Chad drove us into an old apartment away from the campus. It was a poorly lit, eerily quiet neighborhood with dilapidated houses and a thick balete tree, and if it wasn’t for the Christmas song playing on the radio, I would’ve believed I was in a horror movie–although, the combination wasn’t really far-fetched considering the movie festival entries of the season. I shuddered as we walked the rest of the way to the farthest room on the first floor. I was wondering why the previous rooms looked abandoned until I heard a loud, discordant sound as we stepped inside.
“St. Beatrice in the house! Oh, yeah!” a guy in the living area hollered as he tapped the edge of the table with his pens. “On my right? Reverend Gomeeeez,” he dragged on like an announcer in a boxing match. “Wait, where is he? Where is everybody?” He twisted from his seat, only realizing the fact that he was practically alone at the table.
