Alexia

The night is dark, the wind is howling, and you're currently walking down a trail ever deeper into the woods. Not quite your ideal Halloween.

The warmth and thrumming noise of Jason's houseparty are already fading into memory, the thrumming vibration of the music already long lost to the forest behind you. The crunch of shoes against leaves brings your attention to one of your friends closing in behind you.

"God, why does it have to be so fucking frigid on the one night I didn't bring my coat." Emmy's whiny tone is supplemented by her hopping back and forth on the trail in an attempt to stay warm. You scoff. 

"Girl, we did tell you to bring a jacket." You reply, looking back.

"I didn't think it'd be this cold! The last five Halloweens were warm and rainy. You'd think climate change could at least be consistent." She mutters defensively.

You and Macy giggle, and Violet takes off her own thick jacket to give to the poor girl. 

Around you, the trees loom in the cold dark, heavy shadows cast beneath clear moonlight. At the head of your little party Macy strolls casually, looking down at her phone as she does. "Don't you worry, we're almost there."

"Can you remind me uh, why we thought this was a good idea?" Violet queries from just behind you, purple skirt swishing above black knee-high socks. Her "robot" costume, consisting of an antenna headband and a little angular purple visor glint slightly as all of you pass between the trees.

Macy laughs. "Cmoon! You can't tell me this isn't the ultimate Halloween activity. When else will we get the chance to visit an actual haunted mansion?"

"Not to be a downer Macy, but I feel like the party we literally just left was the 'ultimate Halloween activity'." You butt in.

"Ahh, not you too Alexia!" The defacto leader of your friend group feigns despair. "I would have thought you'd at least enjoy the adventure. And hey, it's only 10PM; we'll still have plenty of time to dance and get drunk once we get back."

"Fiiine, fine." You say, and then grin slightly. "I suppose it does sound pretty interesting."

She smiles earnestly. "See? That's the spirit I wanna see. You two have a lot of learn from Alex here." She says to the other two, who can't help but laugh.

Orange-yellow leaves crunch beneath your feet as the four of you continue down the old trail, trees closing in closer on all sides. Wind howls between the trunks, putting you all a little on edge. Finally, after about a 20 minute walk through the woods behind Jason's parent's stupidly huge house, you see it.

Looming like the corpse of a long dead giant, the desiccated old manse sits atop a small hill, roof half caved in, walls sagging. Empty windows stare out at you from each side of its battered front door.

You whistle. "Daamn girl. You sure this thing is safe to go inside? Looks like its about to collapse any second."

Macy brushes you off with a wave of her hand. "It's been like this for years, and AHCU students have been coming here since it was abandoned. We'll be fine, just watch where you step."

And with that, the four of you march up the hill, wet grass brushing against your ankles.

This should be an interesting night, you think. 

...

Macy

Your shoes press quietly against aged wood, the floor sagging slightly beneath your weight. "Alright girls, here we ar-" A loud creak cuts you off and you nearly jump. Emilia stands right behind you, frozen like a deer in the headlights, foot pressed onto a particularly warped floorboard.

You all break into giggles. "Well that's a great way to start our haunted house expedition, thank you Emmy."

To your right, Violet tentatively moves forward, using her phone as a flashlight. The halo of bright light sweeps across the entry hall, old painting frames with long since stolen or decayed contents glinting beneath it's touch.

"I'm surprised it doesn't smell worse in here. Usually these kinda places are full of mold."

You sniff quietly. Just old wood smell, maybe a tinge of damp stink, but nothing bad. 

"Well, I would assume there's a reason why it's so popular. People wouldn't come here so often if you could hardly breath." Violet says, matter of fact as ever.

You look around, hands on your hips. "You know, I'm kinda surprised no-one else is here. Heard half the sorority came here last year."

Alexia smirks as she passes by on your left, the sporty girl's ridiculous lamp costume catching your attention again. "Maybe they got too scared to come back?"

You follow after her, leaving the other two to chase after you. "Or maybe they're all just too terrified of your horrendous costume."

She turns around, grinning playfully beneath the lampshade sitting atop her hair, currently tipped backwards so that she can actually see. Her brown eyes glint against her dark skin. "Hey just cause you can't appreciate my style doesn't mean you gotta be rude, girl."

"Style."

She laughs. "Hey, at least I *have* a costume." You look down at your jeans and blouse combo beneath a slight brown jacket. "Just because you're too blind to notice my uh.. high quality doll costume doesn't mean you have to be rude, Alexia." You throw back.

Laughs once more fill the hallway. "Oh, my apologies, Barbie." Alexia replies. 

"I'm with her, only Emmy and Alexia actually tried with their costumes this year." Violet says, referencing Emmy's devil costume.

You turn to look back at the quieter girl, actually examining her costume for the first time tonight. "Didn't you wear that last year, Emmy?"

The short college girl huffs. "Yes, er well, no, not really. It's the same devil costume from last year but I replaced the horns with some big demon ones I got at the thrift store. It works, doesn't it?"

