The Artichoke Vol 10 No. 2 by Artichoke Magazine

VOLUME 10 ISSUE 02

OCTOBER 2020

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the team EDITOR-IN-CHIEF ASSISTANT EDITOR WRITERS

Laura Bourbonnais Teagan Ariss Mash Altaf Victoria Ann Carly Balestreri Reann Bast Kirandeep Bhanot Amelia Calo Joshua Cea Katie Collier Kaela Cordero Marvin Darkwa Kaila Gallacher Melanie Gazvoda Inna Gordeyeva Eduardo Guerra Avery-Rose Hamilton Pyper Johnston Siddharth Koyal Nicole Moos Roshni Nayar Melissa Nicole Shamus Quinn Meg Rethinasamy Nima Salimi Vaiva Slapsys (Brie) Brianna Sutherland Teodora Vilotijevic Cassie Weir Nicole Williamson

DESIGN EDITOR Sarah Carriere SOCIAL MEDIA COORDINATOR Breagh MacDonald PHOTOGRAPHER Saba Sharifi DESIGNERS Daphne Chu Victoria Collins Amy Davidson Sabrina Fortin Maria Guna Kalli Jones Stephanie Lai Kacey Lee Sharyl Man Daye Oh Bailey Paniszczyn Heidi Trautmann Ingrid Wong Phoebe Wong Ha-Yun Holly Yoon

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october issue 01

CREATIVE Senses Seasonal Preferences The Festival of Fear Superstitions This Hallows Eve The Masks We Wear Beneath the Skin of My Nails Carved Unveiling October The Candy Van A Halloween Murder Gomo: A Modern Folktale The Fae Monster in the House Cherished Bondage Reminder In Her Element

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ENTERTAINMENT Why You Should Give Some Scary Movies a Chance Spooky Movies Movie Recs

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LIFESTYLE Hometown Ghost Halloween Memories Celebrating DÃa de Los Muertos Afraid Beginning Your Journey to Imperfectly Low Waste Living

2020 The Artichoke Magazine Winters Free Press Created in Toronto, Ontario PAST ISSUES issuu.com/artichokemag CONTACT US wintersfreepress@winterscouncil.com SOCIALS IG @artichokewfp FB @artichokemag

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CALENDAR october october

Minecraft Monday 8-10pm VIA Discord

Karaoke Night 8-11pm VIA Zoom

DRAG NIGHT 8-10pm VIA Instagram Live

10-16

Reading Week No classes

Thanksgiving Holiday

Minecraft Monday 8-10pm VIA Discord

Talent Tuesday *Round One* 8-11pm VIA Zoom

Virtual Escape Room 8-11pm

Word Night 8-11pm VIA Zoom

Talent Tuesday *Round Two* 8-11pm VIA Zoom

Party in the Cemetery (DJ Set) 8-10pm

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SENSES BY BRIE SUTHERLAND

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THERE’S THIS SMELL to fall. It’s hard to explain, but I can try. It’s a sweet smell-but nothing like the candles claiming to embody the season capture. It’s damp in the nose, almost like stepping outside after it rains. It smells of death, but the kind you welcome with open arms, without fear or anger. It’s the plastic smell of the Halloween stores, And the still stale smell of classrooms. There’s a sound to fall. Leaves under heavy boots. The racket of windbreaker jackets. The wind rustling through drying trees. School Buses and backpack zippers. Children yelling “Trick or treat!” in excitement.

There’s a taste to fall. Pumpkin everything; coffees, teas, baked goods, and most importantly, pie. Fall Fair caramel apples and cotton candy. The Thanksgiving turkey we share with friends and family alike. Freshly picked apples, and roasted pumpkin seeds. Halloween chocolates and candy corns.

There’s the sight of fall. The eddies swirling in the middle of the street. Watching as the day goes on longer when we fall behind. The flickering of candles. The Ferris wheel, seemingly forever spinning slowly. Horror movie jump scares. The beautiful reds, oranges, and yellows that litter our little part of the world in warm colours as the cold rolls near.

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There’s a feeling of fall. The gentle chill that runs up your spine when the wind blows by. The smooth feeling of a pumpkin’s side. The knit of your sweater or beanie. The heaviness of your backpack. The cheap fabric of costumes. The creeping sadness in your stomach when saying goodbye to a loved one until winter, when the leaves that gather under your feet disappear below the snow. There are thoughts that come with autumn. The “who, what, when, where, why and how?” Happiness comes with fall, yet so does longing… The stress of school comes back, and the feeling of being an adult settles in like a heavy stone at the bottom of our stomachs. When we look at the fall, a feeling of nostalgia washes over us. Memories of past school years—kindergarten and high school… Autumn is such a childish time of the year, and so short, bringing winter faster than we ever anticipate. We wish for the chilly weather and fun to stayto feast on candy and pretend to be who we are not for as long as we can. To run and jump through leaves, and enjoy the many festivities that happen in the span of only two short months, really.

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We wish to feel the sun of summer without the heat, and the chill of winter without the snow. We watch in peace as the world around us—every plant and animal becomes a different version of themselves for what we believe our own amusement, yet they are preparing for the ruthless winter we are oblivious to. Some sleep. Some flee. Some simply grow a new coat and eat all they can find. But us? Us humans… We take deep breaths of the bath and body works candles, and listen to the leaves under our feet, sip on pumpkin spice, wrapped up in our favourite jeans and sweaters, lost in the clouds that never leave the sky during those September and October days. We are in this limbo of love and hate. We carve into pumpkins to get out our anger and wear fluffy socks for comfort. We delve into fall in so many ways, all of our senses are involved.

So. Take a deep breath. Take a moment to listen. To indulge. To watch and take in that around you. And let yourself feel free. This is the end of the beginning. It always will be.

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SEASO PREFE BY INNA GORDEYEVA

FOR SOME OF us, Halloween is all year round, and I happen to be one of those people. Fall is not only a colourful, restful, calming, transitional season â&#x20AC;&#x201C; it is also a season where so much fun can be had! I believe every time of year has a unique beauty to it, but in the Fall we get to wear our cozy clothes again as the trees slowly dress down and rain leaves of different colours giving off a tranquil vibe. I look forward to it all year long. If you pay attention and show gratitude for what this season brings, I promise you will enter into the winter season feeling grounded and joyful. Yellow is a colour of hope, orange combines the lively energy of red and happiness of yellow, and brown is often associated with resilience and safety. These are only a few of the tones we see in Fall which could lead to some breathtaking photography â&#x20AC;&#x201C; even on a mobile phone. You can also just observe this transition in nature since the scenery shifts. Going to a park near a body of water around the sunset is definitely on my bucket list! Make a bonfire, bring some food, and enjoy the views. As the leaves fall, more rain comes too, and the cool wind blows in new opportunities to end the year on a pleasant note. So besides all of this beauty, what more does Fall

ONAL ERENCES have to offer? It is a matter of accepting and receiving on your end, dear reader. The coffee and tea shops become full with new aromas, and dare I be basic and say pumpkin-spice it up! New colours hit the stores and I recommend you go and find yourself a new piece of clothing you can rock during this not-too-warmnot-too-cold season. Pick something out which will keep you cozy and make you happy – don’t overthink it, but don’t shy away – this is a time outfits can become more creative. Find yourself some scented candles to set the right mood inside of your home. I promise it truly does make a difference, and if you are sensitive to scents, there are always natural ones available online or at shops downtown for example. We cannot forget all of the new horror films that will be out! Have a get together with some friends for a spooky movie night and maybe pull out some of your favourite board games. A place that really sets a chill vibe is Snakes and Lattes, with all of the board games you can find and a food and drink menu you can order from brought directly to your game table. If you do not want to go out, how about finding a recipe and coming through with the chef skills you secretly have? Cook or bake something you enjoy, your family

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and your belly will thank you! Unless you have a younger sibling, you probably will not be participating in trick-or-treating but if you go on a walk the Halloween and Fall décor truly sets a mood you cannot help but feel. Whether you celebrate Halloween or not, if you take a moment to admire the creativity and work that goes into each house you will notice how incredibly artistic this time of year is, and perhaps be inspired. If you do happen to engage in some of the Halloween festivities, do not hesitate to get creative with your costumes. Online you can find a lot of inspiration and even tutorials on how to create your own look, makeup, and/or costume. The artistic expression is at an all-time high and you will see art everywhere! Most importantly, slow down. Pay attention to the little things this season – it does so much effortlessly so you do not have to. Do not limit yourself to what brings you joy, even if it is curling up with your favourite book or a new place you are excited to explore. Allow yourself to surrender to the seasonal changes – I hope your Fall is as lovely as you are!

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THE FESTIVAL O

OF FEAR

BY AVERY-ROSE HAMILTON

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*Note : the gender, costume, and fear of the narrator, as well as the number of, the genders, costumes, and fears of the friends mentioned are left to your imagination.

believer out of all of us, even if it is just to humour others. Out of all the Halloweens in my life, there is one that stands out from the rest. It was some years ago when I was in high school. Our town is large but it feels small.

THERE IS NO holiday that resounds in both the sinful and the innocent than Halloween. There is something mysterious and drawing about it that makes it so beloved. Even those terrified of its residents cannot resist some of its charms. It is a time when you can let loose your darker side and it is perceived as normal; a time when the living world and the spiritual world can co-exist. But it is also a time when anything and I do mean anything is possible. There is something about the fall that makes a

My friends and I were walking home after an evening out when it all started; it was mid-October. The air was cool and a little windy; the street lights glowing brightly but softly on the pavement; the only sounds aside from our steps and voices were the orchestra of night traffic. Everything felt as it always did every night before: typical and calm. That isâ&#x20AC;Ś until, out of the blue, there was a sudden whoosh of sound that shut

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everything and everybody up; like a low moan-like groan from nowhere and everywhere, and a flash of blinding light that froze everything and everyone in their tracks. It enveloped us so we could not see a thing. When we could see again, there was a line of torches, you heard me, torches: wooden poles and live flame, in front of us, making a trail along the pavement. Everywhere you looked there would be a line of them going in the same direction: the town square. In the square, all the lines of torches met together to create a ring around the fountain. Standing in front of the fountain

and on its rim, were four figures clad in dark clothes and hats; they looked like four circus barkers. They just stared at us, at everyone, as if waiting for something. The dim light of the flames hid their features for the most part, but whether it was the atmospheric suggestion or the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;stranger dangerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; instilled in all of us, there was something about these men that did not feel right, that did not feelâ&#x20AC;Ś natural. As we drifted closer at our own pace, the dark figures started singing Halloween songs barber-shop quartet style; I must admit, they were good. People not on the street came outside to see where the singing was coming from.

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Once they had a decent crowd around them, they stopped singing and simultaneously stood with their feet together, heads high, and hands clasped in front of them. They smiled then spoke in clear loud voices; exchanging between each other like you expect identical twins to do.

These flyers were printed on standardsized sheets of thin paper. The background was a faded red and off-white pinwheel pattern with a large jack-o-lantern wearing a witch hat in the center. Across the top and bottom in a circus-style font was: ‘One night only, October 31st ; Festival of Fear’.

“Come one, come all. Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for an event you’ll never forget.”

“Bring friends, bring family for this night of wonder. And be prepared for the Festival of Fear.”

“Ghouls, ghosts, goblins, mazes, houses, games; you name it. We have them all.”

There was a large puff of smoke, and just like that both torches and barkers were gone.

“So mark your calendars; we’re here for one night only: Halloween night.” And tossed into the crowd, like an eccentric magician, dozens of retro-looking flyers.

