The Mysteries of Harris Burdick Solved

The Mysteries of Harris Burdick

The Mysteries of Harris Burdick

Chatfield Senior High Littleton, CO 2014

I first saw the drawings in this book a year ago, in the home of a man named Peter Wenders.

Though Mr. Wenders is retired now, he once worked for a children's book publisher, choosing the stories and pictures that would be turned into books.

Thirty years ago a man called at Peter Wenders's office, introducing himself as Harris Burdick. Mr. Burdick explained that he had written fourteen stories and had drawn many pictures for each one. He'd brought with him just one drawing from each story, to see if Wenders liked his work.

Peter Wenders was fascinated by the drawings. He told Burdick he would like to read hte stories that went with them as soon as possible. The artist agreed to bring the stories the next morning. HE left the fourteen drawings with Wender.s But he did not return the next day Or the day after that. Harris Burdick was never heard from again. Over the years, Wenders tried to find out who Burdick was and what had happened to him, but he discovered nothing. To this day Harris Burdick remains a complete mystery.

His disappearance in not the only mystery left behind. What were the stories that went with these drawings? There are some clues. Burdick had written a title and caption for each picture.

Chris Van Allsburg, 1984

Sometime in late 2012 an old, decrepit folder was found in a back cabinet in D203. Upon opening, the cover disintegrated into a dusty pile while, thankfully, the papers within were still readable.

Dated 1954, the following writings were found.

The Little House on the Hill Emma Boyett

March 14, 1941: Momma had given Henry and I a dollar to split this week, and brother had brought up a new game. He said it was something to do with getting me out of the picture book, that Momma might be on this too ‘cause she don’t want me reading those little kid books in the back of the store. I dont see the problem with those books, they have lovely pictures about the little gnomes in that England thing. I just think it is Henry being tired of me being able to buy more books with my 50 cents than he can; maybe that will stop him from calling me a babe for reading those books.

Anyways the game is called white book, and each of us must pick a book from a section we are not used to going too, that has been bound in white leather. It confuses me why it much be a white book, why not a red or a blue book? I didn’t think that my brother hated white books. The other white books I’ve ever seen are grannies bible from a hundred years ago, and momma’s weird cookbook she has been using. She says it dadda sent it to her before that D-day thing. Henry won’t tell me anything, why white books, what is D-day, and when will dadda get unlost. Jerk.

March 17, 1941: We went up the hill today to the book store that the Burns opened up last year.

People are kinda scared to go there, cause the people that lived there last had gone missing a few years ago, and only now did someone new move in. Momma doesn’t say much about the old people, but that they had kept lots of books in the basement. The Burns found a bunch of boxes filled with books that were older that grammy, and they started selling them out of the front of your house.

Anyway, today Henry and I walked up the hill today, and played the silly game that he thought would be fun. I haven’t been able to open up the book that I have chosen, but so far Henry has not liked his; some romantic novel that was about a princess and a prince living in a far away land and running around in love. Mr. Burns , well he had warned me about the book, but now it was too late, and I don’t know why he had warned me not to get it, maybe it is just like my brothers book.

March 20, 1941: I think I am starting to know why Mr. Burns means, I was reading this story, which so far is about a world of dragons and witches fighting each other, and princesses getting killed by the dragon instead of being saved. Yet after a few hours of reading, I looked around and my walls were covered in vines and leaves, and a strange wilderness smell had filled my room. It disappeared as soon as I closed the book, and my mother couldn’t smell the room from the living room. I must make sure I do not sleep with my book wide open tonight.

April 1, 1942: I was wondering through the empty room that mother had been using for storage since we moved into this house. It was starting to get a slight layer of dust and dirt laying upon the chairs. A few dust bunnies fell into my eye, causing me to knock over a strange little book shelf, and

out fell two different books. On is a dulled white leather wrapped book that seems to have only been opened twice, I will have to read this book and see what it is like. While the other had been filled with a little kids scribble, almost like a diary or journal type of thing. It was hard to make out the writing, but the few bits I did get were quite shocking. The little girl,(girl I am assuming) seems to have had a mother of the same name as mine, and a father who had died in a war. Along with an older brother named the same as me. She also seemed to know about the bookstore the Burns’ kept at the top of the hill, it frightened me so that I had to ask my mother about this. She said that I was her only child, and that she had no idea how those two books had gotten into her room. It is strange to me, and I will need to read it completely after I finish the leather wrapped book.

The Harp Bryanna Vandever

So it's true he thought, it's really true. The legends of its harmoniest tunes were real, not just fairy tales told to kids to help them fall asleep. It was real.

The ripples at the edge of the rock began to grow with each note played by the harp. The strings vibrated and the music reached out towards the trees with its soft grasp. A girl knelt upon the rock pulling each string, creating even more ripples to appear, but she was unaware that someone was listening. He peered at her from behind a rock on the other side of the trickling steam. He sat quietly, just listening. Her eyes were closed as she continued to pluck at the strings. The boy knew no one would believe him. The girl was no older than him, but the stories were decades old. It just wasn't possible, yet it was right in front of him. It was real. He began to slowly lift himself up to get a better look. The girl looked up, shocked, and immediately let go of the strings. Their eyes met. The horrified looked on her face grew stronger, but the boy froze, not moving a muscle. She quickly looked down at the harp's wood from and the rock beneath it, then quickly back into the boy's eyes.

She then, quickly spinning around and jumping off the rock she raced for the trees behind her, leaving behind the harp and the last few ripples to jump from the rock. The boy stood up and watched as she swerved between trees. "Wait!" he shouted, before he jumped across the stream and darted into the trees behind her.

“If there was an answer, he’d find it there” Melissa Schmitt

“Come on!” Melody pulled me along. “I wanna show you something!”

