The Torch by St. George's Episcopal School

Terrifying Tales and Scary Stories Edition November 2017 1

Table of Contents Introduction/The Inaugural Issue ...........................................................................................4 Message from Language Arts Instructor.................................................................................4 The Mirror.................................................................................................................................6 by Milz Cain The Neighbor.............................................................................................................................8 by Leighton Clements Tergum Confodit......................................................................................................................10 by Sera Davidson The Nightmare on Halloween.................................................................................................12 by Shelby Doffing The Ghost of Alexander Palace...............................................................................................15 by Sarah Edwards Manus, The Primeval One......................................................................................................18 by Austin Jones 28-3...........................................................................................................................................22 by Gray Long Halloween Night......................................................................................................................24 by Anna Matthews The Murder in the Fields........................................................................................................26 by Peyton McPherson The Bullet................................................................................................................................28 by Sam Potter 3

A Note about our Founding Issue We are excited and honored to share the first issue of The Torch with you. The dream for a high school literary magazine dates back to the planning stages of the current SGES High School. As we launch this electronic edition, we are already preparing for our first print edition in the Spring. The vision for this publication began with the desire to share the voices of creative writers across the SGES community, but it ends with the hope that it may spark your desire to engage in your own pursuit of expression, and that you may become inspired to create. In the following pages, youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll find dark and haunted short stories from our eleventh grade students. You will see through their writing the creative process that these amazing writers use each week in their studies at St. Georgeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Episcopal School. The Torch may change and evolve over time - including the title and the content. Enjoy this first electronic issue as we expectantly await an expanded and further developed print edition in the Spring of 2018. -Ellee Hilley, editor

Of Many Firsts.....

There are many firsts with this eleventh grade AP Language/Composition class, among these are it is the first 11th grade class at SGES and it will be the

first graduating class at SGES in 2019. These students are a product of all their dedicated and gifted teachers at SGES (most students have grown up here!) . These outstanding students will now be the first to publish their writings in the first literary magazine for SGES, The Torch.

The 11th grade AP Language and Culture Class at SGES.

Here are some spooky stories they wrote impromptu this past October 30th and 31st. These narratives -written for fun- show the creative and academic leanings of these gifted students. In a future publication, they are amassing several types of their writings for publication.

So sit back and enjoy these unique scary stories! -Susan Hendricks, teacher -Blake Monts de Oca, High School Academic Dean

The Mirror by Milz Cain Today is October 31, which means today is Halloween. In my case, it also means that tonight all my friends will be out having fun without me. Yesterday, the neighbors called and asked if I could babysit their six-month-old baby on Halloween. My Mom answered the phone, and of course, she said I’d do it. I went over at around 6:00 pm, and the parents told me they’d be back around 1:00 am. They explained that all I had to do was feed the baby and put her down at 8:00. After they left, I put on a scary Halloween classic called, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, while I fed the baby. Around 7:45, I put the baby to sleep and headed back to the kitchen to make some pizza rolls and find a good movie to watch. “Waah, Waah, Waah.” I woke up to the sound of the baby crying. I checked my watch. It was 9:30. I must have fallen asleep while watching the movie. I went upstairs to the baby’s room to calm her and put her back to sleep. After about 30 minutes, she finally went back to sleep and I began to go back downstairs to finish my movie. As I was going downstairs, I happened to look out the window. There was a large man smiling back at me. He had on all black clothes and no shoes. He had a beard and many of his teeth were missing. He sent chills down my back as I began to realize that he looked like the old man in The Visit. He saw me looking and began to wave. I didn’t want to be rude so I waved back and quickly went down the stairs. “Waah, “Waah, Waah.” Oh man, I thought. I’d fallen asleep again. This time it was about 11:15. As I slowly made my way up the stairs to check on the baby, I looked to my right to see the same large, toothless man staring at

me through the window. This worried me, but when I got back downstairs I made sure all the doors and windows were locked and closed. I was still a little nervous so I decided to watch a comedy instead of another horror movie. “Waah, “Waah, Waah.” Not this again. The parents had promised the baby always slept like a rock and hardly ever cried. They must not know their baby very well, I thought. As I went upstairs, I didn’t see the man outside the window. Thank God. That man was really beginning to creep me out. I got the baby to go back to sleep and headed back downstairs. I looked out the window and there he was. That man was back. I quickly ran downstairs and tried to convince myself that seeing the man there three times was just a coincidence. I finally concluded that it was probably just my friends sending someone to scare me. I turned my comedy back on and vowed not to go back to sleep. “BANG” I woke up in a panic. What was that?? UGH. I had fallen asleep again. The noise that woke me up sounded like an elephant had just fallen down the stairs. I began to look for the cause of the noise, thinking I was going to get blamed for whatever just broke. After searching for about 20 minutes, I came to the realization that the house was eerily quiet. That’s when I realized that the baby hadn’t begun to cry at the loud noise. The more I thought about it, the stranger it was that the baby hadn’t cried. I went up to check on her and glanced out the window. Finally, the creep outside the window was gone. As I got closer and closer to the baby’s room,

