October 2017
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “Soon,” an illustration by The Masked Lady This Page: “Magic,” an illustration by The Masked Lady Page 3: Ask Aphro & Dite
Page 11:
“Iviline’s Ice,” a story by Blue Serendipity “Spirit Island,” a photograph by Celia Bowen
Page 12:
• •
“Red and Orange,” a story by Andromeda A procrastinator asks for help on a last midnute halloween costume “Serenity,” a photograph by The Calico Cat Werewolf asks for trick or treating advice
•
The Masked Lady talks about a funny story about her dog.
Unmasked Lady
Incandescence Literary Investigation •
Incandescence reviews the book Liar, Temptress, Soldier, Spy: Four Women Undercover in the Civil War by Karen Abbott.
Page 4:
“Wondering,” an illustration by Chelzee “Constellation,” a poem by Eos “My Kingdom Come,” a poem by Andromeda “Screech,” an illustration by Andromeda
Page 5:
“Nolla Part 1,” a story by Andromeda “Toxic,” an illustration by Hua
Page 6:
“Nolla Part 1,” continued “The Raining,” a story by Incandescence “Soulmatz,” an illustration by Chelzee
Page 7:
“Fall A Haiku,” a poem by Hmscorpio “Autumn is Here,” an illustration by Purple Night
Page 8:
“CPM,” a story by Blue Serendipity “Stuck Together,” an illustration by The Masked Lady
Page 9:
“Mask,” a manga by Aya Hatashima “I am Loneliness,” a story by The Local Hermit “The White Mask,” a poem by Hmscorpio
Page 10:
“I am Lonliness,” continues “Rocky Mountain Elk,” a photograph by Celia Bowen “Beyond the Trees,” a photograph by The Calico Cat “The Nightmare,” a poem by The Local Hermit
Page 13:
“Red and Orange,” continues “Harvest Moon,” a illustration by Nance McFly Church Group “Fish for Thoughts,” a illustration by Chelzee
Page 14:
“Hufflepuffs,” a story by Eos “Hippogriff,” an illustration by Celia Bowen
Page 15:
“Santa, not Satan,” a story by Incandescence
Page 16:
“Santa, not Satan,” continues “Satan’s first gift,” an illustration by The Masked Lady
Ask Aphro & Dite Dear Aphro, What would be a good last minute Halloween costume? Yours, Big Procrastinator Dear Big Procrastinator, Get creative. You don’t have to pay for overnight delivery or go to a fancy Halloween store just to get a decent Halloween costume. You can get stuff out of your closet or wardrobe. Maybe you have a plaid flannel shirt, some skinny jeans you wear every day, maybe you got some cowgirl boots from your Aunt Laine from Texas, plus a cowgirl hat. There you go. You’re a cowgirl. Like I said, get creative. You can even be something original or a pun like candy wrappers. You can dress as a rapper from maybe the 90s and maybe have fake candy bars on your costume. I hope you can find a lovely costume that will make you stand out in the crowd. With love, Aphro Dear Dite, I want to go trick or treating, but I am allergic to the moon. What should I do? Yours, Opposite Werewolf Dear Opposite Werewolf, I am so sorry for your condition. Might I suggest maybe helping your parents hand out candy to the trick or treaters. Or perhaps you can stay in your room and have a Netflix Halloween movie-thon. You can still enjoy Halloween, even if you are not trick or treating. Halloween is a huge holiday in America; it’s everywhere. So have some Halloween fun, while staying indoors on this Halloween night. Make the most of it. With love, Dite
Unmasked Lady
Incandescence’s Literary Investigations
Hello Midnight Writers. It’s me, your president, The Masked Lady. Now, for my column series, Hello, and welcome to my first book review! I want to share stories that I felt were funny, Today, I’ll be reviewing Liar, Temptress, Soldier, helpful, or personal. So welcome aboard, and hold Spy: Four Women Undercover in the Civil War onto your seats because this will be an exciting by Karen Abbott. This is a historical nonfiction and bumpy ride. Since this month is Halloween, book about - you guessed it, women in the Civil I figure I should share some scary stories. Sadly, War. What I really liked about this book was that I don’t have any! But I do have a story that everything was extremely historically accurate, happened around Halloween: getting my dog! as everything in quotes was taken from a credited But I’m going to talk about what happened after source, and she had the all the references she I got her. Now, when we got my dog Daisy, the had used in the back of the book. But this isn’t organization that we got her from didn’t spay some dry, stuffy old book - it’s fun! Abbott deftly her. So my dad set an appointment for our pooch weaves the primary sources into a compelling with the vet after we got her. But the week before story of four women who dared to do what was her appointment you know what happened? traditionally men’s work. Their gender provided She went into heat. And guess what? Since she them with both a psychological and a physical went into heat she could no longer get spayed. disguise; while hiding behind social mores about So for a whole month my family had to suffer women’s proper roles, they could hide evidence through having a dog in heat. Which I must say, of their treason on their very person, tucked bewas disgusting. Anyway, through the month, neath hoop skirts or tied up in their hair. Women, Daisy really wanted a boyfriend. Badly. And the it seemed, were capable not only of significant boy dogs that weren’t spayed knew Daisy was acts of treason, but of executing them more defta potential girlfriend. But let me tell you about ly than men. This fascinating story follows two one dog named Buddy. Whenever he saw Daisy, women supporting the Confederation, and two he just knew that it was his time to shine. He supporting the Union. Of the Union women, one would escape from his owner’s hands and come was Emma Edmondson, who disguised herself as charging towards Daisy. Now for the first 3 times a man à la Mulan and fought in the Union army. Buddy wasn’t smart. He would go to the spots The other Union woman was Elizabeth Van Lew, Daisy hung around and sniff them. But the 4th a wealthy woman in Richmond who smuggled time Buddy charged straight up my dad, ready to supplies, messages, and soldiers across enemy complete his mission. So here was my poor dad lines. The Confederate woman were Belle Boyd trying to block Buddy from reaching Daisy. And and Rose O’Neal Greenhow. Belle Boyd was Daisy there was just useless and just laid there a brash, confident 17 year old who wanted to waiting for dear old Buddy to sweep her away. It be a spy for the Confederate army, and eventuwas raining, and my dad had this straw hat with ally succeeded in becoming just that. The last a strap. But the strap kept getting in my dad’s woman, Rose O’Neal Greenhow, was a wealthy way, so he took it off and tossed it on the ground. widow who used her stunningly attractive looks Now, Buddy is your typical golden retriever. He’s to seduce information out of prominent men, not going to bite my dad. But my dad was really and sent it along to Confederate generals.I would making him mad. So, he sees my dad drop his hat. highly recommend this book to anyone who has So you know what he does? He goes over to my a sense of adventure, or is interested in history. dad’s hat, looks straight at my dad’s face and pees Read on! on my dad’s hat. And that is how my dad lost his Special thanks to Sra. Steele, The straw hat. Anyway, moral of the story, well there Masked Lady, Incandescence, Ceisn’t really one. But happy Halloween, and see lia Bowen, Andromeda,Eos, and you next month!