“Melody, I have work later on. And I still had homework to finish.” I protested and ran my free hand through my dark, brown hair.

“Hurry, Jack!” She ignored me and continued to pull me through the snow. Her small hand was wrapped tightly around two of my fingers. She finally stopped running and stood in front of an oddly large tree. Pointing up with a small, shaky finger she showed me a series of scrates in the bark.

‘M.M.J 108E 91N.’ Were spelled out in the old tree’s wound.

“Weird, right?” She paused as I inspected the tree. “Aliens!” She shrieked mockingly. I jumped at the sudden scream and glanced down at her.

“They could possibly be coordinates but North doesn’t go up to 91 degrees.” I spoke. She stared up at me as if I was speaking Latin.

“Well I thought ‘M.M.J.’ stood for Mommy. Melody. Jack.” She tried to show off.

“You could be right. Except it’d be Marie. Melody. Jack. Unless you wrote it. Then it would be Mommy.” I grinned down at her red face.

“No! I didn’t, not this time! It’s a mystery! I know it! I can feel it…” She jumped excitedly.

“Alright, alright. Maybe.” There was a long period of silence while she gripped my hand and we looked at the tree.

“Do you think it was Daddy?” Her blue eyes welled up with tears.

“Possibly.” I squeezed her hand. Seeing her expression stay pained at the thought of our missing father made me feel horrible. “Come here.” I picked her up into my arms. “Let’s get home before it gets too cold.” The puffy snow crunched as I walked Melody and I home.

“Mommy, Mommy! We went on a adventure!” Melody and I walked through the back door into the kitchen.

“An Melody. On an adventure.” I corrected and held in a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s what I said.” She waved me off. “Detective Jack and Melody strike again! Me and Jack found a tree that has all the first letters of our names.”

“Jack and I.” I corrected again. Leaning against the door frame between the kitchen and living room, I watched Melody elaborate to Mom. “Sounds like an interesting adventure. What did it say, exactly?” Mom picked Melody up and spun around once.

“M, M, J. Then it had something like coordinates: 108 E, 91 N.” I answered.

“Interesting. Well, we’ll go out and look for clues tomorrow. I don’t want you getting a cold, miss. Melody. Let’s get you to bed.” Mom walked upstairs, still holding Melody. I sat down on the couch and looked outside to the blazing, white snow. “Did Melody write the note?” Mom’s voice whispered as she walked back downstairs.

“I don’t think so. Mom, do you think Dad would leave that note?” I watched her sit beside me.

“I don’t see why he would have.” She shrugged. “Thanks for hanging out with Melody.”

“She’s my little sister, of course I’d hang out with her. I didn’t get to go to work but whatever.”

“It’s also confusing. North and South coordinates don’t go up to 91 degrees.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“Well, I guess Melody was right. Detective Jack and Melody have a mystery to solve.”

Melody hummed loudly and we walked along the forest’s dirt road.

“Are we goin’ to the tree again?” She asked.

“No, we’re goin’ 91 degrees North.” I answered.

“Really?”

“Did it sound like a joke?” I smiled down at her serious expression.

“Yes. Besides, you always joke around.”

“Alright. You caught me. But this time, I’m not joking.”

“I thought 91 degrees wasn’t possible?”

“It’s an adventure. ‘Member?”

“Yeah.” She finally smiled happily.

“It’s just as I thought. There is no such thing as 91 degrees North.” I crossed my arms and looked across the cold body of water.

“Are we 108 degrees East?” Melody followed my body posture and crossed her arms.

“I guess not. We’d have to walk a little more East. I believe…” I trailed off and looked at my compass, “we are 90 degrees North and 106 degrees East. Wanna walk a little more?”

“Of course!” She started jumping happily again and I had to save her from almost falling into the water.

“Here we are…” I sighed and faced the hurting truth of nothing but water.

“Hey, what’s that…” Melody released my hand and walked away.

“Where’re you going?” I tried to keep an eye on her as she started to escape my line of sight.

“Melody?” I awaited an answer. “Melody!?”

I ran over to where she walked off to. I nearly slipped down a steep hill. There she was.

Sitting on some old, wooden roller car. It had a white sail that caught wind and helped move it.

“Look Jack! There’s something here!” She sat on one of the benches and looked straight ahead.Train tracks floated above the water and off into the distance. “Where does it lead?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen it.” I admitted I didn’t know an answer to her question.

“Well come on then! Let’s find out!” She moved over for me to sit.

“Melody, I don’t know how safe it is.”

“Adventures are never easy! Let’s go, big bro!”

I sighed before reluctantly getting onto the seat beside her.

“Where we goin’ Capin’?” She giggled.

“Me? Captin? Oh no, you’re the captain this time.”

“Yay!” Without either of us trying, the car started moving. Water splashed upon the sides of the tracks and car. “Is Daddy gonna be there?”

“I don’t know, Melody.”

“Is Mommy gonna be worried?”

“She’s always worried.” I smiled. “But I don’t know. My compass does say 91 degrees North.”

“Did Daddy give you that one?”

“Yeah. It’s made to go this far off the grid, I guess.”

“Then Daddy must have wrote the note!”

“Possibly.” I was still unsure. I heard something move swiftly behind us. I spun around to see if something was there. Nothing. A black shadow, or maybe figure, appeared below us. In the water.

“And we’re met by a cross road.” Melody said dramatically.

“What?” I looked up from the dark water, confused. And there is was. The tracks split in two. A decision. Left or right? I was never good at deciding. Neither was Melody. Now we were located in the unknown and we had to chose which was to go? Left could lead to death. Right could lead to death. Left could lead to paradise. And so could right. Dad must have done this too. He went either way and may have died. That’s why they never found a body. Or he found paradise and never left. Or maybe he couldn’t leave. “He knew about this.” I explained at the car halted, and waited for a direction to head.

