How Does the Story End?

The three of us sit together outside my backyard, beer bottles spread all around our little triangle. Crumbled-up wrappers of our favorite Dominican sandwich joint accompany those same Coronas. I personally prefer Modelo, but all Santiago brought us were some lukewarm, probably decade-old, Mexican beer that tasted as awful as it looked. Half-way through drinking my second bottle, I came to the conclusion that I could be drinking piss for all I knew. Still, booze is booze. “This taste like ass, and not the good kind,” Santiago says, belches, and then spits out some phlegm, “Yuck.”

“Last time you’re providing the drinks,” I say. “My throat is dry as hell, and this beer ain’t helping clear my shit out.” I peer over at Elena, and see that she has barely touched her own drink. By the disgusted look on her face, however, I can tell she feels the same way at how atrocious the beers taste.

“One of the last nights of summer vacation,” Elena starts, “and I’m spending it with you dorks drinking this crap. Jesus, who am I? ” “Like you have friends to spend the night with,” Santi remarks. “Ain’t nobody wanna talk to you, sir.” Santi did that thing again where he changes his tone of voice, and sounds like a grumpy old man. Lately that’s been his biggest trend. He always does or say something new and unique every few months.

“Stop calling me sir, you prick,” Elena barks back. I laugh hysterically, and continue to giggle even after she stares at me with eyes flourishing with anger. I can’t help it. Santi partially calls her “sir” to remind us that she once began growing mustache hair around eight-grade and freshmen year. Santi’s never one to turn down a cruel, almost cheap-shot, joke at anyone; even his own cousin.

“Bro, you’re going to kill me,” I say to Santi. “Damn that was funny.” Elena reaches down her long and silk-white arm, and snatches her Corona from below her camping chair. We each lay our asses on identical seats, except mine is blue, Santi is red, and Elena’s is orange. What those chairs grant with comfort, they lack in cup-holders. It’s all good, though.

Elena takes one huge swing of her alcohol, taps her lips with her tongue like some cow, and pleasantly places the bottle back to its original position. I study her face, and notice how she tries her best to avoid gagging.

“Why the hell does school have to start next week,” Santi complains. “I’m so mad right now.”

“I mean, it’s senior years, guys,” I remind them. “Shit is going to be chilled, and honestly we should be enjoying these moments right now. God knows when we can all fuck around like this during the summer.”

“You have a point,” Santi says. “I’m not looking forward to seeing some of the people there, though. Bitches just irritate me sometimes, and the guys as well. Shit’s annoying.”

Once again, Santi manages to express my feelings for me in a blunt, but meaningful, matter. As the years of high school breezed by, I find a need to isolate myself from more and more of my friends, and recline back to my family. Since the three of us are practically the same age, and the fact that we all attend the same school, we molded, and continue to mold, the ultimate bond we share and nourish. I like it that way.

Some friends you don’t know who to trust, or who to care more than others. Sometimes those same friends that you depend on, or at least attempt to show your kindness, reward you with distaste. With family, however, at the end of the day, you know they’ll have your back. As screwed-up as you are, they take care of you.

Besides, you have to deal with family members for your whole life, so you might as well make a decent relationship. For a while, the three of us chat with just the moonlight illuminating parts of my backyard. This huge and corpulent tree, however—with branches and leaves almost as thick as its damn trunk—keeps on blocking away most of the light shining above. We refuse to stop our conversation, however, since neither one of us wants to get up from our seats in order to turn the lamplight on. Not only that, but our talks lead us through an endless avenue of interesting topics that makes us shun the outside world. See, I can’t be having that type of connection with friends. When I talk to them, I feel the need to force my words out. It feels unnatural.

As always, however, the darkness eventually becomes menacing.

“Alright, I ain’t getting up to turn on the lights,” Santi states. “Onetwothree, not it!”

“Not it!” I hear Elena shout, while my words seems stuck on my tongue.

