The magic school bus climbed through the bush along a narrow dirt track with no sign of life. We were almost certain we’d taken a wrong turn a few kilometres back, but we kept pushing. Once we reached the end of the path. Marshall chucked on his handbrake and turned off the engine, rubbing his hands together.

“Nother day in paradise, aye?” He said with a bearded grin.

“Looks to me like a dead end, Marshall,” replied Maverick, looking outside his window.

“That’s just what the cave fairies want you to believe, Maverick. Just sit tight I’m gonna…” Suddenly Marshall climbed into the back of his van, and called out from behind his curtain, “Come through.”

Maverick and I looked at each other, then weaselled out of our rope seatbelts and climbed through to the back of the bus.

Beyond the curtains was a twisted realm beyond our wildest nightmares. A sex doll was strapped to the wall, with duct tape over its mouth, beakers, test tubes, and mixing containers all scattered around the show, black-light posters, a grow tent in the corner, an arm tourniquet slung over a shifty black leather couch, a gas mask bong with half of the bong still attached to the mask and the rest presumably scattered amongst the 70s psychedelic esque carpet. This Bus was a psychonaut's wet dream.

I had a strong sinister feeling that we were about to meet a twisted fate involving that depraved sex doll that was fastened to the bus walls, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. None of this setup was pleasant. And I feel like that nutcase Marshall brought us all the way out to this desolate location to teach us a dreadful lesson on why they say not to trust strangers.

Marshall appeared from behind a set of bead curtains holding in his latex-gloved hands a thick manuscript of acid sheets, pressed and ready to be divided.

“One rule. Whatever you take with you. You have to flip. That is my only rule.” he told us, as he carefully brought the sheets over towards a table lined with clean glad wrap coating.

“How many sesh gremlins are gonna be down there?” asked Maverick, his eyes watching every single move of the acid sheets.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Last year there were about 70. The year before was 35. This year could be anywhere between 100 to 150.” replied Marshall, dividing the acid sheets.

“How big is that fuckin cave?” I asked as I could smell a strong stench of bullshit.

“It’s…pretty big,” replied Marshall with a twisted grin.

“Yeah, but like. I don’t see any cars. I don’t see any footprints. I don’t think anyone’s here.” I started.

“We’re the first here. Shindig kicks off this arvo.” Marshall checked his wristwatch, “it’s 10:30, only the event organisers will be down there.” he added.

“Who are the event organisers?” I asked further.

“That would be Trench and Marko. They’re a good sort. Don’t mind them.” replied Marshall, “Anyway, as I said earlier, whatever you take with you, you have to supply payment for. First sheets sorts the car, anything after that is fifty fifty. Choose wisely.” he finished, his eyes darting to each of us, back and forth.

“How many tabs per sheet?” asked Maverick, his eyes always watching the swirling sheet patterns.

“50 tabs per sheet,” replied Marshall.

“Give me four,” replied Maverick, yanking a pair of gloves out of a disposable glove box and trying them on.

“Sheesh, leaving no room for Hunter there are ya.” laughed Marshall, “I take it you wanna leave the slanging to Maverick, do ya?” he asked me.

“I think I’m gonna have to.” I agreed.

“If you two are really smart you’d divide those sheets up and cut twice the ground,” stated Marshall, as Maverick picked up a few sheets of acid.

“You got a bag?” replied Maverick, inspecting the patterns.

“Yeah, sure thing pal,” replied Marshall, passing a large zip-lock bag over to him.

“Nah I was meaning…White.” corrected Maverick, his eyes now locked onto Marshall.

Marshall laughed awkwardly, “Wrong guy.”

“Safe,” replied Maverick, taking the ziplock from Marshall’s hands, and slipping the acid inside. Maverick caught a glimpse of the sex doll next to him, “What’s she for?” Maverick asked, in a flat voice.

Marshall glanced at the doll in a twisted trance, then broke his gaze, “a Christmas decoration.” he explained.

Maverick snickered, “Must be Christmas round here every damn day then.”

“You’d be right about that, Santa clause comes to town damn near every night!” Marshall burst out.

A thick layer of awkward tension cloaked the van, as his words echoed along the bus.

“How about I go introduce you both to Trench and Marko? Get you two acquainted.” Marshall went on.

“Safe, replied Maverick, slipping the acid into the back of his pants.

“Not exactly sanitary to be doing that, I think.” Marshall preached.

“Could say the same for you and that weird fuck doll you’ve got on your wall,” replied Maverick, taking little wisdom from Marshall's words.