"It looks great, Emmy." Alexia says earnestly, and Violet nods. You turn back towards adventure, smiling. "Alright, enough of this lovey dovey wholesome nonsense, we're here to get scared! Onwards, girls!"

Emilia closes the front door quietly, and, now largely in the dark, the four of you get down to business.

...

Emilia

"Are all haunted houses this boring?" Alexia asks, voice echoing in the large, empty bedroom. "There's nothing here!"

"People probably stole all the cool stuff, let's be real." Violet replies. You just sigh, still chilly even beneath your costume and Violet's generously gifted jacket. That girl is way too tall and skinny, there is no way she shouldn't be as cold as you. Totally unfair.

"There's gotta be something interesting round here somewhere." You try. "Like, see? There's a cool little bedside table. Who knoows what secrets it could hold. Ooooooh..."

Violet giggles, but Alexia just brings her hand up to her chin.

"Like, I realise it's a looted ass abandoned house and all, but damn does the interior decor suck. Who sleeps their with the foot of their bed against the wall?"

"Oh here goes Miss Interior Decor Police again." Violet jabs sardonically.

"No, for real though, who the hell does this? Place musta been owned by some kinda serial killer."

Warm laughter fills the room, bolstering you against the ambient chill. You look around.

"Also, where the heck did Macy go? Girl just runs off by herself at the earliest convenience like this is some kinda horror movie."

Violet sighs. "I'm worried about her, you know? I talked with her brother the other day and he said her grades have tanked sincd last semester. She's got some real easy classes too, so I doubt it's that."

She's not wrong, you think. While an outing like this is classic Macy, it's unlike her to simply spring it on you three, heat of the moment while you're all getting drinks.

"Let's go find her." You say after a brief silence. "She's probably-"

You're cut off by Macy poking her head around the corner, grinning devilishly. If there's any sign she heard the three of you speaking about her, she isn't showing it

"You guys will never guess what I just found up in the attic."

...

Violet

The attic is spacious, and even chillier than the rest of the sprawling, dilapidated manor. Moonlight spills in from one of the windows, illuminating a  rather notable feature. 

"Is that an actual, honest to God, demonic ritual circle?" Alexia stares.

"I know, right! Oh this attic is totally haunted. But that's not even the best part! I found a hidden panel in the cubboard over there, and it had this inside!"

You watch as the girl holds up what appears to be an actual fucking occult tome, weathered leather cover and all.

She gently cracks it open, showing all of you the yellowed, stained pages, each covered in a sprawl of spidery script and detailed outlines of ritual circles and strange numeric diagrams.

"Oh this has to be a prank, surely." You say, not entirely believing your own words.

"Gang, I know this is cool and all, but I feel like the pile of porn mags in the corner slightly invalidate the spooky situation." Emmy cackles from behind you, picking up one such porn mag featuring two sterotypical valley girls kissing on the cover, arms strewn with shopping bags. On the table next to her is a veritable mountain of similar literature, from ojou hentai to more western porn and everything in between. You blush, thanking whatever might be listening that it's currently dark as hell up here.

"I found an honest to god occult tome hidden away up here and you're focusing on the porn mags? It's just some gross frat boy stash; you're ruining the moment!" Macy snaps, and you all cackle.

She swipes the mag out of Emmy's hand and, holding it like she would a rabid squirrel, hucks it back on the table where it lands neatly atop the pile.

"Nice shot." Alexia comments. "Though I can't believe you two touched that, it's probably covered in-"

"Yes yes I know I know no need to remind me." Macy chides. "Cmon, let me have my moment! When else are we gonna have a chance to try an actual occult ritual?"

You sigh, warily. "Fine, fine. What's even in there anyway?"

The four of you huddle up, looking over Macy's dainty shoulders. 

"Hypergeometric Weave? No thanks." Macy mutters.

"Partelem's Bifurcating Sanction? What would that even do?" Emmy shakes her head.

"We're not doing something that says it needs a blood sacrifice, Macy." You deadpan, turning the page for her. 

"Not even a single one involving summoning? Boo, who wrote this thing." Alexia complains.

Finally the four of you settle on one, a small ritual near the end of the huge book called "Perfected Embodyment", describing a creation of one's "ideal self", marking it as perhaps the only even remotely appealing item.

Nearly illegible spidery script sprawls down the page in neat paragraphs, carefully describing each step.

Macy, having perhaps anticipated a seance or something similarly spooky, digs several white candles out of her backpack, while Emma and Alexia draw lines inside the old circle with nearby old, crumbly chalk sticks.

You mostly just stand back and watch, helping them line up the symmetry as Macy lights the candles.

"Alright girls, I think we're ready! Who's ready to become their perfect self?"

"I'm already perfect, thank you." Alexia comments to a few giggles, though as the cold's seeped into your bones most of you have grown a bit more somber. Only now, staring at the product of your labor does it really sink in.

"Gods, we're actually about to do this. Okay." You say.

"Ooh this is so exciting!" Macy says, though you can tell even she's a little spooked.

