I'd heard about the hazing that awaited me, but nobody cared to tell me exactly what to expect.

Not knowing was the worst part. Left to its own devices, my mind conjured the most horrible possibilities. Beatings, cutting, depraved acts inflicted upon me just as someone else had done to them.

One guy told me to wear loose underwear, but I couldn't tell whether or not he was being serious. Regardless, I did it, just to be sure.

"We're here!" The voice of Jeffrey, the most popular one of the group, signalled that it was time to remove my blindfold.

My eyes were perfectly adjusted for the darkness after that long trip. The moon, though it was not full, seemed to illuminate everything perfectly. There was a door on the ground, like a house has formerly stood here, and only the metal entrance remained.

"Come on, hurry up." A short guy that I wasn't familiar with took me by the hand and dragged me towards the object, his fingernails pressing into my skin with excitement.

"It's a door." I stared down at the rusted object, befuddled.

"Ha!" The tall, thin guy laughed in my face, then turned to the others.

"He thinks it's a door. Just lying there... just a door."

Jeffrey pulled the door open, revealing a dark space below. It was a disaster shelter.

"Oh, no." I shook my head while backing away. "Guys, I can't. I'm sorry, I can't go through with this."

"Too late," the shorter guy smirked, "you wanted to be in this group. This is the way we do it. There's food, water, as well as a toilet, though it's probably putrid by now."

"I can't."

Jeffrey walked up to me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

"Come on, guy. It will be fine, we've all done it. Just 100 hours, and you're one of us forever. We'll be brothers, which means you can do whatever you want."

"I don't know..."

"Take him, for example," Jeffrey gestured to the slim one. "He gets into shit all the time! Do you think he's ever had to pay for it? Anyone who could do anything is either one of us, or knows we exist. Nobody would touch a hair on his head, if he had any hair."

"Hey!" Skinny protested.

I glanced down into the shelter. I was more than a little apprehensive. In my mind, I did the quick math and calculated how many days 100 would be.

"In you go!" Jeffrey boomed as he shoved me through the door, down the staircase. I struck the rotten stairs hard, splintering the soft wood with my shoulders and skull.

Laughter followed, as well as the metallic slam of the door.

I stood up quickly and, frantically, I climbed the remaining stairs. I raged at the door, striking it with my fists, trying to prying it open. But it wouldn't budge.

"Please!" I screamed, slumping back to the bottom of the staircase. "Let me out! I can't stand small places! I can't stand the dark! Oh, god, you have to let me out!"

I screamed until I was hoarse. I laid on the floor, screaming until my insides hurt. There was no reply.

Realizing the dire situation that I was now in, I blindly searched the walls. Finding shelves, I discovered cans of food, can opener, and most welcomed, a flashlight.

The beam of light casted strange shadows within the cramped shelter. Cobwebs hung from every possible surface. Roaches scattered as the light illuminated them. To one side of the room was a bare cot, next to it, a toilet. It was just as distrusting as I'd feared.

Over the next several hours, I prepared the space for myself. I kept a rough count in my head and marked the wall for every hour, using the edge of the flashlight to scratch the wall's surface.

I slipped into sleep a few times, but I still felt as if I was in danger, and that concern would not let me fully rest. In this insomnia-like state, I thought I could see something in the shadows.

"Hello?"

I cast the light beam around the room frantically, trying to catch whatever movement I'd detected.

Nothing.

6 hours passed.

12 hours.

24 hours.

I'd taken to singing to myself in order to break the silence. It was the same line over and over, something that wouldn't leave my head, no matter how much I tried to shake it.

"Well, don't go out tonight... or it's bound to take your life."

Movement again.

"There's a bad mood on the rise."

This time, I slowly glided the light along the wall. Perhaps I'd missed whatever it was the first time. If I was sure to scour every corner, I was certain that I'd root out whatever might be lurking down here.

The metal walls displayed a Jackson Pollack splatter of rusted spots and stains, left behind by any number across the span of decades. It almost resembled camouflage, attempting to disguise the man-man abomination as a natural span of earth and stone.

The light traced the surface.

Rust. Metal. Rust. Stain.

Eye.

