Franzia wines

For anyone who is wondering but mostly for my personal records: I threw a pack of Kool Aid, 16oz of tart cherry juice, and a cup & a half of sugar in the Instant Pot (tragic, I know, but this is prison hooch right) with some bread yeast to see what would happen. Sat in the Instant Pot for 2 days on the "Less Yogurt" setting and then transferred to a bottle in the garage for a week with a bubbler attached. Back-sweetened with 1/16 cup stevia It worked!
This was my first ever batch I've made so I'll admit I didn't have many tools such as a hydrometer or anything and I won't say it's high ABV either judging by the smell of the wine or the time it took for me to become inebriated but I am an avid wine drinker and if I had to guess it's between 7-9% ABV.
Taste: It wasn't bad. Wasn't great. There was a lot of sediment at the bottom plus some carbonation from not letting it fully ferment. It had sweet, tangy flavor mostly coming from the tart cherry juice not as much cherry as in regular kool-aid.
Feeling: My tummy is a little hard, gassy, & bubbly but no diarrhea was experienced from drinking premature yeast.
Stomach feels: like I drank 3-4 12oz cans of beer.
Head feels: after 16oz of this hooch I was tipsy. 32oz had me texting my exes.
Overall: 6/10. Great job for a first try I'd say. Even though fermentation wasn't completely finished the wine was way less acidic and painful on my tummy than Franzia's brand wine (which has given me gastritis on more than one occasion) which I thought was interesting. No where near as good as Walmart's OakLeaf or Aldi's Winking Owl but I'm sure with lots of practice in fermentation one day I will be able to battle with some the best 2 buck chucks out there.

Hi all! My friends and I will soon be playing in the world's largest trivia contest. This will be our 20th year. We always choose a name with "Franzia" in it (old inside joke from college), but we're having a tough time finding a great one this year. May we get some help from this wonderful crew of wine lovers!? - Many thanks from WI

AI written chapter 2 to the story posted by u/azazel_4_u
Chapter 2 Samba, Sunshine, and Schemes
The departure lounge at Newark Liberty International Airport was a fluorescent purgatory, a liminal space of anticipation and trepidation. John, clutching his overstuffed backpack filled mostly with boxes of Franzia, eyed the departure board with a mix of excitement and nervousness. His flight to São Paulo gleamed in bold letters, a beacon to his hazy dreams of stardom and romance.
As he shuffled toward the gate, John's thoughts swirled like the wine in his favorite cardboard vessel. Leaving Cody behind in their cluttered New Jersey apartment felt simultaneously liberating and guilt-inducing. But the promise of fame, fortune, and a fresh-faced Brazilian groom-to-be tugged at his heartstrings with a siren's allure.
Boarding the plane, John found himself sandwiched between a chatty retiree from Des Moines and a stoic businessman engrossed in spreadsheets. He cracked open a box of his beloved Cabernet Sauvignon, sipping its saccharine warmth as the engines roared to life.
The flight stretched like an eternity, punctuated by bouts of turbulence and fitful naps. John's mind buzzed with visions of palm-fringed beaches and the sultry embrace of his future Brazilian husband. Paul, the enigmatic American expat who promised him this ticket to televised matrimony, hovered like a phantom in his thoughts.
Finally, the plane touched down in São Paulo, unleashing a wave of humidity and cacophonous chatter. John staggered through the terminal, clutching his backpack like a lifeline as he navigated the labyrinth of unfamiliar signs and faces.
Emerging into the bustling streets of São Paulo, John felt a surge of adrenaline mingled with uncertainty. His quest for love and fame had brought him to this foreign land, where anything seemed possible yet nothing felt quite within grasp.
With determination fueling his steps, John set off into the chaotic swirl of the city, his heart pulsing with the rhythm of samba and the promise of a future yet unwritten. But beneath the neon glow and the throb of music, a seed of doubt began to sprout in John's mind. Was Paul truly a benefactor, or was he leading John into a trap woven with deceit and betrayal?
As John delved deeper into the heart of São Paulo, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he was being played for a fool. And lurking in the shadows of his doubts was the unsettling notion that Paul's own past in the seedy world of cam modeling might hold the key to unraveling the truth behind this tantalizing but treacherous offer of love and fame.

In the kingdom of boxed delights, Where corkscrews cower in fearful nights, There reigns a sovereign in cardboard attire, Franzia, my muse, my liquid desire.
Oh Franzia, my companion so divine, In your cardboard castle, we toast to time. A box of love, a vessel of cheer, You make me laugh, you bring me near.
At dawn's first light, you're by my side, An elixir of joy, in you, I confide. The sun may rise, the stars may twinkle, But it's your grapey nectar that makes me giggle.
In the realm of streaming pixels and memes, You flow like laughter in my liquid dreams. Celebrity gossip, a delightful feast, You, Franzia, make it a comedy at least.
Oh Franzia, my confidant so dear, You fill my cup with happiness and cheer. While others seek love in a bottle of wine, I find my solace in a cardboard shrine.
From Rosé to Crisp White, you never fail, To accompany me on life's bumpy trail. Your spigot, a tap of joy and grace, In your embrace, I find my happy place.
