HOUSE OF NETTLE AND THORN

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Jim Auster peered through the window at the old Victorian. “This doesn’t even look like a sorority house.”

Nick parked the car along the curb and checked the GPS. “This is it, bro. 220 Stine Way. Just like Krystal said.”

They were a few miles from campus, tucked away in folds of suburbia that Jim didn’t recognize, and while the house itself didn’t give him the creeps, the empty neighborhood certainly did. The streetlights illuminated a cul-de-sac devoid of human presence. The other houses sat lifeless and mute, their lights extinguished despite the early hour, with yards crowded by overgrowth and thick ropes of ivy clinging to the outer walls. Jim checked his watch and saw the time was barely eight o’clock. Frowning, he turned back to the sorority house.

“What time did she say the party starts?”

“Sunset,” Nick said, trying to downplay his excitement, but Jim knew better. He’d only lived with Nick for a couple of months, and he already knew how to read the guy. Not that there was much to read. In the little time they’d been together, Jim was privy to all sorts of stories about Nick’s sexual prowess, recalling his high school conquests and online girlfriends. The Internet is an untapped resource, Nick once told him. There are chicks everywhere looking to get laid! Social media just makes it even easier, bro!

Some men, Jim decided, were meant to do great things, curing diseases or walking on celestial bodies; Nick Edgleman’s contribution to the great human identity would be equal to a crusted stain on a pair of boxer shorts with the reek of Axe body spray.

Jim coiled his fingers on the door handle and sighed. “I was supposed to study with Megan tonight.”

They climbed out of the car and stood on the sidewalk. Nick put his hand on Jim’s shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Forget about Megan. It’s her loss. Just relax, bro. Be my wingman tonight and I’ll introduce you to some of the ladies in my history class. They put Megan to shame.”

“Thanks,” Jim said, recalling his roommate’s complaints about the ‘lack of quality vagina’ in History 101. “You’re a real bro.”

But Nick was too caught up in the moment to catch Jim’s sarcasm, walking the length of the moss-covered wall that separated the sorority grounds from the sidewalk. Jim followed his roommate to the large wrought-iron gate. He paused when he saw the symbol emblazoned between the black iron bars.

“What sorority is this again?”

Nick scratched his head, staring up at the darkened house. “I don’t remember. Sigma-something.”

Jim traced his fingers over the symbol. “These don’t look Greek. They look like . . . flowers.”

They were flowers—three of them, with their blossoms in the center supported by an odd jumble of vines. Entangled in the center of that sinewy mass was the figure of a man on all fours.

A cool October breeze rustled the trees outside the sorority house, scraping limbs against the old Victorian’s gray siding and startling Jim away from the effigy on the gate. A slow chill crawled up Jim’s spine as he peered up at the home of the Sigma-something sorority.

Nick’s phone chirped. He reached into his pocket and thumbed the screen.

“It’s her,” he said, grinning.

“What’d she say?”

“‘Where r u? Party is dope!’”

Jim looked up at the second-floor windows, listening for signs of life. All he heard was the crackle of leaves caught in a breeze, dragging like bodies across the empty suburban street. Sitting in the dorm and pining over the one that got away was starting to look more appealing.

“Some party,” Jim mumbled. He looked back at Nick. “Listen, I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this. No one else knows we’re here, and this girl is from the Internet could be anybody.”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Would you put your tampon back in? Just relax. I’ve done this before. Besides, would you turn down tits like that?” He held out his phone, revealing a photograph of a naked, pasty-pale woman from the neck down. Jim felt a twinge of jealousy stir in his groin.

“No,” he said, his eyes lingering for a little too long on the photo. “No, I don’t think I would.”

Smug, Nick lowered the phone and began to type out a reply. “That’s what I thought. There’s hope for you yet, bro.”

Jim forced a smile, but deep inside, he was raging against a well-known fact of life: Hot girls always fell for the douchebags. The sting of Megan’s rejection was still fresh, and her choice to date one of Nick’s fraternity brothers was a shotgun blast to his pride. “I still want to be friends,” she’d said.

Of course she just wanted to be friends. Jim was well acquainted with the dreaded ‘friend zone’. He’d spent a week wondering what he could have done differently, gorging himself on a diet of fried comfort food while wallowing shamelessly in self-pity. Oh, what it must be like to be on the other side of the fence, to actually be wanted by the opposite sex instead of merely acknowledged, tolerated, and passed over.

Nick’s suggestion that he stop sulking and get out of the dorm for a while seemed like a good idea at the time. After seeing the bare breasts of Nick’s future conquest, Jim wondered why a girl like that would be cruising the university’s social network looking for guys, but then again, who was he to question good fortune?