"Okay so, this says to uuh.. sit at the edges of the circle in a geometric formation of your choice to maintain balance, and envision your ideal self as we begin the ritual. It says something about additional conceptual modifications going in the middle but screw whatever that means and uuh, yeah that seems to be it! Says it's powered by... one's internal resevoir? Or something, anyway. Actuated by ones choice attire? Bah who cares."

The four of you sit down across from each other on the cold hardwood, finally starting to shiver. Silence overtakes the room.

"Okay, alright. Focus on your ideal selves, ladies, and I'll start reading the incantation. Or trying, this guy's handwriting is atrocious." She laughs, though noone reciprocates, all too worried.

You try to focus. What even would be your ideal self? You try envisioning yourself with a degree and a well paying job, but it all just feels.. false. What do you truly want?

You fiddle with your ponytail, dark hair black in the attic's shadows as Macy starts to read antiquated latin, having trouble pronouncing the words.

Intelligence, maybe. Logic. You've never quite cared for socializing. You think, maybe, that your ideal self would be smart, cool, calculated. Able to solve any problem cleanly, work equations faster than any of your peers. A clean and efficient machine.

Yes, that seems right. You wonder what-

You shudder as a strange sensation rushes through you, like you're sitting not around a ritual circle, but around a circular pit leading down into an infinite dark. Vertigo swells in your chest and you have to keep yourself from swaying, even as thoughts not quite your own pour into your skull.

I'm so tired of having to constantly overachieve. I just want to be pretty, sit back and have people enjoy being around me.

It's been so stressful lately... I just want to.. not care. Do whatever I want!

Fuck it. I want to be like, the BEST architect that ever lived. Actually, screw that, let's shoot higher. I want to be ONE with the Feng Shui. You hear me, stupid ritual circle?

You stare, wide eyed as each of you are seemingly rocked by some kind of invisible shockwave, your own thoughts of your ideal self spooling out into the ritual circle before slamming back into you and refusing to leave. Macy almost drops the book, and the candles sputter, but she keeps reading, a hitherto unseen hunger lighting in her eyes as she tightens her grasp on the book.

You try to speak, but find your voice is stolen. You try to move, but find yourself glued to the floor, legs crossed. 

Your eyes find Alexia's, wide as your own, and then them Emilia's, looking back and forth wildly. You stare pleadingly at Macy, but she seems almost excited that you seem to have stumbled upon real, tangible magic, her voice picking up as she chants louder and louder.

You feel like the pit you envisioned before you is growing larger, swelling with all of your stolen thoughts, eating up Macy's words like a starving rat devouring a corpse.

A feeling of intensity fills your chest, a deep desire to change and grow and perfect and-

Then Macy fumbles over a word, and the entire sensation warbles in your chest, changing in an instant. It feels like you're falling, no land in sight. To your horror Macy, perhaps startled by her first mispronunciation, fumbles another word, and the feeling spikes in intensity. The windows shatter, spraying glass all over the floor as the October winds rush inside.

Behind you, you hear a flapping sound as the wind catches on something, and then at least half a dozen hentai and porn mags blow past you, flying high towards the ritual circle.They scatter into the active rite, vanishing the instant they cross it's boundary. Devoured. A gut wrenching sensation tears through you as the ritual destabilizes even further. Concepts from the lesbian porn and else besides pour into you in shuddering blasts, modifying the ideal you now hold within your chest. 

Pink lingerie, ruby red lips pressed against one another in lust and longing.

You try to scream, but Macy is somehow still chanting. You see her eyes, now filled with panic, yet even more so with a feverish determination. What would happen if she stops mid chant? You're not sure you want to know, but at the same time you're almost more terrified of what will happen if the ritual continues.

Concepts bleed into your mind, soaking into every last part of the increasingly warped concept taking root deep in your chest.

Thin waists, wide hips, perfect skin.

Images of scantily clad women in a variety of sexual poses blow through your mind in a rapid staccato blast of unwanted imagery.

Wind whips through the attic, but the candles seem defiant, blazing ever brighter.

The perverse sexual thrill of being desired, of being touched, of being used. Objectified beyond reason, a creation built explicitly to be viewed and enjoyed. You are an object.

Is that what it got from the magazine?! The horrible words wrap around your neck, your hips, your thigh and you can't even move, you-

I am an object. You think, against your will. I exist to be used.

The ideal shudders, as if nearly sated, and then you feel it open up. Your costume!

The ritual devours its design, every last notion of  what "robot" means to you flowing into your ideal. 

Cold metal. Rigid design. Mechanical efficiency. Inhumanity. Wonder of the future.

But that does not frighten you nearly as much as the foul, horrific essence pouring out of its core and flowing past your mind's eye. Not just what "robot" means to you, but what it *is* to your mind, down to the basest assumption.

Robots do not think. It says alongside a stream of similar concepts, flowing into the very core of your horrific, warped ideal. They process, as commanded.

Your eyes bulge. You try to scream, but nothing comes out. The concept pours into you, filling you to the brim.

And then Macy finally finishes the incantation with a resounding shout, and slams the book shut. The room plunges into cold darkness.

Silence falls over the room. The wind quietly whistles through the window, running carelessly over jagged shards of broken glass.

Finally, you scream.