You won't believe this

CW: blood, gore, substance abuse

“You’ll never believe this,” Dylan shouted. He burst through the door to the Jamesons’ basement, covered in sweat. “Sarah just fucking died.”

“No way,” Tyler replied, exhaling an enormous cloud of smoke.

“Come on, Dylan,” Tiffany scoffed. “You’re lying. She is not dead.”

“Hey, let’s hear him out. What happened?” Skye asked. She wrapped him in a zip-up hoodie and led him to a nearby chair.

“We were walking home together…”

“Right…” Chad interrupted. He nodded to Tyler and made lewd gestures with his hands. “Like that would ever happen.”

“Shut it, Chad,” Jordan snapped. She waved toward Dylan.

“Sarah said her sister Jenny’s friend Miranda found this weird phrase carved into the wall of the Starbucks bathroom last weekend. You know the one in the mall.”

“Not important,” Chad said. “How’d she die?”

“So, she said there’s this phrase that you can’t say out loud.”

“Okay…” Tiffany replied. “Or what?”

“You die.”

“What? Like a phrase that kills you?” Tyler asked with a furrowed brow.

Skye gasped. “Like a death phrase.”

“Sure, a death phrase,” Dylan replied.

“What’s the phrase?” Chad asked, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Why would I say it?” Dylan said. He wiped the sweat from his brow and pointed outside. “Sarah just said it, and she’s dead.”

“Yeah, but how do we know that she’s dead?” Tiffany shrugged and pointed to the large number of empty liquor bottles. “You expect us to believe that Sarah died because she said a certain phrase?”

Dylan shook his head and laughed. “Yes, bitch.”

“Hey, Dylan?” Tyler said.

“What?”

“What did Sarah say?” he asked.

“I’m not going to say it,” Dylan replied.

“Say what?”

“You can’t say ____. Oh…”

Dylan’s body seized as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. His jaw went slack, and his legs shook. Collapsing to his knees, he fell forward and cracked his head open on the coffee table.

Skye covered her mouth and looked away. Gasping, Tiffany and Tyler watched as blood sprayed from Dylan’s temple across the carpet onto Chad on the couch.

“Oh shit,” Chad said. He laughed and clapped his hands together. “What the hell was that?”

Jordan sorted through the pile of pills covering the corner of the table and took another striped pill. She placed it on her tongue and then glanced at Dylan on the floor. “Oh no, not Dylan.”

“He’s dead…” Skye whispered through the sleeve of her hoodie.

“It’s Dylan. We all know how he gets,” Tiffany said. She shook her head and stared at Dylan’s lifeless body. “Plus, he was pounding Monster and powder all night.”

“So what?” Jordan said.

Tyler put a finger triumphantly in the air and smirked. “Dylan had a heart condition.”

“Exactly,” Tiffany said. She pointed at Tyler and nodded. “He probably had a heart attack.”

Skye leaned on the bar counter next to her chair as she stood. Stumbling about, she brushed herself off and fixed her hair. “Should we call the cops?”

“No. No, absolutely not,” Tyler said, rushing to his feet. “My dad will kill me if the cops come because somebody died.”

“You’ll get over it. But Dylan won’t. He can’t really… because he’s dead,” Jordan replied, waving her fingers slowly in front of her face. She giggled. “All because of ____.”

“Thank you, Jordan,” Chad said. He flashed a thumbs-up at Jordan as her head lolled forward and back like a long nod. “She’s right, we’re calling the cops.”

“Why are we even debating this?” Tiffany asked. She met the gaze of each person in the room. First Tyler, then Skye, Jordan as she slumped sideways in the recliner, and finally Chad. “Yes, call for an ambulance. Skye?”

“Right. Okay, right,” Skye replied as she gripped her phone with both hands. “I got this.”

“Hey, Tyler,” Chad said. He pointed at Dylan. “Bet you’re not man enough to prove words can’t kill.”

Tyler pounded his chest. “Words have no power over me.”

“Prove it. Say it.”

“Don’t say it,” Tiffany replied, rolling her eyes.

Tyler shrugged. “Dylan had a heart attack; that’s all.”

“Then say it,” Chad goaded.