Maybe she saw something in Nick’s profile photo, his face painted blue and white to match the university’s colors as he flashed a cocky, sideways smile at the camera. Maybe it was the way he always popped up the collars on his shirts. Or maybe it was his listing of ‘Hot Bitches’ as an interest on his profile that led this Krystal person to send him a private message. Maybe she saw a hint of intellect in those narrowed eyes and arched eyebrows.

And maybe she’s just a desperate nympho, Jim mused. Lucky son of a bitch.

“All right, I texted her back and asked if we have the right address—”

The porch light switched on, draping the yard in a warm glow as the front door creaked open.

A figure appeared at the threshold. “Nick?”

Nick pushed past to open the gate, crossed the yard, and climbed the porch steps. Jim followed cautiously, running his hands along the porch banister as he ascended. An old, dry vine had wrapped its way along the length of the railing, its leathery surface almost prickly to the touch.

“Are you Krystal?”

Jim rolled his eyes. Of course she was; her profile said as much. He paused behind his roommate, taking in the sights while they introduced themselves. She was taller than he expected, but evenly proportioned, her emerald green dress clinging to her body in all the right places. Her hair was pulled up in an assortment of curls, accented with a trio of purple flowers tucked behind her ear. Jim was immediately drawn to her cleavage—not because of the ample real estate but because of the glimmer of light off the flower-shaped amulet wedged in the canyon between her boobs.

“I’m so happy you could make it!”

Krystal stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Nick. She kissed his cheek and whispered something in his ear with a soft, coquettish giggle. Then her eyes met Jim’s, and her playful demeanor vanished.

“Who’s this?”

Grinning, Nick turned back and put his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “This is my buddy, Jim. His girlfriend just broke up with him, and he’s feeling a little lonely.” That was a lie, of course. He and Megan hadn’t actually gone that far in their relationship. In fact, ‘relationship’ was a loose term in this sense. Jim’s cheeks flushed. “Thought maybe we’d introduce him to some of your friends.”

Nick winked at him, but Jim was too focused on their host to notice his roommate’s gesture. He stared at the caricature of a woman standing before them, not quite entranced by her beauty but by the façade of her beauty. Jim squinted, trying to determine if her face was real or just a mask.

Krystal was gorgeous, borderline perfect in the eyes of a horny nineteen-year-old, but something about the way she was staring at him, and the way she recoiled when she saw him, made him uneasy. There was a flicker in her eyes, a glint of hatred he hadn’t accounted for, and within a moment of meeting this girl, Jim wanted nothing more than to turn on his heels and run away like a scared child.

“So whaddya say, babe? Can my bro join the party?”

Krystal flashed a liar’s smile, her lips extending ear to ear while giving Jim a once-over. The flicker in her eyes was there for just a moment longer before vanishing behind that smiling façade.

“Of course,” she said. “I’m sure we can find someone to keep him company while we party.”

“Listen, I don’t want to impose.” He could take a hint—he certainly wasn’t welcome—and come to think of it, he wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to be here anyway. Not now. He looked at Nick and shrugged. “Give me your keys. Just text me and I’ll come pick you up.”

“No way, bro.” He looked back at Krystal, who was tangling her fingers in her amulet’s silver chain. “She said it’s no problem. Right, babe?”

Krystal flashed that smile of hers before staring at Jim. The heat on his face intensified as a cold snake coiled around the middle of his spine. The phantom serpent tightened, hardening his guts into stone, and he wanted to protest again, but the words just weren’t there.

“No,” Krystal said, “it’s no problem.” She gave him another once-over before taking Nick’s hand. “Come. Let’s party.”

***

The foyer gave way to a large sitting room on the left replete with candelabras on the end tables, a staircase to their right, and a hallway straight ahead. Jim had never set foot in the sorority houses on campus, but he’d been in his share of fraternities, and they were all one safety inspection away from being condemned. He expected sororities to be tidy, but not this tidy. No, this house was immaculate and far more elegant than he’d expected—even for a sorority that operated off campus.

A gold chandelier hung above the foyer. Glass sconces garnished with red roses lined the soft green walls, leading a path of light down a hallway beside the staircase like a trail of golden crumbs. A purple velvet curtain separated the foyer from the hallway, muffling the vibrant tones of classical music playing from elsewhere in the house, its notes flitting through the air like butterflies. The room was thick with a ripe, sweet smell that Jim couldn’t quite place.

“Wow,” Nick said, craning his neck up to the chandelier. “Nice digs.”

“Thank you,” Krystal said, “it’s been in our mother’s family since the last reconciliation, a reward for a bountiful harvest.”

Last reconciliation, Jim wondered. Bountiful harvest? What the hell is she talking about? He let the couple wander a few steps away, edging close to the door. Krystal excused herself for a moment, promising to return after she told her sisters about her ‘boyfriend’. Once she disappeared behind the velvet curtain, Nick turned to him with his hand held up in the air, grinning like an idiot. Jim stared at him, frowning.