“Huh?” “This track and car. He knew it was here. He left the note because he didn’t know what would happen. So he left it before he left.”

“I don’t like being captain. You choose which way…” Melody whispered.

“Fine…left or right…” I thought.

Murder with a Side of Mystery Kethry Warren

The gentleman dressed in the latest fashions (including the newest craze out of Paris: goggles) moved down the well-lit street, his long frock coat flapping behind him in the smoggy breeze. One hand held a deep brown felt top hat of middling height on his head and the other rested in the pocket of his frock coat. Brass buttons gleamed in the light, emphasizing a waist coat of deep green with a subtle floral pattern. A silver watch chain draped across his waist coat. Its simplicity stated that its owner put effort into looking effortless. The waistcoat overlaid a brown dress shirt with a light green cravat tied about the collar. As he walked down the mostly empty street his straight legged pants of black indescribable material rustled around his legs. The man’s shoes clicked along the cobbled road and contrasted highly to the rest of his outerwear. They were scuffed and dirty. They had clearly seen better days: black leather with fraying laces and the existence of almost holes in the soles. One thing the gentleman never wavered on was in shoe choice. Stylish yet comfortable and fit for running long distances and combat.

The gentleman turned down a crudely lit side street. With a sigh he proceeded forward and knocked on a door concealed in shadows at the end of the street. A slot slid open revealing piercing pair of blue eyes. Just as suddenly as the slot had opened, the slot snapped closed. The door opened.

The gentleman stepped over the threshold, ducking to avoid damage to his goggle-laden hat.

The room beyond the door was a cozy affair. Various tables of various sizes in various stages of disorganized chaos were scattered about the room. The tables were interspersed with armchairs and the stiffer conservative-aunt dining room table chairs often found behind desks. Men occupied many of the chairs, bending over desks, poring over papers or pretending to contemplate the world with pipes clenched between teeth. The gentleman moved past his fellow tophs with barely a glance spared. He moved through the room with liquid grace, avoiding obstacles in a disinterested eloquence. But one glance at the depths of his forest green eyes dispelled that initial impression.

Even though the room initially appeared to be a gentlemen’s club it was revealed upon further inspection that the place was not a gentlemen’s club. The men in the room were all silent.

There was none of the gossip that men tend to do and claim they didn’t when questioned by their wives. There was no evidence of card games or gambling or even a stray newspaper. The gentleman cocked his head slightly to the side to catch a sound emanating from a strange machine shoved into a corner.

The machine was a dull gold tone with bits of black residue. It closely resembled a squat boiler that had undergone a makeover by an overzealous inventor. Arms and appendages stuck out at odd angles. Valves and gears warred with the orderly panel of buttons polished to a silvery shine by extensive use. The machine made a series of beeping noises. A young boy sat on a stool next to the apparatus and was feverishly writing down the beeps in a large book. Occasionally he would rip out a page and pass it to a man sitting at a desk next to the boy’s stool.

The gentleman smiled as he heard the familiar beeps of sound waves travelling through the aether. He strode toward a shady corner of the room. Upon reaching the corner the gentleman

pressed a whirl in the wood of the wall. The wall depressed and slid to the side displaying a winding wooden staircase. He moved onto the staircase and began to climb. The door shut behind him with a very final whoosh. A gauntlet of panic encased his chest as the light disappeared. He had always hated this part of his job. It made him feel as if he were falling through a black pit of despair.

Mustering his courage he finally reached the top of the stairs. Another door whooshed open. The room behind it was unassuming where the room below was an assumed gentlemen’s club. It was also clean and organized where the room below was a thinly veiled attempt at orderliness. The only furniture in the room was a padded desk chair and table. The gentleman stepped before the table.

Sitting in the chair was a man of short stature dressed in the most out modish clothing and a monocle.

The man stared the gentleman in the eye before proceeding to make quite the harrowing speech. “Lucian. Hope things are going well. Hmph, yes. I have a job for you. You’ve heard about the recent killings of tarts in Whitechapel, hmph yes?” The man didn’t wait for Lucian to reply.

Instead he continued on with his speech in his snobbish grandfatherly voice. Lucian stood patiently with his hands neatly tucked behind his back.

“Well, even if you hadn’t you still would be placed on this job!” The man harrumphed.

“Hmph, yes. Where was I? Ah, Whitechapel. There’s a fellow there that has been killing tarts in quite a brutish manner. Very ungentlemanly. Since you seem to have a liking for disguise and I would say very good at it indeed, the lady has assigned you to this case. So pack up your things and hmph yes begin investigating. We would like this Jack the Ripper back alive if you don’t mind. Hmph yes, any questions?”

“Just one sir,” Lucian said with the utmost politeness. “This job has come directly from the esteemed lady herself?”

The man nodded and Lucian grimaced. There would be no slacking on this job. If the lady, code for the queen, had assigned it then she would be expecting almost immediate results. That was the problem with the aristocracy. They expected everything to happen in a timely and orderly manner.

Lucian bobbed his head to the man behind the desk and excused himself from the room. >*< The next day Lucian walked through the streets of London severely underdressed for a man of his station with two beat up suitcases in hand. Instead of his usual tailored suits he wore a plain white work shirt covered by a thick woolen green vest. The vest itself looked as if it had seen the same hardships as his shoes. A black derby hat sat in place of the top hat. A simple pair of black trousers and a black frock coat rounded out the look of an ordinary working man walking back to his cheap as dirt flat. Which was indeed what he was doing.

