Several days later Isaac got the call from Hutchins that things were ready to proceed. While the news didn’t exactly thrill him, he still sighed with some relief at moving on from the hotel. He’d finished prepping his magical arsenal and sharing the room with Testiculies fluctuated between aggravating and nerve-wracking.

The cost-free quest for the one hundred beers had been a pyrrhic victory of sorts. By the time he reached the end, he’d forgotten what most of the preceding beers had tasted like. It just seemed greedy in retrospect. But at least none of the beer mugs had called him foul names while he drank.

Testiculies lay curled up in the truck bed. “If I don’t come back, good luck to you.” The cat hissed, yawned, and went back to sleep. Isaac didn’t know what he had been expecting. An emotional farewell display? A meow and a cuddle? Hell, he should be thankful the cat hadn’t clawed him in the crockers lately. While he had a pang of guilt at leaving it behind, something told him if he made it back alive the animal would still be there simply because it had no one better to torment.

A black SUV pulled up right on schedule. Two stern-looking men in dark suits—hired goons he assumed—stepped out. He knew they’d be terrible conversationalists, either mean or stupid or both, so he didn’t bother talking to them. The backseat was leather and comfortable, and he settled in for a long drive.

They drove five hours into rural Pennsylvania before arriving at their destination—a refurbished and quite beautiful lodge. It had been built on a former horse farm and several barns and long stretches of fences still decorated the property. Ringing the entire site were large wooden poles with attached cameras. Isaac noted more of the surveillance devices on the barns and lodge. The Surgeons could watch literally every inch of the entire ranch.

He arrived last and upon entering the lodge he realized immediately that his average-joe-anonymity would fail him here. All six of the reality-show contestant/victims stopped mid-conversation and stared at him. As far as beauty went, he was clearly the runt of this litter.

There were six of them, all attractive young people. They half-heartedly introduced themselves, obviously not too thrilled to have another contestant in the running and one who arrived so late at that. Much to Isaac’s chagrin, he showed up just in time to sit in on a scheduled round-table discussion about their hopes and dreams. That the “producers” had arranged this when their likely collective future was death, struck Isaac as unforgivably callous, and he couldn’t help but glance angrily at the mounted cameras. He wondered just how cold these surgeons could be.

Angie desired to be a model, which sounded like a thinly veiled excuse to blow the prize money on beauty products, clothing and vacations. Vince aspired to being a ranked mixed martial arts fighter, quickly bragged about his ability to pummel other human beings and would even flex his arms nonchalantly when he reached for his beer. After hearing from these two egotists Isaac felt a little better about eventually failing to save them. Then things took an altruistic turn.

Kendra wanted to put the money towards a law degree and then represent the impoverished. She also had a sassy tendency to say “oh no you didn’t” with an almost musical quality that Isaac could have listened to all day. Bianca hailed from Puerto Rico and wanted to work with animals, either by opening a shelter or going to veterinary school. Wayne prided himself as an entrepreneur and wanted to put the prize towards a restaurant in his old neighborhood in New York City. Finally, Peyton had been a promising quarterback in high school until being derailed by a knee injury. Now he wanted to coach little leagues and would use the prize money to buy equipment for the kids.

After hearing all of the proposed goodwill and compassion Isaac could only dejectedly slump in his chair. He never even realized it was his turn to speak until everyone stared at him. “Oh,” he said, “I just hope we all survive.”

After a moment of silence, they all burst into laughter.

***

Following the discussion came “party time”. That’s literally what it said on the itinerary that Isaac peeked at. Whether this was a final act of kindness or if the surgeons just wanted to whet their voyeuristic appetites, Isaac didn’t’ know, but he followed the group downstairs to an impressive recreation room. With a pool table, sound system, well-stocked bar, and a large glass wall that overlooked a pool and hot tub, they had everything for a good time.

They started with drinking games, a form of entertainment that Isaac detested to his core. All drinking should be done in lengthy sips with satisfied sighs and quiet reflection. So, after not receiving an invite to their beer ping-pong game, he breathed a sigh of relief and parked himself on a lonely barstool.

Initially, he set a limit of two glasses for himself but caved for a third as he listened to the groups’ revelry. Not that he envied them—in fact, he found their drunken caterwauling pretty annoying—but much like the roundtable, their happiness cruelly reminded him of their innocence. The group also proved much better at the game than he’d anticipated and were partying on the path towards total inebriation until he intervened.

For the next hour, Isaac subtly used his telekinesis to prevent the ping-pong ball from landing in a glass. Not a single person scored, and Isaac inwardly snickered as they bitched and talked trash and switched teams, to no avail.

“Screw this,” Angie finally said. “Let’s just play Never Have I Ever.” The group agreed and the abandoned the game.

This snapped Isaac out of his mischievous malaise. “Huh? What’s that?”

Angie looked annoyed that he spoke. In fact, they all seemed to have forgotten he was present. “It’s a confession game. Reveals all our dirty secrets. And will absolutely get us fucked up.”