“Oh come on, bro. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“I don’t think I should be here,” Jim whispered. “Did you see the way she looked at me? And what’s this shit about reconciliations and harvests?”

Nick reached out and pushed Jim back against the door. “I came to have a good time, and that’s what I’m gonna do. You go be a little whiny bitch for all I care, but don’t fuck this up for me. Maybe getting laid will do you some good, bro. That way you’ll stop being so uptight and get over that bitch who dumped you.”

Jim clenched his teeth. He pushed Nick back and held out his hand. “Leave Megan out of this,” he growled. “And I’ll stay out of your business but only if you give me your keys.”

“You’re not drinking?”

“No. And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t either.”

“What, you think I’m gonna get roofied?” Footsteps echoed down the hall. Nick dropped his keys in Jim’s hand and playfully slapped his cheek. “You can’t rape the willing, bro.”

Krystal emerged from the hallway and held out a plastic cup. “Follow me. I’ll introduce you to my sisters.”

Nick took the cup and followed, looking over his shoulder to mouth the word ‘sisters’ to Jim. The hallway stretched the entire length of the house, and the deeper they went, the more Jim felt like an outsider. Was it the way Krystal glared at him? Was it the house? A strangely familiar scent filled the air, and he was about to say something when he saw the grin on Nick’s face. Just stop it, he told himself. Try to relax and have a good time. It’s just a party.

“There’s the kitchen,” Krystal said, pointing to their right. Jim stuck his head over the threshold, observing a pair of women standing around the island in front of the sink. A dark green liquid rippled within a punch bowl. The women—both brunettes, thin and pale and dressed in snug, emerald gowns—offered Nick the same rehearsed smile as Krystal before focusing on Jim’s presence.

The first brunette ladled some of the green punch into a plastic cup and offered it to Jim. She didn’t smile.

“Drink? It’s rich. Loosens the soil. Good for the roots.”

“No thanks,” Jim said, shrinking back into the hall with Nick and Krystal. “Maybe later.”

“—And here is the study.”

Jim turned to the room opposite the kitchen and stuck his head in the doorway. Other guys—some of them barely college age from the awkward look of them—were paired off with Krystal’s sorority sisters, drinks in hand, laughing and chatting. Two sofas lined the opposite walls and were occupied with couples, their limbs entwined, heads pressed together and sucking face.

“This looks like my kind of place!”

Nick turned to Krystal and grinned as he lowered his hand to the small of her back. She ran her fingers through Nick’s hair and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. When she was finished, she flicked her tongue lightly against his earlobe.

“Is this my date?”

A new, kinder voice lilted from across the room as they entered the study. A thin girl with raven black hair seemingly floated across the room, her green dress whispering against the wooden floor. She wore a smirk on her face and a purple flower tucked in her hair, and within moments of taking her in, Jim forgot about Megan and studying.

“Jim,” Krystal said, “this is Cora.”

He stuck out his hand to shake, but she twisted her way into his arms before he could react. She caressed the back of his head, cradling him for a kiss. Her lips were wet and warm, and her tongue slipped into his mouth just an instant, almost so quick he later wondered if it had actually happened. Her skin smelled of honeysuckle and summertime, but the taste her tongue left in his mouth was almost metallic, gritty. He was struck with a brief sense of euphoria, his head suddenly ten pounds heavier.

Cora pulled away from him and smiled. “Nice to meet ya, handsome.”

“Uh, hi.” He realized his hand was wrapped around her waist, her hip pressed up against his stomach, and the sudden heat between his legs could only mean one thing. He dry-swallowed, waiting for the embarrassment to set in, but if Cora felt his erection, she made no sign. This mysterious girl had managed to fill his mind with her own form of light, and for a while, his thoughts of Megan were reduced to fading shadows, vanquished to forgotten corners.

“Sweet.” Nick raised his hand again. “You gonna leave me hanging this time, bro?”

Stunned, his mind lost among a series of dark waves lapping against his skull, Jim didn’t leave his roommate hanging this time.

***

“Maybe you’ll have something in common,” Krystal remarked just before tugging on Nick’s arm. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Nick flashed a sideways smile at his roommate. “I’ll see you later, bro.”

Jim watched them leave the room and disappear into the dim hallway. He turned back to his date. “So . . . did you grow up around here?”

She ran her fingers through the back of his hair, sending chills marching all the way down to his groin. “You could say that,” she said. “Most of us grew up here, but some are transplants from the old country. Some of us are hybrids.”

The orchestral music swelled to a crescendo as the couples on the sofa explored each other with ravenous desperation, their hands and lips venturing into forbidden territories. Wide-eyed, Jim watched as one of Cora’s sisters lifted up her skirt and forced her date’s face between her legs. She closed her eyes and cooed.