Lucian smiled as people passed him. Most smiled back, but a few gave him hard stares. He was not even halfway to his new living quarters when he stopped something peculiar out of the corner of his eye. He slowed his pace. Lucian turned slowly around. He glared at the street before him. He could have sworn that there was a lump or a small hill or a thing underneath the street. But it certainly wasn’t there now. He put a hand to his face in distress. People were beginning to stop

and stare at him. It was definitely not the subtle glances he got in the better off districts. He was being outright gawked at. He couldn’t let it bother him though.

Lucian turned around and ignored whatever it was. He couldn’t allow himself to get paranoid. Doing so would have him chasing shadows. The street here was hard packed dirt. Dust rose as people went about their business and carts went thundering around the swarms of people.

Hiding in doorways and alleys were the more shiftier characters. Lucian saw drunkards, tarts, flower girls. All the low lifes were out today.

Underneath the undercurrent of Whitechapel Lucian could hear something rumbling. It wasn't the rumbling of the carts or feet pounding the dirt, it was something that was out of place.

Before he could inspect further, a woman with teeth falling out and clothed in the barest of rags swaggered into his path. She placed a filthy hand on his chest.

“Wut say ya, guv? Want t’ take a break?” She asked.

Lucian raised his eyebrows at the tart and pushed her hand away. “Sorry, mum. I got me a kid and wive t’ talk care of.” He tipped his hat at her and moved past her. A young boy ran past him, making a grab for his pocket. He lightly pushed the boy off track, ensuring that his purse remained intact.

The rumbling sound emanated from the street behind him again. Lucian figured he wouldn’t be able to look at it directly. He slowly glanced out of the corner of his eye. What he saw in the peripheral of his vision field caused his to stop suddenly. A man carrying a large sack ran into him.

“Watch it!”

Lucian waved him off, too disturbed by what he saw. It was indeed a lump. But the lump was underneath the street. It was about the size of a small child and just as energetic. As people and carts moved towards it, it disappeared beneath the ground and popped back up. Up and down didn’t seem to be the things only range of motion. Lucian was flabbergasted as the lump moved out of the way of people. It was actually dodging.

He shook his head and continued on his way. He could not let this thing distract him from what he had been assigned to do.

After an hour of walking Lucian had reached his lodgings. They were subpar. Lucian forced himself to not grimace in disgust. He was a poor working man. This small apartment was better than the hovel he was sleeping in last week. Lucian dropped his suitcases before the door. He unlocked the worn door and pushed. The door didn’t budge. Lucian placed a shoulder against the door and shoved. It slammed open, smashing into the wall behind it. And with that Lucian the gentleman walked through the door and became Luke the common working man. >*< Two weeks passed and Lucian had come up with nothing. He was always a step behind the Ripper. It was like the Ripper knew exactly when he was coming and from what direction. Lucian removed a portable aether translator from his pocket. He fiddled with the knobs on the oblong device. Finally he appeared satisfied with the arrangement. He placed the aether translator near his mouth and spoke into it.

“I have found the building to be in an extreme state of disrepair. It will take me a few more weeks to fully assess the situation and come up with a solution. I have not yet found the cause of the

disrepair. Alarmingly, during my time here the building has fallen into an even further state of disrepair.”

A few more knobs were twisted and the device was returned to its safehold in Lucian’s pocket. He had informed his superiors of his lack of information and how the killings had continued. He also had requested more time. Of course he had spoken in code. One never knew who might intercept the transmission.

Lucian decided to take the rest of the day off to sit and think. Admittedly, his current quarters were not quite up to his expectations, but they would have to make do. He pushed himself out of his chair and paced about the room. The room was a small affair with a bed shoved against one wall, a chest with a wash basin balanced precariously on it, a small stove and a threadbare rug. A dusty window let in light from the street behind the building.

As he paced, the rug began to shift on the floor. It was a slow, sort of creeping shift that wasn’t noticeable with a glance. Lucian did not notice as the rug bunched up into a lump. Two weeks had passed, which was plenty of time for Lucian to get involved in his work, and it had happened again. The lump stayed perfectly still.

Lucian began pacing about the perimeter of the room. His course brought him stumbling over the lump and directly onto the floor. Lucian emitted a groan. The lump was now pushing at his legs. He crawled into a sitting position to stare at the thing that he had thought he left in the street like a bone thin waif.

“What’s your game?” He asked the lump.

The lump didn’t do anything.

“Why are you here? In my room?”

Nothing.

“Do you know anything about Jack the Ripper?”

A slight wiggle to the side.

“Do you know what Jack the Ripper has done?”

An slightly more broad wiggle to the side.

“Have you seen him?”

Another wiggle.

“Could you take me to him?”

An extremely exaggerated wiggle.

Lucian stood up excitedly, then sat down as he realized he didn’t have any evidence.

“Could you take me to where his lives?”

The lump wiggled and began to move towards the door. Lucian stood up and yanked the door open for the creature. It was clearly a living thing of some sort since it gave the appearance of being able to think for itself. The lump exited the room. It moved with shocking speed down the street. Lucian pulled the door shut behind him, locked it and took off running after the lump. They dodged passerby who uttered outraged cries. In the mad dash for the house of the Ripper Lucian almost got run over. Twice.

Just as his legs began to shake from exhaustion the lump stopped before a house of means.

The house was squat with a well tended front lawn and blue paint job. Lucina looked at the lump. It

traced an excited circle on the street before the house. Lucian swallowed his dread and walked up to the door. He knocked as required by a gentleman. There was no response from within the house.

Lucian tried the knob. It was open. He walked inside, pulling out a small pistol. It wasn’t loaded but it would scare off anyone inside the house. The gun dropped to the floor as he looked around the foyer.