So here's to you, Franzia, my partner in crime, In this boxed love affair, we're out of time. Through streaming shows and gossipy tales, You and I, dear Franzia, set sail.
To friends and foes, I raise my cup, In Franzia we trust, bottoms up! For in this comedy of life we weave, You, my boxed wine, I'll never leave.

Why is it so weird? Why are there so many strange individuals there at any given moment? Every time I stop there, I feel like a victim of a prank tv show.
My last visit, a guy had like 7 hot food slips and was deciding which ones he wanted at the register, and at the same time a lady casually walks into the bathroom with one of those gallon Franzia wine boxes.
It’s my favorite post gym stop because something weird always happens.

EDIT: Thank you all for your kind words and encouragement. I am truly overwhelmed by the loving support shown by all of you, I teared up a few times hearing some of your stories and by the feeling of solidarity. I don't think I'll reply to more comments but I will read every one, and I will definitely come back to this post in moments of weakness. Thank you! IWNDWYT <3
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I dumped out the remainder of my Franzia box wine yesterday. It was more than halfway full, which is good because I'd feel guilty about buying another after wasting that so that may help me stay on track.
I realized I have been turning into what I never wanted to be: a wine mom. Not just a mom who drinks wine, but the mom who hates being around her kids and yells at them and whose only highlight in her day is when she can drink. Yeah. Me.
I am done with all that crap. I am going to counseling this week for the depression around being a mother. I am stopping drinking because I know wine puts me in the mindset of "I need this to take the edge off of being a stay at home mom." I feel like I've become a worse mother for it.
So this is the end of day one. At one point in the day, when my toddler was just whining about everything like she does everyday, I regretted dumping the wine. But now I'm glad I did. This is the first day of the rest of my life. The life of a mom who loves being with her kids, who doesn't yell at them, who is patient with them and gentle and kind (which I know quitting wine doesn't solve all those things, it's just one piece of the puzzle).

A little background: I have addicts on both side of the family and everyone in my nuclear family has had issues with drinking. My dad (65M) (6’2 180 lbs) is a recovering addict and hasn’t drank in 30 years. His tolerance was nuts back then.
My mom (67F 200 lbs) was sober, but is now drinking again.
Both my brother and I have had issues in the past with drugs and alcohol, and now only drink for social occasions. My brother (31M) is built like a linebacker, 6’4 and 250+ pounds. I am (29F) 5’5 and 150 pounds.
I can, and have on multiple occasions, gone drink for drink with him. I’ve seen my brother polish a bottle of vodka by himself in a few hours. My mom is the most annoying drunk, she gets loud and obnoxious. Although my brother and I can get shit faced, hardly anyone can tell when we’re like near blacked out. We hold our liquor well, hardly get hangovers, and maybe have thrown up from drinking 10 times in our life.
The question came in my mind yesterday when I saw my mom drink FOUR whiskey glasses filled to the BRIM of scotch with maybe 3 ice cubes in it within 4 hours. She was drunk enough to burn dinner, but was coherent enough to have conversations and wasn’t like falling over or slurring her words too much.
It’s so strange to me that we all have such high tolerances! This time last year I was knee deep in my alcoholism, drinking 2-3 BOXES of franzia a week, so average 4ish bottles of wine a night. And I didn’t even get sloshed, it just made me drunk. I drink like once a month now and a whole bottle of wine just got me buzzed, not even drunk.
Just curious everyone’s insights !

This is my second holiday season sober and I never would have pictured myself wrapping presents totally sober at 10am on a Saturday morning. For starters, I would likely be nursing my hangover from last night’s festivities at 10am on a Saturday and not in any shape to do ANYTHING.
Secondly, it’s amazing how I could turn any activity into an excuse to drink. I would have normally wrapped gifts in the evening with at least 2 bottles of red wine (or in my youngepoorer years, a box of Franzia). In my mind the red wine enhanced the holiday spirit but all it did was keep my mind imprisoned in the doom loop of addiction.
I’m really proud of myself for having almost a year and a half under my belt and this group really helps keep me focused on sobriety - the concept of playing the tape forward and reading your stories helps me to not fall into old patterns of lying to myself that I can learn to moderate. Thank you to everyone who has shared their stories! IWNDWYT

How do I make my mead to be more like beer than wine? My first batch is drinkable, it just tastes like Franzia and I was hoping for more of a beer flavor to it. It also turned out dry af. Ive tried a couple different meads that were more on the beer end of the spectrum and its definitely the direction I want to be in than wine. Unless I can fine a way to make the wine taste good 😅. Any advice?

Hi y'all, I have an unopened box of franzia wine sunset blush (it says with sulphites added). The date says best consumed before August 24th 2021, I was wondering if it is safe to drink? I had it stored in a cool cupboard and I kinda had forgotten about it. 😅 it is not opened no damage or anything to it or the bag. Googling doesn't seem to help so I came here. Id love to hear y'all's suggestions on the matter. 😀

Maura crashes a brand-new Toyota Corrola at 3:33am (per documentation) on Sunday February 02/08 at a T intersection she was familiar with in Hadley, MA.
