His parents always got invited to fancy parties at yacht clubs, invitations on heavy stock paper with lace edges and calligraphy.
Scottie Martin didn’t get an invitation to any parties until he moved to Moose Rapids, his first day of junior year of high school.
The invitation was scrawled on a scrap of paper, with a crude map.
Scottie took the invitation from his new friend using his prosthetic arm, wanting, hoping, to normalize it to his new friends at his new school.
He read the invitation.
“Crimson Lake?” he said to the kid they called Leech. “You’re not fucking with me, are ya? Because before we moved up here my parents and I drove all around the area and made a list of a bunch of stuff, and I don’t remember any Crimson Lake.”
Leech laughed.
“Just a name,” he said. “It’s not really a lake, it’s just a pond with a bonfire.”
“Why don’t ya just call it Crimson Pond then?” Scottie asked.
Leech looked around to make sure no snitchy type of nerdy kids were listening.
“ The ponds we choose don’t even have names,” Leech said. “We call the parties ‘Crimson’ because someone usually bleeds.”
“Get outta here,” Scottie said, firmly believing that his new friend was toying with him.
“Come and find out,” Leech said. “But if you don’t come, and the party gets busted up by the sheriff, you’ll never get another invite again. And we’ll make sure you bleed at least--at least-- once a week during the school year.”
Leech made a very pious looking sign of the cross. “I. Swear. To. God.”
Scottie Martin shivered. He hadn’t been as intrigued about anything in his whole life, and he slipped the invitation into his pocket as though it was a precious jewel.
***
Photo by henry perks on Unsplash