“Dammit, that ain’t fair,” I sigh. Elena breaks off into laughter, her damn voice mocking me every time she has to pause in order to breathe in air. “Whatever.” I stand up from my position, stretch my body a bit, and then drag my feet towards the lamp. It hangs near where Elena is sitting. I flick the switch on, and a dim, yellow light pours down all over the backyard.

I return to my seat, and slump down with my legs reaching out. “What now, then?”

We all exchange looks of perplexity, unable to think of something to entertain ourselves. We made one simple rule whenever the three of us head downstairs to the backyard, and that is: ''Absolutely. No. Cellphones''. We will not allow our phones to distract us from interacting with one another. “I mean the time is heading towards midnight,” I begin. “How about we share some stories this time around.”

My cousins glance at me, and I raise my eyebrows to add more emphasis. They stare at each other for a quick second, and both proceed to laugh amongst themselves. “Hey,” I say. “What’s so damn funny? Don’t be excluding me in any insiders, you bastards.”

“It’s nothing really,” Elena says, but she continues to giggle whenever she looks at Santi. “Stop looking at me!”

“You stop!” Santi exclaims, and chuckles.

“You’re both acting like a bunch of bitches,” I grunt. “C’moon. I wanna know what’s going on,”

“Well it’s funny you should mention that,” Santi says. “It just so happens that Elena and I have some pretty scary stories to tell that might even scare you, my boy.”

“I have a story?” Elena nearly screams. Santi and I both shush her, and remind her that we’re outside where the damn neighbors are trying to sleep. “Like I give a fuck. Anyways!” She points a short and tan finger at Santi. “You’re the one that told me you have an interesting story you wanna say, and that you were planning on saying it the next time we decide to sit around here. Don’t drag me in.”

“Wha? You have a story, and it’s a scary one?” I ask, honestly astonished. “Well then! I can’t wait to hear this.”

I sometimes wonder where we all acquired this deep love and crave for the macabre, but more often than not I just say to myself that it’s always been a part of our blood somehow. The three of us grew up with Chucky, The Ring, the Saw series, and that’s just naming a few of the plethora of other films our little and feeble minds absorbed over the years. Although these horror films certainly played an important role in our addiction to terror, something more impactful marked a scar in our hearts.

We have to give credit to our folks, of course. Our tradition to pass around horror stories like goodies on Halloween all originated from our parents and their cousins, uncles, aunts, etc. They used to gather around with their own cousins, just how I’m doing right now, and share whatever imaginative stories—real or not—plunged out of their minds.

“Yeah man,” Santi says. “And trust me when I say this: It’s really fucking terrifying.”

“You sure about that?” I question my cousin. “I don’t know man. I’ve seen some pretty fucked-up shit.”

“I’m more than positive, dude,” Santi says. “This shit will make you piss yourself.”

“Have you heard this story already, Elena?” I ask her. She nods her head while smiling. “Forreal? Whacha think of it, then?”

“I mean…” Elena starts, “Honestly, for someone like Santi to never ever tell scary stories, it’s pretty freaking horrifying.”

“Well first thing first,” I say, and clap my hands. “Is this story real or fake?”

“I don’t know…” Santi says with his annoying and sardonic tone. “I guess you have to wait and hear for yourself.”

“Don’t be such an asshole, dude,” I spit, while Elena giggles to herself. “You know you always gotta clarify if what we’re about to hear is either true or not. It prepares us for whatever emotional wreck we may or may not feel.”

“Well how about this. I’ll tell you my freaking amazing story, if you tell me a real scary story of yours. You must have a new one involving your haunted house.” Elena ends her laughter.

“See, why you gotta say that? Now Elena’s all scared and shit.” I nudge her with my elbow, you know, to be an annoying fuck. She gives off an irritated smile. This time we really pissed her off.