The very next day..... Maura decides to start a 1996 Saturn she was told (Fred) never to drive, running on three cylinders, leaking oil, and smoking.... Kurt (looking at you dude)
And....Drinking out of a Franzia Wine box,... manages to wreck the Saturn at some random barn in New Hampshire and... avoided authorities for peaking on 20 years???
Oh I know, Julie, make another Tik Tokky video.
Curious. why did you show up to New Hampshire only weeks after BR and his parents left? I know... couldn't get leave...

Wine makes me feel queasy these days though I used to be the queen of Vella/Franzia boxes. Even made furniture out of all the boxes I had. Now I can't take it. Shots of vodka feel cleaner and are way easier to down. Buuut I deal with stomach issues. Every. Single. Day. It's like hell sometimes. I just got off a month of pantoprazole and am now taking motion sickness pills and famotidine for now. My whole life and diet is centered around what makes my stomach feel better. Wtf do I do...

It was my fifth date with Kevin—a nice, albeit somewhat awkwardly silent, dinner and drinks in his apartment followed by the main spectacle of the night: monthly game night with some of his closest buddies and plenty of booze to go around. We hadn’t been going out for very long and didn’t know each other before matching on Tinder a few weeks after I had first moved here, so I was excited to finally meet some of his friends and hopefully make a couple of my own. “Ready to go?” He asked me, breaking my gaze that was fixed on his ornate bookshelf and TV display in the living room. I smiled, taking his arm, and followed him out the door.
I had never dated anyone like Kevin before. Usually, I land goofy or geeky guys who I can laugh with for hours and who don’t care that I don’t always wear the cutest clothes because our dates were mostly just us watching nerdy movies in sweatpants anyways, but Kevin was the kind of guy who I’d imagine ends up with your stereotypical high school prom queen—certainly not me. He was incredibly attractive, with a swoop of soft amber-brown hair, a clean-shaven sculpted jawline, soft tan skin, and defined muscles. While I couldn’t describe exactly what his job was, I knew it had something to do with finance for some investment firm I couldn’t name headquartered here in New York, and I knew it payed enough for him to afford his large and luxurious apartment while still taking me out to expensive restaurants and nightclubs on our dates. Though he could be distant at times, and he wasn’t as warm or lighthearted as I usually prefer, he was charming—full of interesting stories and just the right amount of playful affection—plus he’d been here for a long time, and I was hoping he could show me around Brooklyn and introduce me to the right crowd.
“You’re seriously gonna love it,” he told me once we were in the car. There was a grin spread across his face, but his eyes were locked on the road. Being in such a large bustling city full of nightlife and tourist attractions, I found it hard to believe that a man who could schmooze his way into any bar or club in town would get this excited about staying in with his friends and playing … board games? I hadn’t figured that part out yet. The rest of the night was strictly a mystery I would “soon unravel.” Maybe he did have a nerdy side after all.
“Soooooo, are we just getting wasted and playing, like, Monopoly all night?” I asked, drumming my fingers on the seat.
“Not exactly,” he replied with a hint of a smirk on his face. “And I probably won’t be drinking much tonight since it’s my turn to lead the games.” That was the tradition, as he had once explained to me. Each gathering, one member would be responsible for creating, choosing, and facilitating the night's activities, but they were almost always held at an apartment belonging to Kevin’s friend Mitch, which, unfortunately for us, was all the way on the outskirts of the borough.
“Oh so is it like Dungeons and Dragons?” I teased. “Do you need to stay sober to DM?”
“Nah, it’s not DND,” he said flatly, “that’d take too long.”
I was taken aback. “You’ve actually heard of that game?”
Kevin raised an eyebrow, and I couldn’t tell if he was slightly annoyed or just toying with me. “Yes I know what it is. I don’t live under a rock. Besides, I’ve played it before.”
“Really?” Him?
“Yeah. My friends and I have done it all—tried every game, eaten at every restaurant, visited every theater, puked in every establishment that serves alcohol. It all feels the same—just painfully bland—after a while.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter, and I felt a twinge of nervousness as the car sped up. “That’s why we created game night in the first place. To experience something thrilling and new, to escape from the monotony of it all. There’s nothing new to do in Brooklyn anymore.”
While I trusted Kevin’s judgment, I was skeptical. What could possibly be awaiting us at Mitch’s place that was more exciting than the entire city that never sleeps? Regardless of what Kevin had planned, I did feel more comfortable participating in an intimate gathering of his trusted friends rather than in the middle of an unfamiliar dance floor with an unforgiving sea of groping strangers.
“Gotcha. I’m sure tonight will be fun,” I responded, not wanting to provoke him any further, as I had heard his list of woes about Brooklyn a few times before. This whole life-has-lost-its-luster bit was getting old. Was it too early in our relationship to suggest therapy? The rest of the car ride was painfully silent, and I could sense a mixture of nervousness and excitement in Kevin.