Shelves lined the walls. However, the customary books and trinkets that usually populated shelves were not there. On the shelves were rows of glass specimen jars. It was what was in the jars that was interesting. Each jar contained a uterus and a pair of eyeballs. Lucian could not believe his luck. The lump had brought him directly to the lair of the most notorious killer in the whole history of London. He turned around to thank the lump for its help, but it had disappeared into the hot, smoggy London day. Lucian felt a bit sad that the lump wasn’t going to be there when the Ripper was brought in. He reminded himself that he would be sent directly to the mental asylum if he spoke a word of this to anyone else even with his outstanding record as an investigator.

Lucian removed the aether translator from his pocket once more.

“I have found the source of the decay of the building. Immediate assistance required. The address of the building is 122 Parson Street. I will need a complete tool kit including goggles.”

Lucian grinned to himself as he closed the door. He made himself comfy in the parlor as he waited for backup to arrive. They should arrive quickly due to him uttering the emergency word: goggles.

Whare are ya nuw Zach Guinn

The night was cloudy and mercy. There was no stars or moon to be seen in the sky. The city was almost transparent in the dark mist that covered the buildings. It was late fall here in Vast Vessel City.

Walking through the ominous and mercy streets, was a boy. He walked looking down at his big rubber rain boots. As he walked the allies a streets alone he came across the city park. It was a nice and large park with slides and swinging bars. Also there was a vast and wide field with lots of room to play. The boy liked the park, especially at night when no one was there. He would walk around and roll in the fields and no one would look at him and call him weird. No one there at all to play with him or talk to him. But tonight someone was there. It was a man that looked about in his thirties and about six feet tall. He wore a gray night gown with slippers. He also had on a white sailors cap and thick black beard. In his dangling in his large and dirty hands ,as he sat on the park bench, was a bright and decorated lantern . To this day the boy does not know why the man was there nor does he know why he approached the man. The boy just sat down next to him, as if he was not even there. They sat there in silence staring out into the black river that was like a large vein running through the middle of the city. Then the man turned and looked at the boy.

“Why isa laddie lika ya out hare in tha culd night.” the sailor said in a very gruff sailors exsent. The boy look at him with a puzzled look on his face like the answer was obvious.

“Because, I - I um… well, I like it out here.” said the boy. The sailor squinted his eyes at him as if he could not make out his face.

“Wella, wella. I guessin’ tha makes two uf os.” he said loudly and excited. Then he stood up and raised his lantern. The man said with a cher in his voice “ Du ya wanna see somethin!” The boy didn’t really know what to say to that. The tall sailor continued to look down at the boy waiting. “... What?” the boy said confused. Then the man turned and started walking towards the river in the distance. “ Fulluw me an’ I’all shuw ya.” he said calling back to the boy still sitting on the bench. The boy stared at the man walking away from him a thought about not following him, but what else was there to do tonight. So, the boy ran after the man. They exited the empty park and continued down the street to the harbor. The boy turned to the sailor and asked “ Where are we going sir.” The sailor still looking out at the river responded “ It doesn’t moter whare wa’re goin just whare ware. Thas tha unly wia tu git somewhare.” he said it as if it was his passion. The boy did not ask anything else as they continued down the city streets. The they reached a grassy spot next to the street. In front of the was a metal fence with stone pillars. Off in the distance was the east side of Vast Vessel City. Most of the building windows were black but, somewhere still glowing. A right in front of the tall buildings was the river as still and beautiful as the night sky.

“Whare are ya laddie?” the man said quietly the quietest he has ever been. The boy turned and looked at the man with his black beard and white sailors cap.

“Well… well I am right here.” he said pondering the question. Then he swung his lantern three times and slowly the schooner appeared.

“Whare are ya nuw boy.” said the sailor looking at the magnificent boat.

The Seven Chairs

Connor McFarland

Act I Scene I [A young woman with shoulder-length auburn hair and amber-colored eyes, freckles dotted across her thin, angular face, stands in the middle of the stage. She wears regal cream, red, and green robes that seem African in origin. She stands with her hands folded in front of her and a look of bittersweet nostalgia on her face when the lights go up. She seems to be standing in the middle of an office, torn papers and books with tousled pages thrown hither and thither in no particular order. When she speaks, her voice sounds scratched and worn from years of misuse.]

Paige I remember the first time I smoked a cigarette. Whoever says that they donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t understand how anyone could enjoy tasting like an ashtray all day has obviously never tried one.

Act I Scene II [A cathedral, with high-set windows.

Two men watch as a woman rises on a simple wooden chair, aided by nothing visible to the audience. She is in the middle of an explanation when the lights go up. Also, two men stand before her in formal Trick dress, a mixture of reverence and skepticism on their faces.]

Mauritia [Loudly echoing like bells around the cathedral]...originally seven chairs used by the seven main Trick schools spread across the globe. The first one went to Egypt, the second found its way to Russia. I am blessed with the third, four lies in Canada, the fifth one ended up in France, and six and seven went to Japan and Argentina, respectively.

[The shorter of the two men, brownhaired and sporting a 5 o’clock shadow that spoke of several days’ lack of sleep, speaks up.]

Anaxamander [Eyes fixated on the Headmistress, very calmly] And why were these the chosen chairs?

Mauritia They are perfectly designed to perform well under the upper and lower pressures created by levitation. They have lasted hundreds of years without snapping, splintering, or even so much as bending. There are few pieces of furniture that can boast that caliber of endurance.

[Anaxamander’s partner, blonde and balding under his regal hat, speaks new in a squeaky voice reminiscent of a rat.]

Julian Very interesting, madam.

[Chair begins to lower, Mauritia’s face slightly pained, possibly due to the pressure of the air upon her.

The men watch her descent, quiet and respectful.]

Mauritia [Upon landing] Shouldn’t the two of you be somewhere? The new students arrive very shortly and you will need to return to our brother school in Berkeley.

Anaxamander [Bowing respectfully with Julian] Yes, our students will be arrive promptly as well. Thank you for this [hesitates] enlightening demonstration.