HMscorpio
3
“Wondering,” Illustration by Chelzee
Constellations By Eos
My Kingdom Come By Andromeda
Can you feel your demons? The heat of your rapidly beating heart Your aching screams breaking apart Blood dripping from shriveled finger tips Body anchored in sin’s unrelenting grip There’s a sickness eating at your soul It won’t let go Can you feel me? My fangs piercing your skin My claws sinking in Feet snapping broken bones Voice whispering in sweetened baritones Man is born of greed I am that need Can you endure the pain? You try to escape my clutch Yet crave my every touch You used to be so bright I stole that light My words crawling in your ears I am your worst fears Can you choose? Holy water or hellfire Hell’s bells or church choirs Heaven’s glow or Inferno’s flair Warmest dreams or sweetest nightmares You know what must be done 4My kingdom come
My grandfather once told me that the best secrets of the universe lie in the stars. Standing on the hill in pitch dark blackness on a cold fall night, I almost believe it. The hill is tainted with memory, clouding my eyes and fogging my brain. So I look to the sky, Resisting the weight of the world and myself and my memories. Looking up into the blank canvas that is the night sky, I paint it with the colors of my memories. I imagine that the stars are forming the shape of a telescope, The one my grandfather used, weathered by years and use. I imagine he and I are standing on the moon, peering through our gigantic telescope To the world below, like the astronauts he always wanted to be. I imagine we are levitating, and he and I are floating through space In a whirlwind that is everything and nothing of the universe all at once. When I return back to the hill, I have to blink to remind myself I’m back on earth. But was I really ever grounded? With the stars and the planets and my grandfather watching from above, I begin to unlock the secrets of the universe. “Screech,” Illustration by Andromeda
Nolla Part 1 By Andromeda
Looking back, I was always different. I wasn’t like my brothers and sisters. When I was first assigned my occupation, I was fairly knowledgeable. All my necessary information had already been imprinted in my memory drive. Synthetic humans, or synths, were equipped with the necessary information to do our jobs satisfactorily and efficiently. The first time I opened my eyes, I was standing upright in an empty room. It was large, white, and fluorescent lights flickered on the ceiling. Around the room stood rows upon rows of synths in straight vertical lines. At the front of the room ,one by one, each were being scanned and asked various questions by men in white lab coats. As each of us moved forward in line, we moved closer and closer to the door, our steps echoing in unison with every inch. The synth ahead of me disappeared through the large and ominous door up ahead. There was this odd thing in my chest. This clench, and my throat seemed to close up. I didn’t know at the time why this was happening to me, nor exactly what was happening to me, but I did know that none of this strange behavior matched any of the blueprints recorded in my hard drive. There was clearly something wrong, something different. There was this strong fluttering in my chest, and a pull that opposed my designated circuitry. Reiterating myself with my surroundings, I found myself facing one of the men in the white lab coats. He was short with white balding hair, and a thick mustache. He held a touch pad in his hand and a stylus in the other. “Your ID number?” He asked woodenly.
“2465801” “Gender?” “Female” “Which category does your occupational programming fall under?” “Medicinal” He asked a few more questions, and then finally, “Can you recall any strange instances since becoming operational? Anything that doesn’t match your data?” I hesitated. “No.” The sound seemed to echo from a distance, and my hands twitched. Lying. I lied….. Why? I didn’t understand, but for some reason I didn’t voice my observations. No, I couldn’t voice my observations. I thought for sure he would deduce my dishonesty, but he only scribbled on his pad and waved me on. I walked then unprepared, into the immense door in front of me leading to an unknown future. It wasn’t till about one year later that I met Dr. Delano. I first arrived at his office April third 2180. Before meeting him I had worked several odd jobs within the Medicinal field as a secretary, a nurse, and a janitor within a large hospital. Over that past year, I became less and less preoccupied with what happened the day I was assigned. I no longer experienced the strange reactions as I assimilated myself into the monotonous and continuous work within my job. As I found myself standing outside Dr. Delano’s door, I couldn’t help but feel that strange fluttering in my abdomen, and shortness of breath. Knock. Knock. Knock. “Come in.” called a low voice. I entered and looked around the room. Standing on the left was a tall, Middle Eastern man near a large open window. His face was long, and on his
hooked nose perched a pair of thick, dark rimmed glasses. He leaned on the window sill, his hands in his pockets and blue eyes turned pensively outside. From there a soft wind drifted through, blowing his hair around his shoulders. I observed him quietly until he spoke. “So you’re my new assistant?” He asked, never looking away from the window. “Yes.” “Well aren’t you going to introduce yourself? What’s your name?” “I have no name.” “No name? Then what do people call you?” “People don’t call me anything. I am simply a Synth.” He turned around and looked at me, his eyes piercing and unreadable. Suddenly he looked away. “I suppose they wouldn’t.”
