By Michael Bettendorf
The story so far…
You are Michael, a naïve 19-year-old dumbass, trained in the arts of meandering through life. Not even a year has passed since you’ve arrived in Lincoln, Nebraska after transferring schools because of currently undiagnosed—or acknowledged—mental illness. You feel abandoned by all your trusted friends and family and are currently doing your best. You have no friends. No, sorry—you have new friends, though the depth of said friendship is tenuous. You’re currently dating someone—look at you go!
Afraid to screw things up or appear unlikeable in any sort of way because your self-confidence and self-worth are at an all-time low and spiraling, you find yourself at a Halloween party at some random apartment in the west side of Lincoln, Nebraska. The year is 2009 and it is time to pick your destiny!
But first, the game rules…
Before you set off on your adventure, you must determine how well your Midwestern upbringing has prepared you for your quest. Your WILLPOWER is representative of your state of mind, your CONSTITUTION is representative of your physical stamina, and your COMBAT SKILL is representative of your fighting prowess. You also have various special skills that may come into play during your journey, such as INVISIBILITY, SMALL TALK (we’ll call it charisma, of which you have little), and having an agreeable disposition i.e.: you are a doormat.
Here is a simple breakdown:
-CONSTITUTION: 40 – you are lanky and small-muscled, but as a previously bullied kid, you can take a beating.
-WILLPOWER: 50 – you have a decent head on your shoulders and are wise enough not to listen to the dumb shit your brain tells you on occasion. You’re the middle child and have learned to deal with things in your own way. Your WILLPOWER is at constant odds with your CONSTITUTION.
– COMBAT SKILL: 25 – you won’t break down any doors, but you are one scrappy motherfucker if the situation calls for a fight.
1.
It’s Halloween 2009, a Saturday. You’re wearing adult onesie pajamas, which go perfectly with your brand-new adult braces. You are equipped with a stuffed duck. You are dressed as Michael, one of Wendy’s lost boys, and the coincidence does not escape you. Your girlfriend is dressed in a Peter Pan outfit: leafy green tights underneath a homemade green tunic, brown belt with a sheath. You are thankful she left the knife at home, though she will cut your heart out with it eventually.
You arrive at her friend’s apartment, which is teeming with monsters. You don’t know anyone. You feel anxious because of this. Deduct 1 WILLPOWER point.
Someone dressed as Edward from Twilight, complete with shimmering body glitter on his face, hands you a beer. You take it. You open it. You drink. Your CONSTITUTION is not yet affected. Somebody dressed as a nerd wants to take a picture. She wears large Weezer glasses with tape on the bridge. The tape reminds you of the time your glasses were snapped in half the time you were hit by a dodgeball. You remember the laughter, but you are trying to live in the present and you smile for the photograph. You take another drink. Then another. And finally, finish your first beer. You are promptly handed another.
If you want to use your INVISIBILITY turn to 2.
If you want to use your SMALL TALK turn to 3.
2.
You smile and nod and drink your second beer. Your girlfriend sits at your side and drinks, too, although she is comfortable because she knows the host. In fact, you catch on that most of the people here know each other from high school and this is hardly their first party together. Your high school experience was much different, so you sit and listen, because that makes you comfortable. You become furniture. Soon, you become invisible.
If you want to leave, turn to 8.
Your invisibility wears off after you finish your second beer and set it on the table, which has accumulated more empty beer bottles than you’ve seen in your life. The party has been going on for over an hour now. Time flies when you are invisible.
3.
You twist the cap off your second beer and make a joke about baby bottles and beer bottles in relation to your costume, but nobody seems to get it. You finish your beer in three swift gulps. You grab a third from the fridge. Deduct WILLPOWER and CONSTITUTION by 1.
8.
You set your second beer down, half-empty like you. You stand and stretch. A ghoul says, “Nice animal.” It is a duck, so you quack. Everybody laughs. You walk to the door. You are thankful that your costume has shoes built-in because the pile at the door is overwhelming. You open the door and are greeted by two newcomers: a man dressed as Jesus and his disciple; a guy dressed like a sleazy 80s businessman. You look Jesus in the eye and excuse yourself. He stares past you, into you, beyond you with dinner-plate eyes. He says, “Sit down, my son.”
If you listen, turn to 4.
If not, go home and go to bed. Your quest ends here.
4.