He looked at Dylan, then took a deep breath. “Fine ____.”

“What the fuck, Chad,” Tiffany snapped.

With a deep gasp, Tyler rolled backward into his chair. He twitched once, then stopped moving.

“Okay, bro. Cut it out,” Chad chuckled. “This isn’t funny, man… Tyler?”

Skye gasped as she jerked away from Jordan, lying on the recliner. Covering her mouth, she dropped her phone into the punch bowl.

Jordan’s skin had gone pale; both arms lay slack across her chest, and her eyes rolled back.

Skye hugged herself and fell to her knees. “Not Jordan…”

“When did Jordan say it?” Tiffany asked.

Skye walked around the counter to the bar itself. She grabbed the bottle of liquor and shakily poured herself a glass over ice. “What’s happening?”

“Tyler?” Chad shook him. “Joke’s over…”

Nothing.

“Tyler?”

“I wonder,” Tiffany mumbled as she wrote the phrase on a piece of paper. “Good news. Writing it doesn’t kill you.”

Skye scoffed. “That’s good news? It’s impossible not to say this at least once in your life.”

“Wait. That’s interesting.”

Skye drained her glass with a single gulp, and the glass thudded against the counter as she set it down. “You think that explains it?”

“What, like everybody dies someday because they eventually say it?”

Skye poured another drink. “Yeah, exactly.”

“That’s so dumb. Why would it work that way?”

“I’m just trying to figure it out.”

“It doesn’t matter how it works. Never say it. That’s it.”

Chad’s gaze sank to the blood on his sweatpants. He stared at Dylan for a moment, then at Tyler. Sliding back into his seat on the couch, he leaned on his knees and steadily rocked, his eyes locked on the carpet at his feet.

“She’s right. We can’t say it,” Chad said.

Tiffany rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Skye, how long until the ambulance comes?”

“What ambulance?”

“The one for Dylan?” Tiffany asked, slapping the glass from Skye’s hand, spilling liquor onto Dylan’s blood.

“I…uh, dropped my phone, sorry, Tiff.”

Throwing Tyler’s phone at Skye, Tiffany pointed a finger at her. “Call an ambulance.”

“Okay…” Skye replied. She tried to blink away her double vision as she continued trying to dial 911. The numbers blurred together into one bright, solid panel.

Tiffany texted the group chat.

[Remember, we cannot say ____.] Tiff

“Not the group chat,” Skye yelled, her gaze locked on Tiffany.

Chad grimaced. “You didn’t.”

“What’s the big…” Tiffany replied. Her smile shifted into a frown. “Oh no, no. Tell me I didn’t.”

“You did,” Chad said, typing a message despite his quaking fingers.

[DISREGARD. Just a bad joke.] Chad

“I meant to make a chat with just us.”

Chad rubbed his blurry eyes. “Oh shit. Marcus saw it.”

[What happens if we say ____?] Marc

[Nothing.] Tiff

[Come on, I’m dying to know.] Marc

[Just don’t say ____. End of story.] Tiff

[I’m going to say it.] Marc

[Don’t do it, buddy.] Chad

“Do you think he’s going to say it?” Skye asked.

Tiffany sighed. “I hope not.”

Skye sighed and handed Chad and Tiffany bottles of water. She cracked open the lid of her bottle and took a sip. “I bet he’s going to say it.”

“You have to once you know what it is,” Chad said.

“He probably said it,” Tiffany replied.

[Marc?] Tiff

[DISREGARD.] Tiff

“What now?” Chad asked.

Skye shot straight to her feet and pointed at the window. “Cops.”

“Cops?” Tiffany asked as red and blue lights flashed through the front window. “Oh, cops.”

“This is Officer Clarkson of the CCP. We received a call that was cut off earlier this evening from this address,” the officer said as he descended the concrete stairwell leading to the basement.

“Shit, what do we…” Chad said. “Everybody be cool.”

“Be cool?” Tiffany replied. She pulled a jacket on to cover the vomit stain from earlier that night. “Just tell the truth.”

Skye shook her head and crossed her arms. “How much truth?”

“No,” Chad barked, reaching for Skye. “Absolutely not.”

