The Bonelight Lodge rose like a mausoleum in the woods—ribs of timber blackened by age, stone walls choked in moss, windows like cataracts gazing dimly into the treeline. Moonlight gathered on the gables and trickled through warped glass in thin, dusty shafts. Inside, the music throbbed low and distant, like a wounded animal pulsing under floorboards. Laughter echoed through the rafters, twined with whispers and the clink of bottles. Something old was watching—high above, silent, patient.
Some girls clung to the rafters like chandeliers draped in lace and velvet and torn fishnets, eyes lined with glitter and mascara, sipping cider from jam jars—their silhouettes draped in veils, tattered skirts, band jackets, chokers, layered mesh. Others draped themselves across furniture, slouching like art pieces left out in the rain. Some lay curled on the floor beside old speakers. Some sprawled over antique couches like ghosts still waiting to be noticed, beside taxidermy mounts. The air smelled of pine, cloves, wax, perfume, candle smoke, musk, and sweat. Above it all, the music kept time, deep and slow.
Then the door opened.
And the room exhaled.
One girl stopped mid-sentence. Another clutched her drink like it might tell her what to do. A few turned their heads too quickly, tried to play it off with a casual hair flip or a sip. Somewhere, a glass fell.
Tall, lithe, and carved in dimness—he moved like someone taught to pass through crowds without leaving ripples. His antlers were simple, elegant, unassuming but unmistakable, the kind you only noticed when you really looked. His eyes were dark—but not with color. With absence. Like the memory of something that had already left the room. His clothes weren't right. No patches. No pins. No logos. Just clean layers, careful choices, suede and muted tones that felt too thoughtful. Too calculated.
He walked like he didn't want to be seen but didn't care if he was. And as he moved, the party reoriented itself around him, unsure whether to let him pass or trap him.
"Oh, holy shit, who is that?" —Girl
"Where did he come from?" —Girl
"Did someone invite him?" —Girl
"No way, I'd remember that face." —Girl
"Is he from East Ridge? They don't make them like that at West Trail." —Girl
"Maybe he's homeschooled," someone offered dreamily. —Girl
"Oh my god, he looks like a ghost that makes you fall in love and then disappear." —Girl
"Shut up, shut up, he's coming this way." —Girl
"Where did he come from? He's not on the roster. I checked." —Girl
"He's on my roster now!" —Girl
"Shut up. Don't look too long. He'll notice you looking." —Girl
"Too late, he already looked." —Girl
"Oh god I looked back." —Girl
A girl near the cider cooler bit her lip, stage-whispering, "He looks like a villain in a ballet. The tragic kind. The kind that kills the innocent main character." —Girl
Another ducked behind her friend. "What if he's, like, an actual ghost? What if he DIED at a party like this and now he haunts cute girls?" —Girl
"He's like—if sadness was hot." —Girl
"If eyeliner were a person." —Girl
A reindeer girl with glitter on her cheeks sighed, "That's the kind of boy you only meet once, and if you mess it up, you never recover." —Girl
"Okay, I'm sorry, I ship him with whoever walks up next." —Girl
Tall. Sleek. Jagged antlers. A team jacket unzipped, black skull shirt underneath that glowed in the dark. Dark, neatly trimmed fur, slicked-back hair. Confident. Clean. Lethal in that boy-next-door way that only the most dangerous types of popular troublemaker ever are. Top of the pecking order.
"This party's for seniors. West Trail. People we know," —Callum, the stag.
"You seem to know a lot of people." —MC
"Enough to spot someone who don't belong here." —Callum
"That sounds like a very boring superpower." —MC
"Well we don't get to choose." —Callum
"Didn't see a bouncer." —MC
"Maybe you didn't look hard enough." —Callum
"Maybe I looked past him." —MC
A gasp—half-covered by a squeal—from the crowd.
