I got a summer job working in an occult supply store. There, I met the scariest person of my life: myself.
“I need wasp stingers,” I told myself. My face stared dead-eyed from beneath the hood of my favorite jacket.
As I handed the packet across the counter to myself, I said, “What happened to us, man?”
I grabbed both my wrists. “Don’t accept any invitations,” I hissed. “It’s not the nature of the cult, it’s the peer pressure.”
I thought back to the email I’d just received and shook my head. It was too late. I had already accepted.
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