No one knew what to think of it. But my friends and I thought it was worth checking out - we didn’t have set plans for

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Halloween anyway. But as I think about it these years later, there was something off about the days leading up to Halloween. There were no incoming trucks or caravans or cars or any sign of this ‘Festival of Fear’. I even heard from a classmate, who went to sneak a peek at the preparations at the fairground, that there was nothing there. Normally, there would be workers, and half-built rides and stalls. It was weird. When Halloween arrived, even as I woke up, there was a strange atmosphere unlike anything I had felt before, but I paid it no mind because I was excited and curious about this Festival of Fear. When night arrived, my friends and I carpooled to the fairground, each of us

dressed in our favourite costumes. Once we got out, there it was: The Festival of Fear. The dry fallen leaves swirled and danced over the ground, and the full moon peeked slowly through the bare tree branches as we approached the entrance. Just above the gate was their slogan: ‘Trading the comfort of day for the chaos of night’. As we entered, our hands were stamped with a purple stamp shaped like a mandala or a ritualistic symbol. The entire set up was like a maze, several avenues and paths to take, not to mention the alleys created between and behind the rides, stalls, and booths. Wrapped around the temporary lamp posts and the trees were white, black, and orange streamers;

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over our heads were strings of yellow bare bulbs, like Christmas garlands. On top of these lamp posts along with the streamers were speakers that blasted Halloween music. It was a feast of laughter and screams with a side of tears; a masterpiece of autumn colours from the decorations to the trees growing in the fairground to the costumes of the staff and patrons. Everyone there was in a costume of some sort, either full costume or just costume pieces like a witch hat or cat ears. There were groups and pairs of high schoolers and post-secondary students, like us, children with their parents, adults; it looked as if the entire town was there. There was so much to see and do; my friends and I had dragged each other to every single ride and activity the festival had to offer over the course of the entire night. I enjoyed poke-a-pumpkin; when I put my hand in I got a treat, one of my friends would not even try it for fear of getting pumpkin guts on her costume. But she did try the witch hat ring-toss; her aim was not that good. Two of my friends dared each other to put their hands into the mystery box; I do not know what was in there but they said it was slimy and gross. We all participated in the scavenger hunt and got king-sized chocolate bars at the end; they were very creative with the clues. I beat them in the â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;run for your lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; obstacle course; I may have been the last out but I had the least amount of silly string stuck to me, the others were a side-

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splitting sight. But I got my butt whooped at jousting; I did not stand a chance. Nor did I at the high striker, or darts. We all enjoyed the ‘dunk the monster’ tank and whack-a-witch; a great way to get out our frustrations from school. I stood aside for ‘piranhas’ fishing and the ‘monster hunter’ shooting gallery. But I won a prize at the ‘feed the zombie’ water gun: a stuffed toy form of the carnival’s mascot: a goofy-looking jack-o-lantern wearing a witch hat. As for rides, I loved the Ferris wheel, the monster carousel, the bumper cars, the VR ride: ‘Escape the Ghosts’, and the wave swinger. I did not mind the dark ride: ‘Real Halloween’ but two of our group tried to scare the rest of us; I nearly fell out of our car. Nor did I mind the tilt-a-whirl. My friends dragged me into the haunted house-maze: ‘Madness’; every time I go to one of these I am always the prime target for the scare actors. But I put my foot down when it came to the roller coaster, I was still shaky after the haunted house. After the motion simulator ride: ‘6ft under’, I had to sit down. The friend I shared the car with was one of those people who like to make the car go to extreme left then to extreme right and right back to extreme left. Now and again we would stop for snacks at the various vendors. They had everything from popcorn to cotton candy to ice cream to hot dogs to pizza to churros to pastries. I stuck with the small items while one of my friends gorged himself; I do not know where he found the

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stomach room. My favorite spot for drinks was a stand called ‘The Witch’s Brew’. I loved how the dispensers were shaped like cauldrons with dry ice fog smoking out of each of them. There were even temporary stages scattered around where fire-twirlers, eaters and breathers, acrobats and stuntmen, and magicians performed. It looked like whoever oversaw this festival had pulled out all the stops and spared no expense. But a curious thing was that scattered around the entire fairground were large clear balls with tubes connected to the bottom that seemed to run down into the ground. And every time I passed by one, it appeared to be gradually fuller of a glowing light blue liquid. But I thought it was of no importance and shrugged the thought off. The staff was an … interesting bunch. They were dressed in clothes of black, orange, and white. Some were as enthusiastic as

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the barkers, who mingled with the patrons, while others looked almost zombie-like. But all of them, including the barkers, had three things in common. One was that each had a black tattoo on the top of their right hand which matched our entrance stamps. Another was that all were pale in skin-tone and their features were drawn; though it was more evident on some than on others despite them being a variety of ages, there was a girl who looked to be 16 who had more drawn features than a man who looked to be 30. And the last thing was that each of them had the same clouding over their eyes, making their irises look white. It was creepy to look at; though many disregarded this as costume and makeup. There was something about it that made me think it was much more than that. Wherever you looked, people were getting scared, and most of them liked it. It was truly a time when being scared and scaring others was a normal and welcomed practice.

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After a while, one of my friends pulled our group to a stop. “What is it? Aren’t you having fun?” “I am but… I was hoping for something more terrifying.” “This is supposed to be a family event you know.” “I know but still.” “You don’t see any of this as scary?” “Nope. This is not scary.” “So it is fear you’re looking for young one.”

We jumped, startled, and spun around to find one of the barkers standing among the shadows between two stalls behind us. He was swinging a hooked cane back and forth around his hand. “Then allow me to accommodate you.” Using his cane to tip his hat up. We followed him through many avenues and pathways, drawn by curiosity more than anything else, until we came to a rickety house with aging wood side paneling, like something out of Stephen King’s It. The house was within the fairground and yet felt so detached. “Within these walls, each of you will come face to face with what secretes the meaning

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of fear. But remember, it has many faces, and watch your step, it has many hiding places.” “Now this is more like it.” As we stepped into the front room, the man stood in the doorway. “Enjoy.” And closed the double doors. But as soon as the hinges clicked closed, the floor opened and we fell into a dark space. We landed on a slide which sped us along a path that reminded me of a serpent’s body and tail. Soon the slide split and each of us went in different directions. After what felt like an hour of screaming and sliding, I landed with a thud on a hard floor in a room I did not think I would find myself in. It was a room designed and decorated with illusions and items that were themed by my greatest fear; with a ‘no escape’ feeling floating around. There was a door on the far side of the room but I could not move to it, I was frozen with fear. As I tried to remain calm and figure out what to do, the ground started to shake, like the way it would when some giant walks by. Then, I felt a warm puff of breath on the back of my neck; it made the hair on my arms stand up like soldiers at attention, and a rush of adrenaline ripple up my spine. I did not want to turn around but I did, first

my head then my body. Once I locked eyes with this… this… thing I was frozen stiff, my eyes wide, my mouth partially open, my heart beating like a brass band, adrenaline using my veins and arteries as a race track. This creature was a livingbreathing embodiment of my worst fear. This creature stood about six feet tall, thick limbs that were built for muscle, long legs built for speed, and teeth built for ripping and tearing. Its small but bright red eyes seemed to stare right through me. The rest of it, I…I cannot explain further. I wish I could but I cannot. My brain has blocked all further memories of this thing. But I can tell you that somehow my worst fear had taken on a physical form which cannot be fully and accurately described on paper. We stood there, silent and still, for at least a minute before it made a sound and I screamed. I turned and made a beeline for the door with this… this creature close behind. We chased each other, more specifically it chased me, for who knows how long through a maze of stone walled and floored, torch-lit passages. Every now and again it would take a swipe at me; I would try to out maneuver it but that only led to me falling or almost falling as I skidded around corners. I was getting tired but I knew I could not stop. ‘This can’t be real.’ I thought to myself but a close call with this creature made my mind repeat ‘It’s real!’ over and over.

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After I ran for what felt like an hour, I managed to lose the creature but came to a fork in the road. I did not know which way to go, for each choice had an ominous feeling emitting from it; my heart pounding away and my body shaking from the adrenaline and fear. But with my fearincarnate catching up, I chose one and kept running. Soon, I could feel the breath of my pursuer upon my neck once again so I pushed harder. I saw a door up ahead; a wooden one with dark iron hinges and handle; that same ominous feeling was arising within me once I saw it but it was stronger this time, as if trying to tell me to stay away. But with no other options I grabbed the handle, yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind me. I leaned my back against it; my pursuer rammed the door a couple of times before giving up. As I stood to catch my breath, a slow echoing clap brought my eyes up and forward. In front of me was a figure with pale bony arms and hands, dressed in a black robe with the hood up, hiding the face; sitting on a throne of bones and skulls. Dangling from the

ceiling were long clear tubes that went to the back and the armrests of the throne. The room I was in was all stone, like in a Medieval castle, with lit torches lining the walls and a bone chandelier on the ceiling; the lights gave the room a reddish shade.

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“Bravo.” It said in a raspy but clear voice, a voice I could not tell the gender just by listening to it “Very few have found me.” “Who… who are you?” My voice was still quivering. Not because of what was in front of me but because of what was behind me. Do not get me wrong, this figure in front of me had a Grim Reaper vibe coming off of it. “That is not important but I do know you.” “What do you want?” “Let’s just say, a bit of fun. A test as it were.” ‘As if I don’t get enough of those at school.’ “What kind of test?” “A very… unique kind.” “For just me?” “For you and your little friends.” “Where are they?” “I don’t know. They must be somewhere around here.” It motioned to the space above and around it. “Going through what you just did or maybe something far worse.” “Why are you doing this to us?” “Simple. I need sustenance, and you and those human beings upstairs are generators of it.”

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“What are you talking about?” “Fear. I feed off of the stuff, and you and your little friends are going to provide it for me. I will even give you something in return for it.” “I don’t take things from creepy strangers, and neither do my friends.” But as I turned to go, the door became barricaded. “I’m afraid that you and your group have no choice.” “Let us go. You can’t do this to me.” “Yes, I can.” “Who are you!?” “You’ll see. Now, come here. Let me have a good look at you.” It had gotten up from its seat, walked over to me, and grabbed my arm while we talked. “Let me go!” I kicked it where it hurt. As it doubled over, I tackled it, reaching for the hood. “Alright creep, let’s see who you really are.” As we wrestled, I yanked the being’s hood back. What I saw caused me to stumble and fall back, arm up to my face which wore an expression of fear which I never want to wear again. What I saw was so horrifying,

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so… frightening, so… inhuman that I cannot describe it with any words in the human language, nor describe it accurately on these sheets of paper. The figure stood up and looked down at me; the figure looked to be your average five foot sitting, but standing it looked to be six feet tall.

I immediately saw what it meant. Like they say: if you do not conquer your fear(s), it/ they can gain power over you and control you. If we fail, we’ll become carnival’s newest ‘employees’. “Off you go.” It said before the ceiling opened and I was sucked up into a dark tunnel. *

“Who… who are you? What do you want?” “I’m Fear.” It said, pulling its hood back over its head. “Every All Hallows Eve I need to feed off hundreds, and what better way to do so than with a Halloween carnival. Only the bravest come here and those few get my … special attention.” “What do you mean ‘special attention’?” “You and your friends wanted scary, and you got it. And since you found me, I am going to set you and your friends a challenge: face your fears, and I will let you go. If not, there will be consequences.” It sat back in its chair with a creepy calmslowness, smiling a thin serpentine smile when the word ‘consequences’ left its lips. “What kind of consequences?” “You’ve met my staff and barkers, haven’t you?” “Yeah, why?” “Let’s just say that that is what happens if you and your friends fail.”

This time, I was spat out in a dimly-lit room. But before I could fully take in where I was, my friends slammed into me from all directions; we landed in a dog-pile heap. After we untangled ourselves from each other, I noticed that they did not resemble the friends that I knew. They looked at me and our surroundings shaking and pale, with wide eyes and twitchy fingers. “What is it? What happened?” I asked. “I was chased by this… this… thing. It was terrible, it was everything I ever feared.” “Me too.” And there was a ripple of similar responses. “What I don’t get is why this is happening? What’s going on?” I told them all that had happened and the challenge Fear set for us. A few of them did not believe me but what happened next convinced them. There was a sound behind us from a place

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where there was nothing but darkness, like some large creature exhaling. A low growl then accompanied it. “What was that?” Slowly turning around, we each saw the incarnates of our worst fears step into the light. These incarnates just stood there, looking at us from their great height. Then, they came together and started to morph and transform like slimy, grotesque extraterrestrial creatures. Before this, looking at them, I wanted to scream. But now, watching them morph into one, I wanted to throw up. Before us now stood a creature that was a hybrid of our worst fears; this creature would make Frankenstein’s monster look like a normal human. It glared down at us from a height of eight feet, through red eyes that glowed like fire. It bared its teeth, a mix of pointy canines and ultra-thin needles; it growled that same low growl. “What is that thing?!” “Likely just some robot built to scare us. Come on.” Three of my friends charged at it and grabbed a hold of it, trying to expose the circuitry or puppet strings. But the creature threw them off as if they were as light as paper. It stood, heaving hot puffs of air that made us shake; its Herculean-sized chest going in and out, its

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veins and arteries sticking out from under the skin.

“How was I supposed to know that a barker would be listening?”

“That’s no robot. Run!” We picked our friends off the floor and bolted like bats out of hell.

“Guys!” They all looked at me, or more specifically in my direction. “Arguing is not helping. We just need to face that thing and then we can get out of here.”

The creature let out a monstrous roar and chased us with heavy wide steps, like a rhino.

“I think my hair is turning white because of that creature, so how do you propose we do that?”

“What do we do?” one of us asked as we fled for our lives.

There was a low growl behind us in the darkness.

“I’m thinking, I’m thinking.”

“Please tell me that that was your stomach.”

“Well, think faster.” “That wasn’t me.” “We need to get out of here.” “How? It’s a maze down here.” “Quick, in here.” I pulled my friends sharply around a corner and through an open door. Once the last of us was inside, I slammed the door shut. We paused to catch our breath in this dark room, so dark you cannot see your hand. “This is not what I wanted.” “You wanted something scary. This is your fault.” “No it’s not. I didn’t find Fear, did I?” “But you just had to want scary and say it so loud.”

One of us pulled out a pocket flashlight and aimed it in the direction of the sound. It shone on the face of the creature. It huffed in our faces, and we ran out the door like we were on fire. That thing chased us all over, it was like being in one of the Scooby-Doo chase scenes but way scarier. You would think, from the distance and time we ran, we would be underneath the town by now. But no, we just kept looping back around to where we were, we were going everywhere and nowhere. How do I know this? I remember passing the same wall ornament at least three times. I remember it because it looked like a gargoyle holding one of the torches that lit the corridors. It ended with us being cornered at a dead end. The creature halted in front of us,

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roaring while we gathered together like a group of mice cornered by a cat. “Now what?” Everyone was looking at me. “What? Why are you looking at me? What do you expect me to do? Walk up to it and say ‘I’m not afraid of you’?” Another noise bellowed out of the creature, only this time it was a cry; it clutched its chest as if it was having a heart attack. “That’s it.” I exclaimed “What’s it?” they asked “Don’t you see? This is all in our heads, it can’t really hurt us.” “Come again?” “Fear is something we must deal with every day, otherwise things would not be worth striving for. But it’s all up to us how scary things appear. This creature is just a product of our imagination.” I walked up to the creature, hoping I was right. I screwed my eyes shut and threw a punch at it. Opening my eyes, first my right then my left, not only did the creature not move but also I saw my hand sticking in it, like with a hologram. “See.” I said, turning to the others. I should not not have done that because when I turned back around, it took a swipe at me, sending me flying back into my friends’ arms. “Are you okay?”

