Plume - Halloween Issue

WARNING:

This issue of Plume is Halloween-themed, consisting of multiple short horror stories. A part of this entails varying degrees of graphic content and disturbing imagery. Read at your own discretion.

November 2017

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Plume As a school, we dedicate ourselves to education and culture. We’re doing the same thing people did in centuries past, albeit with different methods. Our goal is to further ourselves and others through the pursuit of knowledge.

With that in mind, the name Plume embodies our purpose in full. Before we used pencils and computers, we used quill pens: plumes plucked from the flight feathers of large birds.

The plume is a fundamental symbol of our school. It represents both the education we strive to achieve and the mascot that brings us together — we are the Hawks.

The feathers of a hawk become the words on a page.

The calligraphy of a plume is unmatched in precision and flexibility: so too we strive to embody these traits in our school.

Works such as the Magna Carta and Declaration of Independence were created by way of the plume; by following suit with our literary magazine, we’ll be walking in the steps of our ancestors.

The plume brings expression. It brings freedom. It brings possibility. It brings us together with the words it forms; its influence sits in the pages we read.

- Cairo Gaona

Find a digital copy of this issue of Plume online at issuu.com/plumecpp

WARNING:

This issue of Plume is Halloween-themed, consisting of multiple short horror stories. A part of this entails varying degrees of graphic content and disturbing imagery. Read at your own discretion.

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Plume - Halloween Issue

Editors’ Note SPRING

While some skate over Halloween, moving straight from summer to Thanksgiving and then Christmas, I always have held a personal soft spot for Halloween. Where for one night you could be someone else, anyone at all.

While some people choose to skate over the true horrors of life and focus only on the light; this issue has taken a slightly darker path, one that delves into the true fascinating darkness of the human mind. Whether it’s sick and twisted, or light-hearted and spooky; the beauty in being a writer during Halloween is you can choose to be anyone, anyone at all.

Peyton, Executive Editor GAONA

When I was young, I always wanted to be a bat for Halloween. I hadn’t ever seen one, just cartoon representations, so the first time I saw a bat in person, I cried for hours. No amount of candy could console me, and the costume was retired. It was the worst thing I had ever undergone. Later in life, I look back and laugh, but it was nothing to giggle at in the moment. I hope that the stories in this issue of Plume bring you, dear reader, that same visceral fear.

Enjoy!

Cairo, Executive Editor MUÑOZ-HALM

Halloween, for me, has always been beyond the candy. Strutting around my neighborhood in a homemade cardboard robot costume gave me a certain buzz a Kit-Kat just couldn’t achieve. Filling my costume’s tank, always painted E for empty, with chocolatey goodness paled in comparison to the mastery exemplified by the heating ducts that were my metal arms and legs.

While the costume did cut into my ankles and wrists, that was a horror I was willing to endure. As you read this issue, you will come across the scariest horrors and traumas from the deepest reaches of the authors’ minds. I implore you to keep an open mind across all works within Plume regardless of whether or not you agree with its contents. We hope that the topics that you come across inspire the spookiest literary skillset that your fears can muster.

Brooke, Executive Editor Each and every design of this edition of Plume was created by the author of the piece.

We hope you enjoy this issue, and don’t forget to creep it real.

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The content of this second issue of Plume, the literary arts magazine of Corning-Painted Post High School, was created and edited by two sections of the Creative Writing class taught by Mrs. Stephanie Cooper with Design taught

by Mr. Michael Simons in November 2017.

Policy Plume is the product of students at Corning-Painted Post High School who devoted their time and effort to create a collaborative work of art. We take pride in providing an open forum in which young writers and artists may express themselves and spread their wings. The submissions in Plume are selected by a committee of student editors who select individual pieces based on style and quality of writing. This committee reserves the right to deny the publication of any submissions if deemed inappropriate. Furthermore, the ideas presented in the publication do not represent the views of the CPPHS faculty or staff, nor the C-PP Area School District. We hope you enjoy our work.

Executive Editors: Cairo Gaona Brooke MuĂąoz-Halm Peyton Spring

Staff: Brooke MuĂąoz-Halm Cairo Gaona Peyton Spring Quinnlynn Spencer Ashley Descartes Xavier Smith Nat Kent Jeanette Butler Ariana Gleason Rayna Krise Rain Bills Brynne Ketchum Cameron ReillySteele Jada Stowe

Ryan Aldrich Trisha Benjamin Rain Bills Jeanette Butler Kiely Caulfield Megan Colman Alexis Cook Sienna Cook Harley Correll Sydney Crouch Ashley Descartes Anthony Ferreira Ariana Gleason Justin Herberger Kelly Jones

Advisors: Mrs. Stephanie Cooper Mr. Michael Simons

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Plume - Halloween Issue

Natalie Kent Brynne Ketchum Rayna Krise Korish Malik Maxwell Reed Cameron Reilly-Steele Selina Schutz Jacob Serdula Xavier Smith Anna Smith Quinnlynn Spencer Jada Stowe Erin Tucker Samuel Woodhouse Shiloh Worthington

Table of Contents 6 The Horseman’s Reprisal Toby the Cat 8 La Fontain de la Paranoia Ruthie Roo 10 More Than Murder Tabetha Rowlands 14 The Question

Megan Colman 18 The Spider’s Maze Reivax S. 22 Fruit Cairo Gaona 26 When It Comes to Get You...

Olivia Losito 29 The Girl in the Attic Brynne Ketchum 32 The Fate That Awaits Us S.F. Crouch 35 Unsettlement Alexis Cook 36 Five Minutes Jack Miller 40 Reflections Ashley Descartes 44 The Pupppy Sam Woodhouse 46 Shadows Eddie Spaghetti 48 The Demons We Hide H.C. Rose 52 The Tall Man Erin Tucker 55 Athazagoraphobia Deckard Lenyar 58 Hunting In the Dark Cameron Reilly-Steele 62 The Introvert’s Nightmare Kiely Caulfield 64 Thomas Shiloh Worthington 66 The Trick of Delusion Anna Smith 68 Room 4915 Brooke Muñoz-Halm 71 Friends to Demons Jada Stowe 74 The Day It All Fell Into Place C.L. Sharp 76 Wht Goes Around Comes Back Around Rain 78 Dream Girl Jacob Serdula 80 Admirer A.G. Gleason 82 Thing Peyton Spring 86 Cherry Blossoms Foxgloves 90 Skulls in the Well Quinnlynn Spencer Find a digital copy of this issue of Plume online at issuu.com/plumecpp November 2017

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The

Horseman’s

Reprisal Toby The Cat

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Plume - Halloween Issue

A light. An eternity of darkness and

parks and then … we see him. He

suddenly… light. The haunting glow

looks at us with wide eyes full of fear

of a decaying jack-o’-lantern emanates

as he begins running down the street.

from my left hand. Its wicked grin wide

He is an older man with white hair,

with bloodlust as it whispers. Over and

black clothing and a crucifix hanging

over again it whispers; the horrific echo

from his neck.

of its voice steadily growing louder

The horse I ride chases him,

each time until it’s nearly a scream. The

gaining quickly, and he falls to the

name it whispers burns into my chest

ground. I’ll not kill him yet, he must

until I share the fiery bloodlust that it

learn. I pull a whip from my side, the

screams with and my own voice joins it.

pale white of bones from past harvests

The jack o’lanterns eyes flash with

shine in the moonlight as it lashes

a white hot intensity and identical eyes

towards him and around his ankle.

appear before me. It draws a breath.

He cries out in both pain and fear as

I feel its lungs expand beneath mine

he sees a whip of spines wrap around

as it takes in the scent. It exhales

him. I urge the horse onward and

with a small flame rearing up before

we’re moving again.

launching itself forward upon powerful

Not too fast but it’s enough. He

legs fueled by the endless agony of the

screams in agaony as he is flayed by

underworld.

the ground. We make it though and

We move so fast I can barely catch

he is still alive; back at the graveyard.

glimpses of the trees as we pass

Back to that grave. He sees the name

through a forest, brief shadowy limbs

etched in the stone, he knows what

reach out clawing at us as the light

he did. He knows of the suffering he

becomes blocked. We burst through the

caused. Yet still I see he does not care.

forests edge and onward still the name now tearing its way out of me.

A graveyard. We slow as old

With a shaking hand he holds out his crucifix wheezing out the name of his god between labored breaths.

tombs and fresh stones are laid out

It matters not. He had fallen from

before us. I can sense it. The jack-o’-

his god’s grace long ago. I raise the

lantern knows it too. Looking down

whip again and he whimpers quietly

at one grave in particular I know. He

in fear… that is the last sound he

was here, the name I now hunt caused

makes. His soul consumed by the jack

immeasurable sadness. The signs of

o’lantern that falls silent as it feeds. As

yellow, green, orange, and many others

it light slowly fades, I look at the name

scatter the ground reading profanities

on the stone:

upon them. My anger grows and I hear

M.S.

the laughter from my left hand.

Onward. We now pass houses and

November 2017

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La Fontaine de la

Paranoïa Ruthie Roo

Thomas Jay was an average nobody from Louisiana who grew up in a suburb just outside New Orleans; he had a taste for good jazz and wraparound porches with creaky boards and old chipped paint. As a criminal defense lawyer he wasn’t blind to the violence of his hometown. Overtime he learned to deal with the happenings around him. He loved the city and the town he lived in but after a particularly exhausting trial he decided to blow off steam with a nice long trip to New York City.

A cheap Super 8 just beyond city limits was where Thomas stayed. On the third night in the great metropolitan so new to him he decided to take a late train into the heart of the city, for a walk in hopes of clearing his ever stormy brain. Everywhere he looked it was teeming with bright iridescent nightlife. The walk became an enjoyable one in that his thoughts were constantly interrupted by young people who shone just as bright as the city and the shady alleys reminding him of home.

Though every municipality had them they all appeared different, one was familiar while the other was alien. Thomas knew what could happen in these dark corners and made sure to stay away. Yet one just seemed to draw him in.

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Plume - Halloween Issue

Thomas walked down the alley which looked as if it would go on forever, the dark nothingness intrigued him. The previous alleys he passed all had an end, the deep abyss he walked into had none whatsoever. The thought of showing up on tomorrow’s 9 o’clock news scared him but curiosity got the best of Thomas. Entering the nothingness, Tom felt a certain pending doom stirring at the bottom of his stomach. His heart was beating fast, his cold hands began to shake and he broke out in a cold sweat.

His eyes were wide open searching for any light as he passed through the complete darkness into another world. He must’ve walked for an hour in the darkness which now seemed to be all consuming.

He took small steps, as not to trip on something he couldn’t see. But he wasn’t just fearful of the dark, no, it was the deathly quiet that followed. A silence that felt as if he was hearing the nothingness of the dark, even the tinnitus in his ears began to quiet. Thomas continued forward but the back of his mind hollered to turn back while he still could. But how could he? He didn’t even know if he was walking in a straight line. Without warning the darkness shifted into a bright yellow light, he reached his destination.

Everything surrounding him was blood red; dystopian and smouldering. Tom’s eyes burned at the sight, he walked on into the scorched earth not able to turn back, there was no way back. In the distance he saw a fountain, a beautiful marble fountain with cherub statues that spouted clear, fresh water. In the flat nothingness he saw ruins of buildings that once were, but now, lay deserted and crumbling. He cried out in fear as he haphazardly doddered to the fountain, screaming “No! How could this be!”. He panicked, crouching over the fountain, he wailed as he continued with his meltdown, this was the end, this was his end. He was dripping with sweat and ran to the ruins, everything around him seemed broken and desolate, the buildings were mostly flat. It was somewhat bare the way they stood with nothing of their original glamour This hell- this apocalypse,

was the future. The imminent fate of the world was enough to push him to the breaking point.

Bellowing out he felt himself being pulled away, but no one, nothing was there. He heard the slam of a car door and a jolt of an automobile. He closed his eyes so hard he could see spots, hoping and praying that this was all just a horrid phantasm. When they opened again, all he could see were grayish transparent outlines of people. He could hear the bustling of the city he was once in but with the backdrop of this nightmarish world he was now living in. This new development made no sense to Thomas, it only frightened him more, with the world so close yet unreachable all the same. But one thing resounded in his ears, a feminine voice heard clear as day; “How sad, the poor man went mad”.

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She strode down the darkened street wearing razor-sharp heels and a smile that was even sharper. Her clothing was skin-tight and as black as her soul. A mask concealed everything but her inky purple eyes that sparkled with anticipation.

The swarms of costumed children and stressed parents surrounded her, but took little notice.

Bumblebees, pirates and princesses ran up and down the street giggling and screeching, high on chocolate. Shiny candy wrappers mingled with dried leaves skittering down the street, hiding in gutters or gusting in the wind.

Tipsy and scantily dressed adults pour out of bars laughing and stumbling. Groups of teens only half-heartedly dressed up roam the streets tailed by suspicious cops, adding to the chaos.

The usual traffic of New York City is a backdrop for the cacophony. No one notices that the street lights dim as she saunters beneath them, heels clicking against pavement. Her long ebony hair is fixed in a tight pony tail yet it still reaches her waist. Her false nails are made of a dark metal and glint in the light. As she passes a closed store front, she brushes up against the display window, daintily tapping the glass with her pinky nail. A spidery crack splits the glass, spiraling out from the epicenter where her fingernail touched. The glass shards tinkle as they fall from the window and shatter on the floor. She smirks, pleased that the nails work as they were designed. She walks away leaving awed children gaping at the broken window and praying their mothers don’t see and blame them.

Those who knew of her- and there weren’t many that were still alive, called her Ivy. She seemed almost innocent, a dark mysterious force. And then she engulfed you, but you only realized once it was too late. She was a contract killer, but she preferred the term “Agent of Karma” because unless she was tight for cash she only took out those who deserved it. That’s not to say she was kind, or even fair. No, she was merciless and she was deadly, but she had a conscience. She was the best in the city, possibly the world. And when she signed her name, the

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Plume - Halloween Issue

“i” was dotted with a drop of blood. Even in her industry she was somewhat of an oddity. There were two categories of assassin: those who did it because they had to, and the psychopaths. She was neither. By now she had plenty of cash stored up, so she didn’t do it for the money. She wasn’t crazy either; she didn’t like to hurt people, she was just good at it.

It had been awhile since she had taken someone out, so she felt a twinge of nervousness, a shiver of anticipation. She’d gotten a call from one of her associates early that morning.

“Ivy, I can’t.” He insisted, sounding shaken up.

“Why the hell not? Too much blood, afraid you might faint?” she sneered. But underneath her mocking tone, she was worried. Theo was usually up for anything.

“Whatever, you’ll see.” He replied coldly. She thought of something mean to reply with but the line was dead. She scowled and used her disdain like a carpet to cover up the fear that was beginning to nibble at her.

She stopped in front of a brick building nestled in among the others. She peered in the front window past the hanging plants and strange light fixtures at a dimly-lit room with a bar and an eclectic assortment of chairs and tables, as well as patrons of all ages. She looked up at the neon white lighted sign that proclaimed “Ryder’s Bar” in classy cursive script and snorted. Some peace-loving hipster wanted someone dead.

She swung open the drift-wood door and glanced around. When she saw no one furtively glancing in her direction she headed towards the bar.

She perched on a patchwork upholstered stool and ordered a tea that was entitled detox-something-or-other and contained a list of ingredients that were unpronounceable. She didn’t really

more than murder

care about its medicinal properties but she had a weak spot for honey and could use the caffeine.

She pulled off her mask and began cleaning her excessively sharp fingernails.

“Hey, can I buy you a juice?” a purposely laid-back voice asked from her left.

“That depends,” she purred. “What time is it?” She had devised this code with Theo that morning who had passed on the information to her client.

“Um, 10:15?” the guy in the man-bun and bowtie said uncertainly after glancing at his phone.

“Ah, you see, I only drink before 10:00” she replied.

She waved, indicating that their conversation was over. Puzzled, the man walked back to his table, disappointment evident behind his large geeky glasses.

She turned back towards the bar and the large mug of steaming tea that now sat there. She narrowed her eyes, finding the timing suspicious. Dipping her pinky into the cup she stirred nonchalantly. When her nail did not change shade, she took a large gulp sighing as the hot liquid calmed her nerves.

Her nail would have turned pink if the drink was laced. Another perk of having money: she could afford an innovative weapons designer.

She heard the door swing open and felt the crisp autumn air on the back of her neck. A chill ran down her spine. Intuitively, she knew this was her employer, but she did not turn around. She did not hear footsteps, so she jumped a little when the chair to her right squeaked. She turned to find a girl with wild brown hair clambering onto the barstool next to her. She couldn’t have been older than eight. Ivy furrowed her eyebrows, bewildered. She had been certain that she was about to meet her contractor; she had a sort of sixth sense in this area. But this could not be her client. Could it? No. But she had felt it. The girl wore a grubby oversized sweatshirt and a cold, tired look that belonged to someone much older. Ivy took a deep breath, “What time is it?” she asked, terrified to hear the correct response.

“Time is irrelevant when there’s work to be done.”

The little girl’s voice was flat and only barely tainted by a childish lisp.

Ivy swallowed. She had had scary clients.

Jimmy “the butcher” Figgis had threatened to pull out her fingernails, and use them to cut out her tongue if she failed him. Violent Violet had hung her by her hair for 3 hours when she left her calling card on an item (she didn’t like to refer to them as victims, because victims don’t deserve it and those she took out did). She’d had unusual patrons, like the unassuming college intellect who wanted his professor dead, or the nurse who couldn’t bring herself to pull the plug. But this was different. This was a child. And the first client she was truly afraid of.

She excused herself and walked outside.

She yanked her phone from her pocket and dialed a number. Fuming, she tapped her foot and listened to the dial tone.

“H-“ Before he could get a word out she started whisper-yelling at him. He listened patiently while she ranted.

“What the actual hell, Theo,” she finished.

“I told you.” He said smugly.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me she was a fucking toddler!” Ivy snapped glancing over her shoulder back at the bar, as if the girl could over-hear her.

“Actually, she’s seven.” Theo replied matter-of-factly. Ivy glared at her mental image of him. When she didn’t respond Theo cleared his throat uncomfortably as if he could feel the daggers she was shooting at him telepathically.

“So are you going to do it?”

“I don’t know, she hasn’t even told me the job yet. I have half a mind to disappear and find a different gig, or maybe just my bed.” She replied rubbing her face with her free hand, suddenly exhausted.

“What? You don’t even know what you’re in for and you’re spooked?” he let out a condescending laugh. “Ivy, darlin’ are you in the business or aren’t you?”

Angry words leapt to the tip of her tongue, but she kept her composure.

“Oh, I’m sorry, who couldn’t do it?” She

November 2017

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more than murder cont. asked sarcastically.

Theo laughed again, this time genuinely.

“You’re right.” His voice grew serious “but, honestly, Ivy, you shouldn’t take it. That girl, something about her just…” he trailed off trying to find the words.

“Scares you?” She asked. “Me, too,” she sighed before he could protest.

Theirs was a weird sort of friendship, if indeed you could call it that. They’d known each other in high school after which they’d went their separate ways.

But every couple of years they’d always run into each other so they had developed a complex relationship; a mixture of competitiveness and protectiveness.

They’d made a sort of unspoken pact that if things went down, they’d have each other’s backs.

They were silent for a moment.

“Well, let me at least go find out what I’m signing up for before I make up my mind.”

“Ivy, just…be careful.”

She smiled.

“You know I won’t.”

Theo sighed, but he was smiling too.

“Yeah, but I thought it was worth a try.”

“We still good for coffee Thursday?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Night, Theo.”

“Night, Ivy.” Ivy shook her head and pocketed her phone.