Mitch’s apartment was nicer than I expected. While it was in a run-down and nearly vacant complex, I was pleasantly surprised when Kevin knocked on the door it swung open, allowing for an outpouring of inviting warm light and floral aromas. “Kevin and Angie are here!” I heard our greeter—probably Mitch—boom followed by a buzz of excitement. He extended his hand to me as Kevin and I stepped inside, giving me a wide toothy smile. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Same to you,” I smiled back, shaking his hand. “Thanks for having me. Kevin’s been hyping up tonight for a while, so I’m excited to be here.”
Probably-Mitch made eye contact with Kevin and winked. “I’m sure he has.”
The living room, while clean and well-maintained, was rather barren—only having a small flat screen TV, a black leather couch, and a couple of chairs. There were no decorations from what I could see—Mitch’s bachelor pad was purely for function, which didn’t surprise me since my brother is the exact same way. Two of the guys who were sitting on the couch watching TV turned around and rose to greet me. “Hey Angie,” the one with long dark brown hair said, “I’m Todd, and this is Wayne.” He motioned to the skinny man covered in freckles with a curly ginger beard next to him. “Glad you could make it.”
I smiled back, and Kevin took my hand, leading me into the kitchen. “Over here, we’ve got J.D.” He pointed to a larger man with a brown hoodie sitting on one of the bar stools before turning his attention to another man in the kitchen with pale skin and stringy black hair. “And then that’s Tate.”
“Can I get you a glass of wine?” Tate asked, shuffling bottles of alcohol around on the kitchen counter. “Kevin tells me you like Franzia.”
“Sure, that’d be great,” I laughed, slightly embarrassed by my cheap taste in wine. He poured me a glass from the box before opening an expensive-looking bottle of merlot for himself.
“Where are Jason and Mackey?” Kevin asked, looking around the apartment.
“They’re in the guest room,” Mitch chimed in from behind me, “still setting up for later tonight, as per your instructions.” Kevin nodded in approval. The apartment had two bedrooms, the door to one of which was open so I could see the unusually tidy bed and barren decor. But the door to the second one was shut.
The room fell awkwardly silent, and I cringed slightly at the lack of chemistry between the friend group, though maybe that’s just a guy thing. All of the guys were staring at Kevin and I, waiting for one of us to say something. “Well,” Mitch started, breaking the silence, “how about we do a little toast?” He raised his cup, but I couldn’t tell what he was drinking. “To Kevin’s plan for the night. And to our esteemed guest, Angie.”
A scattering of “To Kevin and Angie”s awkwardly arose from the small group. I raised my glass to my lips and drank, following Mitch’s lead, and a nagging feeling of unease washed over me as everyone else watched. Was I doing something wrong?
While others made small talk, I scooted closer to Kevin. “So when is this spectacular event supposed to start?” I whispered.
“Soon.” He stated, placing a hand on my waist and gazing around the room. “We just have to wait for Jason and Mackey to finish setting up.”
I raised an eyebrow. “We’re gonna be hanging out in that bedroom all night?”
“No. I mean, kinda.” Kevin sighed. “You’ll see. Just be patient.” I got the feeling Kevin and his crew weren’t keen on being interrogated. He turned away from me abruptly. “Hey Mitch, how about we put on that playlist I sent you?”
Mitch nodded, pulling out his phone, and I heard a little beep as it connected to a bluetooth speaker somewhere. Slow songs by indie artists I didn’t recognize began playing, and Kevin smiled at me, eyeing me up and down.
Before I could ask him another question, a tall man with incredibly dark brown hair and a hooked nose stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him so as not to reveal what was on the other side. The man smiled at me and extended his hand. “Angie right?” I smiled back and shook his hand. “I’m Jason.” He turned to address both Kevin and I, holding up a polaroid camera. “Look what I found. Do you guys want your picture taken?”
“We’d love that,” Kevin said, grabbing me by my waist again. We posed together as Jason pointed his camera at us and snapped the picture. With a little whirr, the camera spit out a small photograph. Jason grabbed it and shook it before setting it gently on the counter.
I was about to go over to the picture when the door to the ominous second bedroom swung open. Once again, I couldn’t see the inside of the dark room, but the man who stepped out had eerily familiar dirty blond hair and was sporting a faded orange hoodie I’ve seen many times before. “Hey Mackey,” I heard Kevin warmly greet him as he carefully shut the door.
Mackey turned around and started to say something but quickly cut himself off once his eyes met mine. My recognition was immediately confirmed once I saw his face -- it was Jonathan. The color drained from his face as he stared at me like I was a ghost. “Angela.”
I gave Jonathan an amused smirk. “‘Mackey’ huh? What’s that about?”
Jonathan’s eyes darted around the room. Was he embarrassed by me or something? I could almost feel him tensing up as he stammered, “It’s--it’s just something the guys call me.”
From the corner of my eye, I saw Kevin raise an eyebrow. “You two know each other?”
Jonathan stayed silent, and I could almost swear I saw him start to tremble. Confused, I jumped in. “Yeah, he’s my brother.” Immediately, the rest of the room fell into stunned silence. I gave him an awkward smile. “I didn’t know you hung out with Kevin!” While one of the reasons I moved to Brooklyn was to be closer to Jonathan, I didn’t see him much, as he’s always been a very private and reclusive person.
