Byron, PhD student and waistcoat admirer, knows about yearning and betrayal. It’s been four years since the love of his life, Ruben, walked off without explanation. Byron dreams of midnight sex he can’t fully remember and a beloved man with dancing eyes. If only Ruben would return… But life moves on. At least it did until you-know-who unexpectedly pitches a tent in the garden, provoking ghosts from the past as well as Byron’s aching heart.

Ruben understands how to push Byron’s buttons. But he doesn’t know why someone is stalking them or why his memories are haunted by students playing a naked truth-dare game in an ancient room. What happened on the claw-marked table covered with crispy skin flakes?

Halloween draws close, and with it comes a rollercoaster ride of sex, fear, and love. At the back of their minds, a chilling, familiar voice reminds Byron and Ruben of a game from long ago and a pact that can’t be abandoned or left unfinished.

True love never dies.

Excerpt

It Begins
Eule Grey © 2025
All Rights Reserved

Oxford. October 31st, 1980

Sid

It begins on Halloween with seven students sitting awkwardly around a table damaged by scratches and deep claw markings an animal must have caused: Elvin, Ed, Vernon, Lily, Veronica, Ola, and me, Sid. Although it’s my first time here, I recognise Ed and Vernon from lectures.

Ola dragged me here in the rain and the cold, all very dramatic. To be honest, I’m surprised no one’s wearing a silly Halloween witch hat or something. I didn’t want to join a crappy society, but she said it would help me make friends. I’m ashamed she noticed I hadn’t made any. She’s weird though. One time, I bumped into her in my dorm corridor, and she was carrying a book about embalming and taxidermy. I asked her what on earth she was reading. She laughed. Beneath the lamp, her face reminded me of an old, rotting potato.

“Just in case I need to steal a body,” she said, leering like a rabid dog seeking flesh to bite into. I realise she was joking, but I was terrified. Still am.

She catches me studying the others and elbows me in the ribs, whispering, “You’re staring. Try to fit in.”

Oh, god. Already, I’ve embarrassed her. Earlier, when we were chatting about the group, Ola’s unblinking eyes reminded me of an owl. Something about her isn’t right. She’s eighteen, the same age as me, but she seems way older, and her accent slips between posh and old-fashioned. I’m not even sure she’s a student. I asked her what course she’s on. She made a growling sound and said, “Fun and games.”

Right, yeah, very helpful, not.

Why are the others in this stinky room when they could be winning awards or making conquests? Vernon’s trying and failing to impress Ed and the women. Having sex is probably the limit of his desires, but I don’t know for sure. He licks his lips often, eyes on Lily’s chest. He reminds me of an orangutan with his red hair and long limbs. His desperation is not appealing.

Lily is an ice queen from a Hollywood movie, wearing a light blue cloak and matching sapphire earrings. Who the fxxk wears a cloak? Those shiny stones could pay my rent for the rest of my life. The only clue about her motives is how her body constricts as if kicked when Veronica inches closer.

Ola told me earlier that Veronica is Chinese. Veronica doesn’t seem happy to be here or to exist at all. Her long dark hair is lank and unwashed. She wears beige, apologetic clothing.

Ed is a wanker extraordinaire and a bully. I encountered him during Fresher’s Week, when he treated me like a servant, saying I should fetch his drinks and be grateful. The bastard was incredulous that I was invited into any space he frequented, and he showed this by crossing his muscular arms, diminishing me with a scornful what-the-fxxk expression. I expect he’s bored with college, money, and winning. Maybe he wants a different experience. To fail? To be hurt? Degradation? And now I’m aroused and also sickened, which is a surprisingly thrilling combination.

The person I’m most interested in is Elvin, Elvin, Elvin. Inside my head, his name turns into a soft, sexy whisper. The guy’s super handsome, brown-skinned, fit, with hair I wish I could play with. Shit, though, he’s wearing a waistcoat with an actual historical watch fob, for fxxk’s sake. First a cloak and now a waistcoat. What’s up with these people?

Elvin sits stiffly at the table head, peering at a neat, organised folder. When I skimmed his society diaries, pinned to the board on the door, I noticed he handwrote them with an old-fashioned ink pen, which I’m guessing belongs to him.