“I think we should tell him,” Skye replied.

“Tell me…” Officer Clarkson’s eyes scanned the room, and he forced a smile while holding one hand up to the group. “Tell me what?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Skye cried. “You won’t believe me.”

“Believe what?” Officer Clarkson asked. “Does it have anything to do with your friends here?”

“This is not what it looks like, officer,” Chad said. He held both arms up as he rose to his feet. “Wait—Uncle Bob?”

“It looks like too many fucking drugs, Chad,” Officer Clarkson said. He activated the radio clipped to his vest. “Dispatch, I’ve got multiple victims. Possible overdose. Three appear deceased.”

“Skye, don’t,” Tiffany said, slowly raising her hand toward Skye.

“He won’t believe it.”

“Talk, what the hell happened?” Officer Clarkson asked as he walked over to Dylan on the floor and checked his pulse. “Chad? No?”

Skye wiggled and grimaced as Officer Clarkson checked Jordan for a pulse, and again when he checked Tyler. He looked directly at Skye and asked, “How’d they die?”

“Don’t say it,” Chad said while motioning for Skye to stay quiet.

“We got another OD on the corner of Lake Street and Grassy Grove. Waiting on EMS, over,” Officer Hatfield said. His voice crackled through the radio.

“Roger that, partner,” Officer Clarkson replied. He pulled the flashlight from his belt and pointed it into Skye’s eyes. “You been drinking?”

“Yes.”

“Leave her alone,” Tiffany barked while stepping toward Skye.

“Uh-uh, she knows something,” Officer Clarkson snapped his fingers in front of her face. “What is it?”

“There’s this thing we can’t say,” Skye said.

“Or what?” Officer Clarkson asked.

“You die,” Tiffany replied, putting herself between Clarkson and Skye.

“Bullshit, words don’t kill people. What’s the phrase?”

“We can’t tell you,” Skye replied.

Tiffany handed Officer Clarkson a piece of paper. “Read it if you don’t believe me.”

“How high are you?” he asked, waving the paper around after reading it. “I mean, what is this? I can’t…”

“No,” Chad, Tiffany, and Skye shouted at the same time.

Chad shook his fists at Officer Clarkson. “Don’t say it.”

“Say what? I can’t read this chicken scratch.”

Tiffany sighed heavily and smiled. “Thank God. Because really you don’t want to know.”

Officer Clarkson’s gaze drifted to the pile of pills near Jordan, then to the tray with a white powder. He scowled as he lost count of the number of energy drinks, liquor bottles, and paraphernalia strewn about the room.

Shaking his head, he clicked his tongue and said, “I’m not buying it.”

“I know what it looks like,” Chad replied. “But…”

“Chad, quit doing whatever this is,” Officer Clarkson said, waving his hand around the room. “What’s really going on here?”

“Dude, stop,” Chad said, shaking his head. “We told you what happened.”

“No, you stop. You expect me to believe some hokum about deadly words, but you won’t tell me what it is.”

Skye threw her arms up. “Come on, man, you can’t say ____.”

Her head tilted back as she fell backward. Skye’s head hit first, cutting the silence with a wet crunch. She lay flat with her arms and legs sprawled out in different directions.

“What the hell?” Officer Clarkson asked as he rushed to Skye. He knelt by her side and checked her pulse. “Miss, are you okay?”

“Not Skye,” Tiffany shrieked. Her voice broke as she dropped to her knees and sobbed.

“Do you believe me now?” Chad shouted. “Well?”

“She’s dead,” Officer Clarkson mumbled to himself. His fingers slipped as he activated his radio. “Dispatch, one more deceased, likely cause: overdose.”

“She didn’t fucking OD,” Tiffany cried. “She said the words.”

“That’s enough,” Officer Clarkson said, rising to his feet. “Outside, right now.”

Chad pointed toward himself, then toward Tiffany, and stuttered. “But we…”

“Outside.”

Officer Clarkson escorted them out of the basement, up the concrete stairs, and outside into the Jamesons’ backyard. They turned the corner and walked into the driveway where the police cruiser waited. Red and blue strobing lights illuminated the front of the house as sirens rang in the distance.