I looked to Kevin for an explanation, but he was staring Jonathan down. “You didn’t tell us you had a sister,” he said coolly as any trace of cheer left his face.
Jonathan locked eyes with me. “You didn’t tell me Kevin was the guy you were going out with.”
His subtle hostility stunned me. “Well, um, you and I haven’t had much time to catch up lately,” I squeaked. “Besides, Kev wanted to keep it on the down low since this is pretty new.” I waited for Jonathan to say something, but he remained silent, his eyes jumping from me to Kevin and back again. Trying to save the group from this painfully awkward lull, I turned to Kevin to fill the silence. “Is something wrong? What, did Jon and I accidentally ruin your game plan somehow?”
Kevin remained focused on my brother. “No, hon. Everything’s fine.”
“Well now, wait,” Jonathan sputtered frantically, stepping closer to Kevin, “it’s just that -- this isn’t the sort of game you’d want to play with family.”
I snorted, “What is it? Some kind of freaky sex game?” What the hell have I gotten myself into? I turned to Kevin for reassurance. “It’s not, right?” He ignored me, still staring Jonathan down. Glancing around the room, I noticed everyone staring at us. They all had the same impossible-to-read blank stare I’ve seen on both Kevin and Jonathan many times. My head was starting to ache.
“Look, Kevin,” Jonathan finally began, “why don’t we just reschedule our plans for tonight. We--”
“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” Kevin interrupted. His unrelenting voice sent a twinge of fear through my chest. “It’s gonna be good.”
One of the guys on the couch--honestly I had already forgotten his name--chimed in from behind us. “Mackey, if you don’t think you can make this work, maybe you can just leave and sit this one out.” Murmurs of agreement arose from the rest of the crowd.
Something in my gut didn’t feel right. Who the hell takes game night this seriously, and what could my boyfriend possibly have planned that upset my brother so much? “Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?” I demanded, trying not to let my unease creep into my voice.
“Can’t ruin the surprise, Angie,” Kevin stated through gritted teeth, still not looking at me. “You’ll know soon enough.”
This was getting ridiculous. Part of me wanted to barge past them and see what was in the bedroom for myself. Another part of me just wanted to go home and escape this nightmarishly awkward atmosphere. I didn’t know whether to feel bad for somehow ruining the vibe of the night or frustrated with Jonathan and Kevin for keeping me completely in the dark about what is going on. If I was going to make it through the night, I was going to need more wine. Although I could feel the Franzia they had given me earlier start to do the trick.
“Angela,” my brother started, “maybe we should just--”
“Angie,” Kevin quickly butted in, finally turning to me, “why don’t you go to the car and grab the liquor from the trunk while Mackey and I smooth out some details for tonight?” He fished around in his pockets, grabbed my hands, and dumped his keys into them.
The moment the cold metal hit my palms, I felt the throbbing in my head intensify, and my eyes began to droop. Something wasn’t right. I stared down at the keys in my hands. For a brief moment, I considered taking his keys and driving home. But I was starting to feel tipsy, and I couldn’t just steal Kevin’s car and leave him stranded. The last thing I wanted to do was piss him off even further and cement myself as the crazy bitch girlfriend; especially if this “game night” crap really was just harmless fun. At the end of the day, this was their tradition of sorts, and guys take all sorts of dumb stuff too seriously, so maybe I should just let them have their fun and do what I can to keep the peace. “Fine.”
I knew for a fact there wasn’t any alcohol left in Kevin’s car, but I decided to play along and let them work out their issues so we could get this night over with. The room was once again engulfed in uncomfortable silence as everyone’s eyes followed me out the door. It slowly became harder and harder to move, and I tried not to stumble as I stepped out of the apartment and into the brisk fresh air.
As soon as the door shut behind me, I heard the muffled voice of Kevin exclaim, “--the fuck was that, dude?” I could still hear them! Intrigued, I pressed my ear up to the door and leaned into it for support as I felt my balance slipping away. A voice--likely Jonathan’s--shouted something from a distance, to which Kevin angrily responded, “We’ve planned this for too long. We gotta go through with it. If we don’t--”
“WE CAN’T, DUDE! That’s my fuckin’ sister!” Jonathan’s protest rang throughout the room. Something in his voice confirmed tonight’s plans were more sinister than a silly little game.
“So?” Kevin replied, sounding like he was stepping away from the door. “It shouldn’t matter. Nothing matters except for tonight. That’s the whole point. That’s what you signed up for!” I heard his speech emphasized with a shove.
“I know!” Jonathan fired back, “But if there’s a connection, they might--” His voice trailed off as the group moved away from earshot. Shit. I quietly peeled myself off the door and darted over to the window, crouching down and resting my head on the wall. The sudden movement sent my head spinning and my stomach churning. Worry began creeping up my throat. What the fuck was happening to me? I didn’t have that much to drink at dinner, which was a while ago now, and I only had one small glass of wine here. I held my head in my hands as I tried to calm my breathing down.