“She has every right to be scared, like, what the fuck? Your house is freaking creepy,” Santi says, always one to “lighten” the mood, and exacerbate an already bad situation. I mean, I don’t blame Elena for feeling the way she feels.

My home grew a reputation that it’s haunted around the time we were in middle school. This was the sort of thing that made me special among my friends at the time. I guess you can say this also added to my overall love for horror, in a weird sort of way. Not just horror, but the absolute emotion that is fear. Some might find distaste or anxiety to such a feeling, but people like my cousins and I—especially me—seem addicted to that feeling. We love the way it crawls deep inside our skin, turns our blood cold, raises the hair on our arms, and enervates our minds beyond measures.

“You’re still shook after what happened?” I ask my prima.

“Well, no-duh! How can I not be? That was probably the scariest thing that ever happened to me.” Elena shivers slightly to herself, even though she yapped on and on how hot it was earlier in the evening.

“I still think you slept-walk,” Santi says. “I mean, what other explanation do you have?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never slept-walk before in my life!” I shush Elena again, and smack her knee in order for her to listen. “Sorry. But still. Somebody carried me to the guest room, and it wasn’t anyone in the house. I asked ever-y-body, and they all said they did no such thing. The damn ghost—or demon—in George’s house picked me up, and now I’m scared thinking about it.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Now that the mood is right, let’s hear that amazing story of yours, bro.”

“Ehh,” Santi mumbles. “Okay, fine.” I throw my hands up in the air and shout “Yes!” This time Elena tells me to shut the fuck up.

“Okay. Here’s how it starts-“

Off in the distance we hear the sound of leaves crunching, as if someone is stepping on them. This noise immediately shuts everyone up. I hold my breath while gazing around my backyard. Both Elena and Santi follow my eyes. Although nobody says it, we all feel a bit hostile at the turn of events.

The noise erupts again, and this time Elena gasps in complete shock. Her eyes dilate with paranoia. I look at Elena, and raise my finger to my lips. Santi fixes his eyes near one of the entrances to my backyard. “I think it came from over there,” he mutters.

“I was debating the same thing,” I say. “But I’m not too sure. You think it’s an animal?”

“Probably,” Santi says. “Who’s going to check it out? Last time some skunks or raccoons or whatever the fuck dug inside your trashcans, and made a complete mess. I doubt your father will let it slide a second time. You know how he can be.”

“Maybe we should send Elena to go,” I tease once again, but in a kind-hearted attempt to assuage everyone’s unreasonable fear.

“Nu-uh,” Elena states immediately, and shakes her head, her short and brown hair waving and flipping at every direction. Streaks of her hair stick to parts of her acne-filled cheeks. “Count me out on that.”

“Well I already got up to turn on the lamplight,” I state. “Soo, I guess that leaves you, huh, Santi?”

“You guys are a bunch a babies,” he grumbles as he picks himself up. Elena and I laugh as he faces the gate. Santi pulls the small switch open—the rusty hinges squeaking as loud as a pig getting slaughtered—and maunders out of my backyard.

Elena and I sit in silence as we wait for him to return. The wind blows harder as time passes by, the air causing some of the leaves from above to swerve all around the ground below and beyond. “We should’ve brought blankets,” I break the quietness.

“What’s taking this kid so long?” Elena asks. “It’s been over three minutes already, and we haven’t heard a single thing from him.” We both rear our ears closer to where Santi made his egress, and try to listen in on any noise. The only thing we hear is the howling wind, however, and the occasional car that rushes through the street. This worries me a bit.

“Okay,” Elena says. “What the hell happened to-“

“Boo!” Santi jumps in between Elena and I. I reel back in surprise, my words caught in my throat. The bastard manages to catch my breath. Elena, on the other hand, unleashes a cry as loud as the noise of a jet engine. She stumbles backwards, falls back on her chair, and loses her balance. Both Santi and I watch in pure hysteria as our cousin lands on the ground with her chair on top of her.