She steeled herself and strode back into Ryder’s bar.

The girl sat exactly where she had left her, but now with a large mug of hot chocolate in front of her.

Ivy sat back down, not facing the child.

“So are you going to help me?” The girl asked.

“Yes.” Ivy spoke with a conviction she didn’t feel.

“Good. Because I heard you’re the best, and that’s what I need.”

Feeling a giddy sort of apprehensiveness, Ivy asked the obvious question: “Who?” The girl sipped her hot chocolate. She turned and looked at Ivy full-on for the first time. Ivy’s breath caught. She stared into the little girl’s soul-piercing, heart-breaking, hopeless eyes. As hard as steel and

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Plume - Halloween Issue

the inky purple of Ivy’s own.

“Jason Ryan.”

She couldn’t help it, she usually did her own background checks and subtly extracted the reasons from her employer, but she felt that in this case it wasn’t going to happen. So she asked the question that always burned on her tongue: “Why?” The little girl’s eyes were alight with dangerous flames that could not be extinguished, even by the tears that filled her eyes.

“Because he hurt the people I love and I want to hurt him back.”

Ivy felt an anger in the pit of her stomach and an overwhelming desire to protect the little girl. She held a general policy of distancing herself from her customers otherwise things became messy, and she liked things clean. Yet with this little girl all she wanted to do was wrap her in her arms and shield her from the world that she had already experienced too much of. But she held her feelings at bay replacing her mask of indifference.

“Then let’s get to work. What should I call you?” She treated the girl like any other client, respectful and seemingly nonchalant, but actually deeply weary.

“Miss Payne.” The girl replied without looking up.

The irony was not lost on Ivy, but she simply nodded and began laying out plans Ivy glanced around the bar, but they were seated at the far edge where the bartender rarely roamed, and where people only passed by on their way to the bathroom, so she wasn’t overly concerned with people overhearing. Miss Payne explained that Jason would be returning to his brownstone (113) in upper Manhattan around 2 am “stupid-drunk” (as she put it).

Ivy paused. She had known she’d be working on a limited time schedule, that’s not what had surprised her. She narrowed her eyes at the girl.

“And that would be the brownstone owned by the CEO of the famous tech company, the previously unnamed Mr. Wifi, correct?” She asked futilely hoping she had messed up the address but knowing she hadn’t.

“Yes, that’s the one.” Miss Payne said slowly and deliberately as if talking to someone hard of hearing.

Ivy closed her eyes and nodded. “Sounds about right.”

After hours of planning Ivy knew exactly what to do. She would scale the fire escape of the first building on the end of the block, climb between roofs, and use an electronic disruptor to kill the power. That would give her a minute when the alarms were off to slip in through the roof and catch Jason in his room after he’d said goodnight to the security guards.

They left the bar and strode down the street, an odd pair. When the neared his house Ivy slowed and ducked down an ally. She checked her watch.

1:45.

“Ok, I’m ready, anything else I need to know?”

She asked her employer.

“I’m coming with you.”

Ivy gaped.

“No you’re not.”

The girl gave her a hard glare and said: “Yes, I am.”

For some reason, Ivy got the feeling this was a battle of wills she would not win. So she bent and hoisted the girl onto her back. She weighed far too little for a seven year old.

Everything went according to plan. Ivy stealthily scaled the fire escape, leapt between roofs, set off the electronic disruptor and broke in. She found him in his room, intoxicated. She set the girl down in the hallway and told her not to watch, knowing she would anyway. She pulled a blade from the heel of her shoe, and crept across the expensive carpet to where he stood changing out of his suit. Once she was less than a foot from him, she reached around using one hand to cover his mouth while with the other she placed a single bladed-fingernail under his chin, pressing just hard enough that he would be in pain, but not quite hard enough to puncture his windpipe.

He let out a muffled cry but otherwise held still. She could smell the alcohol on him and she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“You deserve a much worse fate.” She whispered.

Then she released him and sunk her dagger into his

back. He gasped as warm, crimson blood flowed from the perfectly placed wound. He stood for a moment, hands on his chest, in shock. Then his knees buckled and he fell face forward onto the floor, blood leaking onto the rug.

“And it was such a nice carpet.” Ivy said, stepping over him. She yanked her dagger from his back and using the blood on her fingernail she began to carve her name into the floor.

“Don’t.” Whispered the girl. Ivy stopped, torn, but finally she nodded her consent.

Ivy slid her blades back into place, then wiped her hands on her pants.

“Let’s go.” She said to the girl, creeping down the hallway.

She didn’t respond. Instead she padded into the room, crouched next to the man and laid two fingers on his wrist. After detecting no pulse, she stood up and ran towards the closet, she pulled a pin from her shoe and began to fiddle with the lock. Ivy was bewildered. This was not part of the plan. The lock popped and something rushed out of the closet and latched onto the girl, who was smiling for the first time. Miss Payne jogged back over to Ivy. “Now I’m ready.”

Ivy stared in shock at the little girl in Miss Payne’s arms with a black eye but a wide smile. But there was not time for questions, they needed to move. They left the way they came, but now with more difficulty as Ivy had to manage both of the children.

Back on the street, Ivy couldn’t resist the question that had been bothering her all night.

“Who was he to you?” she asked The smaller girl clung to the older. Miss Payne’s eyes had new hope in them.

“My dad.”

Tabetha Rowlands

November 2017

13

T T h e Q u e s t i o n Megan Colman On Halloween night, under the light of the full moon, he kissed me. I felt his intense, cold, fire plunge down into the depth of my soul.

I wanted him. I wanted him, so bad. I could feel my blazing passion come out of my heart, and merge with his cold fire.

I put a little bit of me into him, he put a little of himself into me. We were complete.

He pushed me against the table. I heard the clang of empty porcelain breaking.

The empty table ware was cutting my arms and neck, though my back was protected by my blue dress.

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Plume - Halloween Issue

I could see the bits of blood stain the white tablecloth.

He continued kissing me, hoping to merge our bodies in the same way that our souls were intertwined.

I saw someone observe our little joining dance out of the corner of my eye.

“Who-” I started.

“No one.” The man stated.

“No one important, anyway.”

The man sat up on the table next to my immobile self.

“Are you-”

“Psychic? Why, yes I am.”

The man leaned over to whisper, “And I know you like this.”

Something ran through my limbs, to my spine, to my brain. I gasped.

My eyes opened wide. For the first time since I had locked eyes with this man in the graveyard, I was afraid.

I tried to move, to sit up, to do anything that could get me away from this lunatic.

I got my hands in a position to push my body upright. But nothing happened.

The man laughed. “Looks like the spell is wearing off.” He laughed again.

I didn’t know what he meant, so I tried to move again.

I tried to close my eyes, but they wouldn’t shut completely. I tried to move my head, but my eyes stayed focused on his glowing irises.

A gunshot rang out.

The man froze. I saw someone’s hand grab the man and pull him off me.

I longed to see the person who rescued me, but I still couldn’t move.

A woman, about 21, with blackish brown hair and hazel eyes, had popped into my view.

“Please don’t tell me….”

She muttered.

“What’s going-” I tried to ask.

“Did he bite you?” Her voice was trembling. “...I don’t think-”

I managed to get my shoulders barely off the table.

The man pushed me flat on the table with his body. My jaw was in his hand.

The woman suddenly hugged me.

“Look me in the eye, Alice in Wonderland.” The man in the Mad Hatter costume laughed.

“What-”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She whisper shouted.

A hand grabbed onto the woman’s shoulder, dragging her away from

November 2017

15

The Question cont.

“Where-”

my line of sight.

“We gotta leave this dimension!”

Another gunshot rang out.

The woman popped up again.

She sat me up, holding a small vial in her hand.

It was filled with a mysterious translucent purple liquid.

“D-dimension?!”

“I’m sorry to scare you like this, and I know you were under a spell, but that man was a vampire.”

I gasped. “What?!”

“Drink this.”

“And he preys on young human girls like yourself.”

“What-”

“What?!”

“Drink it!”

“I’m not human, so I obviously know more than you do.”

And she forced the purple fluid down my throat.

I felt the warmth of the liquid rush into every part of me, blossoming like a flower inside my body.

I realized that I could move again.

“What was-” The woman pulled me off the table, running.

“We gotta go!”

She turned around, and fired her pistol, taking a shot for the man that was no longer visible. A literal shot in the dark.

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“You aren’t-” “I’m a witch.” She said calmly.

“What?!”

She stopped running.

“Don’t worry, I’m a good witch. I saved you from that vampire, didn’t I?” “Okay-” “Let’s go!” She said, as we continued running.

I saw a blue-purple metallic oval frame come into sight.

The woman skidded to a

stop.

She touched her necklace, and the frame began to fill with light.

“What-”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I never got a chance to thank you for saving me.”

“Heh, your welcome.”

“Go!”

“I still don’t really get what happened…”

The woman pushed me into the light.

Dallna turned and raised an eyebrow.

Another gunshot followed.

“But, thanks anyway.”

I turned around. “And, maybe if you come back, we’ll see eachother again.”

I was spinning through the fluorescent fog, until I was roughly dropped onto the grass.

I stood up dizzily. I was back in the graveyard.

“Where-” “Sorry to scare you like that.”

I turned, and there stood that witch.

She held out her hand. “My name’s Dallna.”

I shook it. “Liv.”

“Bye.” Dallna said.

I turned around to face her one last time, but she was already gone.

“Bye bye.” I whispered.

That Halloween night, I stared at the full moon in that graveyard, asking myself, Why did she save me?

That is a question I think that I’ll never know the answer to.

Dallna turned around and said, “Liv, I’m gonna have to go back to my dimension.”

I said, “Why-” “I have a duty to protect my village. Sorry.”

November 2017

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The Spider’s Maze

Reivax S.

Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drop. Where am I? Drip, drip, drip, drip, drop. How long have I been here? Drip, drip, drip, drop.

Why do I hear footsteps? Drip, drip, drop.

What’s that noise? Drip, drop. Who’s there?

DROP! “Hey Aaron, I came to save you from this madhouse.” Who’s there?

“Hurry up! I don’t know when they’ll be coming back!” Where am I? “Don’t you see your surroundings?

They’re going to kill you if you don’t hurry up and leave!” How long have I been here?

“Aaron snap out of it! Come on- I can hear them coming.” Why do I hear footsteps?

“This is not good. They’re he-” What’s that noise?

Light hits me, and I do not like it. I realize that I’m hanging upside down like a sack of meat in a freezer; the stranger continues to panic.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?

A little rat trying to save its mouse friend-

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-how sweet.” Who said that? Their voice sounds horrid.

“Aaron, I’m not joking anymore. This is serious. He’s back and my plan is about to be ruined if you don’t concentrate. Please try to untie yourself.” The man hisses.

“I’m sorry, but who are you and why are you acting like you know me?” I asked.

“What the heck, Aaron? We’re in a life or death situation and you’re asking me who I am?” This random person sounds furious. I wonder why.

“What ‘life or death situation’.” I say sarcastically.

“Aaron! Look around at your surroundings for just one second and stop being an idiot!” Why is this stranger yelling at me?...I might as well look around.

What a bad choice that was. Blood, blood decorates the walls, and ceiling. In different forms. It ranges from writing to hand and foot prints. I am petrified. Why am I here?

“Now do you see, Aaron? We need to get

out of here. Now!” When the stranger says that it becomes clear that I- no, we- have to escape from this bloody torture chamber. And with that, we run away from the strange, horrid voice.

“Excuse me, but while we are running I would like to know your name.” Even if we’re in a life or death situation I would still like to know who I am running with.

“Oh I’m Jeoffrey.” Jeoffrey. That’s a name I don’t hear often.

“Well, Jeoffrey, I would like to say thank you for helping me escape from that thing.”

It’s only polite to thank him.

“Save that thank you for when we escape this warehouse.”

“Warehouse. I didn’t know we were in a warehouse.” I am now becoming suspicious of this Jeoffrey.

“Sorry, I’m not positive that this is a warehouse. It’s just that this place reminds me of one with all of the crates and machinery.” I guess that’s a valid reason for now, but until I can trust him I can’t tell him about myself.

“So, do you remember why or how you got there in that room in the first place?”

Should I answer him? My suspicion is rising.

I know what I’ll say, at least for now.

“I actually don’t remember anything. The last thing I remember is going to bed then suddenly I woke to find some crazy random person in my face yelling while I’m hanging upside down with several Jackson-Pratt drains.”

“At least they weren’t filled with anything.” Yeah I guess he’s right. It would have been bad if there were anything in those things.

We continue on in silence.

“Ok, something is fishy here.” I don’t think Jeoffrey’s noticed it yet.

“What’s odd?” Yep, he hasn’t noticed it yet.

“We’ve been walking in circles for the past twenty minutes.” I thought it was obvious, but I guess not.

“We have? You’re lying.” Why would he assume that?

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The Spider’s Maze “If you don’t believe me then start walking and I’ll catch up later.” Let’s see what his response is.

“OK.” Ok. Maybe he doesn’t care that we’re being hunted down…?

“I don’t think you’ll have to move another muscle.” There it is! That horrid voice that we’ve been running away from.

“RUN!” Why would you yell run? He was still on the other side of the wall! Idiot.

“No, I was just going to stand here and let him capture me like an idiot.” Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Jeoffrey seems red in the face at the moment.

“Now’s not the time for your sarcasm Aaron.” Sorry, just trying to lighten up the situation.

“I found you.” Should I scream right now?

Probably.

“Aaron. On the count of three I want you to run.” Is he crazy? We can’t run from this cannibal.

“One,” I don’t like this idea, there’s no way that we can escape.

“Two,” That thing is walking towards us,

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can he count faster?

“Thr-” Let’s go! Wait, I don’t think I heard three yet.

“This little birdie went to bed,” What is he talking about? What birdie?

“A-Aaron you n-need to run. Now!” That’s crazy, why would I leave him?

“Jeoffrey, that’s not happening. We’re either leave together or we die together.”

That should show him that I am not someone who leaves behind a comrade.

Now what’s something that I could use to at least distract this mutant? Let’s see: there are several different types of hitting materials. We have metal rods, aluminum bats, crowbars, and even a rock. Which one should I choose?

“Don’t worry Jeoffrey I’m here to save you!” With this adrenaline pumping through my veins I know that we CAN escape. With these thoughts I throw the rock at it and guess what Jeoffrey says to my heroic act.

“Aaron, you idiot. Who throws a rock at that thing?” Me. Ok so maybe the rock wasn’t the best idea, but at least it was

something. Right? At least it works, but I don’t know how well. As soon as that rock hits its target I grab Jeoffrey and start running away from that monstrosity.

After running for so long and with Jeoffrey wounded we need to have a break, and that’s what we do.

“Aaron why don’t you look near your feet?” Near my feet. What’s down there?

“Jeoffrey, I don’t have a license to wield this type of machinery!”

“Aaron, you are an idiot.” Rude much. If I were to grab that weapon there is a likely chance that I could hurt or even kill one of us.

“Come out, come out wherever you are.” How did it find us?

“You can’t escape from me you pesky insects. You’re both trapped in my web.” What does that even mean?

“We’re not your prey! We will escape and we will come back to kill you!”

Jeoffrey’s right. This thing can not keep

us down.

“You two don’t even realize where you’ve been running towards. Do you?”

Why is it talking to us?

“Look around, doesn’t this seem familiar?” It’s right. This is the room that I woke up in. How’s that possible?

“How’s this possible. We’ve been running for almost an hour now!” Jeoffrey’s right, yet again. We’ve been running for about an hour. I’m all sweaty.

“There’s no need to be confused right now because it’s too late. Nighty Nighty, my little flies.”

Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drop.

Where am I? Drip, drip, drip, drip, drop.

How long have I been here? Drip, drip, drip, drop. Why do I hear footsteps?

Drip, drip, drop. What’s that noise?

Drip, drop. Who’s there? DROP! “Hey Jeoffrey, I came to save you from this madhouse.”

November 2017

21

FRUIT Cairo Gaona

It’s a closed casket funeral, naturally. My buddies and I in the FBI got involved, and we weren’t even going to allow her family that. We tried to tell them that the body could be dangerous, that we didn’t know what caused her to die. They didn’t care. They wanted to bury her. We agreed, on the condition that everyone present wear a biohazard suit.

Witnesses in a fifty-kilometer span claimed that they had sighted her in her final days. We interviewed all of them.

“She looked drunk, likeblackout drunk. She almost turfed it a buncha times. I thought she was just a partier.”

“I tried to talk to her, but she just looked at me. She kept walking while she did, too, so her head turned but her body kept going.”

“She had something on her head. It looked weird, kind of like...a unicorn horn, maybe?

Yeah. It was, it was really weird.”

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We slapped a report together.

The police had extrapolated her path over the course of a week, but had no clue as to why she followed it. A kilometer north, two to the east. Half a kilometer north again, then four south.

We weren’t satisfied with that.

Neither were her parents.

So we brought in a specialist.

Then two, when the one couldn’t figure it out. The numbers grew over the weeks-three, four, seven.

No doctor or behavior specialist or internet quack could discern the cause. It was...discouraging.

We branched out after a month. We wanted to know the cause just as much as her parents did, so we isolated her body in a freezer. It didn’t make me proud, treating the poor girl’s body like meat, but it was necessary to perform more research. We called whoever had a degree and half a brain.

News was starting to spread. Not a lot, thanks to the government hush-up, but

witnesses will talk. Not everyone who had seen her admitted it to the police.

In retrospect, that might have been what brought us to Facilier.

She called us in the dead of night. I don’t know how she got ahold of our number. She told us she had a theory about what had happened to the girl. I was skeptical; she hadn’t even seen the body in person.

She was correct. Everyone crowded in to get a glimpse of what she was pointing.

A dead ant, clamped to a leaf by the force of its jaws. A wiry stalk sprouted out of its head. On the top there was a porous bulb.

I stepped back in confusion.

I asked what it was. The others reacted similarly.

“Ophiocordyceps unilateralis.

We brought her in the next There are dozens of species of day. She was a dumpy little this fungus, but they only affected lady, but she carried herself with authority. She held a large insects.”

Facilier narrowed her eyes. terrarium filled with ants.

“But. I hear something similar “See this?” she asked, skipping happened to the victim?” any pretense of courtesy. “It’s We could only nod and filled with ants.” I nodded. It was, mumble in shock. in fact, filled with them.

“Ants?” said a scientist.

“Yeah.”

“And here,” she pointed, “is something I believe you’re familiar with.”

“Then let me close your investigation for you. I’ve been studying this for-oh, maybe fifteen years now. Give me a sample of the fungus, a lab, and a sample of the victim’s body, and I will be able to tell you everything.”

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We agreed, of course. A week later, she came out from the lab we provided. There were dark circles under her eyes.

“Gather round, folks. I’ve got a story to tell.”

We crowded around her.

Everyone wanted answers. We wanted to close the case. Facilier took a deep breath.

“Mary Lou Anderson, seventeen years of age. She enjoyed long walks in the forest and picking flowers.

She also enjoyed poking around ant hills, I assume. Sometime around a week before death, she disturbed one of these infected ants. The bulb at the top of the stalk released spores, which embedded in her body.”

The scientists started muttering.

“She was on one of her long nature walks when she blacked out. That,” said Facilier. She

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looked me straight in the eyes.

“Is when she died. Seven days before her body stopped moving, she died.”

The room grew cold.

“The witnesses who saw her walking around saw her corpse.

By that point, her brain was just responding to stimuli from the fungus. Under its control, her body moved to the point where it would become the most virulent.

In the case of this fungus, that means a tall tree. When it infects ants, they seek a leaf where they will be most likely to spread the fungus. She did the same thing.”

That made sense. When we came upon the scene of death, her body was on the ground.