You sit on a couch between Jesus, who is drinking purple liquid from a Solo cup, and a half-assed Joker who smells like weed. Jesus calls his drink god-medicine and does not offer it to you, but you know what cough syrup smells like. Jesus speaks to you about the cosmos, Big Pharma, and Bagel Bites.
If you want to have an agreeable disposition turn to 5.
If you want to engage your COMBAT SKILLS continue.
You nod and start to make sarcastic remarks to Jesus’ bullshit. He is too high to realize you are making fun of him, but his sleazy disciple catches on and tells you to knock it off. You tell him you’re just kidding around, but he’s persistent. You’re up to your fourth beer now and found an equilibrium inside of yourself. Add 5 to COMBAT SKILLS, CONSTITUTION, and WILLPOWER.
The sleazy disciple takes a swing. You feint his attack and nimbly stand. You throw your stuffed duck at the disciple. Half-assed Joker yells, “duck,” but is too late. The animal harmlessly strikes the disciple in the face, but causes him to drop his beer. It shatters on the floor and panic ensues. Jesus stands and calls for his sons and daughters to relax, eat, drink, and be merry—for the holy spirits are with us tonight.
At this point, you come to your senses, realizing your mind has unwillingly engaged in an unmentioned skill of yours: DETACHMENT—an involuntary action tied to your faltering WILLPOWER and have been transported in time, back to the couch between Jesus and the Joker.
Go back to 4.
5.
You listen to Jesus talk about how Big Pharma is ruining America while he drinks Codeine and Robitussin. You nod and listen to the white noise all around you. Something triggers Jesus. Your heightened insight believes it to be the two men in government agent costumes standing across the room. You understand they are costumes. Jesus does not. His pilgrimage is no longer calm and he starts to trip bad off the acid he took earlier.
His sleazy disciple takes him by the arm and leads him to the balcony. Stuffy air vacates the room alongside Jesus. One of your acquaintances squeezes back into the apartment from the balcony. He is dressed as himself. He is the only honest person in the room.
He asks if you want another beer.
If you decide to drink another, turn to 6.
If not, turn to 7.
6.
Your bud hands you a beer and asks how things are going. You shrug and say, “All right. Just enjoying the party.” He knows you are lying, but doesn’t make a big deal about it. He says, “Right on,” and opens a bag of chips. You notice he doesn’t eat many of them, but he sees you need food and has become your caretaker now. You look around for your girlfriend, but she is talking with Edward. She glances at you from time to time. Your bud was a lost boy once too. He tells you this and you believe him. Increase WILLPOWER by 1.
Soon, the party dwindles and you go home. You stay at your girlfriend’s place. You dream of Neverland. Your quest ends here.
7.
You shrug and say, “No thanks.” Your bud shrugs and says, “No problem.” He opens a bag of chips and you two munch on them in silence until the bag is empty. Increase CONSITUTION by 2.
Jesus breaks the silence by busting through the door. Everyone quiets, but the room is hardly silent. The host yells, “What the fuck? Jesus Christ,” and you laugh. No one else seems to get it. You say, “At least it was just the screen door, not the glass one,” because you’re trying to look on the bright side these days. Jesus stumbles and pukes purple god-medicine onto the table. His sleazy disciple says he will go get a towel.
Someone bangs on the front door and asks you to be quiet. That they have children who are trying to sleep. You want to tell them that it’s okay, because you are also a child. Don’t they see the pajamas?
All of the commotion causes the host to end the party prematurely. You, Edward, and your girlfriend stay to help clean up. The sleazy disciple never came back. A genuine Judas. The host checks on Jesus, the only guest left. He’s blacked out, but his breathing is fine. You tell her, “Give him three days,” but she doesn’t laugh. He’s too big to move, even for the four of you. You prop his head in such a way that if he pukes again, he won’t choke to death. You know that’s not how his story ends.
You fill bag after bag with bottles and cans. Soon, your girlfriend drives you to her place instead of yours, happy the decision is made for you.
___
Michael Bettendorf (he/him) is a multi-genre writer from the Midwest. His short fiction has appeared at Cosmic Horror Monthly, Mythaxis Magazine, The Razor, and elsewhere. His short fiction has been nominated for Best Short Fiction (2021), Best of the Net (2021), Pushcart Prize (2025), and is a recipient of the Brave New Weird award (2023). His debut experimental horror novel/gamebook Trve Cvlt was released by Tenebrous Press (Sept. 2024). Michael works in a high school library in Lincoln, NE. Find him on Bluesky @BeardedBetts and www.michaelbettendorfwrites.com.