The orb closed tightly the second that my beam illuminated it, but I'd seen it nonetheless. The shock of seeing that eyeball, that human, glaring eye, caused me to jerk the light away and click it off quickly. I let out a cry of horror, almost unaware of why I'd suddenly been bathed in darkness.

With my trembling hand, I aimed the light at the eye once more. Once more, as the beam met it, the horrible, glassy object closed tightly as if doing so meant that I could no longer detect its presence.

I sat like this for as long as I could, drawing myself up into a ball on the cot. The eye remained shut for as long as I could see it, which seemed to be the only bit of comfort I'd receive.

32 hours.

42 hours.

The only time that I lost sight of the eye, the only time that it caught sight of me, was when I'd have to change batteries. My trips to the toilet were as brief as I could manage, and I brought every can of food to the cot with me. Opening them up was difficult, until I finally gave it and held the dingy, greasy flashlight between my teeth.

I could not let the eye open.

Just 100 hours. 100 hours. All I needed was to keep it lit for 100 hours.

I was almost halfway through.

70 hours in, I'd had enough. It was as close to that number as I could figure. The lack of sleep, combined with the inevitable times that slumber would briefly seize me, made it very difficult to keep track.

I stood up from cot and began to search the room, keeping my eye on the eye as I did. I felt the floors with my shoes, then my hands, since I only had one light, and it was already doing important work.

I found a screw beneath the food shelves. It must have come loose from that piece of furniture at some point.

Bracing myself, I clutched the screw between my index and middle fingers, point outward. All at once, I felt a rage within me. I let out a primal howl, and rushed towards the eye in the wall. It suddenly opened as I approached, as if in shock, causing the screw to meet its target with the utmost success.

There was no scream. No violent shaking of the room. Nothing that I feared came to be. The eyeball simply rotated as best as it could with the metal implement jutting from its pupil. It bled, but based on what my imagination cooked up, that was almost comforting.

75 hours.

85 hours.

90 hours.

I checked the eye every so often, but as my light met it, I was relieved each time to find it motionless. Having no sink to speak of, all I could do in order to wash the blood from my hands was dunk them into the toilet.

That would do nothing, however, for the ample crimson spray marring my sweaty, stinking clothes.

As I lay on the cot, waiting out the final 10 hours, I smiled and began singing to myself again. I knew I would make it. I'd be out of here soon, as well as have that all-important standing in the group.

I cast the flashlight to the ceiling as I lay flat.

An eye upon the ceiling closed tightly as my beam caught it. In disbelief, I moved the light away, then back to the object. Again, I caught the eyeball and it shut immediately.

I moved the light away, rationing that I must be seeing this. But as the beam moved, it caught yet another eye which reacted in an identical manner.

"Idiot!" I chastised myself. "You never checked the ceiling!"

I climbed underneath the cot and shuddered.

92 hours.

95 hours.

100 hours.

My count was off slightly, but it wasn't long until I heard the metal doors swing open. Rushing from the cot, kicking over innumerable empty tin cans, I climbed the stairs and flew out into the open night.

"Whoa!" Jeffrey was there, all alone. He seem surprised to see me.

"What? Did you think that I would be dead?" I demanded. "Did you think it would kill me? You knew! You knew all about it, and you sent me down there to die!"

I lunged at him.

"Bastard! Bastard!"

Jeffrey threw me off easily. I was too weak from the confined space, lack of food, as well as lack of rest. I posed as much of a threat as a sick toddler at this point.

"What are you talking about?" Jeffrey sneered at me.

"Well," I laughed manically, drooling into the dirt, "at least I'm in the club."

Jeffrey seemed unnerved by my behaviour. He backed away while shaking his head.

"No, you're not. You failed the test, man. I'm sorry if you went a little nuts, but you didn't figure it out."

I was quiet for a moment. Rage was building in my stomach. All I could think of was Jeffrey, and a handful of steel screws in his eye sockets.

"What?" I demanded in a sharp tone. "WHAT?!"

"We do it to everybody, to see if you get it. After we tossed you down there, we all stood at the door for a few minutes."

I swallowed hard and pulled my shirt out in front of me, studying it. I couldn't find the blood.

"I'm sorry, bro." Jeffrey backed towards his truck. "It doesn't even lock."