A doe by the mantle clutched her friend's sleeve. "Did you hear that?!" —Girl
"He's flirting with Callum." —Girl
"Oh my god, Callum's actually squaring up." —Girl
"This is either going to be a duel or a marriage proposal." —Girl
"Who's gonna throw the first moan?" —Girl
"Do you guard every door this personally?" —MC
"I like knowing who walks through them." —Callum
"Why? Afraid of ghosts?" —MC
"Is that what that is?! I thought it was a duel." —Girl
"No no no this is courtship via psychological warfare." —Girl
Callum stepped closer, shoulders squared. "You're not funny." —Callum
"I'm not trying to be." —MC
"Then try harder." —Callum
"What for?" —MC
"Respect." —Callum
"Do I need that from you?" —MC
Another squeal. A thud. Someone dropped a mason jar and didn't notice.
A deer whispered, "This is the most romantic thing I've ever seen." —Girl
Another hissed, "Shut up, I'm trying to memorize every word." —Girl
"You've got no school crest." Callum's voice was low, suspicious. "No badge. No team ring." —Callum
"I have hands." —MC
"What?" —Callum
He held them up, palms empty, then balled into fists. —MC
"I've got hands. That's enough." —MC
A roar of barely-stifled laughter from the girls behind the drinks table.
One fanned herself with a stack of napkins. Another shouted, "PLEASE let them kiss already I will LITERALLY ascend." —Girls
"I'M GONNA SCREAM." —Girl
"They're doing that thing. You know. The 'we're pretending this isn't flirting' thing." —Girl
"They've both got predator eyes." —Girl
"I hope they fight. I hope they make out. I don't care which order." —Girl
A doe with a chain choker whispered, "They sound like they're fencing. With lies." —Girl
Callum didn't laugh. "You don't talk like us." —Callum
"I've been other places." —MC
"Where?" —Callum
"Somewhere colder." —MC
"You trying to be cryptic, or is that just natural?" —Callum
"Does it matter?" —MC
"Yeah. It means I'm deciding whether you're a liar or a lunatic." —Callum
"Aren't those the same thing?" —MC
Callum's nostrils flared. "Name." —Callum
"Yours first." —MC
"Everyone knows my name." —Callum
"I don't." —MC
"Then you're lying." —Callum
"That depends." —MC
"On?" —Callum
"Whether you actually want it, or just want to feel like you got it out of me." —MC
"You're dodging." —Callum
"I'm dancing." —MC
Laughter from the left.
Some girl shouted, "Oh he ate with that one." —Girl
"Spit in my mouth and lie to me like that." —Girl
Callum didn't flinch. "You talk like you've practiced every line." —Callum
"You listen like you've already decided what they mean." —MC
"You talk like someone who has a big ego." —Callum
"I talk like someone who knows when they're being measured." —MC
"You think I'm measuring you?" —Callum
"I think you're trying to decide if I'm worth stepping on." —MC
"Am I?" —Callum
"Maybe." —MC
A hush now. The music lowered like it sensed the tension. Candles flickered in unison.
Someone whispered, "Is this still a party? Or did it just turn into a tragedy?" —Girl
Callum took a step closer.
"You don't belong here." —Callum
"Oh my god, they're gonna duel." —Girl
"No, they're gonna make out." —Girl
"Please make out." —Girl
"Please fight and then make out." —Girl
The crowd shivered.
"I'd ruin myself for him. On purpose. As performance art." —Girl
"I'm gonna fake faint. Someone catch me." —Girl
"I will literally throw hands if someone touches him before I do." —Girl
A few more clustered near the record player, watching him with theater-kid intensity, all hushed gasps and dramatic eyes.
One doe with glitter lashes fanned herself with a napkin. "This is better than that time Jenna dumped Eli on prom night and he cried in the punch bowl." —Girl
The stag stepped closer. "You don't look nervous." —Callum
"Should I be?" —MC
"You should be something." —Callum
"I am." —MC
"What?" —Callum
"Interested." —MC
"You think this is a game?" —Callum
"Isn't everything?" —MC
The girls practically squealed.
