Hunt the fox!

Trigger Warning: This text contains mentions of substance abuse and physical violence.

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Despite holding out their hands over the bonfire, the three first-year students trembled in their places as they waited for Luther's words.

Rowe waited distractedly, reconsidering all the decisions he had made that had led him to this absurd initiation ritual.

The main reason had been to appease his mother's concerns, as she only wanted him to have the opportunity to meet people his own age and finally make friends. She knew how hard he had had it in secondary school and the depression he had gone through after an intense exam period with no one to keep him company.

Perhaps it was the habit of never having been the centre of attention or not being interesting enough for people to want to strike up a conversation with him, but Rowe found it extremely difficult to talk to people, even casually.

He had rejected the suggestions of clubs and social groups that his classmates had offered him. He had no particular interest in hobbies, nor was he good at most of the sports that other people participated in. He didn't want to join one of those clubs and feel humiliated at not being able to keep up with the others.

On one of those early days at university, he was sitting alone in the cafeteria drinking his coffee when someone sat down next to him without warning. He was a tall guy, noticeably a few years older than him (he looked to be in his thirties, compared to Rowe's newly turned eighteen).

"My name is Luther," the guy introduced himself, smiling as he extended his hand.

With a sandwich still in his mouth, Rowe managed to mumble,

"Rowe," he said, cautiously accepting the handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Rowe." Luther didn't even wait for a reply; he proceeded directly to say, "I've seen you sitting alone in this café for a few days now, and I thought I'd make you an offer.

Surprised by the sudden turn the conversation had taken, Rowe frowned.

"What kind of offer?"

"Friendship," Luther's smile widened as he said this. With a confidential expression, he added, "The group my friends and I have doesn't require any specific skills or interests. Join us and you'll have a group of friends who will support and encourage you unconditionally at university.

"Aren't you, like, thirty?" Rowe asked. "What does your group have to do with adult teenagers fresh out of high school?"

Unfazed by the implication that he was too old for such things, Luther laughed genuinely.

"Obviously, the group is made up of people of different ages. I started it years ago when I was studying here. I'm one of the third-year teaching assistants."

Even with the logic of the explanation, Rowe still felt that what Luther was describing was the concept of a fraternity.

Seeing his indecision, Luther handed him a piece of paper on which he had written something.

"This is the address of our house. Stop by and take a look. You can get to know some of us. Don't be intimidated by the idea; we don't require anything special from you, nor do you have to pretend to be someone you're not. We've all been in the position you're in."

Those words had made an impression on Rowe, but their sincerity had not been reflected in Luther's eyes as he walked away.

Days later, Rowe found himself knocking on the door of one of the student residences just fifteen minutes from the university.

Luther opened the door. Without seeming surprised at all, he greeted him:

"Rowe! I've been waiting for you. Come in," he said, putting a hand on his shoulder and pulling him inside the house.

Just as Luther had said previously, his group of friends included people of different ages, but clearly all over twenty-five.

There was at least a dozen of them. They greeted him with pats on the back, welcoming him as they chanted his name as if he were the winner of a tournament. After declining offers of a drink, Luther gave him a tour of the two-storey house where five of them lived.

They went through all the rooms, which were quite spacious, personalised and designed in the style of their occupants. The last room they went to was Luther's. It didn't have many decorations or posters. The walls were grey and there were shelves full of books and collectibles. In one corner was a trunk full of clothes that looked dirty, but there were also odds and ends, backpacks, stuffed animals, and other items that looked old or abandoned. They looked like things destined to be thrown away.

"A lot of people choose to live in shared houses like this," Luther began saying. "If you ever decide to move out of the university residences, don't hesitate to come here. The occupants change every year.

"Is this what you offer to everyone you meet?" Rowe asked sceptically.

"Only to those I want to be friends with," Luther smiled.

"That's it? You take me into your home, I meet your group, and now you're my friends?"

Very convincingly, Luther affirmed, encouraged:

"Exactly, it's that simple." Without wasting any time, as if it were a minor detail, he added, "Although the truth is that we have a way of formalising new friendships. I know the first thing you'll think is that it's an initiation rite, but it's just a practice we've been doing for years," he continued more solemnly. "It's a way of symbolising a new stage in your university life. A new environment and new people by your side. It's your rite of passage!"