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“I’m fine.” Getting up, “We must face our fears.” I stepped up to the creature again.

to break? As we readjusted ourselves, one of my friends said, with a tone of dread “Why is this not over yet?”

“I’m not afraid of you.” And the same thing happened. “I’m not afraid of you.” Said one of my friends, stepping up next to me.

Curiously, we all looked up. There was Fear, sitting on its throne. The tubes connected to the back of its throne were full of that light blue liquid; I hazarded a guess that that liquid was the sustenance Fear spoke of. But how it got it I did not want to know.

“Me neither.” Said another. Soon, we were all standing side by side, shouting those words at it; the creature writhed and screamed in pain. To finish it off with a bang, we all said together “I’m not afraid of you.” The creature gave a final roar of defeat before vanishing in a flash of bright light before our very eyes.

And beside it and hooked up to more liquidfilled tubes was the thing we just faced and defeated; it looked transparent, like a ghost, but that did not make it any less scary to look at. “We did what you asked of us, now let us go.” I demanded.

“Is it safe? Is it over?” one of my friends asked.

“Very well.” And it pulled a chain next to its arm rest. A sheet of metal descended from the ceiling and formed a ramp onto the floor. Through the opening, I could see the front door.

“I think it is.” I said “We did it. We won.”

We were just about to go up it when-

But just as we celebrated our success, the floor opened and we were sucked down a dark tunnel. *

“On second thoughts… no.” and pulled the chain again, lifting the ramp back up into the ceiling.

We landed in the same room I found Fear in. I was starting to wonder how long it had been since we had entered this house of horrors. An hour? Two? Three? Was it still night outside or was the morning starting

“What?! You gave me your word.” “I’m Fear, I can do whatever I want.” It had half-risen out of its chair when it said this but settled back, like one would with a torso injury making it too painful to stand.

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That gave me an idea. We huddled together and came up with a plan.

foggy. I was being turned into one of the staff.

“What are you whispering about?” Fear asked, but it did not wait for an answer. “Get them!”

Thankfully and luckily, my friends managed to pull me from Fear’s grip and we bolted out of the room; I vaguely remember being pulled up the ramp and out the door. The thing tried to climb up after us but got wedged between the ramp and the ceiling as the ramp ascended; it howled and clawed with intense rage. But we paid it no mind, we were focused on one thing: getting out of the house. We ran out, not looking back.

The creature tore off the line it was connected to and charged at us. That was when we broke. While some of us went to distract the thing, the rest of us ran up to Fear who tried to protect itself by tossing flames at us. We just grabbed it by the sleeves and yanked it off its throne. I, while this was happening, climbed up onto the arm rests of the throne and pulled the lines free from the ceiling; blue liquid sprayed everywhere. “NO!” Fear cried, lying on the floor as if it was too weak to stand “My fear!” It then turned to us, hands curled into shaking fists. “I needed that, you fools. You’ll pay for this, mortals. Get them!” “That’s our cue.” I said, pulling the chain. Once the ramp was low enough for us to ascend, we bolted for the door but Fear grabbed me; I screamed. Suddenly, I felt like I was being electrocuted, my body was stiff and rigid. I could not move; a feeling of intense energy surged through my body. My breath was being stifled, I felt like I was choking. I could see my veins and arteries showing through my skin with a scary purple pulse. The entrance stamp on my hand started to turn black, and my vision started to go

* Once outside the house’s gate, we stopped to catch our breath. I took that time to examine myself: my stamp was still a washable stamp, I could see and breathe clearly, and I could move like I always have. So, aside from a beating heart and a headache, I was fine. The moon was still bright and high in the sky. The carnival was still ablaze with lights and activity. I looked at my watch. It was as if no time had passed since we went into that nightmare hole. Either that or my watch was broken. “What… was… that?” “I don’t know. I’m just glad that we are out of there.” “You okay?” one of them asked me I nodded “I’ll be fine.” “I want to do some more here before we go.”

CREATIVE

“You’ve got to be kidding.” “No, I’m not. The night still has hours left. But think of it as relaxing after that experience.” My friend was right. As we did a few more laps of the fair, our tension over what had happened started to wind down, and we began dismissing it as very convincing scareacting and a detailed haunted house; but I kept my suspicions in the back of my mind which is where it would stay until next year and every Halloween afterwards. As we left, I kept my eye on the fair until it was well out of sight, and spent the rest of the drive thinking as the others chatted about their experience and their hope to see it next year, even compared and traded their prizes. The next day, they were gone. The carnival was gone; it was all gone, as if it was never there. The only thing that remained as evidence that it was not a dream was my carnival prize and the flyer. It was like the barkers promised: an event no one will forget. But I will leave it to you, my readers, to decide if it was real or not.

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The End.

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BY KATHERINE COLLIER

Each step she takes is careful Calculated Step on a crack and break motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s back. Each wooden phone poll Each tree she passes She knocks. Her eyes are unfocused Remembering the stories grandmother used to tell When a sleek black shape darts across her path and yowls She crosses the street. She approaches her doorway Righting the numbers that have fallen upside down once more 999 Elm Street was a much better address. She walks through her door Greeting her mother, brother, and father Each slumped over in a chair. She takes a seat The full moonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s light creeping out from behind the clouds Lighting the scene in front of her. Each of their faces Frozen in an image of fear Skin sallow and eyes sunken into their holes. The house creaks around them There is scratching on the windows As she holds her tea party for the dead.

SUPERSTITIONS

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BY KAILA GALLACHER

THIS

HALLOWS EVE

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THE WORLD HAS been reshaped the mystery of who we see has manifested into the migration of masks into the everyday the mundane and profound fabric of reality has been steadily unstitched while our reflections ripple we are mirrors and weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re unsure who do we become when we are unseen unknown to ourselves even the monsters of Halloween have slipped from the world their imprints left to fade to reveal the human at the heart of their story

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THE M

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MASKS WE WEAR BY MEG RETHINASAMY

THE MASKS WE wear protect us both, I can’t hurt you And you won’t hurt me The masks we wear protect us both, I won’t know you And you won’t know me Protection is paramount nowadays, With the masks we won’t face And the hands we can’t shake, From the eyes we barely know To the forms that barely show, These masks we wear protect us both From even before all this breathlessness, And even before we had to guess, These pretenses are what kept us afloat. These masks we wear protect us both.

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BENEATH THE

SKIN OF MY

NAILS

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BY REANN BAST

THE PERSON IN the mirror stares back at me, unblinking. Reversed. Warped. Water damage probably. I can see the roof is leaking, brown water running down the wall. I am willing to bet this mirror has never been cleaned. I look at the dingy bathroom through the reflection, a layer of dust has settled over the glass making the room look even worse. The orange wallpaper is faded and peeling, revealing an even uglier brown underneath. The few tiles that have stayed on the floor are supposed to be white, but they look more yellow. I do not know if it is from age, or because of the sickening, flickering light overhead. They only cover about a quarter of the floor, the rest is grey concrete or dirt.

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clenching and unclenching my fist clenching and unclenching my fist clenching and unclench

The toilet looks like a horror scene, stained with what I hope to God is paint. An empty mouse trap sits next to the sink. Charming. There is no soap. The toilet paper is sitting on the back of the toilet. The paper towel dispenser looks broken. I cannot imagine this bathroom would ever pass a health inspection. I focus on myself again in the mirror, clenching and unclenching my fist. My face is bright red. The me in the mirror takes a deep breath. I hate her. She looks like a funhouse version of me: short and fat. I hate this mirror.

The shirt I was given is at least a size too small, and it is noticeable. The hat is too big, but it does not adjust. The letters on the front are fading, bright orange; barely legible is the name â&#x20AC;&#x153;Best Burger;â&#x20AC;? this is an old hat. It probably belonged to someone who worked here before me. Gross. My jeans are already stained with grease. My shoes are supposed to be nonslip, but the closest thing I had to non-slip shoes were my winter boots. For some reason my socks, that have been inside these boots for this whole shift, are wet. I rub my bare arms. Are my fingers really that chubby? I look away from my fingers in the mirror and down at them in real life. Yes. I should leave the bathroom.

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hing my fist clenching and unclenching my fist clenching and unclenching my fist clenching a

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THE WORLD OUTSIDE THE BATHROOM IS SOMEHOW WORSE.

The world outside the bathroom is somehow worse. The smell alone could knock someone out; there is a puddle in the middle of the floor. The stench probably comes from there. It is too big to jump over and too deep to walk through, so someone laid down a plank of wood. There is one exposed lightbulb, hanging right in the middle of the room. I hate this basement. I kick at a box of paper cups and my boot goes right through. I cannot pull it out quick enough and it knocks me onto my back, throwing my head right into the puddle. I jump up, yanking my foot out of the box, kicking it to shit and throwing the torn up pieces of cardboard into the water. As they turn to black sludge, I trudge up the stairs letting my foot drag and kick each wooden step. The door at the top has no handle, so I throw it open harder than necessary.

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“Hey, fuck!” I peek around the door, which I just pushed into someone whose name I cannot remember. I guess he was holding a box of hamburgers because there is about fifty spilled on the ground around him. That breaks me out of my funk. “Oh. Oops. Sorry.” He shrugs as he crouches down and begins shoveling the hamburger patties from the ground back into the box, “All good, we’re not paid enough for me to give a shit about this.” “You’re going to use those?” I ask, caught between disgust and amusement. He just laughs, “Yup.” I glance over at the camera pointing directly at us. “It’s been broken for years. He can’t see us.” I suddenly feel a lot more at ease, like whoever has been looking over my shoulder just closed their eyes. He picks up the rest of the burgers and brings them to the grill. I watch as he picks three out of the box and slaps them on. I reach over and pick a piece of hair off of one. The other worker, Sarah I think her name is, comes and stands next to me.

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“D, how long on the - sorry, Ava why do you smell like a Porta-Potty?” She wrinkles her nose and turns her head away. “Oh,” I try to laugh it off, but her reaction makes me want to punch her. “I fell into The Puddle.” She fake gags and backs away from me. D, which I guess is his name, laughs, “You should probably go to a hospital. I saw a dead rat in there yesterday.” He flips a patty and presses his spatula to it, making the grill hiss and sizzle. “That’s honestly so gross.” Sarah says, her hand now covering her mouth and nose. Shut the fuck up. “I think I need to go to the bathroom to throw up. Can you hand out the burger?” She leaves without waiting for me to answer. I stick my tongue out at her back, imagining the sound she would make if her hand fell into the potato cutter. D does not seem to notice, he flips the burger one last time before putting it on top of a bun with way too much ketchup on it.

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He wraps it and hands it to me, “Cheeseburger, extra extra ketchup.” I turn my nose up, “That should be illegal.” He laughs again as I move to the front counter to give the customer his burger. He grabs it from my hands and walks away without saying anything. As the door closes, I flip him off. D smiles, clearly amused, as he hops on the counter and crosses his legs, another burger in his hand. He takes a bite and says through his mouthful, “Yeah that was Randy. He’s kind of an asshole, but he’s a friend of Tony’s.” Randy left a pile of ketchup packages on the counter, so I sweep them into my hand. Sarah comes out of the bathroom and stands with her hands on her hips staring at me coldly, “Why aren’t you doing anything, Ava? You don’t get paid to stand around. There are dishes in the back.” She sneers and walks around the counter. I squeeze my hands into fists and hear a loud pop. My hand is suddenly dripping. “Oh, fuck!” I shout, and drop my handful of ketchup to the ground with a wet splat. Sarah throws up her arms, “Great! Now we have to clean that up.” I look down at the red puddle seeping into the dirty floor and imagine it is Sarah’s blood. “There’s a mop in the back, Ava,” she practically spits the words. What the shit is her problem?

ARTICHOKE

Without saying anything, I turn on my heel and rush to the closet at the very back of the restaurant. There is a small mirror hanging on the back, my reflection looks even worse than it did before. I jump when a figure appears in the mirror next to me. “Don’t worry about Syd. She’s already been here three months, people usually quit after four.” Huh. I guess her name is not Sarah. Even though I do not want to talk, I am intrigued, “How long have you been here?” “I’m an exception. Not many people last as long as I have.” I lean against the closet door, forgetting about the mop, “Why is that?” He shrugs, “It’s terrible here. Tony’s an asshole and it’s a gross job. Even Tony hates it here.” “Then why doesn’t he sell this shit hole?” “He can’t. His mom asked him to take care of the restaurant after his dad died. She guilted him into it. Now he’s kinda waiting for her to… pass.” It feels wrong, but I am suddenly hopeful. Tony has to be at least 50.

CREATIVE

The front door opens so D leaves me with the mop and heads back to the grill. I hear Syd or Sarah or whatever her stupid name is call out an order of chicken fingers, and in the reflection in the window I see two red-eyed teenagers. They seem to be laughing, I vaguely hear one of them wheeze something about fingering chickens. But I am too preoccupied, thinking of Tony and his mom to care.

wrong It feels wrong, but I am suddenly HOPEFUL.