Her bones were broken in over one hundred places. The tree she had fallen from was around a hundred feet high. The fall would have killed her if the fungus hadn’t.

“She tried to clamp herself onto the tree with her teeth. Ants can do that, but human jaws are physically incapable, so she shattered her jaw and fell to the earth.”

Facilier slammed her hands onto the table in the middle of the room.

“We’ve neutralized the threat of the fungus spreading. As long as the body stays frozen in isolation, there should be little threat.”

The scientists mumbled in approval. She frowned.

“I’m not done yet. The fungus wants to be eaten; that’s why ants climb so high. They do that so birds or cows will eat them and spread more spores.”

I asked how this tied in with the rest of it. She grimaced.

“Well, what’s walking around that’s big enough to eat a human?”

F R U I T cont.

November 2017

25

When It Comes To Get

You...

It was almost sundown, which meant I had about an hour left to secure the home. It wouldn’t take long.

I ran down the stairs of my old house and quickly moved a table in front of the door. I double checked the boards over each window and made sure each curtain was secured over top of them. I needed to make sure that any movement in the house would be shielded from an outsider’s view. The walls of the first floor were lined with bookshelves I’d moved there long ago to reinforce the walls. Thus was my compulsive nature, as a house made of brick could hardly be penetrated, even by them. I scrutinized the locks on all the doors for a third time; it was habit. I had a routine down by that point; I had a system.

Finishing with the doors, windows, and walls, I moved back towards the kitchen. The carpets laid out over the tile floor shifted under my feet as I walked around counting the survival inventory on each shelf. Each rug was placed relatively early on during the storm. I knew there were things out there, things that I didn’t want to know I was here, so the carpets muffled the sound of my heels on the floor. The quieter I was, the better. Under these new circumstances, I’d learned to keep my head on and my shoelaces tied. Panicking helps no one, and loose shoes slow you down.

Peeking through a hole I had left in one of the boards covering up a window, I saw that it was almost completely dark outside. As per usual, I was right on schedule. I retreated back up the stairs quietly, and finished the few preparations I had left to do. With most of the rooms upstairs empty and boarded off, I had no reason to check them. I knew that those entrances were secure, and it being the second floor, I felt relatively safe that nothing would climb through.

Still, there were more curtains and blankets covering

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Olivia Losito

every place that any light might have been able to escape. Now the only thing left to do was recount the bullets in my gun.

I sat down on the mattress I had pulled from one of the bedrooms, and tried to settle in for the night. I’d say I was attempting to relax, but with the current state of affairs, such luxuries were no longer possible. Words like “free-time” got people killed and I wasn’t ready to die. There were eight left. Bullets, I mean. At least, eight that I was willing to use. One uncounted one stayed in my pocket at all times. The eight that I had to use were only for emergencies, even though a part of me knew that they wouldn’t help. I felt the weight of each one in my hand. They were cold, and approximately three ounces each.

The metal glinted in the faint light of my candle as they each moved from my hand back into the gun.

As I loaded them I counted each one to myself. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

Before the Happening, that’s my name for these terrible events, I lived in this house. I was getting ready for college, and it was the end of the summer.

My parents had gone away for the weekend on a vacation stay to Maine to visit with my Aunt and Uncle. They were fifteen hours away when it started.

I was home alone at night, and watching a movie.

I had stayed alone before, and nothing had ever happened; I was used to this. The house was big and empty, but they were never gone for long so I was able to enjoy myself. It was this big country home, brick tudor style and sprawling front lawns.

Separated from the rest of society by about twenty miles, our many acre plot was the perfect place to be.

Until now. The distance was isolating, and the once comfortable and homey atmosphere was gone. I had no idea what had become of my parents. The phones

were the first things to go, then the power.

Keeping my phone charged with a generator my father had left in the basement, I was able to update myself regularly on any news that changed. It seemed quite obvious to me that this was a serious crisis, but any other information seemed to be unavailable.

Finally, the news stopped working as well. I was utterly, and unequivocally alone.

Since then, I haven’t heard of anything more. I was afraid to leave the house because everything seemed so far away.

Additionally, I was practically self-sufficient; the only things that I was having trouble with were shoes. But the rich life that I had left behind stayed in bits and pieces that helped provide for me.

My routine continued for several weeks. I went to bed late, and woke up early. It was quiet then, in the early hours before the sun had risen. The fog surrounded the house in a damp, depressing manner, but I had gotten used to such things fairly quickly. Then it happened. I’d had hardly any sleep that night. The wind had howled against the house like never before, and I hadn’t wanted to be caught off guard by anything that could catch me by surprise. I walked downstairs. I passed the kitchen window, with the hole. I looked up, and I saw it there. One of the things. It raised it’s hands up to the glass, and rapped on it. The long nails, more like claws, made an ear stabbing sound as they dragged along the smooth surface. I was frozen. I didn’t know what to do. I had seen these things in blurry photos on the news, right before the cell towers had gone down… But I had never seen one up close.

The thing looked at me with its cold, white eyes for what seemed like millenia. That moment lasted longer than my entire life. And I’d left my gun behind.

It started pounding on the glass. The sudden burst

of movement frightened me to the extreme and I jumped up from where I stood and ran back to the stairs. Hands shaking I reached down to the ground and searched for my protector. My fingers trembled as I took the weapon in my hand and checked to see if the chamber was loaded. Holding it up at the ready, I went slowly to the stairs. At the bottom I reached one of my hiding places. I had kept several knives around the house, in case I was caught unawares by something and couldn’t reach my firearm.

Fiddling with the handle on one of the bookshelves, I finally pushed past my shivering hands and took hold of the knife.

The banging continued, and suddenly a loud crash cut through the air. My whole body went cold. I moved quickly to the front door where I had already removed the table, and paused as I reached backwards for the handle. I closed my eyes and thought about everything I wished I’d done. I wanted to go skydiving. I wanted to get married. I wanted to own more than three dogs and take long hikes in the mountains. Everything that I had ever hoped to do was gone. All of my dreams for a career, my college experience, meeting the love of my life, having the experiences of a young adult. But most of all I wanted to see my parents again.

I reopened my eyes.

I met the gaze of a monster more terrible than I could’ve ever fathomed. The eyes were completely glazed over with a ghostly white color. For a moment we only looked at each other, and I can only imagine the look of horror residing on my face. I could feel the blood drain out of my head, and my knees felt as if they would buckle. I was alone. I was going to die.

The thing lunged at me, scrambling up in a psychotic way. My heart stopped and without thinking I fired the gun once, twice, three times. I missed

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the first two shots. The fear in my head clenched a fist over my stomach and squeezed. I was about to vomit. Frustrated with my inability to hit the thing, tears started racing down my cheeks: hot, wet, embarrassing. The third time I fired the gun, a bullet went through it’s chest.

It fell to the ground with a thud; its limbs twitched violently and threateningly. I had five bullets left. It was closer to me than I thought it had been. Another second, and it would have been right on top of me.

Slowly, it stopped moving, and I convinced myself that it was dead. I walked backwards and leaned against the wall. I slid down the smooth surface. I held no expression, my muscles were relaxed and tense all at the same time.

I felt pathetic, weak, sorrowful. I couldn’t even kill something that was ten feet in front of me. It had been twelve weeks. What was I supposed to do for the rest of my life? I couldn’t stay here forever. Not with that thing here.

I was shaking all over. Gut wrenching sobs wracked my whole body as I curled into myself. The floor was cold. The air was still.

Eventually I stood up and pulled myself together.

I felt changed. Violated. Stripped of whatever innocence I had retained from my life before. I felt old. I felt ancient.

Silently I walked to the kitchen and took a look at the damage that had been done. There had been three boards intact over the window, now there was only one. The other two lay broken on the floor. I would need to fix this later, and support the defenses I had elsewhere.

Usually at this time in the morning, birds would start to sound their chirps and whistles, but that day it seemed as if each of them knew how solemn it really was.

I continued surveying the damages when a sound came from the other room. I stopped dead in my tracks. This couldn’t be happening. I stood up straight and moved to look through the doorway where the thing was flailing around.

I choked back another sob. I really was going to die. The creature didn’t seem to be able to stand yet, so I took the opportunity to run and slam the door

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shut. That got its attention. A shriek like no other erupted from its lungs and sent electricity buzzing through the air. I sat against the doorway not knowing what to do, when a bang shook me off of my feet.

It was pounding on the door. I realized then that it would attract more of the things with its sound, and began to panic.

I pulled over a chair and used it to block the entrance way. Stepping away, I knew that I didn’t have much time. I couldn’t go anywhere else in the house, the one entrance had a monster behind it.

The only other door was to the outside, and I had long ago boarded it up. I backed into a corner and faced my adversary. The chair was almost on the floor from its position. Once it fell I would have no other option but to shoot. What would it mean if I was to use bullet number nine now?

No. I wouldn’t let it come to that. Not ever. If there was a chance that I was to live… But it was too late. The door burst open, and with a flash and a bang, the thing was on top of me. I was all alone.

I guess I didn’t have to use bullet number nine after all… This would do it for me…

The Girl in the Attic Brynne Ketchum Lilith Grace Adams was a special little girl. She was the youngest of five and was the most spoiled.

She loved to pull pranks and scare her older siblings to make them mad. She was very sweet, but some days she liked to frighten other people for her amusement. From hiding behind a corner to tapping on the window she would always be successful with making people jump. She did not know that someday it would come back to bite her. She died on Friday October 13, 1916 on her thirteenth birthday, which is why she is so special.

Archer Williams is a curious sixteen year old girl. She has long blonde hair, fierce blue eyes, regular height, and her own unique style. She is the youngest of three and was moving into a new house with her family. The house was old, and it had been abandoned for many years. Her parents thought that they could redo the whole house and make it their dream home. Archer on the other hand thought that

the house was creepy and it could never live up to her expectations. She gloomily walked through the house noticing how creeky the floors and stairs were, how loud the doors were when they squeaked, and how dusty and cobwebby it was.

“UGH! I ALREADY HATE IT HERE!” she yells. Her voice echoes throughout the empty house. She sighs and puts her hands on her head out of frustration. Her mom calls her to help move their stuff in the house.

Again she sighs and stomps down the squeaky fragile stairs.

“I heard yelling… is everything okay?” her mom asks her while handing her a box full of Christmas decorations. Archer nods without making any eye contact with her mom. Her mom lifts her chin up and says “Archy, it is going to get better here, just you wait. Now take this box up to the attic”. The attic?

Archer thinks. We have never had an attic before…

She asks her mom “Why not the basement?” Her

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mom winks at her and says “The basement is going to be used for something else”. Archer sighs then smiles at how excited her mom was. Then she began her trek up to the attic.

The stairs were extra squeaky, the floor was extra creaky, and it was extra dusty and cobwebby in the attic. Ugh it is so nasty up here. I need to clean this out right now. Archer thought. She did not want to put any of her families things in a nasty attic. She went out to grab some cleaning supplies and went back to the dreadful attic. She also wore a mask and one of her father’s pairs of safety glasses so the dust and cobwebs did not get in her eyes or mouth. She rushed back up to the attic, and she rushed so fast that she hit her head on the ceiling causing her hair to get messed up and a bobby pin fell out of her hair.

“Really?” She said out loud in annoyance. She picked up the bobby pin and redid her hair in the bun it was in before.

There was only one window in the attic but it was bright out so she did not have a problem not seeing.

After an hour she decided that maybe cleaning the window would make it brighter. As she walked over she noticed that there was a chest sitting in front of the window. She cleaned the dusty chest off. It was old, but beautiful. The soft wood, and beautiful embroiders brought peace to her eyes. There was a lock, but it wasn’t locked. Archer opened the chest and was puzzled by what she saw. A few dolls, candles, stuffed animals, and a red and white dress.

Hm…that’s kinda creepy… Archer thought while closing the chest. Oh well. She sighed and went on cleaning.

The house had been all cleaned and set up.

It looked a little better, but nothing took away the creepiness of the house. It was time for the Williams family to go to bed. It took Archer a little bit to fall asleep because of the new environment, but as she finally fell asleep, she woke back up. She heard something from the attic. At first she thought it was her mind but she kept hearing the noises and it kept going for an hour before she went upstairs to check it out. She took a flashlight and quietly went up the attic stairs, afraid to wake anyone up. She opened the door and shined her light around the tidy room,

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the light landing on the old chest. The noise was coming from there. That’s strange… she thought to herself, slowly walking towards it. The lock was now locked, so she took a bobbypin she accidentally left in her hair and picked the lock. She got it and slowly opened the chest. She found nothing in there. Um this is weird… what’s happening? She was so confused at what was happening.

She heard a squeak that made her jump, then a giggle. She slowly turned around, and saw a little shadowy figure, standing away from the light. She lifted it to see a very pretty young girl, small but maybe the age of thirteen. She had pale skin, blond hair, grey eyes, and was wearing a white and red dress. That’s the dress I found in the chest… wait… is that blood!? She thought to herself. The girl smirked and looked Archer up and down.

“Who are you and why are you here?” she said staring at Archer’s shaking figure. “I’m um Archer Williams and I live here now”. The girl laughed. “Who are you and why are you here?” Archer said. The girl laughed again “Oh you foolish girl! I am Lilith Adams and I live here”. Archer did not respond, she was so very confused.

Lilith kept on talking, “Well if you live here then you must be the one who cleaned up this place, ugh it was a dump! Anyway, Archer Williams… do you like ghost stories?” Archer did not know what to say so she shrugged her shoulders. “Why do you think I am here Archer? Do you think I just magically appeared here? No this is my house and it has been for over 80 years”. The girl walked towards Archer. She smelt dead, but at the same time didn’t have a smell. It was more like she got a whiff of the girls sent but it went away as soon as it came. The smell confused Archer, it smelt like death mixed with the dust that was in the attic before she cleaned it.

“What?” Archer finally got out. “I am bored so I am going to tell you a story. Once their was a beautiful young girl. She was definitely the favorite in the family and she was the smartest too. She grew up scaring her siblings and pulling pranks on them whenever she wanted, and never got in trouble. One day she had the best prank that she had ever thought of yet.

In this prank it involved many types of dangerous things from the kitchen like knives and all of that fun stuff, not her hurt her siblings of course, but to scare them. While she was setting the prank up something went wrong. She knives and kitchen supplies did something that they weren’t supposed to do and went flying everywhere. She was hit with the knives all over her body. As she fell, she fell into a chest, which locked her in. Her family didn’t find her until a few hours later. She died. In this very house, in this very attic, in that very chest that you just looked in. That girl has been haunting this house ever since then, and that girl is me”. Archer then understood that the red on her dress was blood and she was terrified. She wanted to leave but she couldn’t. Lilith stepped closer and said “Oh Archer I am not going to hurt you, I am just going to have a little… fun”. She smirked and everything went black.

The next morning, Archer woke up in her old bed room in her old house. Oh my gosh it was just a dream ! Archer thought in relief. She smiled and rolled on the other side of her bed, but her smiled turned into a startle when she saw a chest just like the one in her dream. She was frightened, but was tempted to open it. When she did she saw the same, toys, dolls, and dress like in her dream, but there was something new.

A Lilly.

The Girl in the Attic Cont.

November 2017

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The Fate That Awaits Us S. F. Crouch

Traveling

true stars of this story are the members throughout the that make up pod 13. multiverse can be a Rodriguez: pod leader hostile task, especially and avid sports hub, when your pod leader Butch: pod mechanic is lost somewhere and theater enthusiast, in the middle of a Sarah: scientist, pod forbidden planet. Nimis member and constantly is a planet laced with pushing up her mostly untamable creatures, broken glasses. There beautiful horrors, and are others, but nobody leaves all things with of importance. Other the sheer curiousity of teams have been sent what truly lies beneath out on expeditions its surface. For the few for planet discovery, who have grazed this but none have turned planet’s exterior have out quite like this not been seen since to particular mission. tell the tale.

32 days since pod Quantum mechanics deployment. Five is a thing of beauty days out from Nimis. in the 23rd century.

All is well except for A time hop here to a slight disturbance make sure you walked on the lower flight your dog through the deck. Butch heads park last week, maybe down to check out the a location swap for noises and comes back lunch on the Eiffel with no news besides tower in Paris during “Must’ve just been some noontime rush hour. old pipes creaking,” and Anywhere you want, “we really need to get any time you want, all that fixed”, the usual at the sway of a hand. responses. The team But what science has carries on with their yet to master is multi schedules and does universal travel. I not give the sounds a myself am of no certain second thought. importance, for the

35 days since deployment. Two days out from Nimis. The sounds increase and grow more frequent as I move about the station.

Lurking around every corner just as I pass by, escaping behind me with every inch.

Sarah has taken notice of the subtle changes and starts to raise questions with the others, “Creaking pipes are not rhythmic and don’t happen this frequently,” she says to Butch hiding behind her scratched lenses.

“Could the stories be true? We are losing distance between us and Nimis, getting closer with every passing hour...” she trails off. “And they are exactly that, stories.”

Rodriguez says firmly as he descends the staircase to the upper flight deck where the rest are located.

“But how can we be sure” she sarcastically whimpers “no one has been recovered that could tell the tale”.

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The Fate that Awaits Us Cont.

37 days since deployment. Eight hours out from Nimis. Getting ready to breach the planet, the crew meets at the main loading dock where all arrive except Rodriguez. “Anyone seen the captain?”

Butch firmly shouts across the room.

Everyone shakes their heads with unsettling agreement. No one has seen Rodriguez. A fraile hand shoots up and a small voice says, “He was last spotted earlier today prepping this loading dock sir,” the voice quickly fades in with the rest. Sarah looks to her side and observes that there is a bug out bag missing along with an oxygen mask. She quickly sends a piercing look toward him. All eyes are on Butch as he gains a sinking feeling that their pod leader is no longer on board the station.

But little does the crew know, I have the location of their beloved leader.

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37 days since deployment. Two hours out from Nimis. Six hours since Rodriguez has been MIA. The dock has been organized and equipment has been placed. Frantic, they all still have mountains of questions as to what has happened to their captain, “Where could he have gone?” one girl asks. “How could he have managed to leave the station?” another exclaims.

“All good questions,” Butch tries to say at an attempt at a reassuring statement. “But none that I have the answers to” he states. The team collects their things and gets ready to set foot on Nimis.

37 days since deployment.

The station has landed on Nimis.

Eight hours since Rodriguez has been MIA. “Remember why we are here.” Butch says with a slight tremor in his voice, “To find Rodriguez and get out as soon as we can,

Plume - Halloween Issue

the original mission is still a go as long as we come back with the captain”. I stand ominously outside of the pod door, waiting for the team. They stand on the other side dreading what awaits them behind the largely crafted door. And all at once the compressed air releases in a hissing sound as the door lowers to reveal pod 13 staring back at me as I grasp so tightly around Rodriguez that his lifeless body glides through my fingers and he falls to his inevitable doom. He left nothing behind but his unopened bag, and unused oxygen mask, and a group of friends who paid no attention to me as I stole the vitality from their leader and mournfully crept away to claim another victim.

Unsettlement.

The creaking of the front porch. The siding of the house falling off. You want to go up but your feet won’t move. Your heart starts to race and you want to run away. All of your friends are trying to get you to go,but in the back of your mind you know it’s not right. You already pushed threw your fear of leaving the house on this night, and the only reason you came out was because you look cute in your mario costume. Starting up the front steps you get a strong smell of death coming across your red cold nose. An even stronger sense of fear rushes across your body. You push thru it. Your on your mission.

You want that prize. That’s it you sprint on the porch grab the candy but as soon as you go to turn around something is looking down at you in a all black suit.