Maybe he’s as lonely as me. Why else wear a ridiculous, tight waistcoat if not to keep himself from spilling out? Everything about him fascinates and draws me in. I’ve often followed him around campus, staying out of sight. I’m good at that. Elvin’s always alone, the same as me. I can’t begin to guess what he’s doing here.

Maybe the most pressing question is, what do I want from this unlikely group of students? The answer is tragically simple—to escape the emptiness eating at me since starting college and probably all my life. For years, I toiled to be the first kid from the children’s home to reach Oxford University. Now I’m here—urgh. When did I last enjoy anything? I want to feel, to know I’m alive instead of chasing rich arseholes who beat me on every level.

Ola has forgotten about me. I expect her act of charity is complete now she’s dragged me here. She wanders away and perches on the table beside Lily, admiring the obscene cloak trying to butter up Veronica while all the time resembling a lizard inside a human skin Yuk. Maybe she really has been mummified. Each time she moves her hand, nasty scabs of dried skin land on the table. Ugh. Lily’s trying, and failing, not to appear revolted.

Everyone’s chatting except me and Elvin. I’m used to being on the outside but still feel utterly alone and lonely. Where and how should I sit? Would it be better for me to leave?

Okay, that’s it, I’m off.

I stand, trying to make as little fuss as possible when I slip away.

One person notices my discomfort: Elvin. He pats the chair next to him. “Good evening. You’re welcome. Please, don’t be nervous. Sit, and let’s chat.” BBC accent, bright, hazelnut eyes holding me. And look—the fountain pen peeping from a tiny, embroidered breast pocket. I’d failed to notice his gorgeous, cheeky, shy, irresistible smile though.

Wow.

Sit with Elvin? Oh, yeah. I hurtle across the room gracelessly and gratefully fall into the seat he’s patting. “Thanks. Thank you.” I’m sure he knows about the rip in my jacket, which I bought from a charity shop, and the hole in my shoe.

Elvin watches me intently, the doctor assessing symptoms, not missing a trick. “What’s Ola told you? Our quaint little society must seem rather unusual to newcomers. We had to request permission to use the room.” He grins at me conspiratorially.

Room? I don’t know what he means, so I smile hopefully, my heart racing.

He waits politely, and a little impatiently, for my answer, pen poised, ready to add a ‘pass’ tick against my name.

Like always in this hellish shithole, I don’t understand the rules of the game. “Er, well, she told me you’re doing social research for your studies. I could use the research, too, for my dissertation about peer pressure. And make friends.” Oh god. Why did I admit I have no mates to the most handsome guy I’ve ever met?

He waits for more, watching, always watching.

I’m tired enough to give up, roll over, and die. Why do the students always want more? Don’t they know I have nothing to offer people who own everything.

But I very much want to impress Elvin, so I try again. There are no clues about why this room is special among the many hideous paintings of horses or the stylish furniture. If I had to guess, I’d say this is a place where no one has ever been kind. “It’s a great room. The library is awesome,” I say, referring to a dark corner, which contains a small library filled with weird shit about reincarnation, from what I can see.

Elvin’s shoulders sag. He plays dismissively with his pricey pen. Whatever it was, I’ve failed the test. “Mm-hmm. We’re tired of library learning. We wish to test the boundaries.”

I imagine his life as a series of boarding schools and posh tea parties. However, I really, really want to know him, so I try again. “The room suits your purpose.” It’s a phrase I heard on the news last night in the common room. The broadcaster discussed an ancient, supposedly haunted pub. The new landlord said his ales all bore spooky names.

It works. Elvin leans towards me, chin in his hand, eyes burning with undisguised interest. “Indeed. Did you get a chance to explore the library?”

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Meet the Author

Eule Grey has settled, for now, in the north UK. She’s worked in education, justice, youth work, and even tried her hand at butter-spreading in a sandwich factory. Sadly, she wasn’t much good at any of them!

She writes novels, novellas, poetry, and a messy combination of all three. Nothing about Eule is tidy but she rocks a boogie on a Saturday night!

For now, Eule is she/her or they/them. Eule has not yet arrived at a pronoun that feels right.

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Website: https://eule-grey.square.site/
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