Beside them, one of the sorority girls pulled away from her date—his eyes were narrow slits, one corner of his lips turned up in a half-cocked grin, cheeks flushed—and kept eye contact as she lowered herself to the floor and slid her hands down the front of his pants.

Jim stared in awe. Holy shit. Is this really happening?

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Cora whispered. “Want to see the house?”

He didn’t have a chance to respond before she took him by the hand and pulled him from the study. She led him through the house, wandering from room to room, seemingly at ease and at other times incredibly giddy as she gave him the tour.

Jim didn’t care. His head was still reeling from all he’d seen. These girls were unlike the others he’d dated, and that fact simultaneously terrified and excited him. The red flags of alarm still flew in the back of his mind, but the more he listened to Cora’s voice, the less he cared. He thought she was beautiful and the realest girl he’d seen all evening, lightyears beyond the likes of Megan Whitfield and far less fake than Nick’s conquest.

Cora’s syllables seeped into his bloodstream and brain like a fine gin, and by the time they reached the sitting room, he was drunk on her words and captivated by every breath.

“—and this is our wonderful mother, Iris.”

He followed her gaze to the portrait over the fireplace. The painting depicted a large, blossoming flower, its purple petals interwoven with a series of prickly needles protruding from within while a number of vines faded into the earth.

Jim stepped closer, inspecting the painting’s finer details. Several dark hands were trapped in the vines, their fingers clawing at the roots, trying to free themselves from their prison. Small, gray tendrils were threaded between the fingers, pulling them back down into the earth.

He remembered the insignia on the gate and turned back to Cora. She smiled with pride, and although Jim found her warmth disarming, he also found her ease with the macabre scene equally unsettling.

“So . . . Nick mentioned you’re part of a sorority, but he couldn’t remember the name. What Greek organization is this?”

“We are the House of Nettle and Thorn, true daughters of Demeter.”

Jim paused for a moment, waiting for her expression to crack and reveal the big joke, but her smile never faltered, her eyes never narrowing to betray a con. “Right,” he said, forcing a smile. “That sounds like a great organization.”

“It truly is,” Cora went on. “Our seeds are scattered across the world, but here, our roots run deepest. So they have since the last reconciliation, and so they shall until the next.”

Jim kept smiling while idly checking his watch, wondering where the hell Nick ran off to. You know where he went, Jim scolded himself. He’s probably upstairs somewhere, suffocating himself between Krystal’s enormous tits.

Cora laced her fingers with his. “Would you like to see our garden? It’s in the backyard.”

She looked up at him with dark violet eyes and a smile that made his stomach flutter. Crazy never looked so beautiful, and it smelled like the sweetest of flowers.

Flowers. Yes, that’s what he couldn’t place earlier in the hallway, the floral smell of a greenhouse—or funeral home.

That familiar cold serpent coiled tighter around his gut, but he couldn’t place why. His senses were dulled and his mind clouded by the experience. This mysterious girl both excited and terrified him. Finally, after chasing Megan for more than half a semester, he’d found a girl who was willing to show him the attention he craved, the attention he deserved. A girl who wanted him for a change.

He forgot about Megan and the uncertainty swelling up in his chest, giving himself over to this beautiful woman and letting her lead him by the hand down the hallway, through the kitchen, and out the back door.

***

The cold night air took his breath away. He hadn’t realized how warm it was inside the house. Cora let go of his hand and floated down the steps to the patio; at the edge was a large flowerbed that stretched the entire length of the backyard. Jim knew little of horticulture, but he could spot a rose anywhere, and she was dancing between the rows, her body moving in time with the muffled tune coming from within. He took a seat on the steps, watching her odd dance and wondering if this night could get any stranger.

Cora danced halfway across the garden before pirouetting between two rows of flowers. She fanned her fingers across the leaves and petals, communing with the flora as she made her way back to the patio. When she returned to him, her dress was dampened by the evening dew and stained with fresh soil, but she didn’t seem to care. Her eyes glistened in the moonlight, and when she fixed her gaze upon him, Jim found he could not look away.

“Do you like me, Jim?” Her lips parted into an innocent smile. She walked over to the edge of the flowerbed, lifted her soiled dress, and stepped out of her slippers. She curled her toes in the dark earth.

Confused, eager, frightened, intrigued—these were but a taste of emotions that set his heart afire. He’d had so many false starts with Megan, so many promising nights that ended in disappointment and masturbation, that when the opportunity finally presented itself, he found he didn’t know how to react.

“Yes,” he whispered, his mouth suddenly dry. Even the tip of his tongue throbbed, aching to taste her skin.

“I like you,” she said, kneeling before him, her eyes never leaving his while her hands worked independently, first unclasping his belt before unzipping his jeans. She held his gaze a moment longer, her mouth upturned in a playful smirk, her lips full and glistening. “I want you.”