“Christ, Mackey,” Kevin barked, startling me with how close to the window he sounded. “You’ve fucked us. How can you not tell us your sister lives here?”
“Me?” Jonathan scoffed from further away. “You’re the one who didn’t tell me about the girl you’d found!” I wanted to throw up. What did he mean found?
My head was swimming and foggy, and I could just barely make out Kevin ranting about talking and showing pictures to some of the other guys. I was losing my ability to follow his dialogue. Angry shouting erupted from the room, as multiple men fired back and forth. Finally, I heard Jonathan speak up as the room began to quiet down. “Alright, guys. I think I can fix this. I have an idea, so just follow my lead, but I swear to god we need to be more careful next time.” This declaration elicited more angry shouting.
They were starting to really scare me, and my vision was beginning to blur. I needed to go home. Fuck game night--either they could do it without me or I really was in danger. Pulling out my phone, I stood up from the window. I’ll just leave these keys here, call an Uber, and sneak down to the parking lot before they notice I’m gone. My finger was hovering over the app when I suddenly heard the apartment door swing open. Squinting, I turned towards the door in a panic and saw the figures of Jonathan and Kevin standing in the doorway. “Angie?”
Their mouths were moving, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying, and I began to hyperventilate. “I--uh, I couldn’t find--couldn’t--there was no, uh--nothing in the car,” I slurred. It felt like my mouth was made of jello, and it was becoming harder and harder to move it.
I tried to slowly back up, but I felt myself swaying and stumbling, and they rushed towards me, grabbing my arms and holding me up. Kevin’s grip on me was strong, almost to the point of hurting. “It’s okay,” Jonathan reassured. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Go home,” I murmured, “I gotta--I don’t feel well.” They began to drag me inside, and I was too disoriented to resist. As they led me back through the apartment, the music volume grew louder, and a loop of slow and steady piano keys began playing. The rest of Kevin’s friends were talking to me, but for some reason, I could only focus on the song, which now featured a man singing in a soft yet ominously monotone voice.
Kevin and Jonathan sat me down on the couch as one of their friends brought me a glass of water. People were swirling around me, and I could see Jonathan arguing with Kevin again. Words dumped out of my mouth, trying to form an apology for ruining the night, but I couldn’t control them. I heard myself repeating that I didn’t feel too great and needed to get home. “You had too much to drink at dinner,” Kevin said sternly, glaring at me.
“No, I didn’t--” I looked up at him, pained, but cut myself off. Something was happening to me, and he was in on it. I couldn’t be here anymore. I have to leave. I have to leave.
Once again, I heard the music drown out the other voices in the room, and each stroke of the piano keys sent sharp pains to my head. The singer’s voice roared in my head, and it sounded like he was belting directly into my ear as he crescendoed, “I can’t feel a thing anymore.”
Instantly, I felt my hands and my mouth go numb. What the fuck. What the fuck?? Panicking, I started to whimper, trying to alert Jonathan or someone who could help me. Looking up, I saw Jonathan and Kevin arguing, with Jonathan wedging himself in between me and the rest of the guys. Eventually, I heard Kevin gruffly declare, “Fine.”
Jonathan wrapped his hands around my arms and hoisted me off the couch, and I complied. He was talking to me, but the only words I could understand were the lyrics to the vaguely eerie song complaining about the monotony of life. I could see why Kevin picked this song. We were almost to the door, and the man on the speaker was nearly screaming now. My body froze as I heard him forcefully sing, “There’s nothing new to do in Brooklyn anymore.” I looked back at Kevin--I had heard these exact words before--but he was standing motionless and unresponsive by the couch, and I couldn’t make out his expression. Freaking out, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to figure out what it all meant.
That’s when I heard a seat belt buckle into place next to me. I jolted up and nearly had a heart attack. Somehow, I was in Jonathan’s car. My headache was even worse, but I lifted up my head to look at Jonathan as he turned on the ignition. “Just hold on Angela,” he said frantically, “you’ll be home soon. You’ll be okay.” Full-blown panic gripped me now. I’d never felt anything like this, and I couldn’t remember taking a single step from the apartment to the car. Beginning to feel dizzy, I rested my head back on the window.
The next thing I knew, I awoke sprawled out on a bench outside near a parking lot. It looked like the one outside my apartment complex. “Jon?” I croaked nervously. He wasn’t anywhere to be found. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I once again closed my eyes to stop myself from throwing up.
When I opened my eyes, I was in a dark bedroom. My body lay numb, and I was staring up at the ceiling, but the pillows and bedsheets felt familiar--I think they were mine.
I don’t know when I eventually drifted off to sleep, but I awoke the next morning in my room wearing the same clothes as last night with a terrible hangover and no recollection of what happened after I left Mitch’s apartment. My body still ached, and it was still hard to move, but I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and prepared to demand answers from Kevin. “What the fuck was that all about?” I texted him, “Call me.”