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Tony arrives right at midnight. At 12 exactly, I hear a chorus of “Tony’s here!” followed by “Oh, shit!” from everyone, including myself, as we rush to finish our chores before he gets inside. I turn off the tap and throw my dirty washcloth on a rack to dry for tomorrow. The front door opens, D says “Hey Tony.” He gets no response. Before Tony can find me in the back, I rush up the front, and just catch his office door slamming shut. “Shit, is he in a bad mood?” I grab the rest of the condiments and throw them into the fridge, to help D as he finishes cleaning the grill. He rolls his eyes, “He’s always in a bad mood. Thanks, I think you’re good to go.” “No she’s not!” Syd calls from the front, “She didn’t mop the floor.” “Yes I did.” I call back to her, confused. She pokes her head around the corner, “Well, it’s not clean.” I go to the front and in the middle of the floor is a pile of salt and french fries. “Wait, but I didn’t drop those?” Sarah shrugs, “Still needs to be picked up.” I stare at her, incredulous. “Better do it before Tony sees. He’s already in a bad mood.” She says it with mock concern, speaking to me like I am a kid, as she grabs her coat and leaves out the back door. I have never wanted to stab someone more in my life. I doubt I will even last four months here. My hands are shaking with anger as I grab fistfuls of soggy potatoes and chuck them into the garbage next to me. With each handful I throw them harder and harder into the bin, hearing the slap of the mush against the bottom with sadistic satisfaction. With each handful I grip them tighter and tighter imagining they are Syd’s throat, letting the pulp of the fries seep through my fingers and under my nails, letting the grease and salt coat my hands, relishing in the feeling as they turn to unrecognizable clumps in front of me. When someone says my name I jump to my feet, kicking over the garbage can and dropping the now disgusting fries I was holding.

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His FEAR and confusion is replaced with frantic ANGER.

CREATIVE

Tony stands next to the counter. His blue PJ pants and stark white shirt replace his usual dark uniform. A tag hangs out of his armpit. His hair is mussed and sticking to his forehead which gleams with sweat. His eyes are wide. Scared? Of me? Shit I hope I was not talking out loud. “Ava? What are you still doing here?” I wipe my salty hand on my pants and stutter. I do not even know what I was trying to say, no real words come out. His fear and confusion is replaced with frantic anger. “You can go.” I stare at him, unsure of what I am supposed to do. He looks at me like I am stupid. “Go!” I jump again and break for the front door. I let the glass swing shut behind me, and I pause to lean against the brick wall. My breath makes a puff every time I breathe. It is carried away with the wind, reminding me I forgot my coat inside. Fuck, it is cold. Do I go back inside and get it? I do not want to run into Tony again. I bend down and try to rub the grease off in the snow. It leaves dull yellow marks. The lights of the restaurants turn off, my breath hitches and I choke on a gust of freezing wind. He is going to lock the doors next. Fuck this, I need my fucking coat. I groan out loud, kick the brick wall, and throw open the door. I pause and let the door shut silently. I do not hear Tony. Shuffling forward, I try not to make a sound as I peer around the corner into the back. The door is propped open by a bag of potatoes. I can see Tony’s car. It is still running, puffs of exhaust are being steadily spit out into the night. His trunk is popped open, but I do not see him anywhere. I take two steps and inch behind the counter. Still no Tony. I should just make a mad dash for my coat and run back out the door before I find him. I take a deep breath, and start to run. I do not even take three steps before my hands hit the floor.

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ps onto the floor blood drips onto the floor blood drips onto the floor blood drips onto the floor blood drips onto the fl

CREATIVE

The breath is knocked out of me. I lay stunned for a second before I sit bolt upright and back myself against the wall. My first thought is I hope Tony didn’t hear that. My second is who the fuck is that? In front of me stands Tony. His face is slack, his eyes wide again. He is not moving. He dropped what he was holding. Her body is twisted at an awkward angle. One arm is bent up underneath her torso, the other is thrown haphazardly over her face. My feet lay next to her head. Tony was dragging her by the legs. One of her ankles is facing the ceiling even though she is lying on her back. Her other leg is bent at the knee, but it is jutting out away from the rest of her body. Her mouth is hanging open. A pair of Harry Potter glasses sit on her nose, askew, the arms are broken. Her white hair is done up in a bun. It is turning red at the temples. There is a gash on the side of her face, near her ear. Blood drips onto the floor. Tony already has some on his white shirt. His hands are shaking. Mine are not. Even in this horribly grotesque distorted form I can see the resemblance.

It is Tony’s mother. She lets out a low, guttural moan. Fuck, she is still alive. I tear my eyes away from her face and look at Tony. He looks terrified. I hold all the power right now. One word from me brings the cops and basically ends his life. “It was an accident. I didn’t -” the words tumble out of him, stumbling over each other, “It was so dark I didn’t see her in the road. I don’t…” He looks at me desperately and I think of the potato starch stuck under my fingernails. Wordlessly I stand up. With steady hands I pick up the old woman’s hands. She is wearing a gold wedding band. Slowly, Tony bends down and takes her by the slippered feet. I fight down vomit as we lift her lifeless body and her head lulls back violently. Her glasses slide off her face. We carry her down the stairs. I do not want to look at her body, but if I look up then I am looking right at Tony. Somehow that is worse.

floor blood drips onto the floor blood drips onto the floor blood drips onto the floor blood drips onto the floor blood d

ARTICHOKE

I focus on the single lightbulb hanging in the middle of the room. It is on, anticipating us. It does not reach very far. The black that surrounds us seems to absorb the light. We cross the plank to the other side of the basement. My foot slips in more than once, drenching the toe of my boot. In the absolute darkest, deepest corner of the room where not a single drop of light touches, is a shallow hole. I notice her hair has come undone as we lay her gently inside and push the dirt back into place on top of her with our hands. I feel a numbness creeping into my body as I enter the small bathroom and twist the knob violently. Tinted water spurts out of the tap. I thrust my hands beneath it and scrub them raw, scraping dirt from under my nails. It turns the vaguely yellow water darker. I cannot look at myself in the mirror. I cannot look up into the mirror. I cannot see my reflection in the mirror.

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My head jerks up like someone pulled a string. I stare into my own eyes. Dull. Brown. Wide. Scared. There is dirt smudged on my nose. My cheeks are flushed and bright red, hair matted down with sweat. I lost my hat at some point, I do not remember when. I left a muddy handprint on the white counter. The index finger points accusingly at the mouse trap that sits next to the sink. There is a small white mouse trapped in it. He does not move. I reach a wet hand up to brush my cheek. The reflection does the opposite. She looks crazy. Her eyes are wild. She is distorted. Dusty. Warped. I touch my hand to my nose, feel my hair, pinch my arm. I watch her do the same. The harsh greenish light above me flickers nauseatingly, snapping me out of this bathroom miasma. I steel myself and look away from the girl in the mirror. Cold water is still dripping from my face when I leave the bathroom.

I do not look into the dark corner as my feet drag against each step. The top of the stairs is dark. It is quiet. I take a second to notice that it has started snowing outside. Huge, peaceful snowflakes drift stark white against the consuming, black night sky. They look like stars. I do not know why, but I am surprised that it is still dark out. I will the sun to come up, begging for the light. I want to see the beginning of the blue sky, the vibrant orange and pale pink and the blinding sun the source of it all, shedding this night, breaking the darkness, and bathing me in warmth. I want to see it rise in the same red she bled onto my hands. The same hands that mere minutes ago were pathetically picking up french fries from the filthy ground. The ground I never have to see again. The ground I will never have to mop or sweep or step on. I see it differently standing here. I see it all differently. I see Syd standing at the grill. I see myself grabbing her hand and pressing it down with a spatula, hearing it sizzle and cook, and her scream. The image knocks the breath out of me, my heart pounds with the excitement of never seeing her again. Never seeing that stupid neon sign in the front. The ugly fake plants next to the tacky motel art hanging on the peeling walls. I want to skip to my car and honk the horn as I drive away.

CREATIVE

Then I hear Tonyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s office door open. And, not for the first time tonight, I am pulled out of my own thoughts. He is holding something in his hands, but it is hard to see. I am not scared. I should be scared. But maybe I will get what I deserve. Maybe he should kill me. Throw my hand in the deep fryer, put it on a bun with some ketchup and call it a fucking handburger. Let the rest of my body rot and stink in the puddle in the basement, sinking into the wet earth under the building, two feet away from the woman we buried, trapped forever under this restaurant I hate so fucking much. I notice a bag of trash next to the back door. I guess D forgot to take it out. I can smell it. He makes eye contact with me and opens the closet door. He reaches inside and pulls out his coat, but he does not put it on. Then he turns to leave, not even glancing down at the garbage bag. The closet door is still open. As he shifts out of the way, I catch myself in the mirror.

I am smiling.

ARTICHOKE

BY ROSHNI NAYAR

UNSEEN GIGGLES RUN down the street, muted footsteps approach the door, hushed whispers gather together - you wait to see what they’re looking for A little girl screams “trick-or-treat”, fairy costume and twinkling feet, you see her sigh, she starts to leave, stops, cowers, sees - internal dread meet Screaming and howling, they pound at the window, the older approach, lantern’s down in a single blow You see them walk away, the mess they leave behind, no matter, you think this isn’t the first time You add to your tally - that made three today, how many more attacks before they go away More lanterns, guts spill onto kitchen tile, this time, you know the mask is mine snuffed lies, more trails little jack, pour the vials dead eyes, carved smiles

CARVED

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UNVEILING OCTOBER BY LAURA BOURBONNAIS

TODDLERS TUMBLE IN prickly mazes of hay, neighbouring kids ranking pumpkins in patches, pre-teens posing as haunted house heroes. after-hour wagon rides sacrifice overly chatty classmates, Goosebumps novels circled hastily in Scholastic catalogs, divorced parents’ custody dread building background scores. dwarfed orchards cradle sour taste offerings, soiled cloaks crumbling stolen sweets, a full moon’s glow ushering pubescent trick or treaters home. quietly, costume contests ease to frat parties and clubs, stalkers dressed in snarky silhouettes, circling women’s numbers in ghostly slalom.

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THE

CANDY VAN

BY KIRANDEEP BHANOT

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<<AMBER ALERT! ANOTHER TEEN HAS BEEN REPORTED MISSING! HIS NAME IS ANDREW SALVATORE, SIXTEEN-YEARSOLD, WHITE, FIVE FOOT AND EIGHT INCHES TALL, BLOND HAIR WITH BROWN EYES AND HAS A DISTINGUISHABLE TATTOO OF A RED BALLOON ON HIS FOREARM. PARENTS SAY THEY LAST HEARD FROM THEIR SON THREE DAYS AGO WHEN HE WAS ON HIS WAY HOME FROM SCHOOL. THIS IS THE 16TH MISSING PERSON CASE THIS MONTH! IF ANYONE SEES THIS YOUNG MAN PLEASE CONTACT THE PHONE NUMBER ON YOUR SCREâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;>>

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RING! RING! RING! “Hi Ma,” answered Meera. “Hi honey, have you left school yet?” responded her mother. “Yes, Ma, I just left.” “Did you get the amber alert?” “Yes.” “Be careful.” “I will.” “And don’t forget to pick up something for dinner okay?” “I won’t.”

CREATIVE

Meera hung up the phone and continued her walk home. The sun was about to set, and her stomach was rumbling but she would not be on the Main Road for another 35 minutes. That’s where the Butcher’s shop was. Where she would pick up something for her family, if she did not see something better along the way there that is. Meera plugged in her headphones in her ears and blasted the tunes of pop star Kesha. Meera liked dance music. She liked to close her eyes and feel the rhythm flow through her body. There was something about loud, thumping music that made her get lost in another world. Meera was starting to get lost into her world and she began to sing along. “Whenever you tell me I’m pretty that’s when the hunger really hits me—” BEEP! BEEP!

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Meera opened her eyes and pulled out her headphones from her ears— leaving her world and returning to reality—to find herself staring at a white van. The sun had set, and she was still 20 minutes away from the Main Road. The figure behind the window rolled it down. Meera could not see who it was. Her heart began to race. Like how it did when she listened to loud dance music. “You lost?” questioned the man in the driver’s seat. “No,” answered Meera. The man rolled the window all the way down and Meera was able to make out two male figures sitting in the front seats. The one who was driving was harder to make out from the dark, but she could tell he was a big man. The one sitting closer to her, the one who had questioned her, had his hair covered with a blue bandana. His pale skin glistened in the moonlight. The moonlight glistened off his pale skin. He had a scar across his right eye which Meera studied closely. Both men appeared different from each other, but both had plenty of meat on their bones. Meera’s stomach rumbled once again. Louder this time. Loud enough for the man with the scarred eye to notice.

“You hungry?” he questioned, raising his right eyebrow. “A little,” answered Meera. “I have some candies in the back of the van if you want some.” “Um, no thanks. I’ll be fine.” “Are you sure? You won’t make it to the Main Road for another 20 minutes. I’ve got plenty of treats back there for girls like you.” “Girls like me?” “Yeah. You know. The pretty ones.” Meera’s stomach rumbled louder. Now she was really hungry. The man with the scarred eye smirked and opened his car door. When he stepped out Meera could not decide what was louder—the rumbling in her stomach or the thumping of her heart. “Don’t be scared, you grab all the treats you want and then we drive you home, how ‘bout that?” said the man. He slid open the back door of the van and Meera saw a large cardboard box of chocolates. Butterfinger. Snickers. Crunch. All her favourites. Meera looked to her left and then to the right. No one was in sight. She nodded and climbed into the van and the man sank back down into the front seat.

