It was an uneventful Halloween day, but I was with a group of friends so who am I to complain? Two of them dressed up as Sith lords for the holiday and even went as far as making up their own names. Devoted, I know. So I was with Darth Toxius and Darth Darsinisious (I still have yet to figure out how they found those), and Robin. The Boy Wonder. Now as for me, I didn't want something that was considered obvious. A devil, no; a cop, no; an angel, no, definitely not. But it kind of dawned on me the day before Halloween. What if I took a cliche and made it my own?

I dressed up in a black button-up shirt, a blue bandana, slacks, a white collar, a stole, and black Nikes, and became Father Crossfit, the Exercising Exorcist. And, needless to say, I got quite the amount of creativity points that season. Halloween night rolls by, and Robin, the Sith lords, and I went to a party in my friends' friend's complex house.

I go in and it's a fun environment, you know? College parties always are. We had doughnut eating contests. We had lightsaber fights with the Sith lords. It was fun. It really was. And then the party got bigger.

Not to say that these guys were jerks. They were cool guys, just intimidating. Let me put it this way: these guys were football players, soccer players, and I think in another life, skilled gladiators, maybe Spartans. Their average height was 6 foot terrifying and they looked like they ate the dumbbells they used as soon as they were done because their bodies didn't get enough from the protein shakes anymore. And being a 5'6" young adult, who specialized in sprinting and was proud of himself when he benched 135 lbs. and who believes that his life before this was the life of a sea otter, I kept it on the down low.

As soon as they came in, they were very eager to start a game, and everyone chimed in so I chimed in. We played a game called Werewolves. It's a card game that's basically a Halloween-themed version of Mafia. You've got two werewolves, the citizens, two detectives, and two hunters.

The werewolves can kill anyone.

The citizens enjoy the air that they breath and should really consider a no-dogs policy in this world's neighborhoods.

The detectives can make assumptions about who's a werewolf, who's not, etc.

When they give out a name, they all vote, citizens can state a second name, and whoever has the most votes gets killed. If the person is a werewolf, the world is one bite safer; if it's a citizen, then... it's just awkward from then on.

The hunters are fascinating though, because if they're assumed to be werewolves and they're voted to be killed, they can show their card that proves they're hunters and kill someone else before they're killed. So when a hunter dies, it's an unintentional double elimination.

And guess who was a hunter? Father Crossfit.

We lasted for a while. Well, I lasted for a while. I was actually starting to think my silence was paying off. If I became invisible, then I could sneak my way to winning the game. It was a flawless technique!

Then we were down to four people, three of whom I didn't even know. We lost a hunter, a detective, and a werewolf so we literally had one of each role: one citizen, one werewolf, one detective, and the exorcist. Darth Toxius and Robin were spectating so they never participated in the mystery slaughters and Darth Darsinisious died pretty early on. Like Round 2. So I was on my own for this one, which was fine because there was one guy who was assumed to be a werewolf for four freakin' rounds, consecutively, and he was still breathing. So this round didn't change his luck--at this point he felt a-okay on the chopping block.

And the citizens, like members of the French Revolution, were looking for someone else to vote to kill. Because according to the rules, you need at least two people to vote for.

That is why one of the tallest guys pointed at me and said, "What about that guy? He hasn't spoken a word since he's been here. I don't even know where he came from." The smart alec side of me wanted to say, "Well, the Sith lords were going together, and Robin couldn't convince Batman to go, so I volunteered to be his Dark Knight for the night." But I didn't.

So there I was, listening to Round Five's reason why he shouldn't be killed off. Apparently, this guy had no reason to be a college student because he must have been a debate expert if he could convince everyone to not have him killed for five freaking rounds.

Then the judge turns to me:

"And you, what's your excuse as to why you're not a werewolf?"

"...Uh, I'm frail and innocent." Just kidding, I didn't say that. But it was tempting because I couldn't think of anything else. Then, I remembered. What am I doing? I'm Father freakin' Crossfit! That's why, for my excuse, I held up the end of my sole, which had a cross poorly sewn onto it, and I said: "I'm a man of God."

The whole room lit up with: "Ohhhhh, dang!" There was no way they were going to kill a Christian man. It's unethical! I am morally brilliant, and I could teach them my ways! Father Crossfit was going to live another day, and Round Five was gonna feel the guillotine!

...They voted to kill me 5-2. The only people who voted for Round Five were a girl I didn't know and Darth Darsinious, so to those guys I am forever in your debt, but apparently nobody told me that I was living the real-life adaptation of Lord of the Flies.

What really set up the irony in this was not the fact that they killed off a Christian because they thought he was a werewolf, it was the fact that I learned too late that Round Five was wearing a BYU hoodie, and everybody in the room was Mormon. I'm sorry, let me correct that. Latter-day SAINTS. Christians voting to kill another Christian? That's unheard of! I am an exorcist! I could help them! Now if they're possessed I'm gonna be like, "Oh, that's a bummer, you should've repented when you had the chance!"

So whenever somebody dies, they have to show their card so see if they actually killed the right person. Little did they know, Father Crossift was a werewolf hunter, and he was gonna go hunting. As I show my card, I say, "I choose to kill Round Five." So I did, Round Five was dead, and now he had to show his card.

He flips it over. Everyone leans in, because they wanted to see if either my hunting skills were on point, or if I was just being a sore loser. There was definitely a little bit of both in the decision, but the group realized it was my hunting skills.

Because Round Five was a werewolf and the group realized a moment too late that they killed a demon killer.

So, moral of the story: if you trust someone longer than four rounds, whether it be in life, or card games, or boxing matches, or shots of scotch, you need to stop.