While I waited for his response, I scrolled through my photos, texts, and social media to see if anything had happened last night, but everything looked completely normal. Getting impatient, I called Kevin. Six times. He didn’t answer any of them. Frustrated, I opened Snapchat, but I couldn’t find his contact--almost like he had deleted his account. When I opened Instagram, the same thing happened--no trace of Kevin. I went back to my camera roll and scoured it for the pictures Kevin and I took earlier this month, but they were all gone. My heart skipped a beat. How the hell? I looked in my recently deleted photos, but that folder had been cleared. Shit. Something was going to happen last night that they didn’t want me to know about, but I just couldn’t believe my own boyfriend and brother were going to hurt me. Going back to Instagram, I tried to search for some of his friends, but I couldn’t find their profiles either. Jonathan never had social media, and I couldn’t find any profiles under the name “Mackey” either. I tried dozens more sites--Twitter, Facebook, even LinkedIn--but found no results. Eventually, I even went on one of those yellow pages websites and a reverse phone number site, but I couldn’t find any trace of a Kevin Kirkpatrick under 30 living in Brooklyn.
It’s like he had completely disappeared. Should I report this to someone? I tried to think of all the details I could about his life, but he had always been so vague! He drove a black BMW, his apartment complex had the name “Creek” in it (but last night was the first time I had been there, and he drove us, so I couldn’t remember how to get there), and he was originally from New Jersey. But other than that, I was at a loss. Screaming in frustration, I threw my pillow across the room.
Defeated, I called Jonathan. He picked up on the third call, sounding anxious and annoyed. “Angela, I can’t talk--”
“What happened?” I growled into the phone. “What did you guys do to me last night?”
“Nothing!” He shouted defensively, “We think you just had too much to drink.”
“Jonathan, I’m not fucking around. I barely had anything last night, and I felt like I was going to die. Tell me what Kevin was planning.”
Jonathan paused for a moment. I could hear him thinking. “We were just gonna sneak into the park nearby and drink and maybe go skinny dipping in the pond!” He cried angrily. “It’s just a little fun thing we do every time we bring someone into the group.”
“Bullshit.” What were we, seventeen? “You guys were acting weird all night, and I definitely wasn’t just drunk.” I decided not to tell him about Kevin disappearing or that I knew they tampered with my photos. We argued back and forth about last night, but Jonathan wouldn’t budge and refused to admit I was in any danger. He claimed to not know what Kevin was up to and insisted I had more wine than I thought at the apartment. Certain that he was lying to me, I decided to pull out the big guns. “Jonathan, I’m at the hospital.”
The line went silent for a brief moment before he freaked out and exploded with questions. Thinking quickly, I told him I woke up choking on blood and vomit and had to go to the emergency room. “The nurses think I OD’d on something,” I told him, playing dumb. “I need you to tell me what it is.”
“I don’t--How did I not hear the ambulance? We live in the same building!”
“I took an Uber. It was pretty early in the morning so you were probably asleep,” I spat in an innocent yet annoyed voice. I know, I’m not the best liar, but he was too paranoid to see through it. “Look, you need to come help me. I don’t know what to tell the nurses.” I needed him out of his apartment. It was a long shot, but maybe he had something in there that could tell me what was going on.
“Okay, okay, just a second,” he sighed. “Maybe--maybe someone last night brought some other drugs or something and they somehow got into…” He trailed off. Are you fucking kidding me Jonathan? I wanted to scream at him. You’re still lying to me? I could be fucking dead!
“They said they might get the police involved.”
That startled him. “Okay look, you could get in trouble too. Just lay low and be vague with the nurses, and don’t say anything until I get there. Okay?” Bingo. “What hospital are you at?”
I gave him the name of one thirty minutes away. He was skeptical at first, and I could hear him pacing back and forth. “Jonathan, now. A nurse is coming.”
“Shit, okay, fine!” I heard him grab his keys and rush out the door.
“I gotta go,” I said, hanging up. Showtime. Thirty minutes to the hospital, fifteen minutes to run around the building only to realize I’m not there, and thirty minutes back. Practically flinging myself down the stairs, I sprinted to his door and grabbed the spare key he keeps under his doormat. Slowly, I walked around his tiny apartment. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until I got to his bedroom.
On his desk next to his laptop sat a large blue and gold photo album. Last I remember, Jonathan’s never been the scrapbooking type. The book was closed but propped slightly open with a pair of scissors. Carefully, I opened the book to the blank page where he left off. Out fell several loose polaroids. I only caught a tiny glimpse of one of them before my jaw dropped in horror. Photos of a girl--dozens of them--bruised, bound, gagged, and stabbed--all in what I recognized to be that second bedroom.
Terrified and about vomit, I stepped back, my heart pounding. What were these pictures doing in my brother’s possession? There was no way he could be behind something like this. Sure, he was a weird kid growing up, but I couldn’t ever see him doing something like this.
Once I collected myself, I slowly picked up the pictures. The polaroids were small, but I could make out a slender female figure with strawberry blonde hair laying on a set of black bed sheets, her hands tied to something out of frame. Most of the photos were dark, but I could see streaks of red in each one. Horrified, I scooped them up, trying not to look too closely at any of them. After placing them back on the empty page where I’d found them, my curiosity got the better of me, and I flipped through the earlier pages.
