It all started one fateful chilly October afternoon. Everything was looking optimistic in Burlington. The leaves were beginning to change and you could almost sense the spreading joy as the world was enveloped in shades of orange, red, and yellow. Like any other desperate UVM student who’s Daddy and Mommy were not coughing up the money for an Ikon pass, I jumped at the opportunity to repost the ski and snowboard club’s 2022 Ikon pass giveaway to my story. Disregarding the fact that I was literally going to be in Ireland throughout most of the winter, the magic of the cool air was placing visions of shredding into my naive head. What a fool I was back then.
As I sat in class, unassuming, I felt a faint buzzing in my pocket. I lifted my phone up, and my heart jumped. There it was, the one DM which all epic shredders could only dream of receiving: You’ve won the 2022 Ikon giveaway! There was no way, this had to be some kind of joke. Yet there, to my unbelieving eyes, the UVM SSC instagram page had requested to follow me, a lowly junior who shies away from double blacks. My eyes remained locked to the screen as they continued typing. To receive your prize, please come to the UVM ski and snowboard clubhaus (what are we, German?) at midnight. You will then be provided with your pass. For an instant, I paused. Midnight? That’s strange. But whatever it took for me to blaze down Sugarbush like a skater on Pearl Street.
On that fateful night, I entered the Davis center with a heart full of promise. Walking to the clubhaus, something seemed distinctly off. It was the tunnel, instead of the usual experimental jazz improvisation playing courtesy of WRUV, there was some kind of chant. Over and over it repeated some kind of droning latin verse accompanied by a guttural growling. It must have been some new classics major DJ, but I still paused for a moment. “Just think of the apres ski. This will be over quickly,” I muttered as I sturdied myself and continued my trek down the tile-lined pathway. As I entered the clubhaus, I was shocked to see there was no one there. The room lay vacant, not a single red bull sipping snowboarder to be found. Was this all just a trick? But wait, that latin chant wasn’t coming from the tunnel, it was coming from the suspicious leather couch against the wall. With a shove, I was shocked to see that there was a crude opening just covered up by the couch. Crawling through, I entered some kind of cobblestone-lined tunnel. I thought the Davis center was built in 2016? As I continued down the passageway, a burning sense of dread enveloped me. What was this? Pink Whitney shooters and general meeting fliers littered the floor as I drew clos- er and closer to an opening… A chamber? As I rounded the corner, I stopped in my tracks. It was the club ambassadors. They were dressed in ski pants and Giants jerseys, standing hand in hand and circling an altar. On the altar… were those my skis? I watched as they approached one of my skis and sharpened them into a shank and then all slowly all turned to face me.
I screamed and pivoted, sprinting down the passageway and out of the hole. Desperately, I shoved the leather couch against the hole and watched as one of my skis punctured the cushions. “COME GET YOUR ALL ACCESS IKON” a scratchy, rasping voice screamed, and I booked it out of the Davis center. In shock, I gazed down at my instagram DMs to see each message disappear. Then, something new appeared. w e’ l l s e e y o u o n t h e s l o p e s.
Water tower readers, the ski and snowboard club cannot be trusted. I don’t know when they will make their next move, but last night I found a bloodsoaked ski pole speared through my door. I don’t know who to trust, I don’t know what to trust. You could be next.
Categories: around town, Catherine Fauver, october 25