Cora took hold of him, and he almost came right there. He bit his lip to hold back the wave, groaning as he throbbed in her hand. The last thing he saw before losing himself in a blizzard of mental static was the clarity of her gaze and the shimmer of violet in her eyes.

She closed her mouth around him, lapping her tongue against the underside of his shaft before taking him deeper into her throat. Jim felt the pleasure of her full lips for only a moment before the pain shot through him like a bullet, white hot and searing, every nerve standing at attention and screeching in agony.

Needles. Thousands of tiny, hot needles jabbed into his sensitive flesh. Cora moaned softly as he struggled to push her away, mistaking his discomfort for pleasure, and the more he resisted, the deeper she sucked him into her throat.

Tears filled his eyes as he writhed in agony, squirming to free himself from the vise of her mouth, and in a moment of desperation, he did the only thing he could: He gripped a handful of her hair and yanked. She moaned once more, tightening her grip and sending a new wave of blinding pain shooting into his gut. The pressure spread through his groin and down his thighs. Splotches of color danced before his eyes, and a single, calm thought occurred to him as the darkness came to claim him: She’s going to swallow me alive.

The absurdity was what saved him. He blinked away tears, closed his fingers around the flower in her hair, and tugged.

Cora cried out in pain, shooting backward in surprise and releasing his bloody member. Jim rolled onto his side, his hands drawn instinctively to his crotch, curled up as if that might hold back the burning and throbbing.

“Why would you do that?” she cried, cradling the flower in her hair. He looked over at her through a wall of tears. The purple blossom hung limp to one side. He’d cracked the stem in two.

“Why would you do this?” he rasped, lifting one leg to examine his wounds. He was flaccid and bloody and bruised. Dark beads of scarlet oozed from a thousand pin-pricks in his pruning flesh.

Cora climbed to her feet, and when he looked up at her, his blood went cold. Pale green veins bulged beneath her forehead and cheeks, accented by two thick streams of green tears oozing from her eyes. She cradled her head, nursing the flower as if it were attached—

Oh God.

The painting over the fireplace flashed before him, sending his heart down into the pit of his gut where it continued its frantic pace. The green drinks (good for the roots), the floral smell, even the gritty, metallic taste of Cora’s tongue that he now realized was dirt—the pieces were there, jabbing into his brain, completing a grotesque portrait of horror that made his heart plunge.

Jim met her stare. “What the fuck are you?”

Cora’s face screwed up as she began to sob. She looked away, her tears dripping into the earth. Small tendrils snaked out of the dirt and blossomed around the droplets, drinking in her sadness. She turned back to the stalks of foliage in the garden with her face buried in her hands, her cries echoing into the night. Jim wanted to feel bad, but the sharp, prickling pain in his groin told him he shouldn’t.

“Y-You didn’t have to hurt me,” she stammered. “We could be part of something greater forever. You could join our harvest, be part of our next reconciliation.”

She turned back to him as a clump of tendrils rose from the soil. They curled up her legs and around her waist, blossoming into full, purple flowers.

Jim scrambled to pull up his pants and fasten his belt.

“Where are you going?” she asked. Jim wanted to respond, but his words failed him. His mind raced with more urgent matters. He hoped his wounds were superficial, but even that wouldn’t rule out a hospital visit—never mind how the hell he was going to explain this to a doctor. As soon as he found Nick, he’d—

His stomach lurched. Where the hell was Nick?

“Please don’t leave me,” Cora cried, but Jim didn’t listen. He scrambled back across the patio, leaving his date rooted in the garden.

***

“We haven’t seen him. Have a drink.” The brunette with violet eyes offered him a plastic cup full of green liquid.

Jim waved her away, frowning. “He was just here half an hour ago. With your friend Krystal.”

“Oh.” Violet Eyes gave him a vacant look before downing her own cup of the green punch. “Maybe he left.”

He reached into his pocket for Nick’s keys. They jangled against his fingers. “No, he’s still here.”

Violet Eyes shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

No, he thought, I guess you don’t.

“I think I like you,” Violet Eyes said. “Have you been claimed?” Her cheeks darkened, glaring up at him with a mischievous smile. Jim glimpsed faint green lines sprouting out from her eyes. He offered her a weak smile in return as he edged his way out of the room, wincing with every step as the prickling, burning pain shot through his groin. Nick first, he thought, and then the hospital.

Jim avoided the study, wandering instead down the hall toward the staircase.

“Nick?” His voice echoed in the empty foyer. A grandfather clock ticked idly from the sitting room. Jim stood at the bottom step and called up into the dark. “Nick? Hello?”

Silence from above. He waited, and when Nick didn’t respond, he turned for the door.

A low, abrasive hum gave him a start, forcing the hairs on his neck to stand at attention.