My heart sank, and tears welled up in my eyes. Each page, front and back, was dedicated to a different girl. There were five of them--each covered in a neat array of small polaroids that slowly told a story about the night. While each girl varied in physical appearance, they all shared the same basic similarities--young, somewhat attractive, naive, and small enough to overpower if need be. The first photo was always the girl posing happily with one of the men. I could almost see Jason walking up to each one, innocently asking if she wanted a photo, and watching as she immediately sprung into a picture-perfect pose with the sick bastard that had lured her there.
Tears were now rolling down my cheek. Kevin’s whole relationship with me had just been a ploy to lure me to that apartment, hadn’t it? I was partly in denial. There was no way all of the expensive dates he’d taken me on, all of the grand romantic gestures he’s made me, and all of the little inside jokes we’ve formed together were all just a facade for something this heinous. My mind raced, trying to come up with some sort of justification, but I was drawing a blank. Angrily, I pulled out the loose polaroids from what I can only assume to be last night. Sure enough, I found my own cheesy smile, along with Kevin’s, staring back at me. Underneath the photo was the caption, “close call” scrawled in handwriting that wasn’t Jonathan’s.
I was meant to be one of those girls last night. But Jonathan saved me. Fuck. I sank into his bed. What am I supposed to do? These photos had to go to the police, right? Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I went back to the album and opened it to the first page.
Immediately after the first picture of the first girl--a short, bubbly-looking Asian girl with long straight hair--was a picture of her passed out on the couch. The next photo showed her tied down to the bed after she had been moved to the bedroom. There was no terror in her eyes--only pain and confusion--likely due to whatever drugs they had given her. Next, I saw a photo of her zoomed out a bit, showing the whole group surrounding her. My fists clenched when I spotted Kevin and Jonathan, smiling as if they were on a beach vacation. One of the men--the one who was posing with the girl in the first photo--was holding a knife, likely the one used to make the horribly painful slashes appearing on the girls face and limbs in later photos.
The photo succession was always the same on each page, starting with the victim incapacitated in the bedroom and showing the men of the group, including the two I thought I knew very well, committing unspeakable acts as the girl’s body became more and more mutilated and unrecognizable. Each page represented a different man whose turn it was to “host,” and each of them had a different style. Three months ago, Tate, the man who had served me wine, had several pictures of him proudly showing off bruised and bloody knuckles on his page, and the horribly graphic close-up photos in Jonathan’s book proudly displayed the body of a young woman covered in bruises screaming blunt force trauma next to a worn out yet triumphant-looking Tate receiving pats on the back from the rest of the men wearing sick, twisted grins. These sons-of-bitches; were they doing this for fun?
As calmly as I could (which wasn’t saying much), I photographed each page with my phone. By the time I got to Jonathan’s page, my throat couldn’t get any tighter. He had chosen a girl who looked eerily similar to me. Her head had been smashed in with a baseball bat. The bat he’d made varsity with in high school. The same bat that was propped up on the coat rack in the foyer.
Fear and shock paralyzed me for a brief moment, but I had to keep going. I flipped to the end of the book and took pictures of the loose photos, including mine. The first photo of the girl they had brought in was captioned “replacement”. It showed her and Kevin in some sort of bar or nightclub, but I couldn’t recognize which one. They both looked tired, indicating that it was late or they’d had a couple of drinks. Kevin was wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing on our “date” last night, and the girl was dressed up in a sheer black dress with a full face of makeup. Her auburn hair was falling out of her updo from dancing. The rest of the photos told a similar story, focusing on Kevin as he wrapped his hands around her neck and the others pinned her limbs down while she panicked. A small groan escaped my mouth; I couldn’t look at them anymore--that had almost been me.
The last two photos showed the boys wheeling a large trash can late at night in an abandoned alley and a closeup of the girl’s face resting peacefully among a pile of trash bags. I took a photo of them as quickly as I could and slammed the book shut, sinking to my knees as images of those poor girls lingered in my mind.
I had to get these photos to the police. Crouching down behind the bed to keep myself from shaking, I pulled up the notes app on my phone and began to type up my story, or at least what I’d tell the police.
I’d gotten pretty far in my anecdote when I heard angry footsteps thundering outside the apartment. Terror gripped me, and I froze. Jonathan aggressively rattled the doorknob until the door violently swung open, and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep my sobs from being heard. Without thinking, I dove under the bed just as Jonathan stormed inside. He immediately halted, presumably to scan around the apartment. “Hello?” He called. I stayed silent, frantically opening up the internet on my phone. I need to send this message out before he gets to me.
His footsteps picked up again, growing louder as he cautiously approached the bedroom. I heard the door creak open followed by a frustrated growl. I’d probably left the photo album in the wrong place--he knew I was here.
A few footsteps later, I heard him back in the foyer, and, to my horror, the sound of the bat dragging across the floor as he picked it up. “Angela?” I heard him coo.
Do I come out and try to reason with him? Say I won’t tell anyone? Or should I make a dash for the door. I can’t stay here much longer--I hear him coming. I need a plan. There’s not much time, but if you’re reading this, please, please help me. Jonathan won’t be as forgiving if he finds me this time.