[Julian and Anaxamander give each other a secretive and poorly hidden look of cynicism. Seeing this, Headmistress Mauritia surprisingly smiles at the two men and folds her hands in front of her as she stands and smiles at them.]

Mauritia [Sickeningly sweetly] Levitation is becoming a dying art, gentlemen, and like Doctor Frankenstein, I intend to ressurect it.

[An incredibly awkward silence passes] Anaxamander [Hesitatingly] Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s just that..well it has simply become obsolete with modern technology and transportation. Headmaster Zeffronn doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t see the point in wasting important time and resources on an impractical skill that many students will never utilize.

Mauritia And I understand that view. However, if we were to apply that logic to other aspects of education, we would have to specialize a specific curriculum for every student, and while we can make exceptions, we do not have to manpower for that with every individual who walks through those doors. Also, would you suggest cutting all of our art or history requirements because some students will never use it again?

[The men look stunned and slightly defeated. Mauritia, with a self-satisfied grin, takes a respectful bow to the men.

As she heads to the door, she continues in a voice that carries across the nearly empty chapel hall.]

Mauritia Just because you may not find a certain practice enjoyable and practical, gentlemen, doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t mean everyone agrees that it is so. Levitation has more uses than just hovering above the ground.

[With that, Mauritia opens up the double doors that lead out of the cathedral and takes a deep, calming breath, and the two men are left in shameful silence as the lights go down.]

A Strange Day in July Sydne Green

"Come on Sandy!" Johnny called to his little sister as they raced down towards the lake's shore.

"Slow down Johnny," she replied, "I can't go any faster!" Her little legs were moving as fast as they could, dodging water puddles and muddy grasses trying to keep her new, white Sunday dress clean.

"Fat chance," he shouted back. Johnny pushed himself harder and faster. His parents yelled from a-far telling him not to go too far. He ignored them, his little ten year old legs striding forward, getting him to his destination. His golden, blonde hair was blown back from his face becoming tousled in the wind. He finally reached the edge of the grass where he saw the lake spread out like a vast valley in front of him. He hopped down from the two-foot rise he stood on and onto the rocky sand. He ripped off his black Sunday shoes and white socks throwing them back up onto the grassy cliff.

"Hey watch it!" he heard Sandy yell, "You almost hit me with those!"

"Well next time keep up with me and there won't be a problem," Johnny answered back as he saw a fluffy, flash of white and then Sandy's face.

"Well I obviously wasn't too far behind since you haven't even started looking for stones," she snapped back.

"You know you're kind of sassy for an eight year old," Johnny said playfully shoving Sandy to the side.

A smile teased at the corners of Sandy's mouth. She tried to stay mad, but instead pushed Johnny back and took off at a full sprint laughing the whole time. Johnny caught his balance letting out a laugh as he pursued his sister to the spot where they found their skipping stones. Ever since their dad had taught them to skip stones on their fifth birthdays; every Sunday after church, they came to this exact lake and this exact spot to skip stones. Their father had just recently decided that they were finally old enough to be trusted by the water's edge alone.

The past few months, Johnny and Sandy were given the privilege to go on their own to the lake shore as long as they looked after each other and found the best rocks around. There on the shore they searched and searched for the perfectly round and flat stones that could be used to get the most skips. Sandy in her white dress that blossomed like a flower at the bottom and finished with a black bow around her waist and Johnny in his black, button up dress shirt and black slacks scowered the lakes' shore. After a good while, both of them tired and neither of them with a pile of more than four or five stones; they reconvened by the rise where their shoes sat above them.

"Johnny! What are we going to do?" Sandy started, tears beginning to flood her eyes, "We can't just have eight stones between the two of us! We always have like thirty each!"

"Sandy, don't worry," Johnny calmly replied, "there just aren't enough rocks here. But look around, we have a whole lake to search around. Come on let's go this way."

"You know we can't wander off because mom and dad told us not to go too far. This is the spot we always skip stones at and we can't leave. What if mom and dad come looking for us and then we aren't here. We will be in so much trouble."

"Fine, you go ahead and stay here, but I'm going over there," he pointed his finger to the right towards an opening between a couple of bushes that lead to another side of the lake, "you can either join me and we will skip stones or you can just sit here with your eight stones. Plus when have mom and dad ever come looking for us. They know that we are over here and they know we know what time we have to be back; they have to reason to find us." He walked over and dropped his five into a pile next to his sister's feet.

"Your choice," Johnny said as he turned to leave and started walking towards the bushes.

Sandy stood there mouth open in amazement as she watched her brother just leave and squeeze through the small opening. She picked up the five stones that Johnny had left joining them with the three in her left hand and sprinted after her brother. She made her way through the tiny hole and burst out into the shining sunlight that glinted off the water. Shielding her eyes she could see Johnny bent over a little ways in front of her smiling. He looked up as she came over to his side.

"See, look at this!" he exclaimed. He held out both of his hands which were full of perfect skipping stones. They both exchanged a grin and began to gather as many stones as they could.

Finally, when they were satisfied with their little mountain, they both stood by the water's edge and began throwing their stones.

"Hey look at that one! I got six skips!" Sandy yelled.

"Great job! But you can't beat my ten that I just got!" Johnny laughed back. This was how every Sunday was for them, a great time to just hang out and have fun. But today was different.

Johnny picked up his third stone and tossed it over the water. He managed to get another six skips like Sandy, but this stone didn't just fall to the bottom of the lake after it finished hopping along.

Instead it skipped right back to the shore; six skips just like it had gotten to the middle of the lake.

Johnny stopped suddenly.

"What's the matter?" Sandy asked as she picked up the change in Johnny's mood.