"OH MY GOD this is so enemies-to-lovers!" —Girl
"Aw man, and I just got over my cottagecore phase too..." —Girl
"They're gonna kiss." —Girl
"They're gonna kill each other." —Girl
"They're gonna kiss while trying to kill each other." —Girl
From the stairs, a girl gasped and turned to her friend. "He talks like he's from a novel where everyone dies." —Girl
A girl collapsed onto the nearest cushion like she'd been shot. "I need someone to hold me. That was poetry. Someone write that down." —Girl
Another clutched her cider and sobbed, "I can't tell if they're enemies or exes." —Girl
"They're flirting like boys who've fought before and promised never to speak again but keep ending up at the same lake at midnight." —Girl
A group of girls had now fully formed a viewing circle. One pulled out a notebook and whispered, "If they kiss, I'm quitting therapy. This is the only healing I need." —Girl
Callum didn't blink. The silence grew so thick it felt intentional.
Then: "Are you high?" —Callum
"On the architecture. The desperation. The sound of girls pretending not to listen." —MC
The girls squealed.
"I'M NOT PRETENDING!" screamed one near the fireplace. —Girl
"He sees us," whispered another, clutching her hands to her chest. "I feel perceived." —Girl
A tall girl near the wall moaned, "It's giving forbidden romance. It's giving one-night-only. It's giving secret history of enemies-to-lovers with knives under the pillow." —Girl
"He talks like he doesn't breathe the same air as us." —Girl
"He talks like he's murdered before and was sad about it after." —Girl
The stag crossed his arms.
"You talk like someone rehearsed you." —Callum
The newcomer blinked. "What?" —MC
"Like someone told you what to say." —Callum
There was a pause. A beat too long. Then: "Wouldn't that be weird?" —MC
The stag didn't laugh. "It'd be suspicious." —Callum
"You think I'm here to cause trouble?" —MC
"I think you're here for something." —Callum
"I am." —MC
"Oh?" —Callum
"Punch." —MC
"Bullshit." —Callum
"Do I need to break up your little lovers' quarrel?" —Nova
From the shadows emerged another voice. Low, smooth. A queenly presence. The Queen of the Party—some sort of white deer species with massive horns. Nova glided up with a chalice in one hand and mischief in her smile. Her chains jingled softly like laughter with a leash.
"We're not lovers," they both said. —Callum & MC
This time the crowd howled.
"OH MY GOD." —Girl
"Too in sync." —Girl
"Canon. It's canon." —Girl
"They practiced that." —Girl
"Could've fooled me," a doe whispered. —Girl
"Could still happen," giggled a moose. —Girl
"They have, like, a shared past." —Girl
"You ever read plays?" —Girl
"Only the good ones." —Girl
"Then you know what this is." —Girl
"A third act setup?" —Girl
A girl near the snacks fell backward into a couch and let out a scream-laugh. "STOP! This is better than TV! Callum's blushing! He's BLUSHING." —Girl
"I will never recover from this," said another. "They're playing chess with their souls." —Girl
A softer voice, behind the punch bowl: "It's not flirtation. It's a ritual." —Girl
Squeals. Applause.
One deer screamed, "I SHIP IT!" —Girl
Another shouted, "WHEN'S THE WEDDING?!" —Girl
A third, near the stairs, cried, "THIS IS PEAK FERAL FLIRTING—CALLUM WHO EVEN ARE YOU RIGHT NOW?!" —Girl
"You boys done, or should I call the registrar to officiate?" —Nova
Callum gave her a side glance. "You be the one to deal with the party crashing. I'm going to my room." —Callum
"You know where the bathroom is?" —MC
"Past the elk skull. But you'll get lost before you get there." —Callum
"That's fine. I'm good with mazes." —MC
Callum stepped forward again. "Of course you are, freak." —Callum
In the back, the girls watched them disappear. "This is better than prom." —Girl
Callum's eyes stayed on the hallway.
He didn't know what the stranger was.
But he was going to find out.
And he had a feeling he wasn't going to like the answer.