Not to disappoint the universal stereotype of students being a unruly lot, I've never actually taken drugs. Apart from Calpol. I used to take that by the galleon when I was a kid, mainly because I was ill a lot. Not my mums fault obviously. Sorry Mum. As I was saying, I don't do drugs. But I can tell you something, the stuff they were injecting me with in the hospital was making me want to slightly change my mind. Only slightly though. I'd been lying in a bed for six and a half hours at the local hospital. Suzy had been really helpful to me, making a blog about the standard of food in the NHS. I decided to let her off though. When we were in the forest, and I got attacked by the stick, she'd used a large heavy bar she found in a bush to hurt the stick enough that it would jump away from me. That effect wasn't as good as it could have been, because it took some of the skin of my neck with it, and then collapsed. She then gave the stick a few more wacks. Once she was a hundred per cent sure it wasn't moving, she phoned the police, to report the large heavy bar, and then the ambulance, for me. And so here I am. In a hospital. The doctor had put some cream on my wounds and bandaged me up, so now I was just waiting for piece of paper to be signed saying 'The Patient is ready to go home, but if he dies, it's his fault for checking himself out.' Or something like that.
After, what I presume, was a distinct shortage in ink, followed by a drought in all biro retailers in the known universe, I finally coughed up my own pen and had the doctor sign the form in front of me. With my dignity in tatters, due to the gown they asked me to wear, me and Suzy got a taxi home, where our friends were curious to find out where we'd left the dog.
The next morning, tired from searching through a forest for a possibly dead dog all night, we returned to campus, empty handed. Me and Suzy went our separate ways, her studies based around advanced computer science and architecture, me looking into rhetorics. I had one lecture that day, straight in the morning, and she had the day off! Lucky her. I walked into one of the main corridors, to be confronted by Steve, a tearful anger on his face. "Well?" He demanded.
"I haven't found it." I replied, tiredly.
"You better!"
"I don't see why you care so much, it's not as if you ever actually liked that cursed mutt!"
"I know, but my parents loved it. If I were you, I'd be scared of them!"
I remained silent. When I first met Mr and Mrs Steves parents, I'd made a joke and from then on, I rotted in the underworld whenever they looked at me.
"Yeah, I thought that was what you'd say."
Two hours later, me and Steve left the lecture hall of rhetorics. We were on our way, back to the flat, when we saw a sight we weren't expecting. Suzy's trademark blue hat in the window of one of the biology professors. But, if my collated memory of un-useful information was anything to go by, he specialised in the supernatural. Which wasn't good at all. "Come with me!" I cried.
A bit confused, Steve raced behind me towards the professors room. We got to the door and I pulled us to a stop. Pushing my ear to the door, I made an attempt to listen to their conversation.
"An alien stick?" Inquired the professor. "No, no, no."
"What do you think it is then, Professor?" Asked Suzy's voice, curious and inquisitive.
"Habentes Abietem." I believe the professor said. I had to Google Translate it because misheard.
"What?"
"Possessed fir tree."
"What?"
"I believe this Christmas Tree you speak of is possessed. And I believe it has been possessed by rage and evil."
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