Rowe looked at him carefully, really debating whether to take him seriously or not. Was that how you made friends? Was it really that conditional? It wasn't as if he had had any good friends in the past, not even any real and genuine ones, so he had no previous experience to compare this offer with.

Come to think of it, it was quite logical. If he managed to pass whatever silly test they presented him with, he would undoubtedly become part of their group. No prejudice or hypocrisy. It didn't require any more social energy than that.

Nodding, he said:

"Okay, what do I have to do?"

Luther's eyes reflected a kind of greedy joy, like a dragon with its gold.

"I can't tell you the concept of the ritual yet, but what I can tell you is that you need to bring an object with you that you brought when you moved to university. An object that reminds you of home, one that you hold dear. It's the central element of the process."

The boys downstairs called his name, so he apologised and left the room. Before leaving, Rowe took another look at the trunk from earlier. Instinctively, he went over and rummaged through its contents. He found a football shirt signed by a famous local athlete. He quickly stuffed it into his rucksack.

He wasn't going to just give one of his most precious memories to a dude he'd only met two days ago.

-----

Back in the present, staring into the flames of the bonfire, Rowe heard Luther's voice announce with chilling joy:

"Welcome to the rite of fire. A process by which you will be transformed into new men. Gone will be the version that just left your hometowns: you will be people with a promising future and a new group of friends who will support you every step of the way."

The other two students next to Rowe nodded enthusiastically but nervously at the same time. Rowe was uncomfortable with the way Luther's other friends looked around him sinisterly, barely saying a word.

"Did you bring the items I described to you earlier?" Luther continued. When the three nodded, he added, "One of the first steps in this meeting is to throw your most cherished possessions into the bonfire, symbolising the abandonment of your former life. But first, each of you must drink this concoction. It will give you a boost of energy."

The other attendees handed them glasses filled with a liquid that smelled strongly of liquor mixed with beer and other beverages.

Without hesitation, having anticipated that they would have to drink alcohol in this ritual, the three students downed the contents of their glasses in one gulp. Rowe coughed almost immediately. The last time he had tasted alcohol was at one of his cousins' birthday parties; back then, the drink had a sweet aftertaste following the initial burning sensation, but now it left a stinging sensation in his throat.

"Perfect," said Luther. "Now, your possessions."

The first student volunteered. He described what he had brought with him:

"These are a pair of gloves my grandmother knitted months ago for the harsh winter in this area," he added with a nervous laugh. "I'm going to have to tell her I lost them when I see her at Christmas."

Those present said nothing. Luther simply nodded, indicating that he should throw them away.

The boy threw the gloves into the fire; the flames consumed the wool in seconds.

The second student showed the military badge he was carrying.

"It's my father's. He enlisted ten years ago, and I haven't seen him since. I don't think he has any idea that I've just started university.

He threw the pendant into the fire.

Now it was Rowe's turn. Nervously, he tried to hide the T-shirt he had taken from Luther's room in any way he could.

Without wasting another second, he threw the shirt into the flames without bothering to show it to the audience. Ignoring the disapproving looks from the other two students, Rowe shrugged, quickly defending himself:

"It's a football shirt signed by my idol. My uncle gave it to me. It's no big deal."

He could feel Luther's frown, but Rowe focused his attention on the bonfire, which... seemed to have a life of its own. Suddenly, the colours of the flames seemed much more vivid and rippled in a synchronised rhythm. Rowe thought he could hear whispers coming from them.

"Hunt the fox, hunt the fox...!"

"Very well, candidates," Luther continued. "You have passed the first test. What comes next will reflect how willing you are to embark on this new stage. Accepting someone as a friend involves developing trust and confidence that this person will be on our side, no matter what happens.

The assistants blindfolded the students. For a few moments, the three waited in confusion. The first two had already begun to say incoherent things anxiously:

"I can smell the heat of the bonfire. Was that my grandmother's voice? Why is she shouting at me?"

