Welcome Brother, Welcome

(Short Story) A somewhat comical view into the world of Wicca with a college twist.

          “What are you, a wiccan?” A voice asked as it crossed the room toward me rolling something yellow on old wheels. “Yeah, you must be a wiccan, like a twentieth century wiccan. Yeah. Yeah. You’re definitely a wiccan. Tell me brother,” he continued. “Could I be down? Could I be down with wicca too?”

            A wiccan? I thought. Who is this guy and why is he asking me if I’m a wiccan? Who does this guy think I am? Why is it so dark in here? And isn’t it the twenty first century?

            Alright maybe it’s a dream? I though. What type of dream, though - Where this guy keeps asking me if I’m a wiccan? I finally found the air to speak but produced nothing but a few disagreeable grunts.

            “Hey. Hey, man. Are you ok, man? Are you ok?”

            “Yeah,” I responded. “But, where am I? And who are you?”

            “You have a lot of questions,” the man in the blue jump suit responded. His voice was high, scratchy and old and he had a big nose, not from birth but probably because of a childhood injury that had not healed properly. But that was neither here nor there when I realized the green and gray polos I’d been wearing as an effort to attempt a style my friend Rich recommended had been stripped from me. My jeans and sneakers were gone too. “I’m the janitor, here. Yeah. Yeah, I’m the janitor here. Yeah,” He said

            “You know where my clothes are man?”

            “No buddy, no. No buddy. Buddy. Buddy. No buddy,” he stammered as I made it to my feet.

            Where do they get these guys from? This wasn’t the first time I’d woken up naked here either, or in my red polka dot boxer briefs. I could not determine, however, if it was another of my thrifts with hallucinogens or just straight up sleep walking brought me to the basement of the catholic school, St. Benedict’s, down the street from my apartment. Last time it was because my ex-girlfriend looked really hot in black underwear and a tight white school girl uniform wrapped around her. She took her role playing very seriously, hence using an actual classroom school to play teacher.

            I stepped onto the sidewalk into a warm fall night. That guy was weird. And why would he ask if I was a wiccan? Well, I’m just glad he didn’t call the cops. What possible reason could a thirty year old medical resident have for waking up naked in a high school classroom next to a large wooden cross and a painting of the Virgin Mary with a bloody Christ dead in her arms? Why didn’t he call the police I thought critically as I walked into a living room occupied by three figures clothed in black and gold hooded cloaks.

            “You failed us at the school last night.” One voice proclaimed.

“Brother Mike. Brother Mike, you failed us all,” another screamed.

I realize that I should have seemed more shocked but what ever drugs I’d been given, or had taken voluntarily, managed to repress my autonomic nervous system so much that I was completely calm.

“Who are you?” I requested. “And is it ok if I get dressed, real fast?” It would be over soon, I thought. This will be over soon.

They were without words from then on, when the one sitting on my mint green velvet sofa stood up suddenly and pulled a silver tranquilizer gun from beneath his robes and shot me in the neck.

            I woke up at 3:45 the next afternoon in a jail cell with the words Welcome Brother, Welcome written in blue and yellow paint across my chest.