“What the hell?”

The short hum paused before starting up again. Jim stepped away from the staircase and toward the hallway. A cabinet sat in the corner recess where the hall met the foyer, its surface adorned with a number of trinkets, including a collection of shiny silver baubles. As he drew near to the source of the hum, he realized it wasn’t a hum at all, but a rough vibration. Something was vibrating in short, regular bursts.

He pulled open the cabinet drawer.

There were at least two dozen phones in the drawer of varying sizes and ages, the oldest of which was a huge Motorola the size of a brick. There were others, including several dead smartphones, some scuffed, some engraved, and some with rubber cases. One case with blue and white trim caught his eye. He flipped it over and found the initials N.E. imprinted on the back.

That cold, uneasy feeling rose up once again in his gut, forcing the pain of his groin out of his mind for just a few precious seconds as he held Nick’s phone in his hand.

“You wouldn’t leave without this,” Jim whispered. He turned on the phone and read the display. Two missed calls, one of which was from less than a minute ago.

Jim chewed his lip and tried to ignore the pounding in his chest as he thumbed through the menus. In some ways, he felt ashamed to be invading his friend’s privacy, but the situation, he decided, necessitated drastic action. He opened the social media app and navigated to his roommate’s direct messages, scrolling through a number of conversations until he found what he was looking for: Krystal Demeter.

He scrolled past a number of nude images she’d sent Nick, as well as several perverse chats until reaching the end of their chat history—and the beginning of their conversation. Krystal was the one to initiate contact, casting her line across that great expanse of the Internet in the hopes that someone would bite—and bite they did:

Hey I saw u at school and I think ur cute. Want 2 B Friends?

Jim sighed, frowning at his roommate’s stupidity. The conversation went downhill from there. Defeated, Jim put the phone in his pocket.

He was about to turn away when something else caught his attention: the other phones.

Most of them wouldn’t turn on, their batteries long dead and corroded, but there was one that flickered to life. There were over a hundred missed calls and even more unopened text messages.

He wasn’t sure what led him to open up the phone’s social app. Curiosity, maybe, or perhaps it was the evening’s turn of events lending credence to all the personal alarms firing within his mind. Maybe it was almost having his penis ripped off by a mutant plant-girl, or maybe it had to do with the drawer full of abandoned cell phones. Either way, Jim’s curiosity got the better of him, and when he flipped through the private messages, his blood stopped cold in his veins:

Hey I saw u at school and I think ur cute. Want 2 B Friends?

No, he thought. Please no. He thumbed down through the messages, pausing on the same dimly lit photo of Krystal’s naked breasts. Shaking, he pulled Nick’s phone from his pocket and compared the messages. His heart sank. They were identical except for the time stamps. The other phone’s messages were dated almost a year ago.

A loud shriek startled him so badly he dropped both phones. They clattered on the floor, and he waited foolishly like a rodent caught in the open, waiting for one of the sisters to find him rifling through their things.

Except these phones didn’t belong to them. They belonged to the dozens of other young men who’d fallen prey to . . . whatever the hell they were. An uncomfortable sting rose up in Jim’s groin, and he pressed his hand there to hold back the pain. Something squished in his pants, and he knew if he didn’t find Nick soon, he could forget about ever getting laid.

Another scream filled the hallway, followed by another. Jim’s heart surged, thumping in his chest to the beat of what he thought was the ‘Blue Danube’ waltz. Adrenaline took hold of him, and against his better judgment—

What the fuck are you doing? Get the hell out of there! Take Nick’s car and go get the cops!

—he pushed aside the heavy curtain and walked softly down the hallway.

“Take their seed, sisters. Take it all.”

Violet Eyes stood at the study’s threshold and clapped her hands softly as more screams overpowered the classical waltz. A lump manifested in Jim’s throat, filling his airway like a ball of cotton. Violet Eyes smiled at him as he approached before turning her attention back to her sisters.

Jim thought he was ready for what lay beyond the threshold. He was wrong.

The men in the room were entangled in a series of vines protruding from the arms of the sisters, thick ropy tendrils squirming and digging their way into their victims’ exposed flesh. One of the guys turned toward him and moaned in agony, his arms twisted at impossible angles while his date took him relentlessly in her mouth. His eyes rolled up into his head as his cheeks sank inward, his body cavity imploding at the will of his attacker. A moment later, the bro with the half-cocked smile collapsed into himself like a deflated sex doll.

Violet Eyes turned to Jim, smiling proudly. “They learn so fast,” she said. “This harvest will be the best yet!”

Jim tried to speak, but words failed him. His mouth was suddenly dry, and any attempt to find his voice was met with a dull ache shooting through his groin. The other girls were sucking their guests dry, and for a moment, all that raced through Jim’s mind was that it could’ve been him.