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“My name’s Mikey and this is Tyson beside me,” said Mikey. Meera met Tyson’s eyes in the rearview mirror. They were pitch black. Black like the night. “So, what’s your name?” questioned Mikey. “Meera,” she responded while taking a huge bite into a Butterfinger. “That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.” Meera’s stomach growled. “How old are you?” “I’m turning fourteen next month,” answered Meera, licking the wrapper. “Oh, so you turning into a big girl now, eh? You got any brothers or sisters?” “I have a younger brother, he’s twelve. He’s waiting for me at home. My parents don’t get back until 9 P.M..”

Mikey and Tyson exchanged looks. They began to whisper but Meera was too busy devouring Butterfingers to eavesdrop. “Don’t get any ideas, Mikey,” whispered Tyson, “We can’t risk it. We’re taking her straight to Boss.” “But imagine if we show up with two of them. She’ll be on the sewing machine and the boy will do the ironing. We’ll be rewarded!” whispered Mikey. “Come on, look at her bronze skin. No one’s going to care she or her brother are gone. I’ll even give you some of my cut.” “I have a bad feeling about this,” whispered Tyson as he started up the van. “So, where should we drop you off?” asked Mikey with a smirk crawling on his face. “34 Anthro Street.”

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Tyson pulled up into the garage of Meera’s house. All the lights were turned off. Tyson felt uneasy, but he knew it was too late to back out now. Mikey turned around to face Meera, “So how about you bring your little brother out here, so he can pick out some treats for himself?” “He might be sleeping, it’s past his bedtime,” said Meera. Mikey checked his watch, “Bedtime? It’s only 6:30?” “He likes to sleep early, so he can stay up at night.” “What does a twelve-year-old boy do up all night?” “Hunt for food,” she responded with a straight face. Tyson was starting to feel a little queasy, “Eh man, why don’t we just drop her off and head back. It’s getting late.”

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Mikey shot him a look and Tyson knew to shut up. Meera roared in laughter, “You guys are so gullible. I’m just kidding. But we should probably go in the house to give him his treats.” Mikey and Tyson followed Meera into her house. It was pitch black. Tyson and Mikey could not see anything but darkness. Miles and miles of darkness. “Can you turn on the lights?” asked Tyson. “No, it’ll wake up my brother,” said Meera. “The whole house doesn’t have to be pitch black for your brother to sleep. It’s 6:30 for God’s sake!” exclaimed Tyson. “Stop freaking out Ty,” responded Mikey. “Man, I told you this was a bad idea. We should have just taken her to Boss and be done with her.” “Keep your voice down! They’ll hear you!” “Where did she go? Do you see her?” “Man, I can’t see anything!” “Let’s just get out of he—”

Tyson tripped and burned his chin on the rough carpet. He took out his lighter to see what he had tripped on. Tyson stared at what laid in front of him. He could not find his tongue to form any words out of his mouth. His heart started to pound loudly until that was the only sound he could hear. He managed to get Mikey’s attention, which left both men stunned. “I’m sorry I had to lie to you,” said Meera standing behind the men. Her voice ran chills down their bodies. “I did feel terribly bad about it. But I don’t have a brother. But I do have two parents, and they told me to bring home dinner,” said Meera. Tyson stared at the forearm he had tripped on, which had a tattoo of a red balloon in the center. Mikey and Tyson slowly turned around to see Meera and her parents standing at the top of the staircase. Bones and ligaments covered the room. But before Mikey and Tyson could even think about making a run for it, Meera and her family leaped off the staircase and devoured the men. “I did feel bad, but you know, the men driving around in their candy vans, offering free rides are the easiest targets,” Meera said as she ripped off Mikey’s fingers one by one and quickly devoured them whole. Her giggles filled up the entire house and she began to sing, “Whenever you tell me I’m pretty that’s when the hunger really hits me…”

ARTICHOKE

A HALLOWEEN MURDER

BY SIDDHARTH KOYAL

CREATIVE CREATIVE

“It had no eyes, no nose, no ears. Just a mouth fixed into a smile”

I HAD BEEN a detective all of 3 days before the case came across my desk. A woman, 26 years old, had been killed in her home at midnight on October 31st. My first thought at reading the preliminary report was that the killer was not very original. Murdering a woman on Halloween? Absolutely no points for creativity. I suppose I was impressed by the report by the crime scene techs, there was no evidence. No evidence whatsoever. No hair, fingerprints, blood, not even a footprint. What they were able to figure out though was the cause of death. A single knife wound straight to the heart. We could have used the angle of entry to figure out if the murderer was taller or shorter than the victim but there was no angle of entry. It was a straight stab, as if the knife had been fired from a gun. That is when I knew we were dealing with a professional, someone who knew what they were doing. Back then I was determined. Which is just another way of saying I was young and dumb and naïve, I thought I could catch this guy. I looked through everyone that knew the victim, since there were no signs of a break-in, she obviously knew her killer. But those people did not pan out. Then I looked at her enemies, people with a reason to hurt her, nothing. I looked at cameras in the area for a look at the person who committed this crime and nothing. They knew the blind spots. With no evidence and no suspects, the case went to the bottom of the pile of active cases.

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For the first three months, I kept tabs on it, waiting for the killer to strike again, but they never did. I could not keep focusing on a dead-end case and so justice was never served. I moved on to other things. But they did strike again, a year later. Halloween, again is time I caught something on the camera inside the victim’s house. The murderer probably missed this camera and we were able to get a glimpse of whoever they were. But it was no use, the image was not clear enough for a positive ID. It was just a shadow. I chalked it up to bad lighting and terrible camera quality. I looked through the man’s friends and family, and then his enemies and haters. The same way I did with the woman. But there was nothing. Then I looked at anyone or anything that connected both the victims and there was nothing. Another dead-end. As you can guess, I was frustrated. Whoever this murderer was, they slipped past me and the entire police department twice now and we had nothing. Soon, the press started calling this Halloween killer a variety of names, “Michael Myers,” obviously, “Freddy Kruger,” “Stabshot,” which sounds more comic-booky than anything, “The boogeyman,” a name that most police officers also preferred. Most of the department had given up trying to catch this killer. It seemed impossible. There was no way to track them and even if we did, we could not convict them because there was no evidence. And once again, the case file went to the bottom of the pile. Until the next year. A woman again, 28 years old and then the year after that. A man, 29 years old.

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It still hurts that this maniac was able to kill four people before I saw the connection. The killer kept killing an older and older victim each year. So, the next time they would strike, it was going to be a 30-year-old. The murderer alternatively killed genders, so it was going to be a 30-year-old woman this time. But there are far too many 30 year-old-women in the city to keep track of to catch the killer. But they could protect themselves. I spoke to the chief and told him my idea. And luckily, he approved. I held a press conference on the 29th of October. Two days before the killer would strike. I got up on the podium in front of press members from various agencies, and their cameras pointed straight at my face, and I said â&#x20AC;&#x153;From October 30th night to November 1st morning, All 30-year-old women should lock themselves in their house alone, with any means of protecting themselves in case of an attack. Do not go out for anything. Do not allow anyone in. No one else is at risk, only women that are 30 years-old or will be 30-years-old on October 31st.â&#x20AC;? I thought if I warned people so close to the murdererâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s attack, any plans they would have would be useless because the victim knew that they were going to be attacked. We expected panic, and had prepared for it. The police were already in the streets keeping things calm. A lot of baseball bats, hammers, pepper sprays, and tasers were bought in those next two days. Parents were worried for the safety of their kids too so there were not many trick-or-treaters that Halloween.

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And so, the 31st October came. I did not sleep that night. I just stayed close to my radio expecting something. The call came in close to 10pm on October 31st. A 30-year-old woman was found dead in her apartment. Her body was found with a gun in her hand, but no one heard gunshots. Was she too slow to react? Did she never see the murderer coming? It did not make sense. This woman who had the capability to protect herself, could not. What chance did anyone else have? 5 people had died. I had failed to stop this psychopath. After the woman died, I spiraled downward. I soon found myself at the bottom of many bottles over the year, I failed to solve simple cases and soon I was kicked off the force. A forced retirement at 31 years old. I was constantly haunted by the people I had failed to save; I was haunted by the idea that this slaughterer was still out there and I could not stop him. Without realizing it, it was October again. On October 29th, someone else got on the podium to issue the same warning, except this time for 31-year-old men. It never struck me that this year I was at risk until that announcement. I was not scared. I was a former cop, and I was able to purchase a gun. It would be hard to sneak up on me and kill me. And so, on October 30th at 11:59 am, I put a chair against my living room door and sat on it, with my gun in my hand and a hammer at armâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s reach. From where I was sitting, I could see the window where someone could sneak in through and I could see my kitchen and bedroom. Basically, I had covered everything.

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I kept sipping coffee periodically throughout the night, so I could stay awake. I waited, and I waited. It was October 31st. That homicidal maniac should have come by now. I thought maybe, just maybe, I was not the target. That some other poor sap was being viciously murdered and it would be another death on my conscience. I guess somewhere deep down I wanted it to be me, just so I could stop living with this pain. Just when this thought ran through my head, something moved in my bedroom. I held the gun up and pointed towards there, and suddenly, all the lights in my apartment went off. I turned around quickly to reach for my phone, I turned on the flashlight pointed towards the living room and there it was. The shadow. I could not make out the shape. It was just a black mass in the center of the room, constantly shifting, made out of nothing but pure darkness. And then I saw its face. It had no eyes, no nose, no ears. Just a mouth fixed into a smile. A smile that showed all of its disgusting, rotten teeth. I thought it was foaming at the mouth at first, but then I realized it was blood that was seeping through its teeth and dripped down onto the chin. It started moving towards me, I tried to point my gun but I could not. I was paralyzed. This being moved closer and closer to me until all I saw was its smile, close to my face and something extending out from its darkness, a shadowy blade, and in through my chest. The last thing I saw was smiling, and the last thing I heard was the sound of my own screaming.

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GOMO: A MODERN FOLKTALE

CREATIVE

BY EDUARDO GUERRA

*I dedicate this short story to my nephews and newborn niece. I wanted to create for them a new superstition that they will tell to future generations… or laugh at because their uncle is terrible at writing short stories.* Gather one, gather all, as I tell you this tale. I promise to include every single detail, of a creature so horrid so wicked, so sick, and is one who cannot be easily tricked. In my heart, I believe everybody should know the creature that goes by the name Gomo. See here, Gomo is one that will give you a fright as it wanders the forest out late in the night. He is seven feet tall and covered in grey fur. Does it scare other woodland critters? Oh… for sure. With large hands and large feet, the size of two bear paws and you can’t tell what’s longer, his teeth or his claws. With each step that he takes, he makes the whole ground shake. Eating nothing but people, like they are a cake. To meet Gomo face to face is not something you’d want, which happened to me and still gives me a cold haunt. I was over at a friend’s place and it was getting quite late, so I had to rush home and not make my folks wait. “Now hold on!” yelled my friend, “Are you sure you should go?” “It’s getting dark out and you might see Gomo.” “I’m not scared!” I exclaimed, “He’s no more than fiction.” “And besides, the weather’s in the best condition.” “Plus I fear no forest, no creature large or small.” “This fake Gomo you say does not scare me at all.”

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What a fool I had been, to have said all of that. But it was too late now, I began my way back I entered the forest, going deep in the trees, as I kept walking though, I could feel a small breeze. It was dark but the stars and the moon shined bright, helping me guide my way through the night. That’s when I heard a strange noise coming from behind but I kept walking and put it out of my mind. Then the ground started shaking and quaking about, I knew right there and then that I had to get out. Before I could run off, I saw him standing there seven feet tall and covered in grey hair. “It’s Gomo!” I shouted, “This has to be some lie.” “You’re as real as the moon or the clouds in the sky.” “It’s dark out!” he exclaimed, in a deep booming voice, I noticed his mouth was getting moist. “It’s dinner time for me and you look quite tasty.” I quivered in fear, “No… you’re crazy.” Gomo looked down on me with remorse, “Tell you what,” he replied “I won’t eat you by force.” “I know it’s improper to play with one’s dinner,” “But I’ll give you the chance to become a winner.” “What’s the game?” I asked him, as I filled with jitters. He replied, “Rock, paper, and scissors.” “The rules are as follows, the best two out of three, and if you win, I will let you go free.” “It’s a deal!” I blurted and wagered my own life. And I prayed that I would not be cut open with a knife.

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Gomo then grabbed two logs and we both took a seat, hoping he was not going to be hard to beat. “One! Two! Three!” As we put our hands in, his paper beat my rock, Gomo claimed the first win. I had panicked for a moment but did not let it show, and hoped I’d improve at roshambo. “One! Two! Three!” And this time, my scissors did triumph. No longer did I see a threat in this Goliath. Gomo was worried but not for long. “Enjoy this,” he proclaimed “It won’t last for long.” The game was now tied up and tensions were sky high. One more round and prayed I would not die. “One! Two! Three!” I could not believe it, my rock had defeated this grey hairs behemoth. Gomo was truly shocked and beaten, it looked like I was not going to be eaten. “I will not go hungry!” Gomo yelled in furry. He started to chase me, I ran in a hurry. But at the last moment, I made it out intact and I avoided a truly vicious attack. I saw my house in the distance and I sprinted. I hugged my mom and my dad in a flash. I hopped into my bed, without a care, but never forgot that Gomo was still out there. The lesson is one that you all have to know, to survive a monster in the woods, be great at roshambo. The End.

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THE

FAE

BY MELANIE GAZVODA

Dedicated to my gram, who taught me all of the wonderful magical shit I love.

