There is something eerily unsettling about living in the valley of the mountains.

I’ve always been a child of the city, raised by the busy pavement and alongside the noise. Sirens were my bedtime story, and later on, I measured time by the street lamps as our limos flew down the roads.

But in Thistle, darkness brings the kind of silence that makes you uncomfortable. The kind of emptiness that makes you jump at every hoot, every breaking twig. Even as the sun comes up, I can practically make out the lapping of the water at the lake’s frozen edges. The clarity only serves to make everything on Jade Mountain’s campus seem more hidden, and I stare at the invitation still sitting on the table by the door.

I spend the day making my side of the room feel a little more homey, if that’s possible with how bland the white walls and generic oak furniture is. My five-hundred thread count sheets now cover the mattress that I’ve padded with a Tempur-Pedic pad, and a fluffy white down duvet is piled on top of that.

My three favorite Kate Moss prints are hung above my bed, the black and white photography giving some class to the room. The hours give me time to organize my closet, color-coordinated and by designer, because clothes are way more important than memorizing my class schedule or doing some light reading before next week’s courses begin.

My roommate doesn’t show up by four o’clock, and I assume she’s coming tomorrow, for the actual move in day to campus. I take that as a sign to open a bottle of Malbec, pouring myself a glass in the Baccarat set I brought with me.

It might seem frivolous, but once you become part of the fortunate ones, it’s hard to go back to a normal life. Everything is brighter, everything tastes better, the textures feel better. I’ve become spoiled, I know that … but if I can afford it, why not?

I’m two glasses in when I glance at the clock, the time reading six. I have to make up my mind if I’m going to go to the boathouse or not, if I’m going to give in to the temptation.

Spotting a navy and red chunky sweater dress in my closet, I decide that it would be fun to get dressed up and at least check out whatever voodoo shite this is going to be. Plus, I have a really cute pair of over-the-knee boots that match it perfectly, and I’m nothing if not a sucker for a cute outfit.

By eight forty, I’ve found my way down to the boathouse, which isn’t as easy to get to as I thought. I haven’t walked the entire campus yet, and I realize I probably should have before I wandered around out here in the dark by myself. It’s much larger than I imagined, even if it only houses about ten thousand students. I didn’t estimate the almost three quarters of a mile walk, and even though I’d lived in cities and was used to using my feet to get around, I’d also been spoiled with town cars and drivers for years. Especially while clomping around in subzero weather … this wasn’t really my cup of tea. But I was trying for something different, something outside of my comfort zone, so here I was.

My mind flashes to the guy in the bar last night. Colton Reiter. I can’t say I hadn’t Googled him, because come on, I was a woman who genuinely admired a man with bollocks that large. Hundreds of articles, thousands of pictures and even some fan sites dedicated to his abs had popped up. Apparently, our Mr. Reiter was a bona fide basketball star, and had quite the reputation as a ladies’ man.

While it would have been fun to verbally spar a little longer with him, I knew the boundaries. After a few nights together, I’d grow bored … and eventually I’d chew that weak American boy up and spit him out. Really, I was sparing him.

The boathouse comes into view, a large glass structure with a stained-glass ceiling that sits just beside the giant shores of Jade Lake. It wasn’t as if I was the only student out at this hour; I’d passed numerous groups and singles walking about, and even down here I’d encountered a couple of people. But still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I should keep looking over my shoulder.

I entered the building, expecting to see someone, or maybe a group. The only thing I was met with was a singular candle on a table just inside the foyer, and a similar piece of card stock to the one that had arrived in my dorm room.

Was this serious? What was with the riddles?

I shrugged, chuckling to myself that this was like the start of every scary movie. I was totally the wanker who got killed off first, and I was basically walking into my own death trap.

Doing as instructed, I reach the bricks and knock. After the third rap of my fist against the wall, it swings slowly open.

“Holy shit …” I whisper, startled.

This is like a scene out of some Scooby Doo cartoon, but I love the shockwave that moves through my heart as I start down a stone corridor only lit by candles. So much for the typical college experience. I’d come to Vermont in search of two-dollar beers on Tuesday, some coursework, and wonky college nightclubs. But something more sinister, something resembling the nights of my world, was pulling me in.

The hallway opened up to a big stone room, and I looked around. There were other people here, though by candlelight and with the heavy red draping on the wall, I couldn’t make them out well. Four other girls stood in the middle of the room near me, and I could feel the vibrating air of other humans flanking the outside walls.

“Now that our last pledge has graced us with her presence, we can begin.” A voice came from somewhere on the side of me, and I turned to it.

A taller girl stepped out of the shadows, her face illuminated by the light. She was beautiful, in that WASP kind of way, with long black hair that was pin straight, a perky little nose, piercing green eyes, and a suede olive green dress that even I was jealous of.

“Welcome to your first Charter House initiation.” She pauses for effect as the words sink in. “For those of you who don’t know who I am, which is your first mistake, I’m Gretchen Bauer, the president of Charter House. And you five are the hand-selected pledges for this semester. However, don’t think that means you’re in … no, you have to work a lot harder than that to gain access this exclusive.”

Another girl steps forward, this one in a long-sleeve black velvet romper, her dark blond curls pinned up into a chic bun. “I’m your pledge master, Nina Kennedy. Any and all tasks must be presented finally to me for consideration and scoring.”

These two stood in the middle of the room, and everyone else was silent. I assumed the rest were part of this Charter House, not that I understood what the hell this was.

I clear my throat, not the least bit intimidated by these birds. “I’m sorry, what is this?”

A flash of annoyance flickers across Gretchen’s face, but she smooths it with a cool smile. “Eloise Mason, right? Our British transplant, welcome. Charter House is one of the six social clubs at Jade Mountain; private societies where members are hand-picked and if you’re not in, you never can be. So be honored that an invitation was extended to you, because it’s rare that an exchange student gets to pledge.”

Nina trails right on to the end of her sentence. “The first rule of Charter? No talking about what goes on here. You may not even reveal that you’re pledging the house, and you can definitely not speak of any missions or tasks you’re asked to perform. If one of the sisters asks you to do anything, and I mean anything, you cannot refuse. If you fail, you will be cut. If you chicken out, you will be cut. If you get caught, we will not vouch for you, and you better not mention our names.”

The four other girls beside me, two brunettes, a black girl and a redhead, all listen intently. Meanwhile, my nails dig into my palms. I’m sorry, but proving myself to these people? Yeah, this totally wasn’t my thing.

I clear my throat again, and the four heads next to me whip to my face, shocked that I dare to speak again.

“Do you know who I am? Why would I want to be a part of your little … club?” The words sound so condescending dripping from my tongue, but this girl is beginning to piss me off.

Gretchen brushes a long sweep of straight, shiny black hair over her shoulder. “Oh, you may be an insider back in Europe, but this is a new game, Eloise. New players, and unlike you’re friends back home, you’ll find that we don’t do fake politeness or conservative values very well. You wouldn’t have come if you weren’t curious, so come on, pledge. I can promise you that if you make it through, you’ll have one hell of a semester. And if you don’t … well, I won’t say that your life will be easy here.”

Her thinly veiled threat snaps me right back in the mouth, and I can’t help but be impressed. These girls may be mental, but at least they had gumption, and I could respect that.

I still wasn’t sure I was ready to be anybody’s servant, or as they say in the States, someone’s bitch. But the idea of this Charter House sounded enticing, and I could play games with the best of them.

I leave the meeting with another piece of card stock, that has a do not open until this date scrawled across the front. And I already know I’m going to open it two days from now to see what this pledging thing is all about. I’m too gullible for this shite, but oh well.