Isaac made a face like he’d just swallowed something bitter. His little hijinks had backfired and now he had to listen to them talk again? He couldn’t handle any further humanizing discussions. “Wait. You guys should try the pong again. I can’t believe none of you sank a ball. Not even one. You can’t walk away in total defeat.”

This clearly got under the skin of Peyton and Vince and they marched back to the table, declaring one more try. Lesson learned, Isaac took the game to the other extreme. He guided every single ball into a cup. Within the hour the entire group was happily toasted, and the party moved outside to the pool. Forgotten again, he took his glass out to the front porch swing. Maybe if they all drowned, he could just preemptively declare himself the loser and forget this sordid affair.

The ranch was well lit, with floodlights along the roof and on the barn, and on poles along the perimeter. It served to make the night that ringed the property that much darker. They were already in the middle of nowhere, but now it seemed as though the outside world fell away and they were on an island floating in nothing.

The screen door squeaked as it opened and Wayne, the budding entrepreneur, stepped out. He had a towel draped around his neck and a drink in hand. Isaac nodded at him, went back to looking at nothing.

“So, what’s your deal?”

Isaac didn’t really feel like talking so he just raised an eyebrow, looked quizzical.

“You don’t really seem too interested in this contest.”

Isaac shrugged.

Wayne let out an arrogant laugh like he figured out a puzzle no one else could. “I’m on to you. I know what you’re playing.” He leaned against the railing, pointed a finger at him. “You’re part of the show.”

Technically Wayne wasn’t wrong, so Isaac shrugged again, this time more of a you got me slouch.

Wayne snapped his fingers, let out a whoop. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Everyone says that in horror films the black guy always dies first. Not this time. I’ve got it figured out. You just have to stay one step ahead, know what I’m saying?” He tapped a finger to his temple. “So, I figure you’re the creepy, weird, kind of old dude, here to start fucking with us, plant clues or give us warnings, just like in the movies. That’s why you got here so late. They didn’t want you bonding with us too early and giving away secrets. But I’m watching you. I’m winning this.” Wayne held out his fist for a bump, which Isaac half-heartedly returned, then he returned to the party.

Isaac stayed on the porch thinking about the words creepy, weird and old until he heard the party movie back inside. Laughing, yelling and the occasional crash of something breaking, eventually petered out to nothing as the contestants stumbled off to their beds.

He briefly considered trying to talk to them about their impending doom, but they wouldn’t have believed him. And why should they? This was all a show. Just fun and games with a cash prize and a ticket to stardom. So, he let them have their amusement—one last good time.

None of them were going to take him seriously until at least one was dead anyway.

***

Miles away, at a much grander lodge, Dr. Ibrahim Menclewski supervised the final touches of the Necromantic Surgeon Collective viewing party. Mounted on the wall before him was a giant flat-screen television, almost big enough to classify the room as a theater. Smaller screens orbited it, and, at his direction, a team of technicians panned through all of the camera views of the Hunting Lodge.

“Show me the pool.” The image on the main screen flashed to the contestants’ poolside drunken chicanery. “The recreation room. Now the kitchen. Now the porch.” The pause extended too long for his liking on the last command. “You have to be faster than that, gentlemen,” he said to the technicians and they murmured nervous apologies.

Dr. Menclewski was an acclaimed man in both his public field of neurology and his otherworldly pursuit of necromantic surgery. As such, he’d developed an unmatched level of arrogant perfectionism. Needless to say, this Isaac person had not made an impactful first impression.

The only other member of his cabal already in attendance was Dr. Kenneth Tate. The pair had known each other since medical school and had embarked on their other nefarious career as partners. Dr. Tate had arrived early to handle the catering and swiped through lists on his phone as he walked over and looked up at the screen. “So that’s the Arrangement magician.”

Hearing the magician referred to as such made Dr. Menclewski scowl. He had not enjoyed the surprise contact from Arrangement, nor how the brief conversation had left him with a two-day headache and jittery fear of another call. He had still been in his residency when he last remembered being ordered about in such a manner. Now he felt like a pawn on his own board, with this magician being an unknown piece.

“He doesn’t look like much to me. I wouldn’t hire him to mow my lawn,” Dr. Tate continued.

“There must be something to him if Arrangement sent him. Although, all he’s done so far is sit at the bar and drink. And now he’s sitting on the porch to drink.”

“Maybe Arrangement wants to get rid of him.”

Dr. Menclewski shook his head. He hated that he didn’t know the motivation of the Arrangement interference. More so he despised that it had tempered his usual level of excitement for their event. It was one of the few dates he actually looked forward to and considered it a personal necessity to remind his peers of the peeking order. The more he studied this magician the less impressed he became.

As if on cue the Arrangement magician glanced up at the camera mounted over the porch swing and Dr. Menclewski felt like they locked eyes through the screen.

Tomorrow night seemed very far away.