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MY NAME IS Sabrina Fiona, if you are listening to this recording it has probably been too late for me. I am driving down the highway now. The road signs are getting hazy. I just want my family to know I love them and that I was sane. But I guess you have to know the entire story firstâ&#x20AC;Ś Before I begin, I would just like to say that humans know nothing. There is so much out there that we do not know. Places we have never been to. We have discovered less than 20% of the ocean. That means species we have never even come across. Now, knowing what I know, I would not doubt that there were mermaids in the deep blue. Although, I think they would be something closer to a siren, than Arielâ&#x20AC;Ś It all started 3 weeks ago when I was hired by my neighbour. Will is in his late forties, and smokes like a chimney, he rarely eats too. He is something like a walking miracle. I was the only one working for him. He owns a small landscaping business and within the first week of working, my tan and sore muscles had come in. The residence, where this small horror had occurred, was at a beautiful mansion across from a golf course. The other houses were far enough that a neighbour could not hear a scream. Behind this beautiful house is a deep green forest. I often caught myself staring into it when I was weed whacking, wondering if it was as unexplored as the ocean. To no surprise, it was.

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Every Thursday we were scheduled to cut the grass, trim the weeds, and blow away the mess. The backyard was big enough to cause you to sweat. About 1 acre of land. Shaded by the big pine and maple trees in the forest. There is a pool to the very right, and a small shed in the left corner out of sight from the house. It was all chain fenced in because of their small beagle. The first Thursday Will and I were there, was like any other day. We had just finished cutting two other residences, and I was almost tired. Will was cutting the grass in the front, so I headed to the backyard. I was listening to music and started around the shed. As I walked behind it, I stared into the forest, watching the trees sway in the wind. I felt like something was looking back. The beagle was out in the backyard and he started to bark at me. I continued on until I realized that he was barking at something by the fence. I took my earbuds out and quit the weed whacking to look. I do not believe in ghosts, and I was one of the first of my friends in elementary school to realize that Santa was not real. But I was an aspiring writer at the time and had a big imagination - one that led me to think that maybe, just maybe, something else could be out there. I would not be opposed to the idea of aliens. Just like the vast bit of sea we know, we are tiny compared to the universeâ&#x20AC;Ś I was thinking of little green Martians roaming about in the forest and laughed.

I continued cutting the weeds until I felt like the forest was looking back. I stopped again and stared. I heard the grass move behind me and turned around quickly to see Will. With his eyes attached to my shorts. He told me to go for a water break. The sun was stinging my eyes behind him, so he was very dark. But thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s when I saw it... Behind him in the forest were two black, beautiful wings. It almost looked like a crow. I say almost because these wings were the size of a crow, but there was something else attached to the wings. I nodded to Will and headed towards my truck. Will always hit on me, but this was just going to be a summer job, so I tried my best to ignore his attempts at making me repulsively uncomfortable and smiled. I needed the money badly to support my writing. I looked back towards the forest and saw the outline of the crow. Except this crow looked like it had hands, small enough like that of a Barbie. It looked at me and pressed its tiny finger to its mouth. I shook my head and headed towards the truck, passing it off to be heat exhaustion. Crows do not have tiny handsâ&#x20AC;Ś

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I wrapped up the weed whacking and leaf blowing, and headed home. My AC in the truck was broken, so I had the windows down. The earthy smell of petrichor reminded me of summer. The sun was going down, and the wind was becoming bitter. I could not help but think of a book my mom gave me when I was little. It was a book about two fairies, Willow and Rose. They were both beautiful, and I wanted to look just like them when I grew up. Of course, I did not have the delicate features of a fairy. Mine are sharper and darker. Fairies are light, beautiful, and delicate like daisies. I thought about the crow and how the crow was not a crow. But maybe it was a fairy... That was a mistake. The first rule of fairies, like ghosts, is the more you believe, the more they seek you out.

The next week I was excited to go back. I wanted to see what the crow really was, or if it was just my imagination. I brought strawberries in my lunch cooler and placed them behind the shed. After cutting the grass, I began to weed whack in the back. The wealthy couple that lived there rarely came outside and today their beagle was in, so I knew that if the strawberries were missing when I got back, it could have been the crow. I left my earbuds out and listened to the rustling of the trees. As I made my way back around the shed, the strawberries were gone. But in their place was a small acorn and a screw. I put them in my pocket. This was my second mistake. Another thing about fairies you must remember is to never accept their gift, and if you do, you must bury themâ&#x20AC;Ś

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I was excited, because now I knew that it could not have been a raccoon or squirrel that ate the strawberries. I continued to cut the grass until I felt that someone was watching me again. I turned around and Will was standing smoking a cigarette and watching my legs. I asked him what he wanted, and he said something like, “nothing, but you are a treat to watch.” I ignored him and picked up the silver head of the weed whacker. I was running out of line, so I walked towards Will’s trailer full of landscaping tools. As I walked, I watched Will fall flat on his ass. The crow, or fairy, or whatever it was, knocked him over. I could have sworn I heard a small chuckle. I laughed as Will started cussing. “What the fuck was that?!” He got up and lit another cigarette.

By the third week, I could not wait to go back. Little did I know that this would be possibly my last week. It was the last house on our list for the day. The sun was almost setting around 7:30 PM. I headed to the backyard with blueberries in my hand and went to put them down behind the shed, when I saw it in full view. It peaked at me from behind the shed and whispered something. I dropped the blueberries. What was looking at me was not Tinker Bell... It was small, it looked like a pale Barbie with small nimble hands that ended in sharp points. It was completely hairless, with ears like a sharp knife’s edges.

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Its eyes were a hue darker than black, and as I dropped the blueberries, mouth agape, it smiled. Its black hole eyes were sinister. Its teeth were ivory, but looked more like toothpick fangs than teeth, surrounded by black lips. I ran away, headed towards my truck and Will came after me. “Where are you going?” “I have to go, I’m not feeling good,” I told him. I think it was best to leave out the forest demon I had just seen. “Can’t you finish here? Then you can go home. We’re almost done Sabrina, c’mon.” I knew in my gut I should have left, quit the job, moved to the farthest place from there, but I needed the money and it was my first job. I nodded slowly and picked up the weed whacker. I avoided the shed. The sky was dark, and the air was cool on my damp back. I tried to finish fast and kept telling myself I was just seeing things. I shook off the thought that it could be a Fae; an evil one. I mean, it gave me gifts and knocked my sexually harassing boss on his ass. How bad could it be? I took deep breaths and continued on.

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The mosquitoes were getting bad as the house patio lights turned on. I swatted at my legs as I cut the grass. Then I looked down when I felt a huge mosquito, only it was not a mosquito, but the Fae looking up at me. It chomped down on my legs and I dropped the weed whacker. It took a giant chunk of skin with it and chewed on my flesh. The Fae cackled and whispered, “mm, mm, you really are a treat,” with a mouth full of my own crimson blood. I screamed and grabbed the weed whacker. It flew around me like a bottle fly and ripped out my hair as I tried to stab it with the line on the weed whacker. I backed away fast toward the fence gate. “Sabrina, where are you going? Aren’t we having fun?” it hissed. I ran to my truck, abandoning the weed whacker and the money. No money was worth this. The cut in my leg turned black. It stung, really bad, and began to turn black. A black ooze, the consistency of molasses, came out of the gaping hole. Flustered, I turned the truck engine on. As I switched on the headlights, a swarm of the Fae were headed towards the truck straight on. To my right was the house, and an angered Will trudging towards the truck, in a ‘what the fuck are you doing’ stance. He did not see them. They swarmed around him, and grabbed his earlobes, hanging off him like a jungle gym. He walked onwards, like they were not even there.

I drove off, speeding towards my house. Running past stop signs. I knew I was not crazy, there was physical proof on my leg. I sped into my driveway. The house lights were off. I was only a 10-minute drive away, but I looked in the rear-view mirror, more than out of the windshield. I do not think they could keep up. I ran into my house, closing the front window blinds.

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I locked all of the doors and the windows and headed to my room. I shut my window curtain. I hid under the blankets on my bed, thoughts running through my head like, “what are they? What did they want from me?” I googled Fae on my phone, and that’s when the rules appeared on a fairy website. Everything was light at the start, but as I scrolled down, it said that not all fairies were good… Some were mischievous and liked to play tricks on people.

The rules: • Fae come to those who believe in them. • If they give you a gift, you must exchange something and then bury their gift. DO NOT KEEP IT. • Silver keeps Faes away. • Dark magic. Need I say more?

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Yes, you need to say more! This website had some good points, except for the fact that it said they looked like fairies and not freaking demons from your worst nightmare! I paced in my room and grabbed the small acorn and screw gift. I knew I had to bury them. I was about to open the door to my room when I heard it. Knocking at my window. Faint at first, but growing louder. A malevolent hissing voice yelled, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Sabrina, Sabrina, let us in, we want to play.â&#x20AC;? I ran to my kitchen in search of silverwear. Praying my family would not come home, praying that I could find a way out. I grabbed a knife and put on a thick sweater. I knew I had to make a run for it. I mustered enough courage to open the front door and run out, wielding my knife like a maniac. The swarm of Fae grabbed at my hair and tried to stick their sharp fingers in my eyes. They bit me all over. I closed my eyes and stuck my hands out, feeling for the truck. The keys dropped as I hit the truck, running at full speed. My entire body was lit up with pain and adrenaline. I had to open my eyes to get the keys, trying to stab as many as I could. They hissed, and one stuck its hands in my eye socket. I screamed in pain and it pulled my left eye out like it was a small acorn.

I got in the truck, slamming one of their heads in the door. I started the truck and drove off. I have been driving a full night now, and I cannot get the sound of their raspy voices out of my mind. I cannot stop believing in them because they bit me all over and took my freaking eye. I started recording a while ago. My legs are turning charcoal black. There is no way I can go back. I have no idea where to go, but I have to keep driving because I know they will not stop coming after me.

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CREATIVE

MONSTER IN THE HOUSE BY PYPER JOHNSTON

THE LAST ONE to hold me Had his fists around my neck He had a big shadow A slippery tongue And he sucked all the air from the room Careful not to step on his toes As the floor becomes lava He can’t know Nobody ever taught me how to dance His voice rattled my ribs when he laughed I was happy but I shrank He was no place for a mouse like me He washed me out in blue I can’t be in the light Or in his arms Or touched by him at all He’s afraid of drowning

The only brass hand That casts shadows now Is the one that stalks me through calendar pages Waiting for a cold ankle To dangle off my bed I never liked summer anyway I’d rather be used to the cold Live in sweaters and bathe with the windows open Than recoil When without thinking My fingers brush his side

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Cherished Bondage BY MARVIN DARKWA

AWASH IN EBONY pinks A broken dream drizzles a false promise onto her. Shades of an infinite noir pierce her afro lips She moans into the sullen sky… “Do you remember me?”

The query, a warm paradox touching everlasting mortality She saunters She sways She strolls.

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Her brown skin, and empress-features rivaling Isis of old… But still she speaks, “Do you remember me?” That infinite-coo shivers a bright darkness which befriends everything; and trickles down his whole.

In it, His “truth” His “future nostalgia” His “all” coalesce into one.

She utters in loud whispers yet again, “Do you remember me?” He raids his memory. A discarded attic of false concepts, and false prophets. It is at this moment he swims back into his body.

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This ignites a flood of fury; which swallows the cosmos itself, Her braided hair swings back and forth. Questioning existence forevermore… Sadder now. “Do you remember me?”

She appeared at that moment then… Revealing, revealing, revealing herself. Revealing their calm, dissonance of lost odysseys. She was Aphrodite herself. Yet still, once more she muttered those terrifying words to him. “Do you remember me?”

He wept. He fought. He looked. But still he remains in paralysis eternal. “Do you remember me?” She utters euphoric chimes into those weary streets; an abyss eternal.

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At this time, the world appeared to stop for a long moment… Just for them. Her truth rang eternal then. She yelped once more, “Do you remember me?”

To which he said in a crippled tone, which matched his truth unending. “Yes…” A scar A thorn A bullet lodged in his heart.

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He raided his “everything” then, and saw those bruises both physical, and metal. That deception… An eternity in her world, but a fleeting moment in his. Those listless nights and days. Broken people who found each other; but remained lost forevermore. She started up yet again.

“Do you remember m-?”

He cut her off and screeched to the heavens. He said, “Yes…” “You’re my muse.”

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Reminder BY INNA GORDEYEVA

CREATIVE

REALIZE THAT WE’RE given every colour, Every opportunity To dream, create, and wonder A chance to smell the flowers, Observe leaves gently tumble I do hope you find gratitude This is just a reminder The secret is the attitude Infect others with kindness By this, you can reach altitudes Bypassing all the madness By unleashing your wildness The trees begin to show the world How pure and raw it is, It lets go of things no longer serving The greater good, or anything The grass drinks rain We complain about falls Let’s pause and acknowledge Once and for all Nature’s knowledge Carries zero complaints We are not drained Merely recharged You may have changed Fall stays the same After a while, nothing remains Of the many leaves The trees left on the floor But you’re still here A reminder to enjoy You’re everything you need And more

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In Her Element

KY SAFFRON (SHE/HER, THEY/THEM) INSTAGRAM: @KY_SAFFRON

KIDIST KASSA INSTAGRAM: @KIDISTSCORNER

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AUDNY CASHAE STEWART INSTAGRAM: @AUDNYCASHAE

SAM EVE INSTAGRAM: @SAMEVE.E

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MADFISH INSTAGRAM: @MADFISH.PRODUCTIONS

In PARIS DRYDEN INSTAGRAM: @PARIS_DRYDENN

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DAVINIA RAMROOP INSTAGRAM: @DAVINIARAMROOP

Her Element BRIE INSTAGRAM: @IBRIEWITCHING

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why you should give some

SCARY MOVIES A CHANCE

BY SHAMUS QUINN

ENTERTAINMENT

SCARY MOVIES HAVE never been my thing. But I am biased; I was always a nervous, skeptical kid. And, anytime somebody would vouch for these movies — your slashers and splattersand such — I would take it with a grain of salt. I always thought these films were gratuitous and gross and that no good could come out of them. I do not think that anymore. Yeah, go figure. I was wrong. There are tons of value in these movies if you sweep aside that negative bias. I have even come to see that lots of my favourite movies have clear and defined horror elements, and — conscious or not — they are part of the reason I love them.