Chad glanced down the street and watched an EMT put a body bag onto a stretcher.

Opening the back door of the cruiser, Officer Clarkson pointed inside. “Get in.”

“What? No way,” Tiffany replied, wiping tears from her eyes.

“This isn’t a discussion. Get in.”

“Tiff, just do it,” Chad said, crawling into the back of the cruiser. He sat at the far end and looked at his uncle. “Don’t say it.”

Tiffany plopped into the car and swung her legs inside. Officer Clarkson slammed the door shut and walked a few feet down the driveway.

“I think I saw Sarah,” Chad said. He nodded down the street.

“Why do you think nobody’s heard of this before?” Tiffany asked, slumping into her seat.

“Maybe it kills faster than it can spread and just kind of dies off,” Chad replied. He made an explosion with his hand and chuckled. “Poof.”

“That’s dumb,” Tiffany said. She was half-laughing, half-crying. “I can’t handle much more of this.”

“You’re dumb; we’re going to be okay,” Chad replied, peeking out the rear window. “Shit, my uncle’s dumb.”

“Your uncle?” Tiffany asked while turning around. She spotted him through the rear window, walking toward another officer.

Officer Clarkson pointed at the cruiser and waved Officer Hatfield closer. The two walked into the street talking and circled back toward the driveway.

“Who’s that?”

“Must be his partner, Hatfield,” Chad replied.

“Uh-oh, I think he said it,” Tiffany said, watching as Officer Clarkson collapsed onto the cement.

“He definitely said it.”

Officer Hatfield checked Clarkson’s pulse, then rushed up the driveway. He opened the back door of the cruiser, took a shaky breath, and flashed his light inside. “You two. I need answers.”

“You just saw for yourself,” Tiffany replied, holding her hands up. “You say the phrase, you die.”

“So, Bob?”

“He said it,” Chad replied.

“And he died…” Officer Hatfield said, putting his light down. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Not again,” Tiffany shouted. “If you say ____, you…”

Tiffany fell back into the seat of the cruiser and slid into Chad. He moved as far against the door as possible before pushing her away.

Chad rocked back and forth as he gently pushed at Tiffany, trying to get some distance between them. He shook his head with his eyes closed. “No. No. Not like this.”

“Holy shit,” Officer Hatfield exclaimed. “She just died.”

“Let me out,” Chad said.

“What?”

“Let me out!”

“Right,” Officer Hatfield said. He rushed to the other side of the cruiser and opened the door. “Tell me what you know.”

“I know as much as you do,” Chad replied, stepping into the driveway.

Officer Hatfield glanced at Clarkson, then at Tiffany, and grabbed Chad by the shoulders. He shook Chad and asked, “Are we the only two who know? Are we?”

“No,” Chad said. He fell backward after prying himself free. “Half the high school knows.”

“What do we do?”

Chad brushed himself off and stood up. “We don’t say it. No matter what.”

“Right. Don’t say it,” Officer Hatfield repeated as another cruiser and an ambulance pulled up in front of the house. “Don’t say it.”

“Dispatch, Unit two on site. We have an officer down. I repeat, an officer down,” Sergeant Taylor said as he stepped into the street.

He walked up the drive and waved to the EMTs pulling a stretcher over to Clarkson’s body. Sergeant Taylor scanned the driveway, piecing together recent events like a puzzle.

Sergeant Taylor stopped a few feet from Hatfield, fixed his tie, and asked, “Sit rep.”

“Uh… bad party. I mean, the party went bad. There are drugs involved…” Officer Hatfield replied, fiddling with his thumbs the whole time.

“Slow it down. What happened?”

“A bunch of kids overdosed on drugs down there.”

“And Clarkson?”

“Exposure,” Officer Hatfield said while grabbing Chad by the elbows. “Probably fentanyl or something.”

“What the hell, man?” Chad snapped, pulling away from Hatfield. “Sir, none of that is true.”

“Is that so? Well, tell me your side of the story,” Sergeant Taylor replied while glancing at Tiffany’s body.

Chad ripped himself free of Hatfield’s grip and pointed toward Tiffany, then to Officer Clarkson. “Okay. So, you’ll never believe this.”