“Noo you didn’t!” I yell in between my laughter. Santi and I start to giggle in silence, and we grab each other’s shoulders in order to keep ourselves under control. His eyes squint by how much he laughs. Suddenly, however, my cousin squeezes my shoulder a bit too tight, and I retreat my limb back while wincing. “Damn dude! I know that shit was pretty funny, but you don’t have to be grabbing me like that.”

“Sorry man,” Santi says. “That shit was just way too funny.” Finally he opens his eyes, but I’m taken back a bit once I spot something different about them. “Hey, what’s up with your-“

“That was not nice!” Elena interrupts me. She struggles to pick herself up from her fall. I feel a bit guilty, so I go to assist her. After she stands up, she shoves my shoulder, and proceeds to stomp towards Santi. “You’re an asshole, dude.” Elena gets all up on his face. “What if I broke my neck?”

“It was so damn worth it, though,” Santi says, still smiling about it. I feel a bit dubious about everything going on. Something about what just happened made me feel uncomfortable.

It’s nothing, you idiot, I try convincing myself.

“Okay, whatever happened, happened,” I say. “Just go on and tell your story, please.”

“You right,” Santi says, and we all sit back down on our assigned chairs. Elena still stares at Santi with mild hatred. It’ll pass, though. It always does.

“Here it comes,” Santi begins. He hunches down a bit, and rests his elbows on his thighs while cupping his chin on his knuckles. Elena and I glare at him attentively.

“You guys remember what happened to that little girl who died on a car accident, near the grocery store, right?” Santi asks us. The gentle and playful expression usually written on his face gets replaced by a more apathetic and strict look.

“You mean Cassandra? Cassandra Gutierrez?” I ask. “What about her?”

“Wait a minute-“ Elena begins.

“Sh! I want zero interruptions,” Santi says. “But yeah, her. You wanna know the true story as to what happened to her?”

“Oh hell yeah!” I say, a bit too excited to hear a story about a real-life girl who I knew died. Does that make me demented? Eh.

“Well it turns out that crazy bitch was well acquainted with the devil,” Santi says. “I know what chur thinkin’, but trust me guys when I say it’s true. You know all the stupid shit little kids be doin’ nowadays. She probably got influenced by one of the kids in the high school since she was just a freshman and all. I can’t stand fuckers in that school.” The sudden ruthlessness in his tone takes me back a bit. He usually rants about “fuckers in that school” with an insolent, but humorous tone. This time, however, his words slip out of his mouth like venom.

“Anyways, rumors got to her that there was a special type of ritual that will, now get this, ‘transform’ you into a demon. I know, it sounds funny as shit. As fake as it sounds, however, this thing might hold some truth after what I’m about to say.

“It isn’t anything like any other ritual. For starters, this thing needs to last over seven months. Within those seven months, each month you had to perform a different task. What I mean by that is, for example, the first month you had to tell at least ten lies a day. It starts off easy and all, but as you can imagine, it gets worse as times goes on.

“So when she first started, all that came outta Cassandra’s mouth were lies upon lies. I mean, we all freaking do that without us noticing, so she had no trouble completing that first task. The second month, however, was a bit challenging. It required the person to rob something from someone every day.

“She was a bit hesitant to do so, since she wanted proof that the devil will actually come to her right after those seven months. Kids told her that a demon usually arrives during the first or second month, but this hadn’t happen to Cassandra yet. Finally, however, around the middle of the second month, the devil visited her. But again, robbing a store or someone ain’t that difficult. We be robbin’ places left and right.” Santi flicks my knee with his hand, and winks at me.

I tentatively smile back.

“But yeah, the devil came to her dreams, and the demon stated that for now on, she’ll follow his instructions. Now that Cassandra had full proof, she was ready to sail. The bitch usually took money from her parents, or once in a while smuggled some food from the same grocery store where she got ran over.

