SCARY STORIEs
Teen art and poetry zine
Abigail Bailey
“Charcoal sketch of a werewolf beneath the moon.”
Teresa Yu
“This digital drawing I did is supposed to showcase the eerie essence of the moon’s light during the nighttime. In a way, the moon also showcases beauty in a haunted manner.”
Abigail Bailey
“This submission is based on the Michael Myers Halloween Kills story.”
Aryan Singh
“The Letter” by Lila Skinner
“Morra” by Abigail Bailey “Pencil sketch of a female zombie/ghost.”
Sophia Falk
“I call this coulrophobia. It’s a fear of clowns.”
I have acrophobia
Where I hyperventilate at tall heights
I have autophobia
Where I fear I will be alone on the long nights I don’t like looking down on a tall tower Where I imagine I’ll fall to my death
I don’t like feeling alone when I cower Where I am by myself on my last breath
If I can fly in the sky I would I would soar in the sky and feel free If I can find friends that are good I would interact with people with glee But I can only be me and that is okay I can do great things and find my own way
“My Phobias” by Henry Lee “Everyone has phobias in some form or another. But it only depends on the individual and how they can tackle those phobias.”
I start out as a flower a beautiful one at that Then the flower grows and fades but never wilts
I form round and orange with a nice green stem
You notice me around a holiday maybe even two
But when those days end and my use for you is gone
What else do I do?
I rot
My season ends and you do not notice me after that No longer a decoration
Scary or sweet
It’s kind of all depended on how you used me But some people notice me throughout the whole year
Though it is never the same
They carve out my insides and toss them in to bake
Instead of keeping me around and giving me a name
Or they’ll throw away my guts and use me instead
They make a delicious pie that tastes very sweet
In the end I still end up dying
Doesn’t everything?
Until my time comes ‘round again
And you’ll be picking in a patch
You spot a beautiful flower
And then we’ll meet.
“The poem “Pumpkin” is about the cycle of a pumpkin. It does not state anywhere in the poem that it is about a pumpkin. The poem itself is simply written out clues to who might be telling the story. The poem is told from the pumpkin’s point of view and is not supposed to follow a pattern or even rhyme.”
“Pumpkin” by Alexis Spina“Eyes on the Wall” by Prudence Peng
“A black cat can be seen sitting leisurely on a miraculous sofa chair while a mysterious goop oozes on the wall. You might see some eyes on the goop, but only those with supernatural powers can spot them all.”
“Can You See What I See?” by Prudence Peng “A mysterious castaneous brown eyed woman stares you in the eyes. Where did her mouth go?”
Teresa Yu
“I tried to create a doll that looks both harmless and haunted. I hoped that her eyes could show a feeling of both emptiness and longing at the same time.”
Lycan’s
I always thought being a teenage werewolf would be cooler. The books middle of the night, honest-to-God howl at the moon, and maybe get Nope.
Ever since that crazy demon wolf bit me, all I’ve gotten out of it is misery. finding my fur everywhere. You know, teenage werewolves in the books thropy would make me look pretty, but no. Still got acne.
Also, animals hate me now. I guess they can smell that I’m a werewolf, I went to the zoo and the lions looked at me like they wanted to kill me.
Also, I’m a flautist. You know what flutes are partly made of? Silver. I gree burns.
This morning, the monster hunters showed up at school. They’re trying eyes, rune tattoos, and some stuff tucked in their backpacks that are clearly
The leader, this totally cute guy, keeps asking everyone weird questions Yeah, couldn’t be me. I gotta find a way to kick this curse before he kills
Also, I’m allergic to chocolate.
comedic parody of book.”
“Lycan’s Lament” by “This is “Lycan’s Lament,” aLament
books always make it look so fun—you get to run around town in the caught in a messy love triangle or two.
misery. I can never go to band on the night of the full moon, and I keep books are supposed to have great hair and great skin. You’d think lycanwerewolf, so they run away whenever I get within a fifty-foot radius. Yesterday me. I can’t talk to them either, thanks for asking.
literally cannot even touch my instrument without getting third-detrying to blend in with the normal teens, but they all have weird-colored clearly weapons no matter how much they try to hide them. questions about werewolves and staring maliciously off into the distance. kills me.
by Lindsay Brandtof being a teenage werewolf in a typical YA book.”
“Monster in My Mirror” by Ariel Zhang
“It is simply a drawing of the monster that you see in the mirror; sometimes there’s more than one.”
Everyone talks about the monsters under your bed, but no one talks about when they stop scaring you.
I am 15 years old, and my name is Hope Caliber. The monsters that were once prowling my room aren’t there anymore. They haven’t disappeared, but they’ve changed. They’ve gone from monsters to angels, from enemies to friends. When the rest of the world turned its back on me, the monsters didn’t. I could tell them anything, and the monsters wouldn’t make fun of me or laugh. I think they understood. Because monsters are monsters, they are never seen as anything else.
I know they are something else. The monsters in my room taught me my first lessons. They taught me how to control my fears and not to fear the dark. Most importantly, they taught me to understand the things that scare me. I spent my childhood running from them when I could have spent my childhood getting closer to them. But I could not befriend them until I understood them. Monsters have no friends. They do not have someone who can comfort them or someone who listens to them.
I was 13 when I realized how similar I was to the monsters. I wonder what the monsters first thought when they stopped scaring me. I wonder what they thought when I started talking to them or when I first started to befriend them. I wonder if they were afraid to be my friend or if they welcomed me with open arms. I wonder if they understood me immediately and knew how I felt.
Now they are not monsters at all. They only scare me for fun. They are there in my darkest moments and my happiest dreams. I hope they never leave, the monsters. But I wonder what my younger self would think of me becoming friends with my greatest enemy.
“The Monsters Under My Bed“ by Kelci Hope “I wrote about the monsters under my bed, but not about how they scare me. I wrote about how they became my friends. It’s called, “The Monsters Under My Bed.” I hope you like it.”