He paused. “Your name will be Nolla then.” After that he handed me some papers and ordered me to file them in alphabetical order. He asked of me a few other minor tasks and then sent me away. We had this routine for several weeks. I came in, he handed me papers, I then filed them and fetched him things inbetween. Rarely had he ever let me assist him in his work, and rarely had he spoke to me except to greet me each morning. “Good morning Nolla.” “Good morning Doctor.” And that’s consisted of the entirety of most of our conversations. One day, I came in one morning to find Doctor Delano sitting in his leather armchair, a few feet away from him a small woman sat on the couch.
“Toxic,” Illustration by Hua5
Doctor Delano was sitting patiently, his hands resting neatly on his lap. It took me a moment to surmise she must be a client. Doctor Delano rarely had clients, despite being a famous psychologist. Most of his days were spent reading other works and writing his novel. When I questioned him on this, his only reply was “I don’t have time to entertain clients and produce ground breaking theories into the human psyche.” After I entered, Doctor Delano looked at me and said, “Nolla, fetch me some coffee. I’m with a client.” I nodded.
After that I spent the rest of the day filing papers and making appointments outside his office. It wasn’t until late that evening that he finished his session. I entered his office, and found him sitting calmly near the window sill thumbing through a book. I asked, “Shall I take my leave?” There was silence for a few seconds and then without looking up he asked, “What are you?” “I am a synthetic human.” “But what does that mean precisely? You look human, you talk like a human, but you are not human are you….?”
“I do not understand your question.” For a long time he didn’t answer and simply flipped pages from his book. Then, “Did you know you have strange mannerisms? When you first came to my office you seemed nervous. It was subtle. Almost unnoticeable. Instead of looking me straight on, your eyes darted away when I looked at you. It made you seem human, briefly, but the more I watched you, the more lifeless you seemed. Sometimes though, when you encountered something you seemed almost interested in, something about you would
change, you would spend more time on your work like you were invested in it.... ” He frowned and looked away.“But perhaps this is my imagination…Nevermind Nolla, please leave.” Calmly, I walked out and closed the door behind me. After I stepped out, suddenly I felt that clenching in my chest and my feet felt unsteady, I was forced to lean back against the door. This thing, for some reason was a reminder of that first day that I had woken up. I held my hand to my chest, and in that moment I knew there was something very wrong with me.
The Raining
it started, but my greatFebruary 28 was a day great-great grandmother that all business, offices, said her grandmother told and schools stopped. It was probably the most exciting her stories of The Raining, holiday for me, because I so it’s been generally accepted that this has been go- couldn’t wait to see what it ing on since the beginning would Rain this year. My of Kepler-150f. The Raining favorite Raining came the was exactly what it sounded day I turned 16. As I stared at the clock, like: it rained. However, on that day, instead of it raining waiting for it to finally turn water, it rained a different 12, I kept pacing, unable to object. This object could keep still. “Calm down,” my mother be anything, but it never barked. She never underrepeated. It has rained olive oil, stood my fascination with bowling balls, pudding, this event. frying pans, and more. 1478 Finally, it was officially February 28. The stormy was the year that it Rained Christmas ornaments, lead- clouds swirled rapidly in the ing to the formation of the Christian church. In 1789, “Soulmatz,” Illustration by Chelzess it Rained silver, making the value of silver plummet. It has taken centuries for silver’s worth to climb up again, but it has never reached what it was before. On my birthday, it Rained flowers. My parents always said that was a good omen, and thus I was named Rose. The next year, it Rained bonesaws. Injuries increased 367%.
sky; lightning struck and thunder rumbled. Then, the clouds stopped and cleared for one brief moment. Then, it began to Rain. I whooped, throwing on my helmet. Then I grabbed the collection of pillows that Kepler law mandated be in every building. I burst out into my front yard, just in time to catch a Russian blue kitten and an Alaskan malamute puppy in the box. It was raining cats and dogs. This was definitely a sweet, sweet, sixteen.
By Incandescence
Kepler-150f was a planet in the Sombrero galaxy. Although 29.35 million light years away from Earth, it was somehow almost identical to Earth. There were around 7 billion people living on it, it was 71% water, there were 4 seasons, and pizza was the most popular food. However, there was one glaring difference: The Raining. The Raining happened once every 365 days. It lasted for 24 hours, not a minute or second more or less. It happened on February 28, which happened to be my birthday. However, I could never have a birthday party on that day, as The Raining stopped anyone from stepping out for that day. But I didn’t care. The Raining was one of my favorite days as a child. Depending on the year, it could be disastrous, or the best thing ever. No one knows quite how 6
Fall A Haiku By Hmscorpio
Leaves are falling down On the ground they hit and wisp The trees are lovely
7 “Autumn is Here,” Illustration by Purple Night
CPM
months until he finally accepted the fact that only he had a CPM. For months it tormented him until he finally gave in.