"I think my heart is coming out of my chest. Help, give me a bandage to keep it inside me, I don't want it to come out."

Rowe fought against the annoying sensation of someone's lips pressed against his ear saying over and over again:

"Hunt the fox, hunt the fox!"

He shook his head violently from side to side, hearing heavy breathing, unsure if it was his own or someone else's.

They remained blindfolded for an indefinite period of time. At some point, something else was placed over their faces, like a mask. Each of them was led to a specific spot in the forest, separated from the others.

Before removing the blindfold under his mask, one of the assistants said to Rowe:

"Your mission is to kill the panda and the bird. They look like real men, but they are not. You have to kill them. Do not remove your mask."

Before he could turn to ask "why?", the assistant had disappeared into the darkness among the trees.

Then he heard hurried footsteps running towards him. Instinctively, he ran in the opposite direction, but the person was running faster.

Turning around, Rowe saw a humanoid-looking bird. Its wings, long as arms, flapped in a peculiar manner.

Rowe dodged the other's attack and fled the scene while hitting his own head repeatedly, trying to push the insistent voices out of his mind. The grass at his feet moved like the tide on a shore, but it remained stable under his footsteps. Stars appeared in that green sea that was the ground, guiding him through the night.

Somehow, he had found his way back to the bonfire, where Luther still remained, while the rest of the attendees were tormenting the other students in different parts of the forest. Luther, perplexed to see a disoriented Rowe walking towards him, asked:

"Rowe, what are you doing here? You should be chasing the bird and the panda. It's not here. How did you find your way back?"

But Rowe did not answer, because the person standing in front of him was no longer Luther. His face had twisted into fox-like features. Fearfully, Rowe pointed at him, stammering:

"F-fox, you... you're..."

And then jumped on him, attacking him on the spot. Luther was too surprised to defend himself in time. They struggled hard, throwing each other to the ground.

"You're the fox!" Rowe shouted accusingly.

"What are you talking about?" Luther replied furiously.

He pulled a knife from his pocket, ready to stab Rowe in the side, but the student intercepted his movement and struck his wrist, causing the knife to fall a short distance away on the ground. He quickly picked it up.

Seeing that the young man had completely succumbed to the hallucinogenic effects of the drug that had been slipped into their drinks, and that he was determined to attack him, Luther pleaded, fear reflected on his face:

"Please, Rowe, I don't have a mask. None of us have fox masks."

Rowe shook his head and said,

"But Caleb tells me otherwise. You're still wearing it."

Luther's eyes widened at the mention of that name.

"Wait, no!"

But it was too late. Rowe stuck the knife to Luther's jugular, completely interrupting his train of thought, his eyes reflecting the last distant memory of a past in which he had been in the same position as Rowe.

-----

Detective Floyd searched Luther's entire room, stopping to examine every piece of furniture and object.

His partner, Detective Syd, did the same, leafing through some pages of diaries and notebooks on the desk. She sighed.

"Do you really want to bother believing that boy's words? You've already seen him at the hospital; nothing he says makes sense. He can't even explain who this Caleb is or how he 'spoke' to him.

"That's exactly the point," said Floyd as he rummaged through the wardrobe. "No one mentions a name with such conviction and at the same time appears completely confused about what they've just said. And where did he get the fox from? The masks at that meeting weren't of that animal.

"He was heavily drugged," she reminded him. "The amount of LSD in the drinks was enough to cause a psychotic episode."

Floyd shook his head, dissatisfied.

"He also talked about the T-shirt he threw on the bonfire," he recalled. "He said he took it from here."

"What does that have to do with killing the leader of a fraternity?

Almost frustrated at not finding anything important, Floyd was about to give in to his partner's arguments when his gaze fell on the trunk in the corner of the room.

He went and opened it, discovering all the old contents inside. He took out T-shirts, stuffed animals, and school supplies with the initials C.L. At the bottom of the trunk was a fox mask, faded by time.

He showed Syd the mask. Not exactly feeling relieved at having solved part of the case, he asked, more to himself than to his partner:

"What happened to Caleb?"