You scream at the top of your lungs. Your friends shocked in fear at the bottom of the porch don’t know what to do to help you. You take control. In the worst way possible. You punch them square in the face then hit them with your bright orange candy

bucket and sprint down the stairs. A few hours later when you are home and eating your candy your brother comes home and you realize that you had left at the same time that night and hadn’t seen him once while out trick or treating.You put the clues together only to find out that it was him the whole time trying to scare you and guess what…..It worked.

Alexis Cook November 2017

35

Five Minutes

Jack Miller

Seven years ago today, John was driving down the suburbs of Rhea, Illinois from a long day’s work. Not a person was to be seen for what appeared to be miles in every direction. Everybody and their brother was on vacation, all felt lost on his dull ride home and he just waited, staring at the red light holding up his ride home.

This was until he saw what appeared to be the only other person in the entire town driving behind him in a maroon pick-up truck.

It warmed his heart at first to see that he is no longer felt alone in the world, until he noticed that the truck was not slowing down. It was coming closer and closer, no sign that it was stopping. John was soon able to make out that the truck was a Dodge, but had no license plates.

A river of sweat began to form on his forehead with the hope that the light would soon change. As soon as the light had finally changed, the truck smashed into John’s Ram. Spinning out of control, John was fairly certain that he was going to die as the blood flew from his head across the car.

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When the car crashed into a nearby light post, he was amazed that he did not pass out.

He looked out the window to see the truck, but no one running to his aid. Then suddenly, a man walked out of the truck towards the car without any sense of panic or remorse in his eyes. He came up to the truck and yanked John out through the window.

“I’m saved!” thought John, until he felt the man reach into John’s pocket and steal his cell phone. He threw it to the ground and destroyed it.

“You have five minutes, start running,” the man started to walk back to his truck.

“What the hell are you talking about? Why the fuck did you hit me with your car?”

As the man got back in his truck, he pulled out an axe, he’s not fucking around.

“Four minutes, get running.”

John didn’t know much, but he knew enough from his misspent childhood of watching movies that if somebody is holding an axe and says “get running”, now more than ever is the time to run.

As soon as he took his first step, pain bolted up his leg as he screamed in agony.

Tears filled his eyes as he took each step away from the man. Limping as far as he could with a trail of blood behind him.

“Three minutes!” John heard screamed in the distance. He pushed through every ache and pain that passed through his body, inching closer to an unknown finish line.

Adrenaline pumped through his veins as the sweat secreted from his body almost as fast as he bled. There seemed to be nowhere to run.

“Two minutes” the mad man said in a merry tune. Just then, John saw a sign of hope, a gas station. John limped towards the door, as he heard the man scream “One minute, better be ready” John burst open the door screaming “You have to help me! Someone is trying to kill me!”

“Okay, quickly hide in the bathroom! I’ll call the police!” said the clerk.

John stepped towards the door as he could almost hear the man saying “Here I come”.

John waited in the stall hearing the clerk explain all that he knew of the situation to the police.

“Yes, a white male came running into my store screaming that somebody was trying to kill him. How long before you think you can get here?” A short pause followed “Ten minutes? What the hell takes you guys so long? Fine, just get here as soon as possible” John breathed a sigh of relief, he was going to be safe once again. That was until he heard the truck drive by and soon after heard somebody walk into the store.

“Hey, have you seen anybody walking around here? I’m afraid my friend got into a bit of a fender-bender and started running off. I just wanted to make sure he gets to the hospital alright” John started to to contemplate all that has happened. Was he hallucinating this whole time? What was truly going on?

“I’m sorry sir, but I haven’t seen anybody.

If you would like, you could give me your number and I will call you if IWW find him” “Sure,” said the man. “But in the meantime, can I get a pack of Marlboros?”

“Yes, sir” In that moment, a blood curtailing scream rang through the store, the kind that would keep men awake at night thinking about.

“I know you’re in here! It’s only a matter of time before I find you!” John’s heart beat out of his chest as he tried to calm down thinking that the man must be able to hear it. He heard footsteps getting louder and louder and could finally hear the man pounding on the bathroom door.

“Come on out” the man said. John stayed quiet in the hope that the man will leave him alone.

After the man didn’t receive any response, he merrily sung “Here comes the devil. Here comes the devil” to the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel and swung at the door with his axe. John scrambled around the bathroom looking for a way out.

“I hear you” screamed the man “You shall soon be added to the count” John was now as confused as he was scared, what did he mean by the count? He looked around and only saw a window. His last chance at freedom.

Another swing could be heard at the door.

He reached for the window struggling to open it. Another swing at the door and the axe broke through the door. John turned around and saw the man’s eye staring through “Your time is up”.

John was able to open the window, but only a few inches. John knew in that moment that was all that he was going to be able to work with. He only had his head through the window when he heard a final swing at the door, he tried with all his might to get through the window, but could barely budge with the pressure crushing his ribs. The man laughed a menacing laugh as

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he stuck his arm slowly through the hole in the door.

Click.

The door was unlocked.

“I am death once again” exclaimed the man “the destroyer of worlds.”

The door flung open.

The man was soaked in the blood of the clerk. His axe had what appeared to be at least twenty marks made into the wooden handle.

John had just gone past his ribs on his way out when the man started towards the window. John was fighting with all of his might to get through the end. He was just past his stomach and was about to slide out when he felt his leg being pulled.

“You didn’t think you would get out so soon now, did you?”. John faught with all that he had left to kick him off. He was not going to die now. The grip of the man’s hand crushed John’s leg, feeling as though it would turn to powder soon.

Then suddenly, John felt a cold piece of metal on his achilles tendon “Just to give you an idea” said the man.

He swung down and chopped off his left foot. John was no longer just bleeding, but leaking blood. He was able to slide out of the window to see the man’s evil smile to him. The kind of smile that nightmares are made of.

The man started to walk back to the front of the store.

John tried to run, but was barely able to limp with the fraction of the foot that he had. He turned around to see the maroon truck and that the door was left wide open.

He took every bit of strength that he possessed, physical and mental, to get towards the truck. The steps he took going into his bone made him cry out in the blood curtailing scream that he heard earlier that night, but hoped that he would never give.

He got into the truck and saw it was running. He hit the gas without even thinking. He drove past the front of the gas station and saw the man walking

Five Minutes Cont.

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walking outside as he waved his axe in the air.

John turned the truck around knowing that he can’t risk seeing this man get away. He slammed the gas pedal and drove towards the man at full speed.

He hit the man and crashed through the store window. The truck came to a stop at the counter. John did not remember hitting the counter, but passed out once again.

John began to awake when he heard the sound of the pitter patter of the rain outside. He stepped down from the truck and heard the crunch of Doritos with every step he took. He then saw the man underneath the truck. No motion was to be seen from him.

He turned to his right and saw the bloody body of the clerk that laid down his life in his attempt to help John live. John broke into what could be best described as tears of joy as much as they were tears of sorrow, thinking that this man saved his life without ever asking John for his name.

He waited outside the store hoping to catch the police to try to let them know that the conflict is over. It is safe now. The red and blue lights gave John a sense of liberation from the ordeal that he just witnessed.

He was about ready to collapse when they came on sight.

The police came running out of their squad car asking “Are you alright? What happened here?” and quickly afterwards called an ambulance get over to the gas station. John told them that the mad man that tried to kill him was dead.

As soon as the ambulance came in, John passed out, succumbing to the pain and shock of the incident. He awoke three days later with investigators on his bedside, eager to ask him questions.

“Hey John, we just have a couple of questions for you about the night you were attacked.” “Fire away” John said with a sense of happiness that he never thought he would see the light of day again.

“Was this the man who tried to kill you?” as they pulled out a picture of a man “No, no that was the store clerk. It was the other guy in the store who tried to kill me.” Confused, the investigators looked at each other “John, there was nobody else in that store outside of you and that store clerk” After hours more of discussion as to what had occurred that night, the investigators left John alone and he returned home after nine months of treatment.

As soon as he came back home, his family pestered him with questions about that night until they heard a knock on the door.

“Could you please get that sweetie?” he asked his daughter. She ran to the door and came back with a letter.

“Nobody was there… there was just this letter” as she handed him the envelope. On the Envelope was written two words “John Smith” He opened it up as his family went into the other room to cook him dinner and it read “Congratulations, you have made it this far. However, the game is not over for it has only just begun. I will see you soon. I shall be death once again, the destroyer of worlds”

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Reflections WRITTEN BY ASHLEY DESCARTES

Her eyes grazed over her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup was subtle, but still enough for her to be impressed by it. It wasn’t like she was going to go out anyways so it didn’t bother her much. There was music playing in the background, the same song that she’d been listening to that entire day. King Krule, Lizard State.

I don’t care about sunny days Gonna keep it out of sight but under the shade.

Incense burned lightly, filling the whole apartment with the warm scent of familiarity.

The beat of the jazzy song fit her taste at the moment as her steps began to match the pace of the song while she walked around aimlessly. Mac was supposed to be there any minute. She had the food displayed perfectly, her impressive collection of indie crime films all sprawled out on her bed, her camera ready for any film-perfect moments. She was ready.

Tap tap.

The sound took her by surprise. Her head spun around towards the direction of the sound but there was nothing in sight. She walked around the suite to see about any signs that would determine the source but there was nothing. The incense was still burning.

Although she was able to convince herself that it was nothing she could still feel her heartbeat quicken. “It’s just the radiator.” She would mumble the words to herself repeatedly as a source of comfort.

You got no legs to keep you anywhere near my hide So don’t try to get near my hide.

She walked back to the mirror to fix her hair and make sure that she looked as good as she did a few minutes ago. She did. As she began to turn her head away from the mirror she could just notice the slight delay in her reflections movement in relation to her own.

Maybe it was just corner of the eye sight, the brain playing tricks on me. She turned back and her reflection was smiling back at her. It lifted up a finger and tapped the other side of

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the mirror.

Tap tap.

Her eyes widen in terror and she began to back up, her footsteps slow and cautious while watching the thing in the mirror stare her down. It looked exactly like her but nothing like her all at the same time. She tried to walk towards her tv stand near her bed, but as she turned around the thing in the mirror presented itself in front of her. Frantically trying to reason with herself she rubbed her eyes with vigor, hoping that when she opened them again the thing would be gone and she’d be left alone.

I wanna see what you have to say I wanna see your lizard state “Where are you going? What’s wrong?” the thing spoke softly at her, its smile was plastered on its face as it reached its hand out to caress her cheek. She instantly jerked back, her feet moving backwards in a quicker pace in another attempt to distance herself from the creature before her. As she walked back she was stopped by a soft barrier and a pair of arms wrapping themselves around her waist tightly in an embrace.

“Don’t you love me Chloe? I look just like you! I’m beautiful too, right? How can you be so scared of yourself, you should love me, I’m the original after all.”She froze and the color drained from her face. She contemplated the possibility of all of this being fake, a figment of her imagination that was running wild due to the deterioration of her sanity. The meere thought of the idea made her want to vomit.

“W-what are you talking about?” The words barely left her lips as she stayed completely still, the only movement coming from the beat of her heart bursting out of her chest. The amount of overwhelming fear kept her frozen in place. She wanted to move but even the short breaths made her feel like she was seconds away from a heart attack.

“Didn’t you know? You change your face to look like me. You’re like my number one fan. Want me to prove it? I can! Every single day you look in that thing five, six, seven times a day to look at me, to see my face and make sure that you look like me. I just

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Reflections Cont.

watch you each time. It’s wonderful you know, knowing that someone out there is just dying to be you. But i’ve had enough of that it gets old sitting back there. You don’t get to be me anymore, there’s only room for one Chloe, it’s my turn now.”

Chloe elbowed her reflection and pried herself from its arms, running towards the kitchen in search for some type of weapon. This time the monster didn’t appear before her but it stayed behind, following her with slow, drawn out steps while yelling at her incessantly.

“You know why I’m here Chloe. You know there can only be one of us, you know that I’m the one that deserves it, you know that it’s time to go.” The yelling becomes louder and louder and the girl is fumbling with her knife case, grabbing the first kitchen knife that she can stably grab a hold of. Her hands shake with vigor as she grips the metal instrument until her knuckles turn white with the amount of force put into holding it. She looks at the creature before her, her pupils dilated as her eyes widen in distress.

“Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it! Enough! Leave me alone!” The music is still playing on repeat but only faintly heard over the yelling between the two. Each of them repeat the same phrase over and over again. The smell of the incense that once brought her immense comfort now is enough to cause her nausea as she struggles to hold herself up.

Silence.

The two of them both stop yelling at the same time and Chloe breaks out into a laughing fit with her face in her hands as she thinks to herself how crazy the neighbors must think she is, or if the neighbors can even hear her banshee like cries. The incense burns out and the ashes fall to the carpet floor, the girl looks in the corner of her eyes at the ashes smeared against her carpet and she feels her lip twitch unconsciously.

“You can’t kill me Chloe, then that means you would have died too. You are me. But I am not you. I’m better than you, I’m who you want to be.” The figure moves towards her swiftly and right before taking her head in its hands, it pauses. The knife that the girl had been holding impaled the figure in one swift motion her eyes widen once she comes to

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the realisation that she struck the thing and she chokes on the sounds that threaten to escape her lips in horror. It staggered backwards, its mouth wide open along with its eyes and the girl allows a haunting smile to show itself.

As it falls to the ground Chloe’s smile spreads across her face and the sounds successfully leave her lips. She laughs again. She follows it once it falls to the floor and grabs the knife, pulling it out of what looked to be herself. The warm liquid stained her hands and the floor around her as the knife dripped onto the creature’s chest and the maroon substance began to pool around the two. Holding the knife downward in her hands she sits on top of the reflection, watching her own expressionless face within the creature that she hovered atop of. She begins to whisper to herself repetitively while stifling a laugh with each word.

“I’m the original. I am the original. There’s only me.” She says this over and over again but the words get lost in the music that plays in the background.

The door opens and Mac’s figure stares at Chloe, a large smile on his face at the sight of the girl in front of him and he holds up two bottles of beer, he speaks.

“You ready to get this movie night started?” Her whispers cease and she’s taken aback, appalled by his lack of concern for the dead body on the floor. She furrows her eyebrows as she looks at him, receiving a bewildered look in response before she turns to look back down at the body before her.

It isn’t there.

She is standing in the center of the loft, a cigarette in hand and the lack of distress on her face. Her eyes widen at the reality that it might have legitimately been a figment of her imagination the entire time, but as the guy lets himself in, her subconscious tells her to check the mirror one last time so she does. She walks by casually, trying not to alarm her guest any more than she had done already, and with one side glance she sees it in the mirror, a coy smile on its face and it mouths the words next time.

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Billy. That’s a good name.”

“Indeed it is, boy. Indeed it is.”

When they arrived home, Jack poured a hearty bowl of leftover dog food for Billy to chown down on. Afterwards, the dog slurped down several gulps of water. The pup was very lively, his eyes full of loyalty and companionship, his tail wagging adorably.

Over the next three weeks, Jack and Billy became the best of friends. Billy learned quickly, and soon he was sitting and fetching and rolling over whenever Jack told him to. But then summer vacation was over, and Jack had to get back to school. On a Wednesday morning he attached a leash to Billy’s collar and tied the pup to a post on the high deck that overlooked the backyard.

“I’ll only be gone for a couple hours,” Jack told Billy before leaving. “Be a good boy and stay here. Stay.”

Before he got out of the driveway to the bus stop, Jack’s father stopped him to hand Sam Woodhouse him his lunch. “Have fun at school, son. Billy Jack looked into the eyes of the yellow will miss you, I’m sure. You’ve done a good labrador retriever puppy sitting in front of job caring for that dog. I’m starting to like him. The barn smelled of manure, hay, and him quite a lot.” that fresh born puppy smell. The thing’s School was fine as far as first days mother had several others nursing, but only went. But the whole time Jack’s mind would one of them had come to see Jack. keep on wandering back to Billy and his “I want this one, Daddy”, he said to his wagging tail. When he walked off the bus father, who was standing in the entryway that afternoon and started up the driveway, of the barn, waiting. He responded with he noticed that his father’s car was gone, a grunt and made the transaction with meaning he must have still been at work. the farmer. Jack walked back to his dad’s “Billy! Biiiiilllllyyyy!!”, Jack called cheerfully pickup truck with the puppy swaddled in his as he ran around the house into the arms. backyard.

As he rounded a corner on the way back Instead of hearing Billy’s playful bark, home, Jack’s father had begun lecturing Jack was greeted with silence. When Jack him. “Now son, this pup is a responsibility, looked up at the high deck from the grass, and I’m honestly just waiting for you to he screamed. screw up. Don’t fail me on taking care of The puppy was in midair, suspended by this dog, son.” the collar around his neck. His leash led up “Alright, Dad”, Jack said as he pat the to the post where it was tied, high up on the pup’s head. There was a silence in the deck. Billy’s eyes stared blankly into the sky, truck for a long while. “I think I’ll call him feet dangling.

The Puppy

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Jack’s father came home half an hour later to find Jack in the grass, on his knees, still in shock. He gave his son a look of disapproval and peaked up at the deck. And then he took off his hat and sighed.

“Damn it son! Not again!”

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Shadows

Eddie Spaghetti

Jack Smith used to love Halloween, going out into his neighborhood and knocking on doors, happily saying the little rhyme and receiving the treats.

Waking up on October 31st was his favorite thing to do every year, and going through his day, he was all smiles. This year was no different at the start.

The smile on his face was a rapidly spreading wildfire that couldn’t be extinguished when he shot up out of his bed, rushing to his closet to get his clothes. “Today is the day!” He smiled and looked at his costume that hung on the back of his bedroom door. He told himself he could just count down the hours until six o’clock, when his mother let him leave the house after taking pictures of him and his friend, and it would come sooner.

Jack whipped his head to the left, a shadow catching his eye as the smile slowly diminished, but not entirely. You’re seeing things, Jack, just go eat your breakfast.

He shrugged to himself and went

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through the rest of his morning routine, sitting at the large kitchen table next to his brother and waiting patiently for food. Another shadow popped up in his peripheral vision and he looked over, not surprised to see nothing there.

He sighed a bit to himself, confused, but he didn’t want something as silly as a few little shadows to ruin his day. Halloween was his favorite, and he was determined to enjoy it. He ate his breakfast happily, letting his mom make his lunch for school before grabbing his backpack and the lunch his mother made, leaving the house and walking to the bus stop.

Jack didn’t like the bus. There were too many seats for the small amount of students the old man picked up, nearly three fourths of the bus just empty seats. He also hated being the first one on every morning, but he didn’t hate the bus as much on October 31st, because the kind, old bus driver always gave the students small bags filled with treats that made him smile wide, and there was nothing different about that this year. The only difference was as soon as he stood on the bus, looking at the seats after happily accepting his treat, they were all full. The black figures that sat in every seat on the bus stared at him, or at least he assumed they did, because there was no face, only the black silhouette.

His eyes widened quickly before

he shut them and rubbed them with his hand, desperate to not see any of the figures when he opened them. The shadows had only moved back, now one empty seat in the middle of the bus, in Jack’s usual seat. He hesitantly sat, feeling eyes on him that weren’t really there.

He shivered at the feeling of being judged by all of the eyes, and he felt like he was going crazy.

School was supposed to be better, but even as he sat in his assigned seat in the middle of the class, he still saw the shadows. They moved around the room, but never stopped looking at him, weaving their ways through the desks. He shivered every time one of them passed close to his seated form, the figures accidentally brushing against him, and he felt nothing but cool air.

He ran to the bus, his hands shaking when he sat in his normal seat and suddenly noticed the single shadow sitting next to him.

He didn’t feel the eyes on him like he’d felt all day, the only consistent emotion being fear. Jack’s eyes scanned over the figure. It looked like a shadow that was meant to be cast on pavement.