Wes could feel the cold breaths hitting the back of his neck as he walked down the high school hallways. Long, bony fingers wrapped around his arms and squeezed, cutting the circulation off. He tried not to react, as the people around him would think of him as more of a freak than they already did. They couldn’t see the large creature perched on his shoulders. It had a large, hump-like back, and one dark red eye. It would crawl into his head and look over into Wes’ eyes at random times. He had long since gotten used to it. He tried not to look at the long snake-like tongue that would whip him on the cheek.
“Wes,” said his therapist, “how have you been?” Wes stayed silent and stared at her, ignoring the sound of hissing in his left ear. He felt the bony fingers scrape the back of his shoulder but didn’t move an inch. The therapist sighed and gave him an exasperated look. “I’m fine.” He only had short answers to give. “Your parents said you see monsters,” she said. Wes felt a prick of annoyance. “One. I only see one. I’m not insane,” he snapped coldly. “Don’t you ever think you’re imagining it?” “No.” “Don’t you ever consider it?” “Stuck Together,” Illustration by The Masked Lady “Yes.” After a few more questions the door opened to reveal an eccentric looking man. He smiled widely and had a bowlers hat on. The therapist looked at him surprised. “Who are you?” she asked. The man chuckled. “I’m Doctor Showdue. I’ll be talking to Wes today,” said the man taking off his hat to reveal frizzy white hair. Wes looked at him judgingly and fell silent as the doctor and therapist switched places. “If you’re going to ask me if I’m insane or not I’m not...” stated Wes bluntly. “It’ll go away. You have to be patient,” said Dr. Showdue. “What?” “It has one red eye. It has a forked tongue. Long stick fingers,” said Dr. Showdue lowly. Wes looked at him blankly. “You read it off my file,” he said. “It whispers in your ear. It repeats the name Matilda over and over again until you go insane.”
By Blue Serendipity
No one else could see it. He had tried telling his parents the first day it appeared. They had only looked at him weirdly before laughing and taking it as a joke. Later on, he heard them speaking. “I’m sure it was a joke, Lisa,” said his dad. “He was terrified,” said his mom softly, “Maybe he was telling the truth?” They had a long argument after that. After the fight, his mom always seemed to have a part that believed her, but she kept it locked away inside of her. He didn’t blame her-there were times he couldn’t believe it himself. Maybe he had gone insane and was hallucinating. It has been a year since it first appeared. He had taken to calling it CPM. Creepy Personal Monster. His mom took him to dozens of psychologists. Now, he just stays silent. No one could understand exactly what was wrong with him. Wes didn’t even know what was wrong with him. He searched the internet for
8
Wes felt a weight go off his chest. “You can see it? You can hear it?” Wes exclaimed, standing up. “No. I had it. It’s a test Wes. They’re trying to break you, don’t let them,” said Dr. Showdue. “Why is it testing me though?” Wes asked upset. “They feed off of you. It’s parasitic. Right now, me and other victims are trying to figure out how to get rid of it,” explained the doctor. He put his hat back on. “Then how did you get rid of it?” Wes asked. “I waited and didn’t let it affect me. It leaves after you start going on with what you normally do. You were a social one, weren’t you? Don’t let it ruin you,” he warned. Wes had let it ruin his life.
“Then what happens after?” Wes questioned. Dr. Showdue grinned at him. His teeth were yellow with brown spots. Wes vaguely remembered him with spotless white teeth however. The bowler hat suddenly turned into a partially burned top hat. “Wasn’t that a bowler—“ At that moment the monster on his shoulders wrapped its fingers around his neck. Wes gasped for air when he felt teeth on his neck. Soon after, he felt his vision turn a hazy purple. “How is the body?” Dr. Showdue asked. Slowly, Wes grinned a yellow smile.
“Mask,” Manga by Aya Hatashima Read from right to left
Yet, who am I to linger on
the loneliness. Person to
again, because all it did was
you just because I myself
person, tongue to tongue,
plunge me into a deeper
am lonely? Who am I to re-
tail to tail, and tear to tear.
pool of this wicked feeling.
move the hopeless feelings
Loneliness is only a cycle,
Shall I continue releasing
streets. Through you and
of mine and to painfully
coming right back to me.
my feelings to you? Re-
I. Through your sister,
inject them into you? But,
But this time, it is heavier.
leasing my feelings when I
through your teacher, and
how can I stop myself when
It is heavier with everyone’s
could be bettering myself?
through the air. I linger on
I feel so free? How can
load of misery stacked upon
Why not, as I have already
your mother’s tongue as her
I stop when it gives me a
each other. I regret sending
ruined so many lives? Why
husband walks out the door
sense of hope that I know is
out the loneliness in hopes
not ruin more? I drag my
once again. I linger on a
false, yet I yearn so deeply
of it never reaching me
feet along the withered
dog’s still tail as his owner
for? Feeding you loneliness
leaves the adoption center.
restores my youth! I crave
I linger on your lone tear as
the sweet, sweet revenge
you stand at your mother’s
that you all deserve. But,
grave, blinded by despair.
this does nothing but spread
I am Loneliness
By The Local Hermit I walk through the
The White Mask By Hmscorpio
Blank as bitter snow Makes you feel a chill inside The Growing White Mask 9
concrete, making my way towards
way into his eyes, emptying the
a graveyard. My favorite place.
glimmer of crystal blue. I then
There stands a young man looking
make my way to his bones, making
at a grave. I approach him, making
him weak with every move I make.
my way around his ear.