I realized something was terribly wrong. The crib was turned over and the baby wasn’t there. I couldn’t think straight. I was in complete and total panic mode. I tore the whole house apart trying to find the baby. It looked like a tornado had just come through there. The baby was nowhere to be seen. I flew down the stairs, not even glancing at the window, to call the police. “Hello, Steven County Police Department, what’s your emergency?” “I’m babysitting at the house on the corner of Maddox and Kincaid and the baby is nowhere! I need help NOW!!” I screamed into the phone. I promptly hung up and proceeded to call the baby’s parents and mine. They all got there around the same time and while the parents asked me questions, the police began searching the house. After they concluded that the baby was nowhere in the house, they began drilling me with questions. “Did you see anything strange or interesting happen while you were babysitting?” they asked. I couldn’t think of anything right off the top of my head. Then it hit. The strange man standing outside the window on the staircase. I was telling the police all about it when the father overheard us. “A window… On the stairwell…?” the father said. “Yes, there was a man outside the-“ he cut me off. “That’s not a window…,” he said slowly.“That’s a mirror.”

The Neighbor by Leighton Clements It was October 30th, 2017 when a new neighbor began moving in to the old house around the corner. Sally would sit and watch the movers as they attempted to rush the ancient furniture from the truck to the house in an attempt to keep it dry. It was a rainy day. After about half an hour had passed of blank, meaningless watching, Sally’s neighbor caught her staring at him through her bedroom window. Now he knew where she slept. She immediately darted away from the window and closed the curtains with hopes that he had never noticed her. She did not like the intimidating look that the stranger gave her when their eyes met, for it made her stomach queasy as if she was sick. It seemed as though he was watching her while she was watching him. She wanted to get her mind off of the man, so she went to watch TV with her dad. They sat and watched TV for hours, and when Sally’s mom entered with food for everyone, it had startled Sally – she clearly wasn’t at ease due to her recent scare. After dinner, Sally’s parents asked her if everything was okay, but Sally dismissed their attempt to start a conversation with her. Sally was unhappy with her parents due to their planned absence the next day. Sally would be staying the night all by herself for the first time in her life on Halloween! Needless to indicate, the presence of a new – rather strange and daunting – neighbor had caused unease with Sally. She was determined not to let anyone know though, because she knew she would be forced to stay with her grandmother should any problems arise before her parents left. Considering the grass was not greener on the other side, Sally cleared her head and imagined all of the riches she would receive the next day, and prompt-

ly went to bed. Right before bed – per tradition – Sally dropped her hand by her bed to have her bulldog, ironically named Gurley, lick her hand. Gurley made her feel safe when she woke from nightmares or couldn’t sleep. She knew he would protect her. Sally woke in a great mood on her favorite holiday of the year. She hurriedly ate her breakfast and went off to her friend’s house to play all day until it was time to go trick-or-treating. As she walked to her friend’s house, she passed old, newly inhabited house belonging to her new neighbor. He was a very pale, skinny man. He was young, though his mannerisms indicated those of a decrepit elderly man. He did not have many attractive qualities. His hair was jet black and patchy, as he had a few nasty bald spots. He wore jeans and and a t-shirt as he worked in his yard. When sally had reached the intersection between his driveway and the sidewalk, she tripped and scraped her knee. The man turned to see Sally hurt on the pavement, and proceeded to keep to himself, minding his own business. He continued to garden as Sally watched him – astounded – as he completely disregarded an injured child! She got up and collected herself before she continued to her friend’s house. When she arrived at her friend’s house, she patched her leg up and went outside to play. Finally, it was time to trick-or-treat, and Sally could not have been more ecstatic to go collect pounds of candy. Sadly, the most lucrative route for candy loot included the old – formerly abandoned – house recently occupied by that eerie, spine-chilling neighbor. As Sally’s group of princesses, cowgirls, and cheerleaders all passed the dark, ominous house they noticed a sign that was staked into the