"Didn't you see that, the stone I just threw came back. It just skipped right back." He went over to the shore right before the waves and picked up the stone. He turned it around and around in his hands inspecting every side. It looked just like any other stone that they had gathered. He reared back and threw the stone again. This time only eight skips total, four going out onto the lake and four coming back. Johnny picked it up again; throwing it over and over again. But no matter how hard Johnny threw it, the third stone always came skipping back. They both were beginning to feel uneasy, something was definitely strange.

"Look Johnny let's just go back to mom and dad and tell them what is going on. They might know what to do." Sandy anxiously said as she tugged on her brother's arm pointing in the direction of their parents.

"Just let me try one more time," Johnny replied. He brought his arm back and threw the stone as hard as he could. It made seven skips and then fell in the middle of the lake as if it were swallowed by a hole.

"See Sandy, nothing to worry about," Johnny said a triumphant grin on his face, "I'm sure it was just the magnetic fields inter acting with the..." He was cut off by a loud gurgling sound that came from the middle of the lake. He turned to face the center of the lake and couldn't believe what he saw. The middle of the lake was boiling, not just bubbling, but boiling. Large bubbles burst on the surface of the lake and steam was rising from where the little stone had landed. Johnny and Sandy watched in amazement as the bubbles rose higher and higher as though something were coming out of the lake. A cold chill rushed over them and they both looked at each other fear clouding their eyes. The same thought running through their mind; we should have stayed on the other side of the lake.

Oscar and Alphonse Richelle Longan

It was Elizabeth’s last day of fourth grade at McClaines Academy Prep School. She came home to her family’s house, which lay upon 20 acres of land. Her father was the richest man in all their small town of Mapleville.

After Elizabeth greeted her mother and two older siblings (Susan and Jeremiah) she took to the expansive field they called their back yard.

An hour passed and Elizabeth was running chasing the cotton that floated by and the butterflies which passed her way. She paid little attention to where she was running and her foot got caught in a hole, causing her to trip and land in the wheat grass around her.

One side of her face had gotten covered with dirt, and her pressed white school uniform had now been dyed brown with dust.

When she went to get up, she noticed a small group of caterpillars next to where she landed. She picked them up and said to them “It’s a good thing I miss you guys when I fell or you’d all be squished like a pancake right now.” She let out a small chuckle to herself.

The six caterpillars squirmed gently in her hands. “Stop that. It tickles.” She said not expecting them to do as she said, but they did. All six of them stopped moving right after she spoke. That’s when Elizabeth realized these caterpillars weren’t normal. They could understand her. Elizabeth didn’t think it was strange, she always loved caterpillars, and now they could be her friends.

From the distance her mom called to her “Elizabeth dinner is almost ready come wash up!”

Elizabeth looked down to her hand. The caterpillars were still not moving.

“I just found you guys, but Mom won’t let me bring you inside.” She knew it was time to send them back. The caterpillars wiggled softly in her hand, spelling out “Goodbye” “Goodbye” She repeated, and set them down.

Elizabeth went to eat dinner then took a bath and got ready for bed. All while the caterpillars waited outside of Elizabeth’s bedroom window. When she entered the room she noticed they were all climbing on top of each other trying to get her attention. “Oh my god.” What are you guys doing?” She quickly opened her window to let them in. This time a couple hundred fell through the window.

Elizabeth got excited, but she could hear her mother and father coming up the stairs to say goodnight.

“Quick hide under the bed in the far back corner out of sight.”

They all moved quickly doing as they were told. Elizabeth jumped on to her bed and slid under her comforter.

Her parents came in to say good night, and Elizabeth fell asleep soon after they left forgetting the caterpillars which lay underneath her bed.

One by one each of the caterpillars slowly climbed up onto her bed, and began to nibble on her skin.

Elizabeth was right they were special, but they only wanted one thing, and only thing only. Her flesh.

It. Mackenzie Mueller

Two weeks passed and it happened again. The thing in the rug appeared again. It crashed into everything causing a ruckus throughout the house. Lamps fell and chairs flew over while splintering wood flew everywhere. Parts of the splinters got into his eyes and he screamed in pain. The broken light bulb fumes created a misty haze in the air and that’s the last thing he remembered before everything went black. He woke up about an hour and a half later to the house looking like a tornado had hit it. Everything was destroyed and shattered. However, the thing in the rug wasn’t anywhere to be found. He wandered up to his room that night and opened the door, only to find a scrawny figure standing at the foot of his bed. He stopped dead in his tracks and his heart started beating rapidly. The figure just stood there as if it was staring into his soul. He slowly moved back out of the door way and the thing inched forward slightly without breaking eye contact. That’s when he decided to make the conscious decision of running out of the room and headed towards the front door. The thing grabbed him by his feet and dragged him across the floor back up to his room.

Then it dragged him into the flaming pits of hell where both of them belong.

Land Ho! Casey Dreier It was a grey morning in Venice, there was a slight breeze that seemed to carry a strange scent with it. Captain John stood behind the wheel of the huge ocean liner looking out toward the Venice shore. He could feel that today is not a normal day and something was off. But he continued on and to hopefully get to shore safely. As he was making his way around the decks, the boat lurched forward as if it had hit something.

‘That’s weird. We shouldn’t have been able to hit the sand since we’re still far from shore.’

Captain John thought.

He walked over to the railing and looked toward the shore. The shore looked closer than it had five minutes ago. ‘We shouldn’t be this close. Plus we’re picking up speed.’

John quickly walked back up to the control room. When he got there, people were rushing around and shouting commands at one another.

“What’s going on? Why are we picking up speed?” John asked the second in command.

“I don’t know Sir. We passed the point where we’re officially in Venice waters and suddenly the controls freaked out and we picked up speed.”

“Have you tried cutting the engines?”

“Yes but its no good. We can’t.”