I slowly make my way to his heart,
“She’s gone. All gone,” I whisper
draining the lively red that he once
into his ear.
used to love the decaying wom-
“I know,” his voice creaks.
an. On my final trip, I see his soul
“You don’t have anyone else do
secured in a box, locks wrapped
you? No one to share your grief
tight around it. But, I need no key. I
with?” I excitedly murmur to him.
capture the soul and make my way
He shakes his head bitterly.
out of the boy. He no longer has the
“Why not share with me? I have
ability to cry, only holding empty
something that you would love,” I
eyes, empty bones, an empty heart,
tell him.
and his empty soul. I have robbed
“No, I know what you are doing.
him of the one thing he had left: his
Do not give me this agony. This
spirit.
agony of loneliness,” he shudders, eyes shutting. But, it is too late. I have made my “Beyond the Trees,” By The Calico Cat
10
“Rocky Mountain Elk,” Photograph by Celia Bowen
The Nightmare
by The Local Hermit Searching for its next victim, It shows no mercy. Wrapping itself around you With twisted limbs Creeping along, soaking with your innermost fears. Dripping in time with the ticking of the clock. Your body remains Awaiting patiently Having no control of the outcome of this game, You quiver before this entity Seeing as it borders reality, You wait for it it cross this thin line. These nightmares are what you choose to ignore. Exposing human kind’s fear That we do not know reality
Iviline’s Ice
By Blue Serendipity After midnight, they bolt all the doors and bar all the windows. No one dares to even take the slightest peek out the window. Not even the most curious child. As the fog rolled in to blur the lines separating one image from another, shadows darker than the night sky painted themselves on the gravel road. The town was covered in an eerie silence. There were dozens of beings outside yet not a single crunch of gravel was heard. They could not have been people, yet they look so human that they could fool you. They only came out after the witching hour, dressed in a steampunk fashion, their eyes soulless and their faces pale. Covering their eyes, were masks of every fashion. The females wore elaborate masks embroidered with feathers and pearls. The males wore simpler masks with engravings depicting their sins, from murder to thievery. A wail from a baby made the ghoulish beings turn their eyes to the house. Lights turned on to shush the child but shattered, the crackling and fizzling of electricity and glass was accompanied by a hissing breath of a Fogwalker. The townspeople had taken to calling them Fogwalkers as the fog seemed to follow them at their feet. If you looked one in the eye, you’d slowly wither away before sunrise. Iviline was 19 when she
was turned into one of the soulless monsters. You see, even if you looked at a Fogwalker dead straight in the eye, there’s still a slight chance of survival. The outcome however, is no better than death. Only their worst attributes and memories remained of them and for Iviline, it was how she became a Fogwalker. Iviline knew it was against the rules to go out by herself near sundown but her friend Roseanna had invited her to walk with her on the sunbanks. “We mustn’t stay out for too long,” said Iviline worriedly, “my mother and father would murder me if they found out that I have gone out.” “You worry too much,” laughed Roseanna uncaringly, “your parents are out. Your father is working and your mother is at Irene’s. How will they know you left?” Iviline didn’t dare argue against her only friend. It would be far too easy for Roseanna to leave her. The snow crunched under their heavy boots as they walked and talked merrily. Iviline was quite fond of her companion no matter how self-absorbed or merciless Roseanna was. If only Iviline could see how one-sided their friendship really was. As they gossiped they didn’t seem to realize the sun was going down. It was only until they heard the sound of crickets did they realize it was well past sun-down.
“Roseanna, my parents will be wondering where I am! They’ll be furious!” Iviline cried rushing back from where they came. “Then we must go quickly!” Roseanna exclaimed looking up at the moon. The two started to run back when Iviline noticed something. A thick heavy fog slowly started creeping over the frozen lake. “It’s almost midnight!” Roseanna looked back once before scrambling up the snowbank. Iviline quickly followed after her. She had almost gotten out of the snowbank when her foot was caught in a tree root. “Roseanna! My foot is caught!” Iviline exclaimed yanking violently at her leg. The other girl glanced at Iviline, then at the fog, and ran away without hesitation. A wave of panic and despair washed over her and she looked back at the fog. It was halfway across the lake. The snow under her gave
away when she got her foot freed and to her horror, she fell. Her back hit the ice and it shattered under her weight. She couldn’t swim. It wasn’t proper for ladies to swim so she never learned how. The water started to drag her further along the lake, making her go under the ice. Her nails scraped desperately against it, bubbles of air escaping her mouth.Her arms and legs started to go numb from the cold and before she lost her vision, her eyes met another’s. Iviline had almost died. At times she wished she had. Her last memories were of Roseanna’s betrayal and her, looking into the eyes of a fogwalker frozen beneath the ice. She was bitter and angry, ready to claim her revenge. At midnight, she slowly walked the alleys and paths, circling around them, haunting them for centuries to come.