lawn reading, “No walking on the lawn! No candy!” It reminded Sally of the look in the man’s eyes. It threw chills down her whole body. She soon lost the thought when they reached the next house supplying candy and other treats. The night with her friends had ended and Sally went home to organize this year’s haul from her neighborhood. When she went home, she turned off all the lights in the house so that people wouldn’t knock on the door for candy. She and Gurley sat and watched cartoons while eating her candy. The clock turned to midnight, and Sally decided that it was time for bed. She searched the house for every door, window, or even vent. All entryways into the house were locked. Sally went to her room to climb into bed with Gurley down next to her. She dropped her hand next to her bed and felt Gurley’s warm, safe lick. She then went to sleep. All of a sudden, Sally arose from her deep sleep with an abrupt scream. She was sweating, and her heart was racing as she sat in the silent dark. She dropped her hand beside her bed and felt Gurley. She got out of bed and went to the window and noticed a few boys throwing toilet paper everywhere. She did not think anything of it. As she watched, she heard a noise coming from the bathroom. It was a faint dripping noise. She pondered while calmly watching the precisely orchestrated toilet paper attack against her friend’s lawn when she came to the conclusion that it must have been a leaking showerhead. She got back into her bed and felt for Gurley. With the comforting lick from Gurley, Sally went to sleep again. Yet again, Sally woke up in a panic. She had another nightmare. This time it was extra cold in her house. She was unusually uncomfortable and missed her parents. She wished that they had not left. When

she woke for the second time, she noticed the dripping noise once again, yet this time she decided to abandon the comfort and safety of her bed and go to the shower to fix it. She felt for Gurley and when she received confirmation of her safety, she got out of bed. She had to walk around the bed to get to the bathroom. As she walked around her bed, she stepped on Gurley’s collar. She picked it up and immediately received chills. She leapt to the bathroom to turn on the light. As the lights came on, she discovered the source of the dripping noise. Gurley was sprawled across the bathroom counter in a pool of blood. That instant Sally felt a piercing stare coming from behind her, which raised the hair on her neck and nearly caused her to faint. She slowly turned her head and shoulders to find her neighbor politely sitting on the edge of her bed. Their eyes had met before, though this time Sally wasted no time to break the gaze as she darted for the door. Locked. All the while the neighbor sat on the edge of her bed. She then looked back at him as her eyes filled with tears and the neighbor began to rise from the edge of the bed. He spoke four words, “Humans can lick too.”

Tergum Confodit by Sera Davidson A man sits down in a restaurant, the light of the chandelier overhead and the small candles on each table casting contrasting reflections on the face of his large watch. He wears a crisp suit, but his face, despite the light around him, is dark, unhappy, and angry, out of place on his young age. After a few minutes a young man greets him with a drink and a pleasant expression- that will soon be changed. The man removes his name tag reading HAMISH. Two days later, a dorm is filled with voices as its occupants meet again. “Jim! Ever since you got your job waiting tables, I never see you anymore!” the taller of the two exclaims. He wears a dark hoodie, jeans, and black tennis shoes. Jim nods. “I’ve certainly been busy, Will- training in the morgue, my new job, making what I can on the side. . . haven’t had time for the “family business,” as you describe our dabbling in investigation,” he finished with a short laugh. “It’s sad. But now you’re back, you know. . . “ “Anything Gavin needs help with?” “We could always check.” Dabbling is perhaps a mild word for the “family business” that the friends partake in. The two semi-geniuses often are called by their friend Gavin, a training detective, to help with cases he is periodically presented with. Today, they find a new opportunity. A man has gone missing, a fresh case, and one of the most advanced Gavin has been given. “They think it’s connected to some high-end restaurant. . . here’s a picture of the victim.” Jim hands Will the photo. In it, a short waiter leans over the table, a flare masking his eyes but not his smile. The man seated there has a dark face and a nice suit. The light in the photo, candlelight reflected by a watch face and a metal name tag, illuminates the over-sugared beignet that the waiter is bringing to the table. “Excellent, let’s head there.” “They realized he was missing last night. This was his table- last place he was seen,” the owner of the restaurant explains. It crosses Will’s mind that it’s rather pe10 culiar for the waiter to have only one

