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"The one with the glasses, the dark hair."

"Yeah.  I saw her."

"You think she’s hot?"

"I don’t know.  Do you?"

"Hell, yeah.  Think she’ll go out with me?"

"Why not, man?  You’re a stud."

"That’s right."  Fowler yelled up at the building, "You hear that, Lise—I’m a stud!"  His voice echoed in the rainy night as they passed the tennis courts behind Halycon and then headed into the thicket, down a steep grade, through knee-high weeds to a shin-deep bog at the bottom fed by a two-and-a-half foot diameter storm drain made of corrugated sheet metal.  It poked out of the ground like a dull nub.

D’Amico waded into the murk.  He turned to Kitch, who looked hesitant, and said, "C’mon, paperboy.  You’re going to get wet tonight.  Deal with it."

Kitch took a few ambling steps into the freezing water, winced.

Mark slapped him on the back and said, "That a boy."

D’Amico said, "This pipe leads to the catacombs.  Y’all know what the catacombs are?"

Fowler said, "I’ve heard of ‘em."

Big Mike said, "Yeah.  Me too."

"The catacombs’re these tunnels that run under the school.  Teachers don’t want you to know about them, they closed off the entrances years ago.  But we found a way in.  Every year we bring our new recruits down here to explore ‘em and every year we push deeper.  Since I’ve been here I’ve led the tours, so I know my way around, don’t worry about that.  What you do need to worry about are the low ceilings and the rats and, well…"

He paused for dramatic effect till Big Mike finally asked, "What?"

"You’re gonna need to keep an eye out for the ghosts."  The guys laughed.  D’Amico continued, "Few people know this, but the school’s built over an old Indian burial mound.  It’s their souls that haunt the tunnels."

Fowler said, "That’s original."

"Shut up, dumb ass, it’s true.  And if you think it’s not then why don’t you be the Lone Warrior?"

Fowler said, "What’s the Lone Warrior?"

"As part of the initiation you guys have to pick one of your own to stay behind in the deepest, darkest part of the catacombs for ten minutes with no light while the rest of us back off.  They say whoever does that will get a personal visit from the Indians themselves.  Trust me, from what I’ve seen in the past it always works."

"What kind of stuff’ll happen?" Big Mike said.

"They’ll start hearing voices in the dark.  Then the footsteps’ll come.  Most Lone Warriors wind up screaming and running out after about five minutes.  Y’all know David Lutz?"

Mark said, "Junior.  Wrestles one forty one."

"Yeah, well, the year me and him were freshmen he got chosen and nearly busted his head open on the roof trying to get away from whatever it was he heard.  He told me later it was like women screaming, like they were being torn apart, which would make sense seeing as how the old Indians used to sacrifice people to the gods on this very spot before the settlers came and slaughtered ‘em all."

Fowler said, "Hope nobody here’s a virgin," and chuckled.

Mark didn’t know why but he looked at Kitch.

"You’re the Lone Warrior," D’Amico told Fowl, "I’ve already decided."

"Fine.  I don’t care.  I’ll do it.  Let’s go."

"We’ll see how big and bad you are when you get down there."  D’Amico pulled a flashlight from his jacket.  "Follow me."  He gestured to Big Mike.  "Use the LED on the camera."

Mike turned it on and said, "Should I hit record?"

D’Amico had already crouched into the storm drain.  He was pushing against the steady flow of rainwater that was streaming out.  He said, "Yeah," his voice sounding hollow in the confined space.  Big Mike followed.  Then Fowler.  Mark Goetz was fourth, but before he went in he turned to Kitch and said, "Hope you’re not claustrophobic."  Kitch shook his head.  That didn’t mean he wasn’t nervous and scared.  They went into the pipe.  After a few moments, the light from inside slowly dimmed and the bog was silent and still, silent except for the whisper of rain.

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