“The third month came, and the devil commanded her to commit blasphemy as much as she can that month. I cannot fully explain to you all the crazy shit this bitch did. Jesus, was she a mess!” Santi laughs to himself. “Oh god. The girl used the lord’s name in vein, pissed on a number of bibles, went to church late at night and vandalized the entire area. I’ll give her props for being one creative and persistent bitch. She makes the three of us look like a bunch of wimps.

“Anyways, the fourth month came, and the devil gave new instructions. Every weekend of that month, she had to perform a worshiping in honor of Lucifer. I don’t have all the little details on how she exactly did this, but you guys can already imagine all the insane shit that went down. The bitch probably drew that circle with the star in the middle and all of that. So far, in my opinion, most of the shit she had to do ain’t that bad.

“But then came the fifth month. Here’s where shit got serious! The devil told Cassandra she needed to kill an animal every single damn day. Every damn day! Imagine that? The devil said it doesn’t matter what type of animal, just as long as she progresses as the weeks pass by. She started off with bugs, birds, and all of that shit. Then she went forth and murdered some of the damn squirrels and raccoons nearby—and if you ask me, she did us a favor doin’ all of that nasty business. Those damn animals are annoying as fuck.

“But yeah then she murdered some stray dogs and cats. I guess the dogs made me kinda sad, but I can’t stand cats. At last, this crazy bitch went to a farm, and burned the entire damn thing to the ground. A fucking farm. I’m telling ya, these white people are crazy.

“At this point, the devil already knew she was the one. I mean if she’s willing to burn a damn farm, she must be loyal and all that. So that’s why, in the sixth month, the devil asked for her to do some real wicked shit. The demon asked for her to kill another human being.” A sinister smile stiches up Santi’s lips.

Elena gasps. “No. No, don’t say…”

“Listen to this, guys,” Santi says. “Cassandra doubted herself if she could really do it. I mean that’s some serious shit, you know, to take a person’s life away and all that. The devil didn’t give her an exact date, but the demon said it had to be within that sixth month.”

“Well did she do it?” Elena and I ask in unison. We gaze at each other right after, a share small grins.

“Supposedly, she killed some hobo near the neighborhood,” Santi reveals to us. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but that’s what a lot of people are speculating right now. Everyone is sure, however, that this bitch definitely murdered another human being. I can tell by your grim faces that this is scary as fuck, I know.”

“Jesus…” I’m left completely speechless. I guess you had to know Cassandra, but she is—well was—a very innocent and out-going girl. I always used to see her near my house with all of her friends. Although they were all always too busy texting and taking selfies in their goddamn iPhones, you didn’t receive a bad vibe from their presence like most bitches these days.

“The story doesn’t end here, guys,” Santi mutters. “This next part is my favorite. “So yeah, she killed the ‘hobo’, let’s say. The seventh month comes; the final obstacle. Just thinking about it, I can only imagine the pressure and anticipation Cassandra must’ve felt. So what happens was, the devil told her in order for her to complete the ritual, she is required to kill one member of her family.

“And you wanna know what this bitch did? She pussied out last minute. She couldn’t do it. I guess she must’ve loved her family so much as to not kill one of them. I mean, in my opinion, she’s really stupid. You already killed another human being, and at that point you’re considered a piece of shit. Why not just kill someone in your family. It could’ve been an uncle, an aunt, a sister. A cousin…” What the fuck did he just say?

“But hey,” I say, my voice cracking. “Um, you still haven’t explained how she…died.” My insides feel wrong. This fear flowing through my veins feels…dangerous.

“Oh, that?” Santi says. “Well, I killed her. I ran that bitch over.”

My mind goes blank. The entire time I’ve been staring at Santi, but the moment his…ambiguous eyes shift towards my face, I look away. I fix my gaze towards Elena. She appears just as dumbfounded as I am. She squints her eyes, and flexes the muscle on her eyebrows and forehead. I’m surprised she isn’t shaking her body out of shock the way I’m doing. I attempt to get a hold of myself, but my damn arms can’t help but to quiver.