And, you could love them, too. If you are a naturally nervous person and put off by scary fare, this article is for you. I just think you should give it another try. Now, I told you I was a nervous kid, but you do not know just how nervous. Let me elaborate: I was the kid who practically shit himself on the Dinosaur ride at Disney’s Animal Kingdom. My favourite Disney Animation Studios film is Lilo & Stitch, but I remember having a meltdown during Stitch’s Great Escape! at Magic Kingdom. I had to cover my eyes when Venom came onscreen in Spider-Man 3 a whole millennia ago. So you can trust me when I recommend frightening stuff.

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Scary movies should not be lopped off. I promise you there is more to them than decapitated heads and all that bodyhorror business. As with most film elements, looking inside the scares can reveal intention and meaning. That stuff not only justifies them on paper — it gives you an emotional reason to plod through the discomfort they offer. Something you see when you look deeper is that lots of horror movies reflect their respective time periods. Contemporary issues — ex: class and race — are addressed in an unflattering light the horror genre is uniquely suited to offer. Grisly real-world subjects are given grisly treatment. Just look at Get Out (arguably the best horror film in the past couple of decades), an equal parts affecting and frightening look at casual racism in a post-Obama America.

Outside of social importance: when you strip these scary movies down to their core parts, there is simply the conflict. (A brief screenwriting tip for anyone who cares: every story — scary or not — needs conflict. This is the stuff that keeps audiences engaged and not tuning out, checking their phones, etc.) And, a scary situation is one of the purest forms of conflict there is. Well-utilized scares can reel you in and make you care about what is going on in the story — the characters, their relationships, their objectives, etc. It is a prime example of that; the scares are baked into a story about oddball kids finding each other and, subsequently, finding the strength they need to confront their worst fears. You have the horror to thank for your emotional attachment to those characters.

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If all of the above has not been enough to convince you these films are worth a go… that’s okay. This stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. But hey, it can be fun to watch scary movies during the Halloween season. And the rest of this piece is a list of scary and not-so-scary titles with which you can do exactly that because you should not be left out. So without further adieu…

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1. Super 8 (2011) J.J. Abrams’ sci-fi thriller — about kids making a movie while a mysterious creature wreaks havoc in town — was the first even slightly scary movie I saw. The keyword is “thriller”. This is not a proper horror movie — but it is very intense. Abrams loves his jump scares, and there is some concealed gore here and there. Still, all of it is tame enough that 12-year-old me was able to give it a whirl. And, trust me, its heart is in the right place. 2. Get Out (2017) Here is the first horror film that showed me the genre could make effective social statements. It is grisly and disturbing like I mentioned. The final act especially gets… graphic. If you are squeamish, there is no shame in shutting your eyes for some of those concluding moments. But give the rest of the film its due attention if you can, and be informed. 3. A Quiet Place (2018) This film has no real visible gore. But what it lacks in body-horror it more than makes up for in unending tension. The scares are inherently emotional, as the film is in essence a love letter from director/co-writer/star John Krasinski to his kids, expressing his hopes to keep them safe from the outside world. He just uses a horde of blind aliens to get that personal message across.

4. Jurassic Park (1993) Like Super 8, this film is more of an adventure/thriller than it is pure horror. But director Steven Spielberg goes to town with horror elements in the back half of the movie. Jurassic Park is enthralling and nail-biting and everything you would want in a monster-in-the-house film. There is gore here, but it’s not heavy. And, really, it’s just dressing. The peril is ultimately there servicing the story of a guy learning to embrace parenthood. 5. Jaws (1975) The second title on this list from Spielberg, Jaws is arguably the most “classic” of the bunch. Gore is guaranteed — severed limbs, heads, etc. The film is not as emotionally centered as the others on this list, but it is no less investing. It was the birth of the summer blockbuster for a reason. Watch it and be engaged — and cover your eyes if need be.

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6. Stranger Things (2016—present) I know Stranger Things is not a movie, but each season is structured like an eight-hour film — so I am going to count it. This series is the reason I started giving “proper” horror a chance. It is suspenseful with scarce gore for two seasons before it doubles down on truer body horror in the third season. All of the scares are there to shape the characters, informing a story about the terrors of adulthood and blossoming adulthood. Also, frankly, Stranger Things is just fun. It is as charming and joyous as it is terrifying, and I love it dearly. Maybe you will, too. I think these titles are worth your time. Again, if you are a scaredy-cat like I used to be, they should more than suffice as tamer Halloween entertainment. So, with that — stay indoors, keep safe. And have fun at the movies.

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SpOoky MoOovies BY CARLY BALESTRERI

WELL, HERE YOU go; a list of films to satisfy your oddly specific spooky cravings. Let me be clear that this is not a definitive list by ANY means. There are so many great movies I could have included...and so many pleasantly bad ones. Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t you just love a terrible horror flick? Although, I really tried to give you options here. I included great movies, trash movies, international movies, old movies, new movies, childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s movies...Maybe google the reviews before committing, if you are concerned. Anyways, from one horror lover to another...

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I cannot believe you have not seen these: Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) Psycho (1960) The Exorcist (1973) Blair Witch (1999) Get Out (2017) Ju-On: The Grudge (2002) Found Footage movies that are better than Paranormal Activity: Creep (2014) The Poughkeepsie tapes (2009) Gonjian: Haunted Asylum (2008) Subtle and not so subtle LGBTQ+: Nightmare on Elm Street 2 (1985) Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) Thelma (2017) Zombie movies (actually) worth the watch: The Wailing (2016) Night of the Living Dead (1968) Blood Quantum (2019)

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The worst-rated horror movie on IMDB: Ax ‘Em (1993) So bad they are good: Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986) Killer Clowns from Outer Space (1988) Halloween III: Season of the Witch (1982) For children and the easily frightened: The Witches (1990) ParaNorman (2012) The Haunted Mansion (2003) Team Vampire: Let the Right One In (2008) From Dusk Till Dawn (1996) Ganja and Hess (1973) Legitimately bad, but at least Paris Hilton’s in it: House of Wax (2005) Mostly Feminist: Ginger Snaps (2000) Jennifer’s Body (2009) A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014) Weird 80’s body horror: The Fly (1986) The Thing (1982 The Society (1989)

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Let’s go spelunking, I guess: The Descent (2009) As Above, So Below (2014) Sanctum (2011) Varying degrees of haunted houses: Monster House (2006) The Amityville Horror (1979) A Tale of Two Sisters (2003) Because maybe you’re more of a Christmas person: Black Christmas (1974) Nightmare Before Christmas (1993) Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984) The worst shark movies you have never seen: Ghost Shark (2013) Sharktopus (2010) 3-Headed Shark Attack (2015) Highly rated on Rotten Tomatoes, if that’s important to you: Us (2019) The Babadook (2014) Train to Busan (2016) For those with short attention spans: Tales from the Hood (1995) Creepshow (1982) The ABC’s of Death 2 (2014)

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October

Movies, TV Shows, Podcasts, and Music Recommendations BY REANN BAST

MOVIES THESE ARE SOME of my favourite and most recommended movies to watch during October. Scary 1. The Blair Witch Project (1999) (Netflix Canada) The footage of three missing filmmakers who were investigating the legend of the Blair Witch is found, displaying some sickening truth to the legend. The ending will stay with you long after you finish the movie. If you want to rethink camping ever again, I suggest this film.

2. Purge (2013) (Amazon Prime) The Purge happens one day a year, anyone in America can commit any crime, even murder, with zero reprecussions for exactly 24 hours. The first film (also the best one in my opinion) follows an upper class family who thought they were safe for the night but are terrorized by a gang of murderers in masks. 3. World War Z (2013) (Netflix Canada) When a zombie apocalypse suddenly hits America, a man desperately tries to save not only his family, but also the world by finding a cure. Full of shocking deaths and quite a few jumpscares, this is a perfect Halloween zombie movie.

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Not Scary 1. Knives Out (2019) (Amazon Prime) A fun, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Clueâ&#x20AC;?-esque murder mystery movie, with an intriguing twist and satisfying ending. Perfect Halloween vibe if horror is not your type. 2. Fantastic Mr. Fox (2010) (Amazon Prime and Disney+) When the animals of a forest are threatened by disgruntled farmers who seek revenge for ruined crops, the animals must figure out a way to save their homes. A classic Wes Anderson film, though it does not revolve around Thanksgiving or Halloween, the themes of giving and family paired with the bright orange and yellow fall colour scheme, make this a perfect October movie. 3. Zombieland (2015) (Netflix Canada) Zombie films are a must for a Halloween movie marathon, but it is hard to find a good, non-cheesy one. If the scary zombie movies are not your thing, I suggest a comedy like Zombieland. The action and thrills are still there, but they are undercut by the laughs. A great Halloween movie for when you get tired of the scares.

Throwbacks/For Kids 1. Coraline (2009) (Netflix Canada) How could Coraline not make this list? The adventure, the music, the animation, the nostalgia; Coraline is an amazing movie for children and adults alike, it is guaranteed to get you into the Halloween mood. 2. ParaNorman (2012) (Amazon Prime) Similar to Coraline both in animation and story, ParaNorman is a great movie to watch this Halloween season. My personal favourite, it is a perfect mix of scary movie and kids animated comedy. 3. Halloween Town (1998) (Disney+) A Disney Channel Original classic. If you grew up watching Disney Channel, odds are you remember this movie. A fun trip down memory lane, this is one of the few movies from our childhood that holds up. A great way to relive the feeling of being six years old while still getting into the Halloween spirit.

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TV SHOWS One of the best things about TV shows is the holiday specials. Most often, it is a Christmas special, but occasionally viewers will be rewarded with a Thanksgiving or Halloween episode. Obviously, not all of them would fit in this list, so I chose my three favourite Halloween episodes and my three favourite Thanksgiving episodes, but there are so many more you can watch this October. Halloween 1. Brooklyn Nine Nine (Netflix Canada) Brooklyn Nine Nine has some of the most iconic and unique Halloween episodes, the best episode of which is season 1, episode 6 “Halloween.” It is hilarious, and it begins the Halloween saga that spans over all seven seasons, but nothing compares to the original. 2. The Office (Netflix Canada) The Office has some great episodes, and it definitely has some not so great episodes. This Halloween special really has everything you could want from The Office. In season 7, episode 6 “Costume Contest,” we get classic Michael Scott, one of the best cold opens in the show’s history, and Gabe dressed as Lady Gaga. Perfect way to get into the Halloween spirit. 3. Bob’s Burgers (Amazon Prime) This was a hard decision. Bob’s Burgers has so many amazing Halloween episodes. I have to choose season 3, episode 2 “Full Bars” as my favourite. An absolute classic and perfect episode, both storylines are solid, and this episode gave some of the most iconic quotes from the show. I recommend every Halloween special, but the first one especially.

ENTERTAINMENT

Thanksgiving 1. Bob’s Burgers (Amazon Prime) Bob’s Burgers has the best Halloween episodes, but also the best Thanksgiving episodes. Season 3, episode 5 “An Indecent Thanksgiving Proposal” is a must see for this fall season. Hilarious, as well as touching, Thanksgiving specials is something this show does very well. 2. Master of None (Netflix Canada) Master of None’s Thanksgiving episode (season 2, episode 8) is such a touching episode. With a gay Black woman as the main character for this episode, it shows how difficult it can be to not only come out to family, but also the aftermath of coming out. It does have a happy ending. 3. Modern Family (Netflix Canada) Modern Family has shown its ability to walk the line between touching family moments and hilarious comedy moments time and time again. The Thanksgiving special, “Punkin’ Chunkin’” (season 3, episode 9) is no exception. A great episode to watch with the family, it will surely get you in the mood to eat some turkey.

PODCASTS The Magnus Archives is perfect for Halloween, especially if you like scary stories. Fictional stories about ghosts, demons, monsters, and anything else weird and scary are read aloud. I would suggest not listening before bed. My Favourite Murder features stories about serial killers, murders, survivor stories, and historial events that are discussed by the two hosts. It is considered a true crime comedy podcast, so while the stories told can be offputting, the charismatic hosts relieve the tension. MUSIC Aside from the obvious - “Monster Mash” and “Thriller” - one song I recommend adding to your Halloween playlist is “Spooky, Scary Skeletons (TWURPZ Remix)” by TWURPZ (available on SoundCloud and YouTube). If you want to add to a fall playlist, I recommend “Seven” from Taylor Swift’s new album Folklore, and “In the Woods Somewhere” from Hozier’s self-titled album. Both are ethereal and melodic, perfect for listening to while studying or baking a pumpkin pie.

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Hometown Ghost BY REANN BAST

BY THE FALL semesterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Reading Week of my first year of university, I had been away from home for the longest period of time in my life. School kept me busy; I fell quickly into a routine and hardly had time to think about home. Everything that was not school-related was pushed out of my mind as the York campus took over. And then I went home.

