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It was late into the night when you finally reached your destination. That was to be expected. It took two bus rides and an hour-long walk to get here. But that didn't matter. This was the place, the one the online forums discussed: The Midnight Rectory.

What an unusual name for a nightclub. Then again, it was a renovated Gothic chapel. Why not throw out the religion and keep the religious imagery? They did add some modern touches, however. The place was practically buzzing with neon lights.

You didn't have time to stand and gawk, though. You'd been followed here.

It was a sad reality, but almost everyone had a stalker nowadays. Nine out of ten were harmless, if somewhat annoying. They rarely ever actually made contact with the source of their obsession, content to watch from afar and occasionally dig through their garbage for keepsakes.

In high school, you and your friends complained about your latest stalkers more than your awful part-time jobs. You even went so far as to have little competitions over who had it the worst, clinging to any bit of levity to get you through these dark times.

You won that competition when your latest unwelcome admirer cut out the heart of your best friend and left it gift-wrapped on your doorstep.

Funnily enough, you didn't feel like bragging after that. Not that there was anyone to brag to. Your remaining friends all jumped ship. You couldn't blame them. They were just trying not to get themselves killed.

You knew it was only a matter of time before watching wasn't enough for them, before you woke up caged in some psychopath's basement.

No one would come looking for you, either. There was special child protection legislation in place, but you just turned eighteen and were legally considered an adult. Law-enforcement would brush off your disappearance as just another case of "young love."

You needed an escape plan, and you needed it before you found yourself trapped inside a cement room for the rest of your life. So you turned to the internet and, as per usual, it delivered.

"Go to The Midnight Rectory after dark on a Sunday. Ask to meet The Rector. The Rector will protect you, but only so long as you can pay the price."

You cashed out every dime to your name at the nearest ATM, grabbed your important documents out, and prayed you made it to Sunday.

If this didn't work out, you would have to just make a run for it, a near impossible task when you were being actively tailed, but you didn't have much of a choice.

Hopefully you brought enough money to pay the piper.

"Hey, kiddo! No minors allowed. Keep walking," the bouncer guarding the door grunted when you finally finished gawking and stepped forward.

"I'm not a minor. I'm eighteen years old," you said, procuring your driver's license to prove it.

He uncrossed his arms to take your ID. He looked at it for a long time, so long that you were afraid he would declare it a fake and turn you away. But, eventually, he let out a long exhale through his nose --so strong that it moved his septum piercing-- and returned your card to you. "Head inside."

"Actually..." You nervously glanced around, stepped closer in the hopes you wouldn't be heard by any passersby. "I'm here for The Rector."

You thought you'd been punked at first, because his expression gave nothing away.

Just when you feared that was the case, however, he said, "You look the type. Head to the back. Go through the first door on the left."

You followed his instructions to a T. There were two huge men in suits guarding the door, but, like a couple of modern-day gargoyles, they didn't move or even look at you as you approached, letting you pass without incident.

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