table. He makes a mental note of it and stays quiet. They began searching. A fingerprint test would be futile; many customers and waiters have certainly touched the table since the kidnapping. Minutes passed before the taller man called out. “I’ve found something!” A scrap of cloth is lifted to the light. “From a nice suit?” “Perhaps, yes. But if so. . . “ Will frowns confusedly. “Yes?” “Nothing.” Jim gives a quick sigh, the restaurant owner seeming rather bewildered. Seeing his questioning look, Will speaks quickly; “We’ll take it to the lab. Margaret will help us analyze it for new clues.” After an inquiry about his companion’s health- Jim looked rather ill for a moment, but brushes it off as having twisted his ankle- Will starts the car and they head to the laboratory where their acquaintance Margaret studies. There they run tests and discuss the case. “You picked up a good clue, Will, Jim.” Margaret walks into the room, results in hand. They look up in interest and expectation. “It contains traces of. . . formaldehyde, and methanol.” “Sounds like-” Margaret cut Will off. “Embalming fluid, yes. Which would mean. . . ? The-” “Morgue. This is an interesting clue. The victim has access to the morgue. . . “ “Or his kidnapper does.” As Margaret answered, Jim scowled. “We’re not excluding you, Jim, stop being all moody.” “Just thinking. I guess we have a morgue to investigate.” “You’re the expert here. Lead on.” The pair show up at the morgue cautiously. The embalming rooms are abandoned, yet there is a slight feeling of crampedness, of crowdedness coming from the bodies. “More bodies than usual,“ Will observes. “Not by much. And I’d know.” “Well of course. . . although I stand by what I said,” Will responds with a small frown.

They stride around the room, searching, looking carefully. Nothing seems out of place, nothing seems abnormal- besides the extra bodies. “We’ll have to search them,” Will says grimly, not because he is opposed to the idea, but because he knows Jim will be. “Them. . . ?” Jim doesn’t realize what it was Will meant to search. “The bodies.” Once it is clarified what Will intends, Jim is even more argumentative than Will expected. “But we must, don’t you see? We’ve spent-” Will takes a glance at his watch, “- forty-five minutes in here. This is the room the fluid is held in, and we’ve searched this small room thoroughlythoroughly except for the bodies!” Jim is flustered; he has no given reason as to why they can’t search the bodies. But they must not. The trouble is, he is the smaller of the two- if it came to a physical confrontal, he would be at an absolute disadvantage. Will gives a sudden sniff, a peculiar action from most who have entered a crime scene, but not an unusual one for Will. “It’s sharp, it’s . . . plentiful. There’s a lot. We must search the bodies! This is no embalming fluid,” he cries. Jim stands perspiring, why, Will could not tell. Despite the crampedness of the room which he had noticed when they entered, it did not seem warm enough for Jim to be uncomfortable. Yet he stood with a strange posture, glare, and worry in his figure that Will could not account for. He must decide his priorities. Jim could always be spoken to, but a case could be affected any second. It says something about Will’s trust of Jim, that he hesitated at all; for many, they would not be granted that honor in leeway of an immediate focus on the case. No matter, thinks he after a second. With a spring forward, he stands in front of the nearest bag. Bracing himself, whether from odor or ambush, and without a daring glance at Jim, he unzips the top and peers carefully inside. Jim stands by the wall, stiff and silent. “A dead body. What did you expect, Will? Hamish? It is a morgue, you know,” Jim says tautly. “Hamish? The customer?” Will is bewildered. “Why. . . would Hamish be dead?” Was he suggesting that someone had already taken their revenge on the kidnapper? “My friend, you are slower than you have been. But no, you are right of course; Hamish was indeed the one who attacked the other.” Jim smirks darkly. “So the waiter wasn’t attacked. I know what you’re doing.” Will hesitates at the end of his sentence, but doesn’t refer to Jim by name. He distrusts him. I doubt it was a joke, he thinks, but I never thought- I assumed the other man was the

victim- this means, I suppose, that it was indeed Hamish, and the young waiter the culprit? Gavin said the suspect was in the photo as well. Will works it out in his mind, murmuring under his breath and casting a glance at his companion every now and then. In the end, however, he still comes up with the same step for a solution; search the bodies. He continues to unzip the head area of each bag, peer in, and close it. “Aha!” He exclaims loudly. “The man from the photo- the right one too.” He’d been going down a line of slightly peculiarly-placed bodies, each with an also-peculiar lack of odor. Suddenly, Will gives a choking sound- perhaps a cut-off scream-

and leaps away from the bodies.

