Frat House Hex

The floor of Delta Epsilon’s house was sticky.

Beer, cheap cologne, and stale pizza had seeped into the carpet like a second skin, and Philip had the honor of scrubbing it clean while half a dozen brothers lounged on couches watching basketball highlights.

“Missed a spot,” one of them called, deliberately tilting a red Solo cup so that the last of his drink bled out onto the carpet inches from Philip’s sponge.

Philip clenched his jaw. He’d been degraded all semester, fetching fast food at three in the morning, running errands that skirted the edge of being criminal, serving as human furniture during drinking games. He told himself it would be worth it. Delta Epsilon’s parties were legendary, the kind of place girls lined up to get into. More importantly, alumni connections meant a shot at internships that led to real careers. You suffered now, you cashed in later.

Jack, naturally, thrived. He was perched on the arm of a sofa, balancing a tray of wings for two seniors, grinning like the humiliation was a party of its own.

“How’s that knee grease holding up, Phil?” he teased, eyebrows bouncing. Philip muttered something under his breath, pressing the sponge hard enough to leave his knuckles white. He’d thought pledging with his best friend would make things easier. Instead, Jack’s bottomless energy only made Philip feel like the boring one, always one step away from quitting.

The pledge master, Trent, finally called them over once the brothers had eaten their fill.

“You’ve made it further than many,” he said, addressing both Philip and Jack while tapping the ash off his cigar. “Scrubbing toilets, babysitting drunk brothers, taking whatever punishment we throw at you, you did it all without complaint. But Delta doesn’t hand out membership for free. There’s one last hurdle.”

Jack’s eyes lit up, while Philip felt his stomach knot. Trent leaned forward. “You’ve got until Saturday morning to bring us proof that you’re worthy of being Delta Epsilons. And by proof, I mean the underwear of one of the Theta sisters across the street.”

A ripple of laughter passed through the room. Someone whistled. Another shouted, “Better hope they’re lace!”

Philip’s face burned hot. He’d expected something brutal. A dangerous stunt, or maybe even a tattoo or branding, not…this. Not something that felt like the set-up to a police record for being a creep.

Jack, of course, grinned like he’d just been handed a golden ticket. “Piece of cake,” he said.

“Piece of felony,” Philip muttered.

Trent ignored the comment. “You get caught, that’s your problem. Theta girls are sick of pranks. They’ll eat you alive if they catch you sneaking around. Fail, and you’ll have to re-pledge next semester, if we even let you back in. Succeed, and you’ll be full brothers by sunrise.”

He flicked his cigar ash into an empty beer can, and the matter was closed. Philip and Jack were dismissed like servants, slipping out into the cool night air. The frat house behind them thumped with bass as the next round of drinking games began.

Across the street, the Theta house glowed with warm yellow light, its windows alive with the silhouettes of girls laughing, moving and living in a world that felt forbidden.

Philip shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket. “This is insane. They want us to break into a sorority house. Forget expulsion, that’s actual jail time if we’re caught and reported.”

Jack slung an arm around his shoulder, grinning as if he hadn’t heard a word. “Come on, man. It’s tradition. Everybody who ever wore Delta letters has done something crazy like this. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Philip shrugged him off. “You mean you’ll figure it out. And drag me with you.”

Jack’s grin widened. “Exactly. Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.” That phrase, I’ve got a plan, was the single most dangerous thing Jack could say. Philip knew better, but as he stared up at the Theta house, he couldn’t shake the truth. They’d come too far to back out now.

Philip assumed Jack’s “plan” would be something stupid but doable. Like sneaking into the Theta laundry room, bribing a janitor, or maybe finessing a stolen bra from lost-and-found.

What he didn’t expect, as their deadline creeped ever closer, was Jack pulling a battered paperback out of his backpack like he’d just smuggled the Necronomicon out of the library and declaring their troubles were about to be a thing of the past.

“What is that?” Philip asked, eyeing the faded title embossed with moons and symbols.

“Wiccan Rites and Rituals of the Body,” Jack said with a grin so wide it could split his face. “This baby is going to get us in.”

Philip stared. “That’s not a plan you idiot. That’s…props from a bad horror movie.”

“Correction,” Jack said, flipping through pages until he landed on one marked with a sticky note. “It’s a possession spell. All we need is something personal from the Thetas. Hair is perfect. One strand, and we’re golden.”

Philip blinked. “Hair. You want us to pluck a strand off someone’s head, mix it into some potion, and what? Astral-project into their underwear drawer?” Jack leaned forward, whispering even though there was nobody else around. “Exactly. But into them, not their underwear drawer.”

For a moment, Philip couldn’t even find words. His friend was dead serious. His blue eyes glittered with the manic light of a man who believed in his own insanity. Philip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jack, you need help.”

“Correction again. We need help, and this is it. Think about it. We don’t sneak around, we don’t break and enter, we just become them. Walk right in the front door. Grab what we need and walk back out again. Easy as pie.”

Philip wanted to laugh. He wanted to tell Jack this was why pledges got expelled, why college urban legends started with two idiots reading a so-called spell book. But something about Jack’s certainty unsettled him.

“How do you even plan to get the hair?” Philip asked, deciding to humor him.

Jack smirked. “You’re partnered with Vanessa in chem lab. I’m with her roommate, Katy. Both of them happen to belong to the Theta Sorority. Boom. Easy.”

Philip’s stomach lurched. Vanessa, the Vanessa, the girl he’d spent the better part of a semester trying not to stare at. She was sharp, funny, gorgeous, and so out of his league it hurt. The idea of stealing a strand of her hair wasn’t just impossible, it was mortifying.

“Jack, if I even look at her hair the wrong way she’ll know. She’ll tell everyone. I’ll be branded as the campus creep for the rest of my life.”

Jack clapped him on the back. “Relax. I’ll take care of mine. You just…fumble your way through like usual. She likes you, right? I’m sure she’s called you sweet before. She won’t even notice.”

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