“What did you just say?” Elena asks. Santi, in return provides us with his most doleful expression yet.

“I said, I killed Cassandra. What’s so hard about it? I ran the bitch over. See, what she didn’t know, was that I was also completing my seven month trial. The devil informed me on my sixth month that she backed off, so he suggested that I should eliminate her. ''Bam! '' That easy. I was able to complete my second to last task.

“But the story doesn’t end there. I guess that leaves me to-“

That same crunching noise that interrupted Santi in the begin returns to cut him off.

“Goddammit!” Santi barks in rage. “I’ll go check that shit out again. I thought I fucking got rid of those damn animals.” Once again he leaves Elena and me all by ourselves in my backyard.

We sit in disturbed and formidable silence. This time I feel completely afraid to move a single joint. I endeavor to end my limbs uncontrollable movement, but the fright itching deep inside my skin prevents me from doing so. I feel the sudden urge to rip off my skin, and to break free from this terrified confinement Santi’s luring words trapped me inside.

“Hey,” Elena says. I’m startled by the sudden sound of her voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I have to tell you something, though.”

“Please, keep on talking,” I whimper. “Hearing you talk is calming me down.” We both talk without looking at one another.

“That’s not the story he told me earlier,” Elena says. “He told me something completely different. I- I don’t know what the hell kind of story he just told right-“

“Hey guys, I’m back!” Santi says in his cheerful tone, the one I’ve come to associate with my favorite cousin. Elena and I jump in our seats. “My bad I took so long, but I wanted to scram away all of those goddamn raccoons. You gotta do something about that, bro-“ Elena and I stare at our cousin with trepidation. “What? Why the solemn faces? Aww, are you guys scared even before I tell my awesome story?”

“Just what the fuck do you mean, dude,” Elena bickers. “What kind of story were you telling before, you sick fuck! That wasn’t very nice of you to do. How can you just shit on Cassandra’s grave like that?”

“Okay, hold the fuck up,” Santi remarks. “Why the hell are you all up in my shit with that bitchy tone of yours, cuz? What the hell did I do wrong? I just got here. I haven’t even said my story yet. And why do you even bring up Cassandra?”

“Bullshit,” Elena mouths off. “If this is some sick prank, then just stop it you asshole. You scared George and me pretty badly.”

“You need to calm the hell down,” Santi argues back. “Yo, George! Tell her to chill, bro. What the hell happened to her that made her all crazy just now?”

I remain quiet. I wait to see if Elena figures it out. But it’s more than that. I can’t help but to stay mute. The realization of it all leaves me in a state of paralysis. This fear I feel is beyond anything I ever felt before. It stuns my mind, leaves me violated, and snaps my sanity.

“Do you hear me?” Santi reiterates himself. “Dude, are you…okay? You don’t look too well.” I switch my gaze from the ground, and stare at Elena. It takes her a couple of seconds, but she finally gets it. I see her eyes water up, and the first of many tears spill down her ruddy cheeks.

“Santi,” I whisper. “How does the story end? Please tell me you remember a little bit.”

“Bro, I have no idea what you’re talking-“

“Santi!” I spring up from my chair, knocking the damn thing down. I march towards my cousin, grab his shoulders, and rattle his goddamn body. “Please, you have to remember! How does the story end? What happens next?!” From behind me, I hear Elena breaking down. She then proceeds to mumble prayers, but I feel those futile words will have no use in whatever hell we are about to experience.

“Santi, don’t do it please,” I cry on his shoulders. “Don’t kill Elena or me.”

The sound of leaves breaking comes again. This time, however, I hear the crunch right next to where Santi is standing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “But… I don’t know what I did. The beers…”

“What? What do you mean the beers?”

“The poison,” Santi slowly mumbles. “One of us is going to die.”