It was weird, to see that everything was normal. The stores were in the same place, the roads were paved with the same cement, and painted with the same yellow line. I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know what I expected; there were still two trees and a red car in the front yard. The door was still yellow. The house smelled the same. But there were birthday cards on the table, birthdays I was not there for. There were new pictures on the fridge, pictures I was not in. There were leftovers from dinner the night before, a dinner I had missed. Small things. Unimportant things that did not make it into the weekly phone calls. My brother had grown taller, my mother was on a diet, my sister had a new job.

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My bedroom was empty. It echoed when I talked. There were no pictures on the walls, no clothes in the closet, my favourite blanket was left at school. These were reminders that I was not here for long, not here for good. I did not live here anymore. I was a visitor in my own home, living out of a suitcase; unable to sleep because I had gotten used to hearing people outside my dorm room slam doors, and gotten used to the light from outside shining through the thin green curtains. I had to use an old lumpy pillow from the linen closet in the basement. It smelled like mothballs. I was impermanent.

And it takes time to get used to - if you ever do. Bumping into the couch because your mom rearranged the living room, or opening the wrong cabinet because the cups were moved. But it is nice being home. Seeing your parents. Showering without shoes on. Eating with real people and not in front of a laptop. Your routine from school will fade, the essay due after reading week will become unimportant, you will forget to do the readings because you â&#x20AC;&#x153;accidentallyâ&#x20AC;? left your textbook in your dorm. You never really get used to picking through a suitcase on the floor of your own bedroom, but it is nice being home.

And then it will suddenly end. A week does not seem long enough. You will be sent back to school on a bus with some cookies, leftover turkey, and that sweater you forgot when you moved in September. And Reading Week will be left in the past. You might think about your bed at home while you lay staring at the ceiling on the twin-sized-school-providedgreen mattress, but you will pull your favourite blanket closer and close your eyes. Classes start again tomorrow. The routine will take over. You will not have time to think about home.

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HALLOWEEN MEMORIES BY MELISSA NICOLE OCTOBER IS AN important month of the year, mostly because Halloween has always been my favourite holiday. Even though I am usually not a fan of anything morbid or frightening, I have always been drawn towards this day due to the excitement of putting on a new costume and going out to get candy every year when I was a child. Although my parents have always enjoyed Christmas more, my father would pull out all the stops for Halloween just to appease my love for it. Year after year, the entire month of October was centered around this one day at the end of the month. Since little me would throw a tantrum if my favourite holiday did not go exactly the way I wanted it to, it became an ongoing experience that started many new traditions, the most important one being the process of house decorating. When the air turned crisp and the leaves on our maple tree began to change colour, we knew it was time to start our Halloween renovations. This usually

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began with going to a farm and picking out the pumpkins my sister and I liked the best. My sister, being the more logical one of the pair, chose a rounded off one with a wide surface - basically the best one to get if you wanted a perfect Jack-o-lantern. I, on the other hand, picked out the most unique pumpkin, complete with warts, a long stem, and a narrow top, which would inevitably prove to be more challenging to carve. Every year my parents warned me about the repercussions of my choice, but every year I remained adamant probably because I was usually not the one who had to carve out my design. Who would trust a child with tiny hands and an inability to stay still with a knife? Of course, nowadays I carve my own pumpkin, with only minor injuries inflicted on my hands due to carving mishaps. When our pumpkins were finally hollowed out and transformed into marvelous Jack-O-Lanterns, we set them aside in the garage and continued on with our festivities.

Next on the list: turning our everyday living space into a Halloween extravaganza! With an autumn wreath, a black-and-orange garland around the staircase, and pumpkin pie and apple cider scented candles, the house was completely transformed from the front door to the back. Sometimes we added extra objects, just to spice things up. Last year, for instance, my sister bought tiny white and orange pumpkins to place near the windows. Sometimes we placed a banner across the back door window and stuck mini spider stickers and bloody handprints on the glass. One year we also painted decorations of black cats and witch hats and hung them by the front for passer-byers to see. To complete the finished look, my mother often baked homemade rice crispy square treats and allowed us to decorate them however we wanted. Needless to say, that would keep me preoccupied for hours. She still makes those treats until this day, except now more often to enjoy all year round.

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Finally, we transformed the outside of the house into a massive graveyard, home to many frightening characters. My family and I usually went to a Halloween store to pick out a new decoration to add to our growing collection. I would run up and down the aisles, waiting for that one specific spooky object to catch my eye. When I was younger, this could take hours. After what felt like an incredibly long car ride home, we started working on the exterior of the house. Everyone had a specific job assigned to them in order to make the process more time efficient especially if it were cold outside with the sun setting quickly. My job was hanging menacing creatures onto the trees in my front yard. Complete with ghosts, demons, and skeletons, the tree came to life with the decorations swaying back and forth in the wind. My sister took on the role of cobweb master, smearing white cotton material around the front door. To top it off, she scattered orange and black plastic spider rings around

the web, while also dressing her fingers with them. Although they would hurt to wear, I wanted one every year, and every year I complained they were uncomfortable. Why did I still want one? I do not have an answer. My mother assisted me in hanging the decorations on the tree, since sometimes we needed a ladder to hang some on branches that were higher up; as well, she would be in charge of making apple cider after we came in to warm us up. She also always hung up my two favourite decorations- twin screaming ghosts- on our lamps around the house. Although they scared me, I enjoyed imitating their haunting expressions. Finally, my father hammered the plastic tombstones into the garden, hung the crypt keeper on the door, and made sure everything had working batteries. He was the real backbone of the operation. We also had a happy witch we placed in different areas every year. Sometimes she would be placed in our car to make

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it look like she was the driver, other times she would be hiding in the garden behind the flowers. At one point we even sat her on a bench with her broom in hand sipping on some hot chocolate. Over the years, it has become a little game between my family over where we can put her next. After putting on some finishing touches, our home was completed, and the Jack-o-lanterns would be put out on our steps to be shown to the neighbourhood. Our Halloween transformation was complete. Although everyone is older and now has their own schedules to maintain, the magic and excitement of Halloween has never really left us. We still celebrate it as a family, and I hope this continues for years to come.

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CELEBRATING DÍA DE LOS MUERTOS

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FOR MANY MEXICANS, “Día de Los Muertos” (Day of the Dead) is a time to celebrate the life of our loved ones as a way to honour and pay tribute to those that have passed away, in a nation-wide celebration that tradition hallmarks our indigenous heritage it also serves as an emblem of identity for many Mexicans and MexicanAmericans at home and abroad.

BY JOSHUA CEA

In the region that comprised Ancient Mesoamerica (modernday Mexico and Central America), various Indigenous tribes would honour their ancestors through religious ceremonies that would include altar offerings “ofrendas” and the decorative use of Aztec Marigold flowers to honour the dead. This custom would be followed by the Aztecs until the Conquest of Tenochtitlan (modernday Mexico City) by the Spaniards in 1521.

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While today many of the ancient cultural traditions have been altered, the core values remain true to their roots, as many families set up an ofrenda in their homes. The ofrenda consists of the deceased person’s photo that is accompanied by their favorite meal, fruits, and beverages. Candles and Pan de Muertos (a type of sweet bread) are all accompanied by religious iconography. The decoration itself

is entirely composed of “Papel Picado” which is perforated paper with hand-cut designs representing festive elements. “Calaveras de Azúcar” (sugar skulls) are arguably the most iconic and representative element of the celebrations and it is placed on the ofrenda with the person’s name written on the skull’s forehead to represent the deceased on the altar. In some places, such as in San Andres Mixquic, a borough located in Mexico City has become one of the most celebrated regions for the event. Often gathering national and international tourists every year to their local cemetery to commemorate their dead. Mexico City has also started to do an annual Day of the Dead parade with elaborate parade floats in a similar vein to that of Brazil’s “Carnaval”. The Mexican tradition has been characterized in various popular media across western countries and has experienced a boost given its appearance in Hollywood movies such as “007 Spectre” to Disney’s “Coco”. There have been numerous cultural celebrations in major urban centers across the world annually demonstrating that Día de Los Muertos not only reflects the rich history of Mexico but also serves an identifier for many Mexicans and Mexican-Americans as it ultimately forms part of the indigenous imprint on our cultural values and traditions.

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With the widespread conversion of natives to Christianity, the Spanish Inquisition would enforce strict measures against any person who would deviate the tenants of Catholicism through torture and public execution as a way to signal a message for those who wanted to retain their “pagan” traditions. Although the adoption of Christianity took hold across this continent, Indigenous and Mestizos found a way to fuse their cultural traditions with the ceremony of All Souls Day (Nov. 1st) as a way to circumvent persecution and freely practice their ancient traditions under a different religion. These circumstances ultimately serve as a refection of the blend of cultures that comprise Latin America. Traditionally speaking, Día de Los Muertos was widely practiced in Southern Mexico until the 20th century when the Mexican government started to promote the cultural values of their indigenous population as a way to emphasize Mexico’s native heritage and cultural traditions that pre-dated European colonialism.

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WHAT AM I afraid of? Good question.

AFRAID BY CASSIE WEIR

If you asked me ten years ago, I would have told you that I am afraid of the boogeyman under my bed and sleeping without a night light. If you asked me five years ago, I would have told you that I am afraid of getting into a car accident and getting caught sneaking in after curfew (sorry mom!). And, if you asked me a year ago, I would have told you that I am afraid of getting my heart broken and of rejection. If you ask me now, I am not sure what I would say. I think I am most afraid of the passing of a family member, of not being enough or losing myself to fulfill the needs of others. I am afraid of letting myself down. I am afraid of losing the ring I wear on my middle

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finger and of needles. I am afraid of showing weakness. I am afraid of most things. It’s everchanging. 2020 has taught me some extremely hard lessons about people; the reality that not everyone is who they deem to be and that you cannot change people who do not want to change. That is scary! The world does not always go your way. Who would have thought? How unfair! This unfairness does in fact give you an opportunity to challenge your so-called fears. You do not have to tackle them all at once but take a deeper look and maybe they are not that bad. Bugs? Let them crawl over your fingers and toes. Think of the creepy crawlies as friendly little worms just embracing you in a warm hug. The dark? Close your

eyes and find comfort in the fact that you are alive. Clowns? It’s only a fellow theatre student dolled up to make a few extra dollars. The creature under your bed? Just poke your head under your bed every once in a while and say “goodnight” or “good morning”. I am not telling you not to be afraid because man oh man, the world can be so scary. But maybe take those scary things as small challenges that make you human. Small challenges are a constant battle but will ensure your growth. Find ways to challenge the definition of what it means to be afraid.

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BEGINNING YOUR JOUR PERFECT LOW-WASTE L

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RNEY TO IMPERFECTLY LIVING BY AMELIA CALO

LIVING A SUSTAINABLE and wastefree life is a debated topic amongst people. Is it actually important for an individual to be mindful of the waste they are producing? Yes, the issue of global warming has been caused by the carelessness of large corporations, however, there is still an importance for us as individuals to notice our actions. Once there is awareness of what products and companies one is supporting it can help conquer the pollution issue. One’s own actions play into a larger issue of pollution caused by corporations’ actions.

The most effective way an individual can live a low-waste lifestyle is described as “imperfectly perfect.” The idea is that it is more meaningful for a greater number of people to attempt to live a life with little waste rather than a few people living totally zero waste lives. Attempting your best to cut down on waste and be sustainable is effective, and causes less stress when there is not a need to be perfect at it. When beginning your imperfectly perfect low-waste life there are various aspects of your daily routine that you can look at to be adapted.

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1. Your diet - Assessing your diet does not mean going vegan or on any other diets that tend to scare people away from choosing more sustainable food options. Changing your diet to help the environment is simple. By taking animal products out of one meal a week or picking a milk alternative for your coffee, you are making a sustainable decision. Changing how you approach one meal helps to save energy, water, and is healthier for you. 2. How you buy clothes - Creating a new pair of jeans or shirt uses several gallons of water, which wastes a lot of earthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s resources. Buying clothes second-hand slows down the creation of new clothes being made. If you do not want to buy certain items secondhand, it is also important to look at where you are purchasing clothing items. Paying attention to if the shop is creating well-made clothes and has the best intentions is important. It is also important to be aware if the item you are buying is one you will wear for more than one season. Thinking about these things saves you money and slows the creation of textile waste.

3. How you buy your products - It is important to be mindful of where and how you are purchasing products from skincare and makeup, to books. This can be done by shopping secondhand, buying sustainably made products when possible, or by shopping small. By being mindful of what products you are buying and how you are buying them prevents unnecessary purchases and only leaves you with what you really want and need. This helps to stop, or at least slow down, waste. 4. Being prepared - Being prepared means having items with you such as reusable bags, reusable mugs, straws, and cutlery when needed. Carrying these products creates a habit for you and also reflects onto those around you. 5. Using what you already have Using the products you already have is a good thing to do. Even if the item is not sustainable, it is better to use the product up and not create unnecessary waste. The next time you repurchase something you have in your head, you should be mindful of where and how you purchase it.

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6. Noticing your habits - Being aware of your everyday habits is important. Not everyone uses the same products to the same extent. So examining your life and realizing what you use frequently is important. Perhaps you notice that you are using single-use cotton pads, or buying bottled water everyday. Those are habits that you have recognized and now can look into how to change them. It might not be a change that happens overnight, but growing the motivation to do research to replace single-use products to reusable or sustainable ones is possible and better.

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