Kill Switch by Penelope Douglas

Damon
Present
I was glad Michael and Rika weren’t having their engagement
party at St. Killian’s. I refused to step foot in the nightmare
they no doubt made of one of our favorite high school haunts.
St. Killian’s was an old, abandoned cathedral we all
explored as kids, precious hours spent away from parents and
left to our own devices, and when we became teenagers, the
catacombs underneath were our obsession. I could still smell
the earth and stone and hear the water trickling down the
walls. It was decadent and indulgent, and my domain.
We ran and hid, scared each other, drank, and had all kinds
of hot fun down there growing up. It was our pathetic little
empire, but it was freedom.
And they just had to douche it up by buying it and
renovating it into their new, lovely home, probably taking
away everything that was wild and primitive about it.
GGod, please, someone fuck me in the ass. Where the hell
did the kids at Thunder Bay Prep go now on Devil’s Night?
Did anyone keep up the tradition after we’d left? Was
everything we did pointless and dead now, lost in vague
memories that wouldn’t outlive anyone who knew us?