The rest of the day, the shadows followed him closely, watching his every move. He couldn’t shake them, the feeling of being watched making his head swirl. “Mom, when can I go out trick-or-treating?”

He asked his mom, not wanting to spend his time sitting on the couch or doing homework with the shadows.

“Go get ready, and then you can go, Jack.” She smiled down at her son, sending him to his room. The

boy hesitantly shut the door.

His mother sent him off with a kiss on the top of his head, allowing him to go out alone in their large neighborhood. He wanted to be happy, because it was his favorite time of year, but the shadows that seemed to loom over him and follow him closer. His night was full of fear, and not the fun kind.

It went on that way until he was meant to head back home, the road seeming to wind in a way that it hadn’t before, and Jack couldn’t see straight anymore. The shadows were standing over other kids now, parents as well. He felt his hands start to shake. “Guys, can’t you see them? They’re all over! They’re everywhere! The shadows!” He shouted at the families, desperate for someone else to see them.

Weird looks were cast his way, followed by parents pulling their children away from him.

He frowned even deeper, his eyes wide and filled with worry, and the shadows disappeared. They were gone, and Jack’s whole being was willing him to just go home and sleep. He felt insane, and though they were gone, he felt like there were still eyes on him.

His bed was comforting when he finally sat on the edge of it, rubbing his eyes. “Jack.” The smooth voice called his name from beside him, making him freeze and open his eyes wide, only to be met by a shadow looming over him. He wanted to scream, but it was too late, and now the bedsheets were permanently stained with the black silhouette of Jack Smith, who used to love Halloween.

November 2017

47

The Demons We Hide

H.C. Rose

Prologue Everything was covered in crimson red as tortured screams filled the building. People were pushing and shoving each other trying to escape.

They were pathetic, like sheep futilely attempting to outrun wolves. I marveled at the sight before me - amazed by the devastation that I had created. Mingling with the cries of people, I heard the beasts. Their unnatural shrieks would terrify most, but I welcomed them. I did not fear them - how could someone ever fear their own creation? I didn’t think it was possible, but would soon learn that I was very, very wrong.

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40 Hours Before

The brisk autumn air numbed my face as I exited the school. The parking lot was nearly empty, except for the vehicles of students who were probably off doing some extra curriculars. I walked quickly and I crossed the pavement and neared my car.

“Hey loser!” I turned around to see some kids from my calculus class. They were coming over to me, laughing and whispering to each other. My breath caught as I scrambled to dig my keys out of my bag. Finally finding them, I attempted to unlock the car with shaking hands. My fight or flight kicked in, and I had chosen flight too late. As the key finally slid into the door I felt hands grab the material of my jacket, forcing me backwards. With a sudden lack of balance I fell to the ground and scraped my hands on the cement. I didn’t try to get up; I knew better.

So I layed on the pavement as silent cries tore through my body and hot tears crept down my cheeks.

35 Hours Before

I tapped my pencil against my notebook, attempting to comprehend the problem in front of me. However my mind was not on the math, but the sketch book laying on my desk. “Whatever,” I mumbled “I’ll probably skip that class tomorrow”. I took a deep breath and eased myself off the bed, wincing at the pain in my side.

“Yep, definitely bruised” . Taking another breath I crossed the room

and lowered myself into my chair.

“How strange that someone could leave such a thing outside” I said to myself, examining the object. It was roughly the size of a sheet of paper, and contained thick, yellowing paper. The cover was leather, and it was held together by crude stitches The idea of drawing after a day like this was very appealing.

The images of the today’s torture began to unfold in my mind: the girls scribbling “slut” on my shirt in sharpie, the guy in my english class that “accidentally” spilled coffee on my essay, and then the beating in the school parking lot. Apparently I had some lesson I needed to learn on account of my being a “freak” - or at least that’s what three of my fellow classmates said as I was spread out on the pavement gasping for breath while they kicked the air out of my lungs. “Well, this freak wants to draw a ring” I declared as I retrieved a pencil from my drawer. I turned to the first page of the mysterious book and went to work. I could feel my mood lighten as a small ring began to form from my lines. I began to put the final touches on the gem and realized with a yawn how exhausted I was.

So I left the book open on my desk and crawled into bed.

26 Hours Before

Waking up to sunlight and the flash of my alarm, I take a moment to let my eyes adjust. “Alright, alright” I mumble, my mouth still heavy from sleep. I turn to reach for the alarm and realize the the pain

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from yesterday had gotten much worse. However while silencing the alarm I am distracted by something on my desk. It is small and catches the light. Ignoring my pain in the name of curiosity, I force myself out of bed and across the cold hardwood floor. As I reach the desk I rub my eyes - sure that I am still asleep.

“This has to be a dream” I mutter “This just can’t be real”. I pick up the ring that was laying on the center on the sketchbook. I stare in disbelief as I realise that it possesses every detail of the drawing - the drawing that no longer exists.

“Mom!” I yelled downstairs. “Yes?” she replied.

“I’m not feeling too good. Is it alright if I stay home?” There was a pause. It might be suspicious of me to ask such a thing; I rarely missed any school. However what I heard next was, “Alright. I’ll call and tell them you’re not coming in”.

I sat back down at the desk and grabbed a pencil.

12 Hours Before

I cracked my knuckles and massaged the tension from my hands. It had been hours since I discovered the truth behind the mysterious book. Mugs, coins, and other miscellaneous items were now scattered on my desk - all of them from drawings. Everything I draw becomes real, and my mind raced with endless possibilities. I could do anything I thought anything at all.

Well, as long as I take into account the rules. I had been creating things from the book all day, and I discovered two things: the

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drawings wouldn’t transform until I completed them, and they took one hour to do so. Mind swimming, I considered all I could do, and suddenly I understood how much power I held.

“I could be free” I whispered as an idea found itself in the front of my mind. It was tempting and wrong, but it festered in my mind and mingled with my memories.

“I’ve decided. I’m going to do it”, and I began to imagine the creations that would soon set me free.

1 Hour Before

Eyes heavy from lack of sleep, I close the book and place it in my bag. One hour; one more hour before it all ends. All the ridicule, pain, and sadness - it was my turn to give it back. The pain in my side had worsened from the hours I spent at the desk the day before, but it only solidified my resolve. I let the anger and the hurt drive me out the door and toward revenge.

1 Minute Before

I stare at the clock across the room - there’s only a minute left before my plan reaches its final stage. I reach into my bag and pull out the sketch book. I run my fingers across the soft worn leather and flipped open the cover.

I could hear my teacher drone on, but it was muffled by my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I was beginning to wonder if it would even work; I hadn’t tried to create living things before. However just as doubt was beginning to seep into my mind, the Pandora’s Box

just as terrifying as I’d imagined them. Their large contorted bodies seemed to move like shadows from victim to victim.

Noises similar to those of a Now What happened next can only be horror film filled the air as screams mixed with the sounds of flesh described as chaos. Panicked cries tearing and bones breaking. The filled the room as those around agonizing wails of the hunted died me found themselves face to face down as they were silenced by the with the monsters of nightmares. beasts. A loud crash then sounded Large creatures continued to break free from their paper prison, as the beings smashed the door that I had created burst open, and a hideous mass erupted from the page.

and bursted into the hallway. More tortured cries filled the building as unsuspecting students and teachers met their fate.

I stared in shock and amazement at what they, no- what I had done. I had brought this devastation, and I reveled in it.

Blood soaking my clothes crossed through the room and into the hall in search of my demons. I could hear their unnatural cries and followed them unafraid. When one of them turned the corner I extended my arms to it like a mother would to a child. The creature raced at me with ungodly speed and I realized too late that what I had started was out of my control. The beasts were their own and they had far more than a taste for revenge.

November 2017

51

I sat there and stared out the window of my English class. The sky was gray, and the wind howled and blew the fallen leaves across the lawn. We were talking about Shakespeare, but I couldn’t focus on anything. It has been a year since my best friend Rebecca went missing, forever making me hate Halloween; the bad memories shadowing the holiday that I had once loved. I remember going to Jade’s party that night, Rebecca and I went with a few other friends. She was dressed up as a mouse, which was ironic because for such a tiny, harmless animal, and the temperature being bitter cold, her costume was pretty provocative.

My mind started to trail off to that night, when I was jolted back into reality with the sound of Mr. T saying my name.

“Stacy”, he said in an irritated tone, “I was willing to cut you some slack for obvious reasons for what happened last year, but please at least try to pay attention in my class.”

I blushed and looked down at my sneakers, I apologized to him on the way out. Dooval walks up to me in the hallway as I am walking out of the school.

“Any plans tonight?” He asks with an eager and hopeful tone.

“No, I think I’ll just stay in this year. Not really feeling it.”

Dooval and I became best friends once Rebecca disappeared, probably because she was the one who introduced us in the first place, so naturally our grief brought us together. He glanced at me with a pained expression.

“If you need anything, just text.” I smiled at him as he embraced me, then walked in the opposite direction.

I started making my way home. The leaves gently scraped across the sidewalk, it was a brisk day. As I walk down the street, my mind goes back to Rebecca.

She always had to be the center of attention, but no one ever seemed to mind. As soon as we walked into Jade’s party, Rebecca abandoned me and Dooval for

The Tall Man

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Erin Tucker this senior she had been talking to.

He was a jock and 3 years older than her, which is probably why she liked him in the first place. She had been gone for hours, me and Dooval had just assumed they were hooking up, until we heard someone scream. Everyone rushed to the part of Jade’s backyard where the grass met the woods, and Rebecca’s mouse ears were alone on the ground.

People were saying they saw her go into the woods earlier that night.

Now here we are a year later, and Rebecca is still MIA. She was popular, fearless. Everyone assumed she got herself into trouble or met some sketchy older guy and left town, or some just thought she was dead.

Before she went missing she seemed to act strange, coming to school with dark circwwles under her eyes, particularly jumpy. I wish I knew what happened.

Down the street from me, little kids take pictures together on their front porches, preparing to go out and trick or treat. I continue to walk, and the wind blows again slightly.

All of the sudden I hear my name. It is a silent, drawn out whisper. I turn my head, and look all around me. With the exception of the innocent souls

in their superhero costumes, I was completely alone.

Weird, I thought.

I assumed it was me just imagining it. Considering the circumstances, I was a little on edge.

I got home, my parents decided to go out with friends that night, so I made microwave mac and cheese and turned on wheel of fortune.

Rebecca’s mom had dropped off an envelope a few weeks earlier that had my name on it, she said she didn’t look inside but assumed that Rebecca intended on giving it to me. I procrastinated opening this, fearful of what would be inside; fearful that I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

I tore open the seal, and all there was inside was a photo. It was a picture of me Rebecca and Dooval the summer before she went missing. She was in the middle, she was always in the middle. Next to Rebecca I looked so simple, so dull. She had more confidence than anyone I had ever met, she didn’t even have to try and she always looked better than everyone; and she knew it. Whenever I looked good it was only because Rebecca would help me. Her personality was blinding, mine was the equivalent to that of a broken flashlight; timid and always on the verge of burning out. We all looked so happy, but I wondered why Rebecca wanted me to have this. I forgot this picture even existed, she had never let anyone else have it.

Trick or treaters started ringing the doorbell before I could glance at it any longer. I answered the door and dropped a handful of candy into their baskets.

I walked outside to pick up an almond joy someone

had dropped, my mom hated trash in the yard. As I am walking out, I hear my name whispered again, this time louder and more determined. I turned my head and froze.

Rebecca stood in front of me, standing on the line between the yard and the woods. She was still wearing the mouse costume, but she was dirty, and her once fair white skin was now gray and lifeless. I screamed her name, but she turned around and ran into the woods. Without thinking, I ran after her. Tree branches hit my face, I could feel them scratching my legs as if they were desperately trying to grab my ankles. I was out of breath. I frantically looked around, but she was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t see much, so I decided to go back and call the police, Rebecca was alive, I knew that for sure now.

I began to run back out of the woods, but I could not find my way out. I run around for what seems like a half hour, which makes no sense because when I chased Rebecca back here I didn’t even take any turns, I just ran straight back. I began to panic, but all of the sudden I took a step, and found myself laying flat on my face in my yard. The wind had been knocked out of me from the fall, so I laid there for a minute desperately trying to catch my breath.

Thankful to finally be out of the woods, and not thinking about how it was possible that I got so lost, I sprinted back into my house and picked up the phone. I began to dial 911 until I noticed something on the TV in front of me. My program had been interrupted. At that moment, time stopped for me.

I was dizzy, after the first few words I couldn’t process anything else that came out of the news reporters mouth.

“The remains of a teenger were discovered today, identified as 16 year old Rebecca Cook who had disappeared a year ago, found brutally dismembered and confirmed to be murdered.”

No, my mind was racing. No, I just saw Rebecca, I had to call the police, I had to tell them she was alive.

The doorbell rang. I reluctantly answered it. A little girl with a pumpkin shaped Halloween basket stood in front of me, wearing the same mouse costume Rebecca had on when she went missing.

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The Tall Man cont.

I gasped and jolted back, but when I glanced back at her, she was in a fairy costume. Her mother gazed at me with disapproval, and took her child before I could give her any candy.

I closed the door and grabbed the wall for balance.

My head was spinning. My mind was playing tricks on me. What is happening? How is Rebecca dead when I saw her 10 minutes ago?

I stumbled into the kitchen. I got a glass of water and tried to slow my breathing. I sat down and as soon as I began to calm myself, straight ahead of me in the reflection of the glass sliding doors, stood the same Rebecca I had seen earlier that night standing right behind me; except this time she didn’t have a face.

I didn’t move. I was afraid to move. I was afraid to breathe. I conjured up the courage to turn around, but she was gone.

I called Dooval. He was over within 5 minutes, he tried to calm me down. By his facial expression you could tell that he feared for my sanity, and told me that this was a normal reaction to finding out that Rebecca was dead. It was true. She was dead. But I was seeing her. Dooval put me to bed and fell asleep on the floor next to me.

In the middle of the night I heard a noise out the window. I ignored it at first, but it got louder, and I soon realized that once again it was my name being called out.

I looked out the window and a tall figure stood on the line where my yard met the woods. I couldn’t make out the details, but it was as tall as a street light. I couldn’t make out facial features either until the neighbors flood lights turned on and the light shined on the mysterious figure. It didn’t have a face.

I woke up Dooval, he saw it too. We both stared at each other, and the look we shared was a familiar one; terror, the same one we had shared night our best friend went missing. All of the sudden, we put the pieces together. Rebecca’s disappearance, her acting strange and scared before she went missing, my hallucinations, my name being called out to draw me to the direction of the woods; and the tall figure

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standing in my backyard. We were both thinking the same thing, but knew if we admitted it, then it would be real, it would mean that it was possible.

I grabbed the picture of me Rebecca and Dooval that sat on my nightstand, but now there was something different about this picture. We were no longer the only ones in it. The faceless man stood in the trees behind us, staring straight into the camera lense. I now realized that this picture was not a gift from Rebecca; it was a warning.

I thought that it was my mind playing tricks on me before, but no; it was slenderman.

Athazagoraphobia Deckard Lenyar

November 2017

55

Athazagoraphobia (cont.)

PJ looks around, a tray in hand, looking for a place to sit. There are no empty tables, so he walks to the only part of the cafeteria without tons of traffic: the overflowing garbage bin. PJ scrunches his nose in disgust as he sits down. To his surprise, there is another boy sitting there too. He looks lifeless, his brown curly hair hiding his face so PJ couldn’t really make out his facial features.

“Hey,” PJ hears a shy voice. He looks up to see the boy staring back at him. The boy reminded PJ of himself; they both had the same piercing blue eyes, the same long nose, even the same dark circles under their eyes, probably from playing video games for too long last night.

“Uh, hi…” PJ responds, his voice shaking. PJ wasn’t used to talking, his mother is deaf so he’d always communicate with her using sign language.

Mystery Boy speaks again, boredom present in his voice, “You new here?” PJ nods, “Cool.”

PJ and Mystery Boy start talking everyday at lunch, PJ sharing his past experiences and hobbies, almost everything about him. All the boy does is nod and ask more questions about PJ, never talking about himself. PJ starts to get curious about the boy, so one day he decides to ask him about what he is like.

“Anyway, uh, what’s your name?”

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“That doesn’t matter.”

“Why would it not matter? We’ve known eachother for awhile, but it seems like I don’t know you at all. I don’t even know your name.”

“Fine then, it’s Jude.”

“Nice to meet you, Jude.”

Weeks go on, each day Jude and PJ talk to each other during lunch. PJ has made some other friends, but everyday he always comes back to Jude. One day, PJ walks in to see Jude wearing the exact same thing as him. He walks up to Jude, “Hey, we’re wearing the same outfit!” PJ laughs.

Jude chuckles, almost nervously,“Yeah… We are…”

Later that day, he met up with his friends, Louis and Jamie. As they walk home from school they talk about random things such as video games… Well actually that was the only thing they ever talked about.

“I love Caves and Unicorns! It’s my favourite game!” PJ exclaimed, hearing the name of his favourite board game popping into the conversation.

The two boys suddenly look confused, “I thought yesterday you said your favourite game was Tiger Destroyer?” Louis questions.

“I’ve never even played Tiger Destroyer…” PJ responds.

Jamie and Louis begin talking again, but PJ tunes

them out. He can’t even remember talking about Tiger Destroyer with them. PJ shrugs it off and begins listening to the two bicker again. The group arrives at PJ’s house and the boys dash inside, avoiding conversation with his parents, and storm up the stairs. As they enter the room, PJ sees something move out of the corner of his eye from the window..

Was someone in my room?, He thought. No, it was probably just a squirrel.

“PJ, is something wrong?” Jamie questions.

“No... I don’t think so anyway...”

The three boys go in a cycle of playing games, chatting about life, and sneaking downstairs to get snacks. Eventually, it’s time for Jamie and Louis to leave. They say their goodbyes and the house becomes quieter than it was before. PJ and his family takes some time to relax, and soon enough it is time for dinner.

“Did anything interesting happen at school today?”

PJ’s dad inquires to try and spark up a conversation.

“No,” PJ says, shoving a spoonful of mac and cheese into his mouth. His parents sigh, starting up their own conversation about their work. PJ anxiously wolfs down his food, “Hey, slow down, we’re not in a rush-” By the time his dad could finish his sentence, PJ is already back in his room. He shuts the door and turns

around. To his surprise, a familiar face looks back at him from the other side of the room. His face.

PJ gulps.

“Hey there, friend!” The clone says with a cheeky grin, “What’s the matter? It’s just me… or you I guess.” It chuckles.

“What are you exactly?” Is all PJ can say.

“Don’t be so rude, PJ; It’s who are you? And the answer is, you!”

PJ whirrs around and swings the door open, but it snatches the door and slams it closed before PJ can escape.

“Now now, let’s have some fun!” it whispers into PJ’s ear. It forces PJ to turn around and plunges his hand straight into PJ’s heart. It pulls out the heart, blood spilling everywhere. He let’s go of PJ and his lifeless body falls limply to the ground. wThe clone takes the heart and pushes it against its chest, absorbing it into his body.

“And with that, I am the monster.”

November 2017

57

Hunting in the Dim Light Cameron Reilly-Steele “Good evening viewers,” Mia greeted the camera. The snow around the brick path reflected enough moonlight that Adam didn’t have to turn on the night vision to see her. She was bundled up in a heavy red coat, white scarf, and green hat with a plume on top.

The white jeans she was wearing however, didn’t look so warm. Her blonde hair flowed behind her in the slight winter breeze. “Tonight I have come here to the abandoned Dim Cavern Inn-” “We.” Adam stressed from behind the camera.