11 “Spirit Island,” Photograph by Celia Bowen
Red and Orange By Andromeda
“Mom I’m home!” I close the heavy wooden door behind me, and remove my wet jacket and scarf. Our dog Miles excitedly bounds over to sniff my legs and circle around my feet, his tail wagging frantically. I bend down to rub his neck, smiling at his appreciation. “Hey boy, have a good day?” He looks at me blankly, breathing heavily and drooling a little. I’ll take that as a yes. Mom descends quietly down the stairs, her evening robe pulled tightly against her body, and hair swept into a messy bun. Time had been kind to her complexion, she had aged gracefully, with soft wrinkles and clear eyes, she was lovely like aged wine. We don’t look much alike. “Hi sweetie you’re home late, how was your day?” “Oh y’know the usual, crashed the car, got drunk, failed all my classes, got arrested, and killed a man… Just normal teenage stuff.” “Hmm. That’s nice…” she walks over to the couch and lays down turning on the tv, its brightness illuminates the dark circles under her eyes and the cracked dryness of her lips. “There’s-” she opens her mouth to let out a gaping yawn, “soup in the kitchen you can reheat for dinner.” “Okay thanks Mom, good night.” “Good night sweetie.” Swish, swish. I rub the red and orange paints together. The color they create 12
together reminds me of the fall leaves wilting off the large oak tree in our front yard. Maybe I’ll make a pumpkin patch. Nothing fancy, just a pumpkin patch. That’s fall-ish right? My teacher will probably ask ‘Well what’s the overarching THEME of your pumpkin patch? What’s the message you’re trying to convey to your audience?’ And I’ll probably tell her, ‘Lady it’s a pumpkin patch, it’s got pumpkins, I like pumpkins, the theme is pumpkins, the message is pumpkins. Capiche?’ Mrs. Shelby and I don’t get along very well. As I’m adding some yellow to my painting, y’know just to give the pumpkins a little pizazz, accidentally I knock over some of the paints. It gets all over my clothes and drips onto the floor. “Dang it!” Quickly, I rush over to the bathroom out in the hallway, thinking of the colors blending together to create a lovely, brown blotch on my white carpet. Bent over under the sink I search for a washcloth. After soaking it down, I rush back to my room and begin rubbing down the carpet, giving all the arm strength I can muster in my 100 pound 5ft 3 frame. After twenty minutes of scrubbing with little positive results, I resolve myself to the doomed fate of my carpet. I press my hands to its wooly surface, “I’m sorry I failed you.” With a heavy sigh I head to the bathroom to clean myself up, unfortunately some of the paint managed to lodge itself in my hair as well as my clothes. After
taking a warm shower and trading out paint fumes for the smell of lavender body wash not tested on animals, I go to study myself in the mirror. I have what you call blue eyes, but not the attractive bright blue that is usually accompanied by blonde hair and a perky smile. No, I have the I-can’t-tell-if-it’sblue-or- just-an-light-grey kinda blue eyes. I call it blue to make myself feel better. It’s weird seeing a thin face in the mirror. Once upon a not such a long time ago, my cheeks used to be fat. My neck had rolls, my arms had rolls, even my back had rolls. I went to fat camp for 3 years and barely lost a pound. Normally the camp counselors would find me hiding out in the cabins eating unabashedly my smuggled snickers bar, while the other boys and girls played soccer. Half because the portions at fat camp were too small for any normal human being to endure, and also half because I couldn’t stand the idea of the other kids looking at my body jiggle as I’d run. In the end it wasn’t fat camp that allowed me to
lose almost 100 pounds, it was extreme dieting and exercise. It was one of the longest and most painful experiences of my life, and thankfully only a foggy memory now. The opposite of the clear high definition memory that kicked my butt into gear. “I don’t date fat girls.” Fat. Fat, fat, fat, fat. Becoming skinnier didn’t make me prettier, the stretch marks crisscrossing like an unattractive web on my stomach attest to that. So does my fat chin, my eyes that are too far apart, my large nose, and my flat brown hair. Fat is just another word for ugly and no matter how much weight I lose I will always be ugly. That phrase plays on loop in my head. Even after I’ve left the bathroom, put on my boxer pajamas, and crawled under the blankets of my bed. Sunday morning I sit out on a bench in the town park. Noisy kids giggle while running around and tripping over fallen leaves, their heavy jackets slowing down their movements. Moms sit a little ways away, giving
“Serenity,” Photograph by The Calico Cat
the kids space to play, as they chat with other moms next to them. Some sport baby strollers and round bellies. I lean back in my seat, carefully grasping my Starbucks coffee in one hand and my US History textbook in the other. Its flipped open to page 236, the French and Indian war, a sudden breeze whisks the pages from their designated chapter much to my chagrin. With a snicker, I give my coffee a side long glance, thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea to “accidentally” spill coffee all over my textbook. “Didn’t know US history could be so funny.” I raise my head to see a tall boy with glasses standing in front of me. I blink a few times and smile. “Yeah that manifest destiny stuff really cracks me up if you know what I mean.”
“Haha me too. Wanna hear a joke?” “Sure” “If April showers bring May flowers what do Mayflowers bring?” “Pilgrims?” He grins, “Yep.” He points to the space next to me. “Anyone sitting there?” “Yes actually.” His face falls a bit. “Oh..” “Me, myself, and I, but I think we can make room.” “Oh cool.” His eyes brighten and he smiles. He has a nice smile. “I have another joke if you wanna hear it.” He sits down next to me. He smells like orange slices. “Go ahead.” “How does Moses make his tea? Hebrews it.” “That’s a good one, but what does that have to do with US history?” “Tea, tea party.” “Ah, good point.” We stay like that for a lit-
“Harvest Moon,” Illustration by Nance McFly Church Group
tle while, telling dumb jokes and occasionally talking a bit about ourselves. For a moment, we sit in awkward silence, he shifts in his seat a bit, and I pretend to be
“Fish for Thoughts,” Illustration by Chelzee
