Benedict Bergeron ’29

by Benedict Bergeron ’29 on February 5, 2026

Immured in a darkling dungeon, you see the sun setting into night beyond the windowsill, which is sealed by a rusting gridiron. Clinging to the flaking bars, you bruise your knuckles as you strike the iron, desperate to capture a single ray, a single photon of light. A great hook of hot steel wraps around your neck and yanks you down. Choking, your body slams against the slimy stones and, looking up, there stands, enwreathed in dark garments which reek of former victims and somehow echo their screams long ceased, the Lord of Shadow, FAFSA. He leers over you and grips with fingers that glint with a slimy lustre, his odious hook, a staff of torment and agony. You gaze at the two pale lights that glitter beneath his hood, and in them lie dusky images and luminescent shadows of faces, contorted and gored; and his smile appears with teeth as white as snow and pearl gems. Lord FAFSA bellows a grim laugh that transcends the spoken word, piercing the mind and heart and soul with a dreadful terror. Behind your eyes well countless tears, and your throat catches with the struggling breaths of horror; the sheer evil of this profane creature from hell causes your lips to part in pitiful sobs. You rise, guided by this fell being, weeping profusely and ever desiring to flee, yet the room is darkness. The iciness of his wet fingers seeps through your shirt and chills your shoulder. With all of your might, you search for escape, dry your wailings, try to become whole again, but his ensorcelments are too potent. At last, he guides you to a chair and sits you down before an old, strobing computer screen. There are innumerable lines that must be filled, but half of it you do not understand. Through your blinding sobs, you ask him with a sniffle what each line is for; and, through his lips, which you can almost feel flapping behind your ear, his dark words and cold breath tell you in legal jargon everything you need to know. Yet still, you do not understand. He only repeats himself while you grow more and more confused. The strobing screen causes your eyes to burn and your brain to swell. As your deep sorrow, your pure, unabated agony augments with every passing moment, you beg him, “Please, please, I don’t want to do this. Let me go! Leave me alone!”

His quiet, mocking chuckle drips like thick sap into your ear, and he says, “You want me here … you need me here … I am your only hope.”

You know that he speaks the truth, and that makes your anguish all the more bloodcurdling.

At last, you pray, and that one photon you hoped for appears and bolts through the window like an arrow. Line by line, the form is filled, and the demon shrinks and shrivels into the harmless imp that it is. Your weeping ends, and the form is done. The door opens, rumbling on great steel hinges, and your family and loved ones rush in, hugging you and kissing you, having feared the worst. In that moment, after this uttermost evil of the world was revealed to you, you realize what is truly most important. Such joy! Such love! Such a putting of things in order!

Yet, as you leave that horrid dungeon, you can still feel FAFSA’s cold hands caress your shoulders, and you hear the whisper of his diabolical voice in your head.

“I will see you next year…”