Violet Eyes traced her fingers along his arm. She smiled and licked her lips. “My name’s Holly, by the way.”

“He’s mine, Holly.” Cora shuffled into the hallway, the hem of her dress caked in soil and her cheeks streaked with an atlas of green tears. The broken stalk of her flower hung limp to one side. She avoided Jim’s gaze, focusing her stare on Holly. “Krystal paired us.”

“But I haven’t claimed anyone tonight—”

Cora struck her with the back of her hand. The slap echoed down the hall but did nothing to interrupt the deathly orgy in the adjacent room.

“He’s mine,” Cora growled. “Now leave us be.”

Holly stepped back, speechless and nursing her cheek. She retreated through the kitchen, and just before she exited to the garden, Jim saw a hint of dark green ooze dribbling down her chin. He looked back at Cora. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or run away.

“Where’s Nick?”

Cora sighed. She took his hand and rubbed her thumb across his fingers. “He’s with Krystal. He was special to her, just as you are special to me. Our special ones are taken to the basement to meet Mother Iris. Come.”

“In the basement? I don’t understand. Why—”

Her lips pressed against his, and for an instant, he forgot about the pain coursing down his thighs and the fear racing through his mind. For that moment, there was only Jim and Cora, a quiet center of the universe separate from the pain and confusion of the world. Her tongue darted into his mouth, accompanied by the metallic taste of soil, and Jim wanted to pull away—but he didn’t.

A sickening warmth overcame him in that moment, filling his head with desire and displacing thoughts of Megan and Nick. A single thought swam through the empty spaces of his mind: This is what it’s like to be wanted. He opened his eyes and lost himself in the subtle glow of Cora’s violet gaze.

Their lips parted, and Jim felt himself lean forward for more. He wanted more. He needed to taste her one more time, but she wouldn’t let him. Cora looked away and squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry we couldn’t spend more time together, Jim. Come with me.” He tried to kiss her again, but she held him back. “I insist,” she said.

Jim tried to lean in once more but paused when he saw they had an audience. The other girls from the study watched from the doorway, their cheeks swollen with light green veins, their violet eyes glowing in the dim light.

“Harvest him, sister. Complete the reconciliation.”

Cora closed her eyes. Green tears spilled down her cheeks. “I know, sisters. I know.” She tugged at his hand. “Come, Jim. It’s time you met our mother.”

***

Cora led the way down the basement stairs. The walls were aged and cracked, and a thick musty smell of soil permeated the air. Jim hesitated in the doorway as he stared down into the dim abyss, his heart rapping so hard against his chest that he had trouble catching his breath. Part of him wanted to find a way out of this. There was a voice somewhere in the back of his mind, screaming like a frightened child, begging for him to find Nick and—

Forget Nick, whispered a voice. It was soft and soothing yet spoke with authority. Come to me, child. Let me look at your beautiful face.

Jim pivoted, turning back to the kitchen where the other sorority sisters watched. They looked less human now. More green veins rose to the surface of their porcelain skin, their violet eyes bulged, and small gray tendrils snaked and flirted around their arms and necks. They stared at him with rabid urgency. One of them even licked her lips.

“Go on,” she said.

“Meet our mother,” said another.

“Jim, come with me.”

He turned back and looked down the stairwell. Cora stood at the landing, peering up with her hand held out to him. The tears had aged her face, filling in every crack and crevasse, giving her cheeks a pale green complexion. He remembered Krystal’s face when she met them at the doorway: a façade of beauty.

He felt hands trace the back of his neck and shoulders; he felt the hot, soiled breath of the others at his ears, their flirtatious voices whispering, “Go, sweetie. Go.”

Drunk on their words, he took Cora’s hand, and they went down the last set of steps together. Another large, velvet curtain hung from the basement ceiling, cordoning off the rest of the room from the stairs.

“Mother Iris,” Cora announced, “we’ve come to pay you a visit. I have a special one for you. The last of tonight’s harvest to complete the reconciliation.”

She drew back the curtain, revealing a large space illuminated with bright UV lights and a large, bulbous thing planted in its center.

The world Jim thought he knew was already shaken that night, its foundations cracked by almost having his penis ripped off by a mutant plant-woman. What he saw waiting for him just beyond the threshold of that room finished the job, sending his concept of reality teetering into an endless, blackened void.

Until that moment, Jim Auster hadn’t considered the possibility that Nick might have suffered a similar fate as those unfortunate young men just one floor above. He didn’t know what he expected to do when he found Nick. Persuade him to leave? Had he been so naïve as to think that would actually work?

Nick was dead, of course. Jim could tell from the way his roommate’s deflated limbs were sticking out of the creature’s maw. The only identifiable part of him was the tribal tattoo on his twitching, bloody arm. Nick’s other limbs were folded side by side in a sick display of human origami, his remains soaked in a viscous, green fluid secreted from the jaws of the monster that claimed him.

