Kylie

You are KYLIE, a university student from Australia who joined a famous American sorority hoping to get laid and maybe some followers on Insta. Flash forward past murders, guns, a crazy bitch who you actually kind of thought was your friend, getting shot at and all that bullshit, and here you are: dripping wet in the pitch-black basement of the sprawling CCL house, a mansion that was great for parties and getting eaten out by American girls, but not so great for whatever the fuck this is.

“I found it,” you say to Sally, glancing back. Wait, where is Sally? She was with you a second ago.

Shit. You lost her. But it’ll be easier to find her with the power back on. You open the electric box and throw the switches.

A lightbulb flickers on. The basement is dim even with power, but having the lights on is good.

“OK,” you murmur, stepping back and turning around to face the huge basement, full of hallways, wine racks, and old junk. You quint. “Sally?”

She doesn’t reply.

Something thumps heavily up above you, and you hear a muffled shout.

You flinch as a gun goes off. Shit! Did Sally not even come downstairs?

You start forward, intending to get back up there, but stop.

You just heard something much closer, a creak—like the creak of those stairs that you took from the kitchen to get down here. It can’t be Sally. She’d be calling out to you.

That means it’s someone else.

On the floor, your wet footprints lead straight to you. This is so bad. You turn and look at the lightbulb, hanging from a wire. The switch is right there. You could turn it off.

Turn off the light?

Or leave it on?