“Yes, we have come to the Dim Cavern Inn. This is my stupendous cameraman Adam,” He waved his free hand in front of the lens. “Yes, hello Adam. We have come here tonight to investigate the strange phenomena around this old building. Back in the 1950s, this

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town would be a frequent rest stop for people making a trip up along the East Coast. The most popular part of the town being by far the Dim Cavern Inn.” She gestured up and he followed her motion with the camera to get a view of the monstrous structure.

Being three stories tall, it loomed over the street and path below, the outer wall still mostly intact with red shutters and Victorian Era windows.

He wondered if Victorian was considered a retro theme at the time of the building’s construction.

“This said, it was victim to many a tragedy over its fifty-year service.

Legends tell of violent murders, several suicides, and cases of those who enter disappearing forever.” She continued, her voice getting more hushed and dramatic as she went. “Ghosts are rumoured to walk the halls to this day, and we are here to find them, speak to them, and if possible, put them to rest. Join us inside, and we’ll have a frighteningly good time!” She let out a long cackle before prompting him to close the camera.

“Nice show. I’m sure the cops in Atlanta heard you too.” Adam chastised, shoving the camera into his backpack. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Sneaking in here on the coldest night of the year?” He shivered, half out of the cold and half to further his point.

“Would you stop being such a worry wart?” She complained.

As she continued, she strutted up the path to the door. He hurried to keep up with her. “Look, the

official ghost hunters on TV get here in two days. We have to do this tonight or there’s going to be nothing left for us to find.” She turned to him once he reached the door. “So let’s get this done and we’re on our fast track to fame.”

She jumped in excitement and fished a key out of her coat pocket.

Their first meeting on this adventure had told him that her grandpa was once a manger at the hotel, and he had a spare set. She had been dying to go inside since he gave them to her.

Even with it unlocked, she still had to force it a bit to get it to open. When it did though, it opened up into a huge lobby, circular in design. It looked like something out of a gangster movie. Green felt carpets, smooth lacquered wood, and a huge golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Even with the dark of night muddling the colors and shine, it was still something to behold. Suddenly, everything flickered to life. The lights and chandelier glowed with yellow and orange rays. The vents thrummed to life, heat starting to fill the room.

He looked over and saw Mia behind the clerk’s desk, her hand on a switch in the fusebox on the wall.

They headed to the center of the room and set up camp for the night, spilling the contents of their bags onto the floor. Food, water bottles, sleeping bags, night vision goggles, tape recorders, cameras, flashlights, matches...and, “Mia, why do you have a gun in your bag?” Adam asked.

She held up the small pistol, pointing it at him. “Because I’ve come here to kill you.” She said, dragging out her voice in a rasp before laughing. “I’m kidding. This place has been abandoned for years, so I figured we might need something in case we run into critters.”

“Okay, fine. Just, put it away for now. Gives me the creeps just looking at it.”

“Fine.” She tossed it back in her bag.

“So you ready to get to work?”

He asked.

“I was born ready.” She answered, jumping to her feet and gathering her gear.

For the next two hours, they carried out a search of the building.

Armed with the tape recorder, thermal imaging machine, and a camera, Adam took to searching the rooms on the first floor for any paranormal activity. Mia, taking the flashlight, headlamp, and night vision goggles, went about searching the next floor, which they discovered hadn’t been revived by the fusebox. So he tiptoed in and out of each and every room, scanning the entire area and asking the default questions they had looked up online. After eighteen rooms, he was beginning to lose the enthusiasm he had started the mission with.

“Is there anyone here with me?” He asked to the empty room. Granted, it was a nice room.

Red carpet floor, decent sized television, a four-poster bed, and a large bathroom and closet.

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Hunting in the Dim Light cont.

“Are there any spirits that wish to communicate tonight?” He called out. He busied his free hand by tugging at a loose string hanging off the bedspread. The camera was set up beside him on a tripod.

In a few seconds he’d change the position.

“If there’s anything you’d like to say, speak into the device in my hand.” Still nothing. He started to wonder if that many people had really committed suicide in this place. It looked pretty exclusive to the wealthy at the time. Not that rich people didn’t have problems but...well he wasn’t actually sure where he was going with that line of thought.

He got up and did a quick sweep of the room with the camera before moving back into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. He took a swig from his water bottle-to spit it out a second later as an ear-splitting scream echoed through the building.

He dashed down the hall in the direction of the source. Please

don’t be Mia, please don’t be Mia.

He stopped at the railing looking over the lobby. Up the stairs he could see something moving in the dark. Small movements that he had to look so hard at he thought he was tricking himself. It became more real as it stepped into the light.

A girl, dressed in a tattered white dress, stained with dirt, oil, and, no…

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Blood.

She raised one arm, brandishing Mia’s pistol. Before he could say anything, her finger was closed around the trigger.

For a moment, his mind lost its footing. When he came back, he was on the floor of the lobby, a bullet hole in his shoulder. It took a second after waking but when the pain hit, it hit him like a hot metal rod pressed into him. He let out a wail of pain as he watched the girl descend the staircase he had fallen down. Everything he saw was spinning. His head injured from the staircase. He crawled away from her, in which time she fired twice. Neither hit him, oddly, but he wasn’t going to question it.

He made it to his feet and dashed into a corridor, bolting as fast as he could. As he ran, the gunshots sounded off again.

One, two, three, four. Five. Five gunshots before he rounded the corner, finally stopping to catch his breath. Three more bullets whizzed by and hit the wall opposite to him before he heard it click and then clatter to the ground.

Out of ammo, thankfully.

He still had a bullet in his shoulder, and he had to suppress the image of her taking it out to shoot him again. He made a rhythm to his breathing with the noise of the vents to calm himself down. He heard her step close to the corner.

In a spasm of a jump, he tackled her to the ground, hollering in pain when she gripped his wounded shoulder. She flailed with every one of her limbs, slamming

against him at every point they could connect. Summoning up all his strength, he forced his hands onto her neck and collarbone and forced her against the wall, her head banging into it, knocking her out. He pressed his hands up into her windpipe and leaned all his weight into strangling her. It took a few minutes, but he could tell once her body stopped twitching and her coughs stopped sounding, he was done.

As he laid back against the wall, massaging his shoulder, he saw the dress fade, giving way to a golden sweater. The dirty black hair becoming blonde. The pale skin took on a new glow, despite being from a dead body.

Mia?

---------------------------Two Years Later John, unable to sleep, went to the kitchen with the mug left on the nightstand from the previous evening. Rinsing it off in the sink, he flicked on the small tv on the edge of the counter. He put in the coffee mix and set a brew for him and Martha. While he waited, he scouted the screen for channels, finally settling on some police history tv show. Stock footage played while the host’s voice played over it.

“Gunshots were heard coming

from the old Dim Cavern Inn. Abandoned for sometime and host to numerous reports of gang activity, police went inside expecting to find traces of a drug trade. What they found instead

was much more terrifying. Two teenagers, Adam Miller and Mia Hart, were found in one of the corridors branching the lobby.

Adam had a bullet in his shoulder and bruises all over his body. Mia was found dead. Strangled by the looks of the bruising. Going by the video taken by the two that night, found on a camera they left inside, they had been there investigating the urban legends of ghosts and murder inside. Things quickly took a turn for the worst as,

by Adam’s recount of the story, a girl in a white dress attacked him with Mia’s gun, taken from her father’s set. He had been able to incapacitate her, and carried on to strangle her until she ceased to breath. He then said that the girl turned back into Mia. Early on in the investigation, police suspected mental health problems in the boy, despite there being no further evidence of such conditions in his history. He was charged with first degree murder and sent to jail. He was sentenced for life but that verdict is being appealed, as new discoveries have found that man-made chemicals within the ventilation system were studied and proven to have powerful effects on the brain, turning people to murderous rage-” The tv beeped as it powered off.

John sighed, taking a flask out of the cabinet below and downing a gulp of it.

November 2017

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The Introvert’s Kiely Caulfield Nightmare It was Halloween night, and the werewolf’s moon was creeping into the sky.

The wind blew with a mischievous whisper, as the spirits of the dead came out to play with the children dressed as monsters and myths. They blew gently through the streets, scattering the fallen leaves that lead the little monsters from house to house to collect their treasures.

They race up the porches, pushing violently on doorbells and banging on the front of homes with excited fists. All the while parents dressed in hats and gloves kept a watchful eye on which monster was theirs; judging quietly which houses were the most welcoming, and which houses

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might have laced that candy bar with something.

I would love to be a part of that, but of course, I was being forced to sit still in front of a mirror while my quote unquote best friend tortured my eyes with this terrible thing called eyeliner.

“Quit moving, you’re only making this harder for yourself,” Cheryl said in concentration, once again stabbing my eye, for the third time, with the sharp black pencil.

“I don’t get why makeup is necessary,” I complained, trying with sheer willpower to stop my eyes from watering, “Vampires don’t need to wear eyeliner to kill.”

“Vampires don’t go to highschool Halloween dances either,” She replied simply, “And yet, here we are.”

“Trick or treating would’ve been more fun,” I huffed, crossing my arms as my friend finally put the torture device down.

Cheryl rolled her cat-like eyes, their greenish-yellow color not hiding the exasperation, “Beatrice, honey, we’ve been over this. Sophomores don’t go trick or treating,” She picked up a different weapon to torture me with: the dreaded mascara.

“They go to highschool Halloween dances with bad music from the nineties and they dance with cute werewolves. We agreed on this, remember?”

“No, you decided we should go so you can dance with your werewolf,” I corrected her.

Cheryl shrugged, her black lipped smile flickering like a jack-o-lantern, “If Ryan happens to be there, then there’s nothing stopping me from dancing with him. And hey, maybe there will be a cute zombie

waiting to sweep you off your feet.”

“Highly doubt it,” I said, blinking in relief as she finally put the mascara down. “Are you done yet?”

“Yep!” Cheryl moved back to reveal my painted on face in the mirror.

I certainly looked vampirish, but not like the sleep deprived, school stressed, introverted, bloodsucking maniac type I was thinking. I looked more like a vampire who had their life together. But the makeup wouldn’t cover up the introvertedness, that still shrieked to be seen like bats in the night.

Cheryl stood, dusting off her black dress and adjusting her cat ears, “Ready?”

I stood too, not as confidently as Cheryl, but I stood, “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Unfortunately, the nightmare was just beginning.

November 2017

63

Thomas

Shiloh Worthington The cabin was in chaos, as it was every night right before lights out. Little girls were everywhere, running around with toothbrushes and wet towels. “If everyone is ready for bed in the next ten minutes, I’ll tell you a bedtime story!” I shouted, trying to hurry them along. An incentive like a bedtime story usually sped up the night time routine.

When every little girl had their teeth brushed, hair washed, and their pajamas on, I sat them in a circle. “Alrighty, girls.

I’m gonna tell you a story about a kid named Thomas” my phone’s flashlight was shining up towards the ceiling to make the place feel spooky, “ You see, Thomas was a camper here at Camp Lake Oneida quite a long time ago, like the eighties or something. I think he was about ten or eleven. Legend says he was kind of a scrawny kid, really small, too. All the big kids liked to tease him, make him feel bad for being so little.

Well, one night they thought it would

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be really funny to prank him.

One of those big kids came up to Thomas in the dining hall at meal time one night and grabbed him by the shoulders. “‘Hey, Thomas, my man! You wanna sneak out tonight? Me and some of the other kids from the other cabins are going down to the lake after lights out.

You should come, it’ll be fun, dude’. Poor, naive, little Thomas thought that this kid was finally being nice to him and really inviting him out to have a good time, little did he know that this was going to be the worst night of his life.” Looking around the circle, I could see the little girls were giddy with anticipation.

I continued with my story, the flashlight still lighting up the room. “That night, when all of the campers and counselors went to sleep, Thomas snuck out of his cabin, careful not to make a sound. The big kids were waiting for him by the flagpole outside his cabin, evil smiles plastered on their faces,Thomas never noticed. The breeze from the lake, which was only a few yards ahead of them, felt chilly. But the big kids still insisted they go down there anyway. “‘What are we gonna do, guys?’ Thomas asked them, excitedly. He was so happy that he could be part of their group fun, he didn’t notice that they were mocking him and rolling their eyes at his enthusiasm. “‘Why, Thomas, we’re gonna go swimming, of course!’ one of the older girls sneered. Thomas felt uneasy at that, seeing as it was dark out and he didn’t know how to swim, but he nodded anyway.

He was eager to impress his new “friends”. “‘Wait! Someone should test the water first, see if it’s cold or something,’ another girl whined. Everyone nodded in agreement, their mean grins still apparent.

‘Thomas,’ she said, ‘You should go first’.

This was followed with a round of “Yeah, Thomas’s” and “do it’s”. The feeble little boy gulped, scared out of his mind now.

He wasn’t sure if he could, the water was deep where they were and it looked menacing. “‘ Come on, Thomas, don’t be such a loser!’ someone called out, pushing him in.

Water splashed onto the dock as the little boy’s body made contact with it. It was cold and dark. Thomas frantically flailed his arms, desperately gasping for air. The kids on the dock were laughing at him, pleased with their prank. No one noticed that their poor victim had yet to come back to the surface.

“A few more minutes went by when a few of the girls started to worry. ‘Guys, Thomas hasn’t come up for air yet. I think he’s drowned!’ Panic spread through the group as they all started to process that Thomas hadn’t reappeared. They had no idea what happened to him. The leader of their pack, the boy who invited Thomas out that night, dove into the frigid water.

An eternity went by as he searched for the boy, by then a few of the other boys had jumped in and helped. After what felt like forever and then some, one of them accidentally kicked something under the water, it was Thomas, or what was Thomas. The boys pulled the lifeless body back onto the dock. Everybody was petrified, a few of the girls were eve hyperventilating.

“‘ Oh my goodness, oh my goodness!

We killed Thomas!’ one of the girls shrieked. “‘What do we do? Oh my God!’ the big kids were all frantic now, just as Thomas was when he was pushed into the water.

Weak attempts at CPR were given, but nothing could save Thomas. He was under for so long, there was nothing they could do. Thomas was officially and irrevocably dead.” I shut off the flashlight and ushered the little girls into their sleeping bags. They seemed to be spooked at the death of the young boy in the story, but they were much more inquisitive.

“What happened after that? What happened to Thomas’s body? Did the big kids go to jail? Did they get in trouble?” they asked me.

“That can be tomorrow’s story. Good night, see you in the morning,” I said, turning off the flashlight.

November 2017

65

The Trick of Delusion anna smith ...

The gallows. There I stood, facing a crowd, no, a mob of nameless and faceless onlookers. There they stood, resolute in disposition and frightened in stare. The mob stood there, wallowing in its satisfied collectivism and sighs of profound relief.

Relief that it was someone else standing on the wooden platform, and relief that the rope was tied around someone else’s neck. The individuals comprising the mob maintained firm footing, so as to reaffirm their security and prevent it from flying away in the crisp autumn breeze.

Looking up to the heavens concealed by overhanging clouds, I too felt the breeze.

It grazed my cheek, almost hesitantly at first, then came all at once. Southbound, my brown tresses were swept away in its effortless grasp. Then, I closed my eyes and craned my neck downwards.

--To be eternally freed from my alleged sins; that would be paradise. Alas, the common man craves retribution for those who have wronged him. I am no exception.

And so, I shall repent in the form of mortal sacrifice. And henceforth, I will bask in my newfound prosperity. -I opened my eyes to a sight I saw moments before. Stares and whispers; blank stares and teeming whispers spread like a viral sickness, all induced by the disconcerting position of my presence,

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naturally. I returned a gaze of sincere pity. It conveyed the sorrow I harbored for those whose fates still hung in the balance.

Sympathy for the ones who walked with the sentiment of guilt looming over their heads.

Sadness for those who carried the constant fear of when karma would strike, and for those who lacked the courage to leave for God. They pitied me. I pitied them.

After an uncertain length of time, I felt the gradual tightening of rope around my neck. The unfamiliar sensation of such rough material coiling against my skin made me wince in pain. Even so, the knowledge of what laid ahead subsided this pain. This was it. My chance at redemption neared, and I couldn’t contain my joy. I felt a genuine smile take form, and the noose tightened to its fullest extent. The executioner removed the stool from under me, and offered a sullen nod. I then witnessed his face contort into utter confusion upon noticing my widened grin. This was the last thing I saw before complete and unwavering darkness consumed my field of vision.

At last, I was dead. Hoorah!

Though where on God’s green Earth was I? Where was the staircase projecting into infinite ascent? Where were the angels to welcome my soul upon arrival? Where was the flawless canopy of heaven? Had I been brought up to follow a mere illusion for the entirety of my mortal existence? Was I born

h

with the predisposition of an afterlife without salvation? Or was I simply dreaming?

I furiously rubbed my eyes; once, twice, three times before I’d allow myself to be overtaken by my festering doubts. Despite my efforts, I was still presented with the exact image of pristine darkness.

It was then when I realized that this was not merely the vivid workings of a dream...

November 2017

67

Room Beyond the door, I heard the yelling that the woman in 4914 had informed me about over the phone. I could clearly differentiate three voices: a man with a raspy voice strangled in knowledge, a woman with a slight accent as though she was distant from the rest, and a man with an exceptionally deep voice that rumbled with the air of dominance. My hand shook as it neared the door to knock. As my knuckles made contact, I heard the crash of something smashing against the thinly carpeted floor. I spun around quickly and shot down the hall. I collapsed onto my knees the moment my toes touched the bottom of the stairs. I clutched the fresh towels in my shaky grasp.

“Oh! The towels!” I bellowed through the stairwell.

I stood again, rising to my

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feet without courage.

I passed the towels from one hand to the other in order to refresh my crinkled uniform.

The return to the door took an incredible amount of self restraint. Again my shaky fist made contact with the door.

The chaos beyond the door ceased immediately.

“Who is it?” The man with the deep voice boomed beyond the entrance. His voice hit something deep within me. Somehow, his voice chilled my entire body by removing the warmth from the entire world.

“Mr. Owen?” I called. “ I-I have fresh towels-” “We don’t need any.” The voice shot back.

I stood, staring at the white colored 4915 against the white door, confused.

This room had not had any fresh towels since arrival.

The receptionist informed me that Rowland T. Owen checked in, alone, four days ago. Even further, the bellhop

let it slip during our lunch break an hour ago that Mr. Owen had checked in empty handed with a toothbrush and comb peaking out of his shirt pocket.

I also remember him saying, “That Owen fellow uses the phone quite often, even when I’m in the room!”

He sighed, “He is always speaking to a Don. I walked in his room this morning and I heard him say, No, Don. I’m not hungry, I’ve already eaten. I don’t want breakfast.

No Don. I have already eaten.”

Had the other voice been Don? I thought to myself, still planted before the door.

I slowly fell out of my thoughts as I realized the voices hadn’t picked up again. I looked up at the peep hole above the numbers.

I felt my blood run cold.

The light seeping from the peephole flickered. I shuffled away from the door again and carried on with my work.

An hour later, I returned to 4915 after more complaints.

Again, I reluctantly knocked

on the door. This time, there was no chaos beyond the door.

“Come in,” Called the deep voice. “Turn on the lights.”

I did just that, but as my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw Mr. Owen lying in bed.

Darkness pooled underneath Mr. Owen. Out of fear, I plummeted out of the room once again, Down the hall, then into the arms of the bellhop. He looked taken aback, but that look morphed to horror as I explained the contents of my night to him. He tugged at my arm to follow behind him while he commanded that I follow behind him through his work. We finished his rounds together. That had taken us about three more hours. After we finished, he advised that we return to check on Mr. Owen.

