The Evil Summer II, part 1

(Click here to read the original Evil Summer.)

"YOU CAN'T BEAT ME!"

I tried to pretend the note was just another fan letter -- I'd been getting at least two a week since I started selling my candy-scented perfumes on the Home Shopping Channel -- but as soon as I saw it in my dressing room, I knew I was in trouble. This wasn't something that could be spritzed away with a bottle of Kit-Kat cologne; this was Randy (or Patrick!) back to haunt me from our Evil Summer, all those years ago.

I don't know, maybe I'd been asking for it. A person can't achieve fame on late night cable without some repercussions.

Sure, I'd let my friendships with Chris, Courtney, Bret, Josh, Justin and Randy diminish over the years, but that was part of growing up. Maybe this was their sick way of getting back at me for ignoring them. Or maybe Randy really had transformed into Patrick all over again.

The scar on my side began to tingle just thinking about it.

"Great show tonight!" one of the camera guys said, leaning against the door of my dressing room. "I'll bet that Toblerone fragrance is going to be a big hit with the international viewers!"

"Thanks."

"How do you know which candies smell the best, anyway?" he asked. He was obviously imagining me rubbing chocolate all over my naked body, which wasn't far from the truth.

"I just sniff them," I replied.

"Oh, I imagined it was more ... scientific. Hey, do you want to get a drink?"

"I can't tonight," I said. "Sorry, but I have something I need to take care of."

He said, "Well maybe some other time."

I shut the door behind him as he skulked off.

The first thing I needed to do was get in touch with Chris or Courtney or Brett or Josh. Well, maybe not Bret; he was in jail for assault. (Again.) And probably not Chris either. I hadn't really spoken with him since the last time we hooked up. Why had he gotten so clingy? I suppose it had been the Butterfinger-scent of my success.

I called Courtney. No answer. Maybe she was still asleep. She'd probably just TiVo'ed my show.

I logged onto Facebook, but signed out quickly when I saw a post from Josh saying, "All I know is I'm not ready for another kid, and I sure as hell don't want her to mother a baby from me!"

Who were these people that I'd grown up with? Was I the only one who'd managed to make something of myself?

It had been 20 years since the Evil Summer, but I still remembered it as clearly as the moment when I'd first rubbed a Heath bar on my forehead and discovered my life path: the homoerotic wrestling between the boys on the cot, Randy's scratchy voice, the sting of the knife piercing my side.

I still wasn't sure exactly what had happened that night. Had Randy's body been taken over by an Evil spirit? Had he turned into a demon? A vampire? A zombie? Had the devil really started handing out free hot chocolate?

What I did know was that Randy (or Patrick!) was coming for me, and I had to be ready. I slipped the letter inside my bag as I prepared to leave the studio.

"YOU CAN'T BEAT ME."

The words echoed in my head, and I couldn't help but think I should have just killed Randy (or Patrick!) when I'd had the chance.