invested in my nearly empty Mocha Latte. Suddenly, he clears his throat. “So maybe this is a bit forward, but can I get your number maybe….?” I try not to spit out my coffee. I don’t know why I’m surprised I kinda knew that maybe he was flirting with me. I just, y’know, never thought a guy would actually want to flirt with me. “Um, yea um, here,” I pull a pen out from my bag and start scribbling down digits on my coffee cup, “My number.” He takes the cup from my hand and stands up, on his face the same goofy smile from earlier. “Great! Maybe we can go get coffee sometime then.” “For sure.” After he walks away I lean back in my seat a bit, my gaze is fixed up at the sky, the trees blotting out some of the blue with their red and orange leaves. One falls on my face. I smile. 13
Hufflepuffs By Eos
Hufflepuffs are like the chocolate raisins of Hogwarts. We’re generally well-liked, but no one detests us like Slytherin or loves us like those Gryffindors or Ravenclaws. Overall, the general reaction you get when the word Hufflepuff is mentioned is a simple “meh.” No one ever paid much attention to chocolate raisins anyway. My name is Ginerva Kartway, sixth-year student at Hogwarts. I never asked to be a Hufflepuff. But ever since the Sorting Hat led me to the supposed “boring” House, I have made it my personal mission to elevate the status of the Hufflepuff. First off, it doesn’t help much that our House name could easily be the name of a brand of mini-marshmallows. Way to make our House sound as non-threatening and meek as possible. Second, Hufflepuff..., well, it doesn’t quite the same bold and heroic people that define Gryffindor and Slytherin. Not to say Hufflepuffs aren’t heroic, because we are. It’s just that we’re heroic in small, quiet ways that is typically looked over in favor of boys who lived and platinum-haired villains. I was complaining about all this for the fourth time to my roommate Mari, who is generally incredibly tolerant of my rants and probably the most Hufflepuffian Hufflepuff you will ever meet. As I was ranting, she was quietly working on her homework for her herbology class as we ate breakfast in the Great Hall. (See main Hufflepuff trait: hardworking.) I was about to list the third reason why Hufflepuffs are the dark horse of Hogwarts when she cut me off. “Ginerva,” she said softly as she practiced her herbology spell while eating her toast, “Don’t get me wrong, I agree, especially about the mini-marshmallow thing. But what if we should just accept our place as Hufflepuffs? Hufflepuffs were never meant to be put in the spotlight - we’re 14
just the nice house.” See what I mean?! Hufflepuffs have come to accept that their place in Hogwarts is just the meek, compliant house. Darn Sorting Hat. “Mari,” I said, “It shouldn’t be like that! Hufflepuffs deserve attention after all our good deeds – now, I’m going to get some orange juice.” As I was getting up to get a drink, in my haste, I accidentally smacked into a tall guy walking my way. Disaster! From the ground, I looked up and saw that it was Alastor Malfoy, the most Slytherin person ever, general douche-bag, and yes, the grandson of the infamous Draco Malfoy. “Need a hand?” he asked from above, his annoying smirk glaring down at me. “Not from you I don’t.” I heaved myself up in one swift motion. No one noticed - no one ever notices Hufflepuffs. “Very Hufflepuff of you to reject my offer,” he said, feigning mock-hurt. “Very Slytherin of you to offer
me a hand,” I retaliated. Alastor Malfoy was handsome, with blonde-platinum hair that fell above cat-like green eyes. Too bad he was incredibly irritating. He started to walk back to the Slytherin table, but, before he did, he snatched away the ribbon in my hair. I huffed. He always did this last year during Dark Arts, and I would most likely have to use extremely difficult skills to get it back. As he was walking back, he called out over his shoulder, “You know, I admire your dedication to making Hufflepuff recognized, but did you ever consider that maybe you’re not such a Hufflepuff?” As much as I disliked Alastor Malfoy, did he have a point? What if I was really a Gryffindor, or worse, a Slytherin? Coming from a family of complete Gryffindors, it could be a possibility. That day in the Great Hall, I devised a plan to confirm my true house. My partner in this plan had to be the only person who had ever seen, in one brief moment, my doubts about my true house: Alastor Malfoy.
“Hippogriff,” Illustration by Celia Bowen
Santa, not Satan
Now free from her whining, I crashed on my bed and drifted off into a deep, blissful sleep. Hours later, a by incandesloud crash startled me from cence my peaceful slumber. Groggily, I sat up and reached for my glasses. A loud scream Thanksgiving had just came from below. Suddenly passed, and America was wide awake, I flung back sent into a whirlwind of hol- the covers and raced downiday shopping and Christstairs. mas decorations. While I Ready to fight off any had never cared much for burglars, I grabbed my bat any of this, especially since and skidded into the living I had moved away from my room. What I saw was a family, this year was special. bright green dragon the size My daughter, Lily, was here of a horse standing in the for the first time, and I was middle of my house, Lily going to make this the best stroking its tail. The couch damn Christmas ever. She was on fire. was the sweetest thing ever, Seeing me, she bounced the light of my life -over and screamed in joy. “Please? Please? Please? “THIS IS THE BEST DAY Please? Please? Daaaad! EVER!” Why don’t you ever listen to Flabbergasted, my jaw me??” hung open. Okay, she was the sweet Ignoring my reaction, Lily most of the time. hugged me. “And he can “But Dad! I want a dragon! breathe fire! I’m going to Why can’t I have one?” Lily name him Earl Ernst! And wailed. he even came with a note! I sighed. “Honey, dragSee?” ons don’t exist. And even I took the piece of paper if they did, we live in an from her hand. Opening it, apartment. We would have it read: neither the room nor money “To Lily, who requested a to have one.” Hoping to get dragon, I hope you like him. her mind off of this ridicuLove, Satan. lous idea that she had been PS: to Lily’s dad, I will be nagging me about for days, I sending along a set of topmustered up all the patience notch fire extinguishers in a man who was running a few days by Harpy Mail. solely on caffeine and four You’ll need it.” hours of sleep could, and “Lily,” I said calmly, “Who said, “Sweetheart, why don’t did you write your letter you write to Santa and ask to?” him for a dragon? Just put it “Satan, of course!” yelled in the mailbox when you’re Lily. done.” “But...but why?” I asked, Lily jumped in excitement. incredibly confused. “Yeah! He’ll give me one, I’m Lily sighed, looking at me sure of it.” with a you-are-so-slow ex-