When we returned, the door was closed despite me never doing so. The bellboy creeked the door open to find Mr. Owen sitting on the ground with his head in

Brooke Muñoz-Halm November 2017

69

Room 4915 his hands. His eyes flickered through passages in his hands.

“Mr. Owen! You’re alive!”

I blurted, “Mr. Owen, please.

Who was in this room with you?”

Blood dripped across the walls, splattered around the floor, and trailed through the doorways. Thick, viscous blood trickled down his forearms from his palms.

Bloody footprints tracked close to his feet.

“Nobody.” The raspy voice from before strained through the silence. “God will rescue me; he will save me from the power of death.”

A single drop of blood hit Mr. Owen in the center of his forehead. I gazed up at the origin to find Mr. Owen’s blood splashed against the ceiling.

“Mr. Owen?” The bellboy questioned after we watched his limp body fall to the floor.

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Friends to Demons “I am schizophrenic, I am schizophrenic, I am schizophrenic”. These were the words that they made me repeat over and over to come to terms with how they have decided to label me. I am not schizophrenic, I have a name and it’s Kady. They can try to convince me it’s just who I am, but to actually make me believe it would be like convincing a pirate that their treasure does not exist. I didn’t belong there, but try convincing a sane person that you’re not crazy when they’re the one with the degree.

Growing up I loved horror movies. I don’t know why the gore fascinated me so much, but I couldn’t get enough of it.

My friends encouraged me to watch them too. Sometimes it seems like that’s where our friendship began. My older brother often teased and said I could become a certified psychopath from all the things

Jada Stowe

I knew about it, though sometimes he sounded serious. My parents didn’t care much, they typically worked a lot. Over the years, I concluded that what I did doesn’t even matter because for all I know, this isn’t real.

It was November 3rd when I arrived.

A cautaion white male; Dr. Patel was his name. He was a mellow man, awfully boring and clearly a prime victim to a stereotypical man, infected by the norms of society. He was average in every way imaginable. He was maybe 50 years old.

His hair was black with dashes of gray, along with the stubble on his face. He was perhaps 6 feet tall, slender yet intimidating.

He always spoke calmly, like I was 4 years old. I almost felt bad for him because he was so blinded by the bigger picture, just like my family. They were all too stuck in their own heads with what was going on in

November 2017

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Friends to Demons cont. their own lives that they didn’t open their mind to what the world really was.

Dr. Patel asked me a lot of questions.

“What do you like to do on your free time?” I told him how I typically interacted with my friends. “What are they like?” he would ask. I told Dr. Patel how they were always around, pressuring me into things, but told me right from wrong to get through this life. The things I told Dr. Patel were normal responses, but for some reason he would make me feel like I was answering incorrectly. “Interesting, how old are these friends?” “I’m not sure, older than me because they’ve been around for centuries, helping people through life” I replied. Everything I told Dr. Patel was true but he seemed alarmed by my responses. “Are these real people, or people in your head?” “Well they are real of course! I’m not crazy. I don’t always see them but they are always there“, I told him. “What do they say?” he asked. I told the doctor ordinary things that friends talk about, like helping me decide what to wear, talking about my day, and teaching me how to protect myself. The things I told him seemed normal to me, but that’s because I wasn’t aware of anything other than those experiences. It was just my everyday reality. My friends often agreed with me that this life wasn’t real. This life was just an illusion, a practice for the war as they said. They taught me not to trust anyone because they’re all actors. The actors didn’t want the best for me, they wanted to hurt me. They often said I had to eliminate them before they eliminate me. It all made sense, I mean these guys were experienced and have helped so many others. There was strategy though, because if I wasn’t careful I could end up

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locked up and stuck in the game forever.

All my life, they talked to me, preparing me for one particular day where we would have the strength to eliminate those out to get me.

October 31st was the day. Halloween.

I was 18. It was the day they told me about for years. I knew what to do. That morning my parents told me they were working late, as usual. My brother was acting weird that day. He kept avoiding me. I think it’s because I freaked him out about the sacrifice my friends told me about. He often called me crazy and told me not to be home that night because he was throwing a party. I stayed in my room most of the day, he didn’t notice. I spent the day with my friends, they told me it wasn’t fair that my brother wanted me out of the house. They said that he was going to kill me if I didn’t kill him and on this day, we would all have enough power to do it.

They said my parents would come home and be upset with our actions so we must eliminate them as well. They said the cops will arrive and try to shoot us down, so they too should be gone. They said on this day, the spirits would posses everyone around me, so I must save myself because it’s the only day that we would all have enough power to do it. I knew that these were friends who had been with me from long days spent on school suspensions, to my first time in the hospital, to the day my cat was eliminated for the greater good.

They always had my best interests.

Around 10:00pm, my head was pounding. The voices of people outside of my bedroom were so loud along with the music. I stepped outside for some fresh air, a knife in my pocket just incase.

I don’t remember much about the last 6 years of my life. It was as if I had

Friends to Demons Continued. . . occasional been drunk for 6 whole years;

blackouts, and voices in and out of my head. The shock therapy was probably to blame. A raging headache, and persistent questioning of what was real and what was just in my head was an obstacle I couldn’t get over. The voices in my head screamed for days, months even, and shook my whole body. They were angry.

It felt like I was stuck in another universe, torn between two worlds. I had nowhere to go, no one to tell, and no true help. I was a passenger to my own mind.

I tried to spit the words out of my mouth, but all that came out was nonsense and often resulted in shock therapy, or medication that put me to sleep. Sleeping was the worst. I may have appeared asleep from the outside, but inside I was dying. It was like dying over and over again, endless pain and suffering. There’s nothing scarier than a person’s own mind.

I desperately wanted to die, but I was afraid i’d truly lose myself to the demons I once called my friends. At one point, I no longer understood what death was. Maybe I was already dead. Maybe this was hell.

My imagination was infested with terror.

What was wrong with me?

I knew the things I experienced wasn’t real but the things I saw, the way I felt, it was real. It was something that you can’t see with an x-ray, or a brain scan, or give medication to cure. It wasn’t anything any doctor can fix. In fact, those “Schizophrenics in remission”, weren’t in remission. The voices are still there.

The doctors have simply trained them to take over and act normal in the presence of others. In times of outrage, the true consciousness attempts to regain control of the body. There is no cure. You become a slave to the mind. The real person is still

in there. The times when “normal” people perceive a crazy person as being crazy, are the times that they are actually sane but don’t know how to get help. It’s when a crazy person acts normal that people should be concerned because the voices have taken over and learned to make the consciousness a passenger.

The time I spent in the institution left me feeling even crazier than before that night when I brutally committed homicide to at least a dozen people, including my family.

Today, I am “in remission”. Schizophrenia is what they call it, but it’s bigger than that.

It’s real. I am not hallucinating. There’s much more to this life than we as humans are aware of. Sometimes I can gain control back of my body, but other times the other side of me has it. It’s getting smarter, learning to act “normal” in the presence of others while the torture is constant inside.

It infests my mind and before long it will completely take over. No one knows what it's capable of and millions of people are enduring the agony. Anyone can develop it and if you do, be warned.

November 2017

73

The Day it All Fell Into Place C.L.Sharp

As I began my short walk home I heard a scream.

A loud, horrified scream. Before I could stop myself I began running toward the old house.

When I entered the home I froze. It was empty.

“Stop!” I heard Kathy scream from upstairs.

I began to make my way upstairs quickly but quietly, It was only a few weeks after I moved to just as I was about to reach the top the boy was in front Butcherblock that I met him. The mystery boy that of me. lived next door. He never came outside. Not even “What are you doing here?” He asked. His dull grey to go to school. There would be an occasional night eyes stared into my soul. when I’d see the pale boy staring out the window “I need to help them!” I stated as I tried to move past with an emotion that can’t really be brought to words. him.

“Let’s break into that house Cora lives next to.”

“No! You need to go.” He grabbed my arm and began Kathy suggested. to pull me down the stairs.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. What if you He was cold to the touch, as though he had no body get caught?” heat to keep him warm.

“Nonsense! We’ll be fine!”

“Stop! What are you doing?”

I sighed. First it was egging a police car, then it “You need to leave right now! Before he finds you.” He was TPing Staceys house, and now they’re breaking demanded. and entering. These girls were crazy when it came to “Who finds me? What are you talking about! My being riotous. There are always people that get hurt friends are up there.” I told him. when my friends fool around and this time it’s going “I’m sorry!” He said pushing me out the door. The last to be that boy and his poor family. thing I saw was a tall man with a scruffy beard who stood I looked toward the old worn down house. The at the top of the stairs with a stained knife in his hand. siding was falling off and the roof was sinking in.

Then the door slammed.

A short broken white fence surrounded the house, I swallowed hard and began running to my own blocking out anyone who wished to pass. house. When I arrived home I locked all doors and went The sound of glass shattering exploded through- to my room. out the premises. I looked over to the girls who all I began calling the three girls, starting with Kathy… had rocks in their hands.

No answer… I tried Mia… No answer… Then Emma…

“Guys stop it! Someone lives here!”

No answer. A small panic attack began to take over me.

“Don’t be such a downer have fun!”

Were they dead? The mere thought was enough to “This is illegal! Have some respect!” make me vomit.

I looked up only to see the boy looking out the The night went on, I kept trying to call the girls but window with that same blank stare he always wears. none of them would answer. Whenever I’d look out the When he saw me staring he slowly turned and window I’d see the boy. He’d stand in the window staring walked away. My attention was now back onto the at nothing, a blank helpless stare. girls who were nowhere to be found.

The next day during lunch I saw Emma.

“Guys?” I called. “C’mon this isn’t funny!”

“Why didn’t you answer my calls? I was really worI looked around more, feeling very uncomfortable. ried!” I told her harshly.

“I’m gonna go home! I’ll uh I’ll see you tomorrow “I’m sorry, my mom took my phone away for coming at school.” I told no one. home so late.” She explained.

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d-dead?”

“What happened in there?”

“We won’t know for sure until an autopsy is done “He killed them. He got joy out of their pain, when I got the moment I jumped out the window and limped but it looks to be about a few weeks.”

“Thank you.” I said slowly as I walked away. home.” Her voice was full of sorrow.

He’d been dead the whole time.

“And the boy?” I asked.

“So you think you’ve seen a ghost?” my therapist “What boy? There was no boy Cora.” asked.

I looked at her confused. I nodded. “Oh ok.”

“I don’t think, I know what I saw! He was real but I stood up and left the school, going home.

I could see police cars and ambulances a block away he was dead. He touched me! I’m not crazy. I know and when I finally reached my destination I could see what I saw… I know what I saw.” I angrily stated.

“You see Cora, this is why you’re here in this that they surrounded the neighboring house. institute. You went around telling people you’d seen “What’s going on?” I asked an officer completely something that doesn’t exist, and if you ever want to aware of the events that happened. get out of here then you’d better accept the fact that “Three bodies were found in a closet.” what you saw was just your mind playing tricks on “Oh.. three bodies?”

“Mhm. two females and a male. Did you know about you. Ghosts aren’t real!”

I looked over to see the boy staring at me from this?” the corner.

I shook my head.

“I know what I saw.”

“The male.. Uh is there any information you can tell me about him?”

“Well he looked to be about eighteen. Jet black hair

and brown eyes.”

I looked up to see the boy staring at me.

“His name was Abdul Jones.”

“How long has he uh.. You know.. Uhm been

November 2017

75

What Goes Around Comes Back Around

Rain

People always said there was something odd about 3:00am, I never thought much about it until a few days ago when all of this started. I woke up at 2:57am to a cold room and a loud banging on my bedroom window. It was opened, and there was muddy footprints on my floor. I got up and followed the trail and it led down into my basement, right to the shovel. I felt my heart start beating faster, thinking about what happened the last time I touched that shovel. I cleaned everything up, shut my window and went back to sleep.

The next night, I was woken up by the same banging sound, but this time it was 2:58am. I felt the same cold air as the night before, making me realize that my window had been opened again. I looked for another trail, and this time it was tiny drops of blood.

I stood there for a second wondering what could be waiting for me at the end of this trail. I followed it, and panic consumed me as I saw the knife laying on my kitchen table. I put it back in the drawer, cleaned up the trail, shut my window and went back to sleep.

On the third night, I found myself awake again. It was 2:59am this time. I looked over to my window, and this time it wasn’t

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opened. Instead, there was a crumpled up piece of paper sitting on the windowsill. I picked it up, unfolded it and read it. It said “You know the importance of the objects I pointed out to you, Bring them into the woods tomorrow night. There will be another note there waiting for you”. I threw the paper away, and went back to sleep.

Now it’s 3:00am, the exact time everyone would warn me about. I knew what I had to do, even though there was no trails or notes. I got out of bed, and walked dreadingly down the stairs into my basement, grabbing the shovel. Then I went to my kitchen, grabbing the knife out of my drawer.

I started the walk into the woods and when I got there I found a note, exactly as promised. It said “This is where it happened, do you remember? I need you to go to the place where you THOUGHT you cleaned up your mess”. So I headed there, even deeper into the woods.

Everything looked the same as when I had left the last time, except a single piece of paper lying on the dirt. I picked it up, and read it to myself. “You killed me, now it’s my time to kill you”.

November 2017

77

Dream Girl Jacob Serdula

My eyes would never be the same. I can’t even think back to the day without the thoughts running through my mind. I was going to work another normal day when she arrived. I turned the corner and she was there. Her eyes staring into my soul. I knew I had seen her somewhere before, but where. She wouldn’t stop staring. Suddenly I approached her without even thinking about it and I said, “Hi.” She smiled, and said something but I couldn’t understand her. It is as if she was speaking a foreign language. Confused I ask her where I had known her from. Another confusing answer. A bus arrives and she enters, but before she gets in completely she turns and blows me a kiss. I don’t know what this means but it clearly caught my attention.

When I get home after an exhausting day, I go to sleep. I awake to a loud noise outside my apartment door. I open the door and who do I see walking into the elevator? It’s her. I chase after the girl, but I can’t catch the elevator. I see the elevator stops at the lobby so I run down the stairs and enter the lobby with her nowhere to be seen.

I ask a bellhop if he’s seen a woman go by. He says, “Just Alice.”

He describes her so perfectly, I know he was describing my girl. I ask him what language she speaks and he replies with, “English, of course.” Before I can get anymore confused I awake to the sound of my alarm going off.

After I quickly get dressed I run to the place where I saw her first.

And sure enough she is there again. “Alice!” I call to her, and she turns around. She runs to me, “Je veux te voir depuis si longtemps.”

I freeze before I say anything else. The bellhop says she spoke English, but what is she doing speaking this language when she clearly knows I am speaking English. She seems to understand exactly what I am saying. The bus comes again, she kisses my cheek and whispers, “Cherche-moi dans tes rêves.” Still not knowing what it means, I head to work with it pondering my head all day and all night. Finally at home I decide to go to sleep. Again I hear the loud noise outside my door and I run to it. This time Alice is standing outside my door.

She grabs my hands and says, “Come with me!” She leads me up to the roof of our apartment. We sit there and as she smiles I ask the big question, “What is going on? What is all this?” She tells me,

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“It took me a long time to figure out. But it makes perfect sense to me now. Right now we are both sleeping. We are dreaming, but our dreams are intertwined somehow and we are imagining the same thing. In real life though you are always speaking English instead of French as in the dream world.” “Wait,” I cut her off “You think I am speaking French right now?” She nods “We are both speaking English right now, and then in the real world you are always speaking French instead of English.” She laughs, “I guess it’s funny how that works then huh?” I sit up, I can’t believe this is happening to me. I look over to her and she is gone. I look around. Then I wake up to my alarm.

I run as fast as I can to the corner where I see her everyday. She is there waiting for me. We embrace each other. I can’t understand anything she is saying. She can hardly understand me. I can’t take this any longer. I take her hand and she smiles. I see the bus approaching I know it is time. I jump in front of the bus and pull Alice with me. The bus collides with us. There I am again hearing the loud noise. I run out of my apartment looking for her. “Alice!?” I run out the apartment complex and go to work like normal and sure enough there she is. She sees me and runs to me, “Oh my goodness, what did you do?” I felt ecstatic, “I brought us in front of the bus and it hit us. We are both in a coma, now we will always understand each other and we will never be separated. Alice’s anger quickly turns to relief as she takes my hand and we walk the streets allowing ourselves to start new lives in the dream world. I knew it when I first saw her, she was my

Dream Girl

........

November 2017

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Admirer A.G.Gleason

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Dear Emily, I’m about to do something bad.

No, bad isn’t a strong enough word.

I’m about to do something… horrific.

Menacing. Sociopathic. Detrimental. I’m writing my confession in a frenzy as I prepare to do something and never look back. By the end of the first sentence, I’m sure you’ve figured out what I’ve done. Oh, I’m sure you’re so mad at me… But I can’t think about that now. I have to confess, so if anybody ever tries to blame this on you… You have a way out.

I killed Blair Lewis; and, no, I wasn’t provoked.

I don’t have much time to finish this, because by this time tomorrow, her twin will have walked into her room and stared numbly at her corpse. Her mom will have passed out on the floor beside her, and her dad will have cried in front of Adrian for the first time in his short sixteen years. Their two year old sister will have waddled in and seen Blair lying on the ground, blood leaking onto the floor, and will not understand what’s going on.

And you, Blair’s loyal best friend?

You’ll have no idea how to react to the ringing of your cellphone at 6:30 am, and will drop the phone and start to scream when Adrian says the two words that’ll change your life forever; she’s dead.

You’re probably wondering why I’m saying this in such a matter-of-fact way.

Why I can sit in this chair, write you this letter in perfectly neat handwriting without even acting apologetic. Well; let me tell you why, friend; I hated Blair.

You changed my life. Maybe you don’t remember it.

Maybe you don’t know what I’m talking about, or who I even am. But Blair knows what I’m talking about. Blair knows taking you from me made her my enemy, so why don’t you ask her what happened between you and I? Oh, wait. You can’t.

I love you, Emily. I’ve missed you since you left me. I’ve admired you for so long, and I hate hurting you like this. I hate that after I finish this letter, I’m going to go kill a girl who you think you’re connected with. Does that sentence make it worse, Emmy? The fact that as I’m writing this, she’s still alive? Doesn’t it make you blame yourself, because some psychological defect leads you to believe there’s something you could’ve done since these words are being written to you?

There’s something psychologically wrong with me, Emily. It isn’t why I’m killing Blair. It’s why I’m doing everything I can so we you can be mine again. Em, when you figure out who I am, you’ll remember I’m a little bit like Blair; I’m strong-willed, and I’m just as great of a friend, and will love and protect you forever. And don’t worry about her family; they’ll be fine. She isn’t even the favorite child; little Casey is. And Adrian? Twin bonds never break. He’ll make it through. It sucks for ol’ Ma and Pa though, doesn’t it?

I wish it didn’t have to be this way, Emily. I wish you had picked me, and that we were together right now. I wish I didn’t have to use the gun sitting next to me to make you sad. I really don’t want to murder somebody; but I have to.

I’ll put this letter in a place where, if you ever need it, you’ll find it. Don’t worry, Emily, love; I won’t be far away.

The second you say my name out loud, the second you realize how much you matter to me; I’ll be there. I’ll come get you and we’ll live happily ever after, together, and I’ll be all you need. We won’t need anybody else. We’ll even laugh about what I did for us, years from now.

I’m sorry I have to hurt you, Emily. You’ll be whole again, soon.

Love, Your Admirer

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T

hey told me I still could have a normal life, they being my parents. How could I ever go back to normal after this?

The person in cell next to me starts to yell, and then scream, for the next six hours that’s all she will ever do. I hear her screams collapse as one of the guards jumps on top of her and predictably shoves a six inch needle into her neck to knock her out for the next three hours.