Standing at the threshold, staring at what he presumed was Mother Iris, Jim Auster heard her sweet voice in his mind, urging him to let go. Let it happen, she cooed. Just let it happen. I want you to be one with us, child. Complete our harvest.

A wall holding back the last of his sanity crumbled to dust. The sensation was slight, subtle, as the rest of his sanity seeped away through the cracks. He suddenly felt very small and very young, like a child having wandered across the borders of a dense, dark forest. Here, he was lost among a tangle of underbrush, and the sweetest voice was calling his name, calling him home.

The dark green bulb that had devoured Nick’s last remains was bisected down the middle; it split in half for just a moment, revealing seemingly endless rows of sharp thorns, their amber color tainted with a hint of scarlet. Surrounding the bulb were large, vibrant petals that fluttered erratically, filling the room with an anxious rustling noise that made his ears itch. To either side of the flowery mass was a human leg bent at the knee, the flesh a fractured pattern of dark green veins, the muscles bulging and convulsing in time with the rustling petals. Jim’s mind finally caught up to his senses, and he realized he wasn’t looking at two disembodied legs. No, the legs and the flower-bulb thing were connected to the same mass.

His stomach lurched as realization struck, and he opened his mouth to scream, but no words came to him. Instead, his mind shrieked for him: She’s giving birth to that thing.

Mother Iris lay on her back, legs spread and exposed to the room, but she wasn’t giving birth to the creature protruding from her vagina. The flower was a part of her, used to satiate her divine hunger for centuries, feasting on the blood and bones of other hapless men drawn into her trap, their sweat and lust and semen a delicacy to her taste buds.

Krystal appeared from behind the writhing creature. She was nude, her body pockmarked with leafy wounds oozing that same viscous green fluid. Her breasts peeled back, blooming into patches of swirling vines and small, violet flowers. A thick, green tendril coiled out from behind Mother Iris and wrapped around Krystal’s legs, inching its way up her body with the ease of a python. A small, green nozzle at the tip of the vine latched onto the purple flower in Krystal’s hair, enveloping the petals in its trunk and fusing to her head.

A second green tentacle lurched out of the flickering shadows and beckoned. Cora stepped away from him and walked willingly across the room. She bowed her head, welcoming the elephant-like trunk as it wrapped around her thin body, wrinkling her dress. There was an audible shurp sound as the tendril latched onto her like a leech.

Both girls went limp as the appendages lifted them off their feet, twirling them in the air like dolls. Their eyes drained of color, transforming into the milky-white of cataracts, and their mouths flapped open and shut as Mother Iris tested their muscles. They were a part of her now, and when Mother Iris spoke, she did so through their vocal cords.

“Come to me, child. Let us have a look at you.”

Jim wanted to run, but a voice from within suggested the impossible, the insane: Why not stay? His feet were unwilling to move, and for each moment he stared into the many eyes of this monstrosity, the desire to remain intensified, building to a slow crescendo with each successive heartbeat. He forgot about the prickling pain in his groin—that was just a flaw of the flesh, and what good would that be to him if he could become part of something divine?

The bulb curled open and excreted one of Nick’s loafers. The damp shoe was covered in gelatinous ooze. It plopped on the ground before Mother Iris. Jim stared at that shoe, a part of him horrified while another part coveted Nick’s place within the goddess.

“Take me,” he muttered. A chill ran through his body, and he lowered his gaze, for he was unworthy. Everything he held dear and hoped for until that moment—school, family, losing his virginity, the girl he thought he wanted—now seemed so trivial. He was but a grain of sand at the edge of a vast ocean, and Mother Iris was a sailor of those strange, wondrous waters.

“Take me with you,” he said. His hands trembled.

Mother Iris considered his proposal, her tendrils swaying in the air, carrying Cora and Krystal like marionettes.

“Do you seek our glory?”

Jim fell to his knees. He wiped tears from his eyes and bowed his head. “I want to be with you, Mother. Please take me with you.”

The crack in his mind splintered further, separating his heart from all manner of logic. The reasonable part of him, that screaming young man tucked away in the shadows of his mind, grew distant, shrinking away as he became blinded by the glory of Demeter’s daughter.

The bulb split wide open and flared its prickly thorns. A long, slender vine protruded from the center of the leafy maw and inched its way across the floor toward him. He closed his eyes and relinquished himself to Mother Iris. The tendril curled around his wrist and began to pull. Inch by inch, Jim Auster was dragged to his fate, a destination to which he would have gone willingly.

Within a moment, he would be a part of something greater. He would never again feel rejection or sorrow. There was only the warm bliss of acceptance, his mind lost forever amidst the nettles and thorns, his flesh devoured sweetly within the belly of a living goddess.