pression. “You told me to!” I turned away from the dragon and went into the bathroom right next to the living room. Turning on the shower, I took the shower head and pulled it out, where it had just enough reach to extend the water onto the burning couch. Then I put it back. After, I sat down on the floor, hard, and let out a big sigh. “Lily, I told you to write to Santa. S-A-N-T-A. Not S-A-T-A-N.” Lily shrugged. “That’s okay, I got my dragon after all. Maybe Satan is better than Santa then. Santa never got me any dragons.” I was at a loss for words. “Anyways, Earl is soooo cute! And he can do tricks! Did you see his fiery breath! Wasn’t that awesome?” I took a deep breath, trying to find my inner peace and zen or whatever. “No, Lily, that was not awesome. Now, not only do we have a burned and destroyed couch, we have a giant, fire-breathing dragon in our apartment. We cannot have any dragons in our apartment!” Lily looked crestfallen. “But dad, I’ll take care of him. I’ll walk and feed him and everything, I promise.” I took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “We’ll have to give him back. We just can’t take good care of him. And you don’t want Earl Ernst to be sad, right?” Lily looked down at the ground. “I guess so, she said meekly.” Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Perfect
timing,” I groaned, getting up. With my luck, it would be Karen, that busybody in room 12B. Cracking open the door, I looked outside. It was Gary, my kind-of-friend and coworker. He was kinda weird, but he was a good guy. “Gary,” I said, “This isn’t really a good time. Could we talk later?” “Hey man, I just wanted to see if you wanted to go out. What’s up?” I was not about to tell him that my daughter had asked Satan for a fire-breathing dragon. “Oh, nothing really, I just really have to -” Gary took “nothing” as an invitation to come in. Striding through my house like he owned the place, he started towards the living room. “Is that smoke I smell? Man, what’d you do, ruin your oven?” “Uh, wait, no don’t go into the living room!” Gary went into the living room. Stopping in his tracks, he took in the red dragon, my daughter sitting on it and making it walk around, and the burned remains of what was once my sofa. He looked at me for a moment, then grinned. “Hey man, that’s pretty dope! How’d you get a dragon in your apartment?” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I, uh didn’t. Lily wrote to the wrong person and...well, this happened.” Continued on Next Page 15
Gary shrugged, looking incredibly nonchalant for such a ridiculous situation. “Spelling is hard, I gotchu.” “The dragon has to go!” I burst out. Lily, still on top of the dragon, groaned. “Daddy, no, see? He’s so well behaved and I can take him in for show-and-tell! That Margaret will be so jealous.” Gary looked at me. “Hey man, if you want to do something, I think I have an idea.” “Really?” I said sarcastically. “So you’re just going to make this dragon disappear, and with what? Magic?” “Nope,” Gary said cheerfully. “But I know someone who can.” One hour later, we were sitting outside of a chalkdrawn circle of pentagons and other shapes, which had been hastily drawn onto the floor. Remember how I said Gary was a little weird? Apparently, he was a member of the Church of Satan, and knew exactly how to summon a creature from the Underworld. When Gary had told me about his church, and he saw my expression, he said, “Naw man, it’s not what you think. The Church of Satan is great. It teaches people not to harm kids and animals and not to bother people and stuff, y’know?” I did not. “Yeah, totally,” I mumbled. So he had gone home to get his summoning book or whatever it was, and came back with chalk, Cheetos, taquitos, and beer, and a ridiculous looking cape. 16
While heating up the taquitos in my microwave, he explained what he was going to do. “Well, the demon I’m thinking of getting is kinda like a messenger or secretary to Satan. Since you’re not a member of the Church of Satan, I can’t summon Satan directly here. His name is way too hard to pronounce, so he’s just known as Steve.” “Ah, I see,” I affirmed, not really seeing it. “What’s the food for?” Gary shrugged. “He likes food, so maybe he’ll bump us up in line for the summoning. He’s a pretty popular guy to summon, you know. And also because doing the summoning drunk is way more fun.” He took a swig of beer. After I had drawn the symbol Gary had pointed out in his book, and we had strategically placed the offerings of Cheetos and taquitos around it, we sat. Gary finished his second beer. “You might wanna get a book or get drunk really soon, or this wait is going to be really boring.” What he said rang true. An hour and a half later, I was dozing on the floor. Then, a ring of fire sprung up onto the edges of the chalk design. I jerked awake. The thing standing in the middle was not what I had expected. Aside from the red eyes, horns, and tail, the demon looked human. He was dressed in gym shorts, a muscle tank, and Nike slide-ons. “My dudes! What’s up?” the frat-bro-demon said. Gary handed Steve a
bag of Cheetos and a beer. “My friend over there has a daughter who wrote to Satan for a dragon instead of to Santa,” he said, gesturing towards me. “The thing is, his landlord doesn’t allow dragons, so we kinda have a problem.” Steve looked at me. “Hey man, I totally get it. Whataya want to do?” “I’d really like to get the dragon someplace else, where there are no sofas to set on fire,” I said firmly. Just then, Lily burst in, the dragon right outside, and wailed, “No! Don’t take Earl Ernst away! He’s my friend!” With surprising tact, Steve said gently, “You want the best for him right? You have to let him go.” I wiped her tears away. “Okay,” she murmured With a snap of his fingers, Steve vanished the dragon. “You might see him again later, okay?” Steve comforted Lily. Then he too, vanished.
Several days after this whole dragon fiasco, Lily and I came home to find a golden retriever puppy in a basket on the new couch. Lily squealed, immediately picking it up and hugging it. I picked up the note from the bottom of the basket, which read: “Sorry about the couch. I got you a new, smaller friend. Love, Satan.” Just then, the puppy barked, emitting a blast of fire. The couch burst flames.
To Be Concluded...
“Satan’s first gift,” Illustration by The Masked Lady