from electronics and debris to their own blood, sweat, and hair. And still, they mumbled. They wheezed. They cried.
Then at some point, it just sort of… stopped.
It was like they’d fallen asleep – right then and there, standing in this mob circle around the car. The sun had sunk well below the horizon, casting long shadows. I waited a couple of minutes, held my breath, and went for it.
My arm was stiff, and my fingers weak. I’d felt an oncoming cramp on and off four hours, and suddenly moving didn’t help. My pulse spiked as I reached for the phone, feeling the cool evening breeze on my naked hand.
I grabbed the phone, retracted my hand, and almost gave myself away. They’d been stepping on my phone over and over all day long – the touchscreen was dead. My instinct was to scream, but instead I bit down on my lip hard enough to break the skin. Every nerve in my body tightened.
What else could I do? Could I just… walk off? Were they really sleeping?
I couldn’t risk it. I’d be in the middle of them, waiting to be torn apart. If they could do this kind of damage to a damn car, a person would be short work.
I just lay there, counting seconds. Making impossible plans in my head, feeling the car growing smaller. Every tiny movement I made felt like a surrender. I pondered just poking one of them; to get it over with. These intrusive thoughts taking over my rational ones. And yet – I did nothing.
I remember blinking in and out of a painful half-sleep. I remember how they just stood there, legs like a forest of jeans, shorts, and tracksuit pants.
With every breath they took, I could imagine hearing a voice, speaking through them.
E – an inhale.
O – an exhale.
E-O. E-O. E-O.
Like a fucking lullaby from hell.
As the temperatures dropped, I felt the shivers coming on. But, as it seemed, so did my assailants. They were shivering something fierce. So bad, in fact, that some had to lean against the car, or sit down. One by one they dropped – bloody, battered, and raw. Some just sat down, others collapsed.
Another intrusive thought wormed into my head. This one stronger than the others. Potent. Desperate.
RUN.
So I did.
I crawled out, my nerves aching from the sudden movement. I felt stray hands reaching for me. Grasping at my pants, my jacket. Something grabbed a handful of hairs from my neck. But somehow, amongst this emerging sea of hands, I got through. Like passing your hand through a flame – it only hurts when you stop.
I got out. Somehow, I got out. I saw them all turn towards me, one by one, their eyes unfocused and worn. Some had passed out, others were about to. I realized, maybe too late, that these people were already defeated. They were sick.
I reached for the closest one, an unconscious Rick, and dug out the phone from his pocket. As expected, he didn’t have a screen lock. I kept looking back down at him as I dialed for help. The moment the call went through, his eyes rolled back in his skull.
But I swear, his mouth moved.
A silent ‘thank you’.
That whole night turned into a scary story around campus. Some don’t even think it happened, but the ‘Redshine’ night was definitely a thing. There are many reasons for people not to believe us though.
For example, toxicology came back negative. Just alcohol, and not even that much of it. Ramses was quick to leave town as he realized his fuckup, leaving behind most of his distillery and empty boxes. Still, there was little to explain our physical reaction. It was just blueberries, maple, and the blue seeds of sunflower.
I think, somehow, it was a mistake. He rushed the batch, and something went wrong. That drink mix he poured with the first drink he shared with Rick? I think it was a neutralizing agent – just in case it wasn’t ready.
Four of the guys went blind. One of them got permanent nerve damage in his neck. One of them broke his fingers so bad they had to amputate. And that’s just the physical pain. I can’t even begin to imagine how many hours of therapy this caused.
People were scarred and ruined for the rest of their lives, beating themselves into bloody submission. It got too painful being reminded of that night, so most of us have lost contact.
Sometimes, I read these articles, you know? Party gone wrong. Young adults making idiots of themselves. Partygoers erupt into violence.
And yeah, most of the time it’s just a bad time.
But I wonder – is it always like that?
Or did someone just drink something they shouldn’t?
Hell if I know.