Oh the joys of living in the asylum.

Breakfast get shoved into my cozy padded room through a cat flap that gives off a single rectangle of dim yellow light, today’s menu consists of a singular piece of molded toast and a lump of grey stuff that I assume is oatmeal.

At least today, they remembered to feed us.

I munch on my toast, eating around the mold, hearing my mother’s voice inside my head; and the conversation we had just before they shoved me in here.

“Sweetheart, your father and I love you very much, and we hope you know that this is better for everyone. You’re getting out of control and we need the money” I can still hear her even tone twinged with what may have been sadness, or perhaps regret that I couldn’t be a functioning

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member of society. Considering they shipped my brother off a few months ago to live with my aunt out west, I think I got the short end of the stick in this deal.

A guard unlocks the rusty padlock adorning my cell and carries me to the lab.

I haven’t been able to walk in almost six months, after they accidentally turned my bones to mush in an attempt to make me grow a fifth limb.

We walk down a dimly lit hallway with two bare light bulbs swinging slowly, due to the slight breeze coming in through a miniscule window. I lean my head back against the bulk of his arm, breathing in slowly. It wasn’t the same as being outside, but considering our outdoor time was nullified last month, I savor these few seconds.

“Hey easy there babe, are you trying to get somewhere?” The guard doesn’t appreciate my joke, and as punishment merely throws me onto the floor, leaving me for the scientist to pick up. I use my arms to pull myself into sitting position and look around at all of the cages. Sadness floods my heart, because I know some of these people in the cages. Pamela from my kindergarten class is breathing heavily and a shade of blue in a larger cage on

the bottom. Tom, the bagger at the local grocery store is crammed into a small cage at the top, his limbs seemingly have no bones; I shake my head, when will they ever get that experiment right?

At the sound of the door opening, I whip my head around to see the scientist stroll in, he refers to himself as a doctor but everyone knows he never went to medical school. “ What did you do this time?” he sneers and nudges my limp foot with the toe of his Italian leather shoes.

“It wasn’t my fault, he was coming onto me, and as a lady of society I had to put him in his place” I lace my words with sugar, trying to avoid the inevitable.

“For once” he hits me over the head “you could” he kicks me “keep your” then pushes me over “mouth shut” and with that I earn a slap across my face.

Oh the joys of living in the asylum.

Despite his actions he picks me up, slowly and neatly places me on the cold table. I bite my lip from making a sarcastic comment that would no doubt get me landed in the Hole yet again. I got put in the Hole about two weeks ago, only for a night; but it felt like a lifetime.

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W

Thing con’t

I awoke from my force induced coma in inexplicable pain, pain that was seemingly coming from every corner of my body. I fumbled around my body in the thick darkness trying to find the source of my misery. My hand clutched around a slippery wet sandpaper tongue plunging into my stomach. The gaping hole in the middle of my torso had no blood, which scared me more than the tongue itself.

Then it hit me, I was being harvested; this was Thing, this is what the walls whispered about in the wee hours of the morning.

My panic eased only slightly as I remembered what the rumors were.

“You’ll live, but only barely”

Two Weeks Ago

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“Thing was the scientist’s first experiment” “Usually it’ll knock you out first” “If you wake up, better stay quiet or Thing will get angry” I swallow my whimpers and dream of my life before the asylum, sure I had a few rough patches but it was generally good.

Sunday morning was pancake breakfast, I had a dog, and my mom would brush my hair 100 strokes every night. But then I remember the voices, the ones that would never leave, always there, always whispering. The only thing good to come out of this place is that the voices stopped, the doctor gave me something when I got

here and they died all at once.

My focus snaps back to the tongue as it slowly extracts itself from my stomach, I bite my lip in pain and metallic blood flows into my mouth.

A sudden burst of light comes from above as the Hole is uncovered, and the doctor peers down looking at Thing’s progress.

“It’s okay baby I’ll bring you something tastier soon” the doctor croons at Thing, as he slowly uses the pulley system to bring me 20 feet back up to the surface.

I feel like I’ve just ran six marathons and the thought of moving almost makes me pass out. I manage to watch as the doctor

loads me onto a small cart to pull me back to my cell, his face has a strange look of bliss on it.

It takes everything I have to open my mouth and croak out “What is it?”. The doctor stops and looks down at me long and hard, for a second I fear I may have to go back to the Hole; kicking myself for saying such a stupid thing I almost missed his response.

“She, was my wife” he whispered so softly and gently, for a second I saw his true form; the kind man that has been broken by his own curiosity. At that point I knew, if she couldn’t escape, then none of us ever will.

Peyton Spring

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Blossoms Cherry Blossoms

A

spray of mist washed over me. I glanced at the fountain to my right. This was one of many that dotted the village walkways. The water ran down the structure smoothly, only the occasional breeze would sway the course of the flow. The sun peeked above the high mountains to the west. Cherry blossom petals fell with the swirling wind, decorating the grass and stone path with a light blanket of pink. I breathed in deeply, closing my eyes and taking in the atmosphere. Strong scents of flowers, fresh water, and baked goods hung in the air. This was my favorite park in town. Benches were scattered around the paths. There were lamp posts which guarded the shrubs, and the cherry blossoms towered over everything. Those were everywhere.

I wandered for a bit longer before going under the bridge.. The market place was always calm. Never too busy, but never entirely empty. Across the way, was the place that divided land from sea. The view was gorgeous, over the cement ring you could see the glorious blue waters, glistening in the sun.

I walked to my favorite store; the bakery. I opened the door, hearing the chime of the bell. Soft music played from a stereo behind the counter, a tiny fan blew a cool breeze through the store.

I smiled when I saw Beatrice, the lady who worked the counter. I wasn’t a regular customer in her eyes, but rather, a friend. She waved to me, a smile curling her lips. I made my way over, spotting the new batch of cinnamon buns. I thought my mouth was watering.

“Hiya!” she said.

“Hey there, Bea.” I replied.

Beatrice looked a tad smug, “Don’t think I didn’t see you eyeing those buns over there,”

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she laughed, “How many do you want?” She reached for a brown paper bag, and put her gloves on. I couldn’t help but giggle.

“I’ll have three,” I said.

“Alrighty then, three cinnamons comin’ up!” she said.

Beatrice was a delightful lady. She had a warming smile that greeted you with soft, loving eyes. Although, she wouldn’t be Beatrice without her hard-working drive. She stuffed the buns into the bag, and I handed her my cash.

“There you go,” she smiled and slid the bag across the counter. I grabbed it, taking the change from her as well.

“Thanks Bea, I’ll see you later,” I called, opening the glass doors and walking out.

The ding of the bell faded as I walked down the pathway. I looked up, hearing footsteps.

That’s when I saw him.

I fell into what seemed like a trance. The universe disappeared. It was only us.

He looked so familiar, almost like an average guy I might see every day, but… something about him was enticing. His slim figure rose above most, his sandy blonde hair swept over one side of his face, hanging down to his ear. It was when he was almost upon me, that I locked eyes with him. Eyes like an ocean, waves swirling and clashing all within his iris. His thin lips formed a small smile.

I gazed up at the boy, my mouth probably hanging open. Before long, the moment had passed, although I still couldn’t see straight. I stepped forward, stumbling a bit. I turned back, wanting to get one last look at him, but… he was gone. I glanced at the ground, trying to place one foot in front of the other. That was amazing. Hey! I’m not the average girl. I mean, I don’t normally freak out over a guy’s looks… so what if he has

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blue eyes and blonde hair?

Just... something about him.

I sat in the park the next day. A peaceful, quiet, late Saturday morning. The breeze whirled around, threatening to flip the pages of my novel. I had nearly forgotten about yesterday. The only remnants of the previous day were the warm gooey cinnamon buns I had stashed for my reading session. I reached inside the bag and pulled out a single bun, which I had heated in my microwave oven.

After taking a few bites, I took in the scenery; cherry blossoms swaying, the sea churning, fountains trickling, the charming boy who now sat next to me. Wait. What?

Opposite of me, sat the boy from yesterday. His eyes glowing and sparkling. I nearly choked on my bun, my face flushed as I turned away, also quickly shutting my book.

I stared down at the book cover, refusing to make eye contact with him. Why was he here? There were plenty of other benches for him to sit at. Was he still looking at me? I felt my cheeks burning.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disrupt you. I just… happened to notice you were reading my favorite book,” he said softly. My goodness his voice was like melted chocolate. It was deep. So smooth and elegant that it was almost poetic. I snapped out of my daze, looking from him to my book.

“O-Oh? You like too?” I brushed my fingers across the cover.

He nodded, “Like I said, it’s my favorite.”

“Mine too,” I said. I leaned back a little bit, I was getting more comfortable, and my shoulders ached from the release in tension. He told me about his dreams to become a writer. I told him mine too. He scooted closer. We talked more and more; about our favorite books, authors, films, animals, everything. We even had some healthy debates.

They may have been basic subjects, but I feel like we deeply connected. We had many things in common. He laughed at my jokes, I laughed at his. This seemed completely unreal. That’s when he told me his story. And how all he wanted to do with his life was help others.

And then, I told him mine. It was incredible, I felt like he was really listening, like he really cared. I told him how I had to raise myself when my momma was never around.

I told him how I come here every single day of the year. No matter the weather, or how I’m feeling. The way I trained myself to accept my habits and personality, since I never got approval from anyone else. How I never really knew whether I was good enough for anyone or not, and how I only had my own thoughts because I could only make friends with bakery shop workers and custodians. I hadn’t realized I had started crying. He put his hand on mine, looking at me.

“I accept you.” He said. It was that simple, but I think I was already in love.

Days went by. I’d see Nathan only once and awhile. Nathan. That was the best name in the whole world. I could say it over and over until my voice stopped working.

At school, I could only see him at two o’clock for a half an hour. I’d sprint from my chemistry class to the courtyard, where he’d be waiting. We’d grab some coffee and sit and talk, hug, and sometimes even hold hands. We’d discuss new pieces of literature we were reading, things going on at home, and tell stories of our pasts. It was paradise.

Every day we grew closer. But something was a bit off. As people walked by, they’d give us weird looks. I was telling Nathan about getting my pet cat, as this girl, Fiona,

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stood close to our table. She was just staring at us. Mostly me. I stopped my story and returned the look. I wasn’t the best at social interaction.

Nathan scowled and waved her off. She didn’t give him a second thought. She narrowed her eyes at us and walked away eventually.

“That was really strange…” I said.

“Yeah, I wonder what her problem is,” Nathan said.

Days continued on, Nathan would walk to my classes with me, his arm around me. That night I went home, happy as could be. I settled down into bed after doing my homework and working on a writing piece. I snuggled into bed wearing the white jacket Nathan had given me earlier that day. It smelled like him it was really big on me. I loved it. I wrapped my arms around myself after turning off my light. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke in a daze. I was mostly confused. My hair stuck up like it hadn’t been brushed in weeks. I looked down to see I was still wearing Nathan’s white jacket. I couldn’t move my arms. It was like the sleeves had been tied together. I definitely wasn’t in my bedroom anymore. I stumbled, walking under the white bridge, and into the shop.

All the cherry blossoms were dead outside. Their soft brown branches were now cold, hard, silver stalks. Beatrice was waiting behind the counter.

“Here you go, sweetie,” she said, handing me a brown paper bag. It didn’t smell like cinnamon buns though. All I could smell was plastic and rubber. A pair of hands grabbed the bag. It was Nathan. I looked up to see him blue scrubs, a stern look on his face.

“You need to stop leaving when I open the door,” he said. He rested a hand on my shoulder and led me towards my bedroom. Fiona stood in the doorframe, giving me that weird look. I scowled back at her. My room was very soft. I loved it so much.

Nathan grabbed my arm and took a needle out of the bag. “It’s time for you medicine,” he said. I sat down on my white sheeted bed. The needle went in as I laid back, my eyes fluttering closed. I opened them to see the beautiful cherry blossoms dancing in the breeze and the ocean in the background. Nathan was still holding onto my hand, sitting next to me. I read my novel and he read his. But I could still feel him watching me.

Just waiting for me to wake up.

From the claws of

Foxglovesq November 2017

89

Skulls in the Well

Seventh grade boys, William and Trent, like most, dreaded their middle school they call a prison. The wardens lurk the halls, stalking their students, watching and analyzing their every move.

A clumpy thick brownish slime slithers its way out of the thin plaster cracks of the beige walls.

Ever so often an unsettling gurgle, reminiscent of an upset stomach, bellows from the pipes. Noses are filled with a sickening stench as one makes their way from the art rooms to the history wing at the end of the hall. My problem was never the building itself, no my problems lied with the people who walk through the doors everyday.

A foggy Tuesday morning, William and Trent are on their routine walk to said middle school.

William is flipping through his flash cards as he walks, trying

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to cram for an algebra exam.

Trent walks with his face toward the sky, observing the branches that arch overhead. I watch them from behind a rusting trash can.

William looks up from his cards and turns his head cautiously. We make direct eye contact. Trent notices William stopped walking and asks “William? Hello? Dude you alright?”. William’s eyes transfixed on mine, he ignores Trent’s blabbering. I swish my temporary bushy tail in a taunting motion. William walks toward me. I continue to stare him as if to burn a hole right through his skull. In one quick motion, I scurry out of sight behind a tree. William still staring at the edge of the dumpster breathes heavily. Trent walks up behind him and places his hand on his shoulder, “it was just a squirrel Will”. William walks away slowly,

knowing something is a little off, but proceeds to pull out his flash cards and continues studying. I continue to walk closely behind them, without their knowledge.

Every day the same thing occurs. William and Trent walk down the same road and I meet them at the same place in my disguised form. William grows more and more anxious each day.

“We see that same squirrel every day Trent. Don’t you think that’s a peculiar coincidence?” William says. “...uhhhh a what?”, Trent replies out of arrogance. “It’s just a dumb squirrel William”, says Trent.

“You are a dumb squirrel”, William exclaims. They proceed to school.

When they walk in the doors they notice the popular squad of girls that hang out near the lockers aren’t there. “Trent where are they?” William asks. “Maybe they’re all sick”, Trent replies.

“All of them though? That’s a bit weird”. “They’re probably skipping to go to the mall”. “Yeah that’s more like it”, William says. Weeks go by and things start going from weird to suspicious. The popular girls haven’t been in school for 2 weeks.

Fifth period, William and Trent have lunch. I scoop some offwhite colored mashed potatoes smothered in a slimy brown gravy onto their trays.The bell rings and they make their way down the musty hallway where all the pictures of past principals and students that received awards hang. Why am I on the same wall as athletes and scholars who actually achieved things in life,

when all I achieved was ending mine. The two boys pass my picture, both of them look up at my dark brown pixelated eyes. I glare at them through the shiny glass. I can tell William senses there is an unworldly presence, but he keeps it to himself as he walks alongside the oblivious Trent.

I’m chopping vegetables at the counter as William arrives home.

He opens the door and throws his backpack on the couch. “Hey Mom I’m gonna go take a walk up to the old well”. “Okay hon, don’t fall in”, I replied with a light chuckle.

He puts on his hiking boots and leisurely walks up the hill behind his house. I stalk him through brushes leading up to the well. He finally reaches the top and sits at the base of an old oak tree. He goes here to think and it relieves stress. I swish my tail to get his attention. He looks over at me, I give him the same devilish glare I give him on the way to school.He stares into my red hypnotic eyes.

WIlliam picks up a rock near his leg and throws it in the well. He hears a subtle thud, in place of where the sound would be if the rock hit the water. He peers over the cracked dusty yellow colored walls of the well and sees 4 skulls floating in the water. His eyes widen in fear and disbelief. His immediate response is to run down the hill screaming. I scurry down with my short stubby rodent legs.

I follow him until he makes it to his front porch step.

William slams the door quickly behind him. He runs his hands through his hair, scraping at his

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cont. scalp. His mom runs over to him and wraps her arms around his frail body. His little sister hears all the commotion. She peeks her head around the corner of the staircase and starts running toward him. He brings his hands to his face to block out the world around him. I zoom pass the sofa and run up to William to wrap my tiny little girl arms around his waist. “Hey look big brother a squirrel”, I say, pointing at the window. William looks at the bird feeder hanging outside his window and is frozen in fear. I ask “What’s wrong big brother?”. “Nothing, just leave me alone! I will be fine. Everything is...fine”, William mumbles as he rushes upstairs to his bedroom.

He slams the door and closes his curtains and sits on his bed, trying to make sense of what just happened. His mother calls for dinner but he refuses and decides to go to sleep instead.

Next day, William and Trent decide to take a different route to school. They avoid the trash can that I normally stalk them from.

They walk passed the dandy mini mart on the other side of town. I jump from a ledge of the roof and continue following them, randomly popping up ever so often. William

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tries to ignore the fact there is something unsettling about these turn of events but doesn’t say a word to Trent, knowing he would call him crazy. They return to school and notice there are four more people missing. The principal calls for an assembly.

There he announces to the whole school that recently eight students have died. No one believed him.

William certainly didn’t believe it.

Now this is when Trent starts to believe what William said might be true. Just then the fire alarm goes off unexpectedly. Trent goes into a sneezing fit. Then he notices three other students sneeze simultaneously. “Gee Trent, are you coming down with something?”, William asks. “Nah it’s just allergies”, Trent replies.

“Okay, well go home and get some rest”, William says. The alarm ends and students are released.

The two of them walk home along their normal path without any encounters.

In the morning, William is woken up to call from the hospital.

Trent is on the other end. “Save yourself”, he utters in a low coarse fading voice. “Trent?, buddy? You okay? Trent!”, William screams into the phone. The phone hangs

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up. William drops the phone on the ground and whispers to himself, “this is not happening, no, no this can’t be happening!”.

“William, honey, I made your favorite breakfast”, I say. He slowly creeps down the stairs. “I’m not really that hungry mom”. “Well if that’s how you’re gonna be then go throw your food in the well up the hill!” I yell in his face. William, without questioning walks up to the well, constantly scoping his surroundings to ensure his safety. He anxiously looks over the well wall to see if there are skulls floating. Squinting his eyes, hoping it was just his imagination, he peers over into the dark, deep abyss. There are four more skulls, amounting to eight in total. William takes a step back in amazement.

His legs tangle and he falls down the hill, screaming. He runs face first into a wheel of a tractor, leaving him concussed.

Out of the crisp, foggy morning air, William hears, “William, wake up it’s time for school”. He slightly opens his mouth. “Wait isn’t it Saturday?”. “No, it is, Monday”, his mom says. William sits straight up and grabs for his phone to make sure that was correct. It reads “Monday, September 4th”.

“How can that be?”, William says exasperated. “What do you mean honey?”, his mom asks. ‘It must have been a dream! phew..”, he says as he raises his hands to his forehead in relief. Completely relieved of stress, he proceeds to get out of bed and start getting ready for school. He looks up to talk to his mom, but she was no longer in the room. He walks down the hallway to his sister’s room.

He opens her door and sees a trail of blood leading to one of her toy chests. He opens the top of the chest with a shaky, bloodstained hand. He reaches in and grabs a corpse of a squirrel. He hikes up to the well and throws the limp squirrel body into the water. He doesn’t hear any splashing so he looks in. “Mom!”, William screams.

He stands, staring at his mom’s lifeless, floating body in the red murky water. “This can’t be! No way this is real, I will wake up any second now”. I begin to breathe down his neck and give him a light shove. He steps back. I push him a little closer to the edge of the well. “Whoever. Whatever that is, STOP!”, he shrieks. I keep pushing him and then abruptly stop and say before he falls to his inevitable death, “Now hon, don’t fall in”.

Quinnlynn Spencer

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