This has never happened before in all his years as a captain. For a few seconds he didn’t know what to do but stare at the rapidly approaching shore.

“Put the engines in reverse.” John said.

“Yes sir.”

The second in command flipped some switches then grabbed the radio.

“Don’t put anymore coal in the fires until I say!” he shouted into the radio.

“Got it,” a man replied.

John’s sweaty hands were clasped together behind his back as his mind was racing with the thought that many people could lose their lives.

“Switching controls to reverse,” second in command said. He pressed the talk button on the radio, “Now! Put as much as you can!”

John knew he would feel a lurch as the ship switched into reverse but there was no difference. The shore was now right in front of them.

“Brace for impact!” John yelled as he reached for one of the railings. The ship hit the shore hard but that still didn’t stop it. Now they were heading for houses and the canal. Even with her mighty engines in reverse, the ocean liner was pulled further and further into the canal. John knew deep down that there’s no way to stop and thousands of lives would be lost.

The Room Kayla Pulver

We were a typical, middle-class suburban family. There was ma, who always had an eye for a good cake. After all, the cake decorating business had been in her family for years. She used to won a shop on the corner of the street that everyone knew about. I loved that shop. I would go there after school every day, sit on the vintage counter, and watch her work magic, making batter into master pieces.

But business was getting bad. The recession hit hard, and really though, when everyone in town is struggling paying bills no on e is really thinking about buying fancy cakes.

So Ma’s business shut down.

I was heartbroken beyond words. Not only did the shop closing down mean, ma would be out of a job, but that meant we would have to move. I was going into ninth grade, and it couldn’t have been worse timing to pack everything up and leave. Honestly.

I hardly left the house all summer. I didn’t even go house hunting with them. IT was hard to see them come home, all excited about this one house they kept revisiting, when all I wanted to do was stay here. Here in my boring submissive neighborhood, with the kids I’d grown up with since kindergarten. Not to mention I would be leaving the love of my life, Sophie Jessica, who I’d been in love with for like three years now. Okay, so she’s not the love of my life, and in reality we’ve only talked like four times, but in my defense, those four times I asked to borrow a pencil from her, were pretty promising. Just the way she always said, “Sure,” with a graceful smile. Other girls would have said no, but I’m positive she feels the same deep down, I think.

But all those dreams of getting married to her, having twenty children, and raising them where I grew up, with all my other friends neighbors living down the street, and having everyone’s kids grow up together, were crushed, destroyed, and masquerade in one stupid recession. Thanks, Obama.

“Bade, will you please come visit the new house with your father and I? I really want you to see it before we make the move, and I think you’re going to love it,” No mom. I won’t love it. I might like it, but not like how I loved this house.

“Does it have a pool?”

“No,” “Then I’ll pass,” Mom made a sigh sound and shook her head, she was Hispanic, but her accent was perfect.

But that also meant she had a short temper.

The thing though, no matter how many times I refused and protested, it still made itself blatantly clear everyday-we were moving at the end of the summer whether I liked it or not.

-----------The house was old. And disgusting. I mean sure form an old person’s point of view like my parents, it was “cute”, but I hated it.

Ma and pa were outside talking to the movers, when I was investigating it on the front lawn.

It was an ugly, faded brown, and had that weird Victorian trim on it. Gross.

“Why don’t you go pick out your room, Scout?” My dad patted me firmly on the back. Alright then.

I walked in. Immediately I saw stairs, living room to the left, dining room to the right. Typical setup. I trudged upstairs, unwillingly. There were four doors, I checked all of them. Master bedroom, bathroom, a room, and ah an even bigger room. This shall be mine.

The hallway wrapped around to another part. I walked. There was a smaller door that looked like it was made for really skinny people. I opened it. Stairs? Okay, this was kind of interesting.

The old desecrated stairs creaked as I walked up to an empty room, which also had an empty feeling. A sad feeling almost as if it felt alone all these years not being vacant. There was a single window on the right side, with two simple delicate curtains. But the wallpaper intrigued me. It consisted of white birds all across, that looked almost like those Japanese origami things, all going in one direction. There wasn’t even a stick of furniture. I’m telling you, I felt eerie in this room. I was already done with this house.

It took the movers all day, but finally everything was furnished down to the last little picture of grandma joe. I plopped down on my bed after a long day, flipped on the TV in my room, and already decided I would have a hard time sleeping tonight.

Too many things had boggled my mind. For one, my new school. It was a bad part of town, but we had to be here because the rent was cheaper. What if the kids bat me up? I heard that areas like these. If you even look at a guy wrong, he’ll cut your throat. And for a young skinny white boy, there wasn’t much hope.

I got out of bed, I couldn’t take it anymore.

And for some reason, for some odd reason, something was calling me to that eerie room from earlier. I tried to ignore it and reluctantly went downstairs and threw a hot pocket in the microwave. I checked the clock. 1:34.

I wonder what Sophie is doing right now. Is she sleeping the night away on that beautiful head of luscious locks? Is she up pacing thinking about me too? Ha, most likely not.

I really don’t want to go to my new school tomorrow. Well, today actually.

I went back up stairs, the hot pocket keeping me warm, when that same feeling from the room arose as I reached the top step. Why do I keep having this feeling. Maybe because I just got finished watching Drag me to Hell, but usually scary movies don’t spook me like this.

I stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the creepy room, and slowly made my way up.

Immediately, I was taken away by how much colder this part of the house was. I almost wanted to go back down and back my blanket to curl up with.

I reached the top step and chills went electrified all throughout my body, as my eyes layed in shock.

The Window. Was. Wide. Open.

What the hell?

Okay, maybe ma and pa had been up here. But why would they have just left the window open like that? It seemed so out of character for them.

“But,” she grasped his hand in expectant curiosity, “where’d they go?”

They’re not here.

March 2014