“It breathed, I swear it did,” he gasps. “Corpses don’t breathe, Will. They don’t,” Jim says quietly, in his worst mood yet. “Then it’s not a corpse.” Slowly, Will approaches Hamish. “If he’s not dead, he’s asleep. He’s been kidnapped, so either someone grabbed him when he’d had too much to drink and he’s STILL out of it, or someone dru- oh.” That sharp smell. It wasn’t alcohol. The drug. . . “So they’ve been drugged.” “They? There’s only one victim in this case!” Jim says quickly. “Not anymore.” Will opens all the bags in that strangely-placed series, glancing again at their faces. Each is familiar. They each live alone, make a good amount of money but work from home. Each wears no accessory or valuable. “But how. How would you not notice?” asks Will. “You work here. Every day. This didn’t happen overnight, surely you’d catch on. . . surely, unless. . .” Understanding dawns on him. Jim, realizing this, turns and bolts out the door, unaware that Gavin will show up any moment. His game is up. Later he will find himself confessing to the police, telling of his plot; watching at-home workers, drugging them when they went out to eat. Putting them, unconscious, in the morgue, taking advantage of his access. Taking their paychecks from their empty homes and valuables from their bodies. Gavin will enjoy a promotion, and Will an offer. But Will himself is left to wonder why his friend would turn to the side they had fought together for so long, why Jim would stab his friend in the back.

The Nightmare on Halloween by Shelby Doffing Halloween had always been Arthur McBride’s favorite day of the year. Arthur was a wealthy, seventy-two-year-old man who lived on Chipper Lane. Halloween had always been his favorite day of the year because he loved getting to see all the little kids dress up as different characters or animals and go trick or treating. His favorite part was getting to open his door to the children saying, “trick or treat!” Every Halloween, his eight-year-old neighbor, Harry, came to Arthur’s house dressed as a ghost with a white sheet over his body and holes cut for eyes. Arthur always gave Harry extra candy because he was his favorite kiddo on the block. On Halloween of 2004, Arthur had been giving out candy to little kids since 5 PM, and it was already 9 PM; however, Harry still hadn’t shown up. Arthur was a bit worried about this, considering Harry always came around 6:30 every year, but he just shook it off and kept waiting. About fifteen more children came by and now it was 10:30, still no Harry. As Arthur was going to bed, around 11, he heard a knock on the door. He immediately went downstairs thinking it could be Harry. He opened the door with his bowl of candy in hand. There was someone dressed as a ghost and Arthur exclaimed, “Happy Halloween Harry! You look great in your ghost costume as usual! Why are you here so late? I was expecting you around 6:30.” Harry didn’t say anything. Arthur noticed something strange about Harry; he was a bit taller than usual and he seemed to be holding something in his hand. Arthur said, “Are you okay kid? What are you holding?” Still no response. Then, Arthur quickly realized it wasn’t Harry after the “ghost” pushed him into his house and showed a knife that he was holding and held it to Arthur’s throat and whispered, “If you yell, I will kill you. Just listen

to me.” Arthur was completely terrified. He had no idea why someone would do this to him, but he just did as the man told him to. The man told him to show him where he kept all his money, which was in a safe in the basement. They went down the steep, wooden stairs to the basement, and Arthur showed the man where he kept his money. Arthur opened the safe and the man began stuffing a black duffle bag with money. As he was doing this, he let Arthur go, and Arthur grabbed the thing that was closest to him, which happened to be a shovel. He went to swing at the man and he quickly turned around and grabbed the shovel and threw it. Arthur was shocked. Then, the man grabbed Arthur and tied his hands behind his back with some rope he found. The man screamed at Arthur, “Don’t test me old man! Do everything I say, or I will kill Harry.” Arthur said, “You have Harry? Where is he? What have you done to him?” The man said, “You will find out soon.” Then, the man struck Arthur with the cold, hard shovel. Arthur woke up in a dark place that smelled like nasty, wet dogs. He was very confused and wasn’t sure where he was. He felt the pressure of a blindfold tied tightly around his head. He heard heavy footsteps walking around the room he was in. Arthur couldn’t see anything, but he yelled, “Who are you? And, where am I?” No response. Then, the footsteps walked further away and then a heavy door slammed. Arthur was very cold and scared of what was going to happen to him. Then he heard, “Mr. Arthur! Is that you?” The voice sounded like a little boy, a lot like Harry’s voice. Arthur responded, “Harry? Is it you?” The two were both a bit relieved. “How did you get here?” Arthur asked. Harry explained that his mother let him go trick or treating for a little while by himself and that he was on the way to Arthur’s house in his ghost costume and some person grabbed him and threw him in a white van. Then, Harry said the man took him and tied him up and put a blindfold on him and took his ghost costume. Arthur was shaken and thought to himself, “How could someone do this to a

young boy?” Arthur assured Harry that everything was going to be okay and that they were going to escape. About two days had passed, and the man that kidnapped them had only brought them two pieces of bread each and two glasses of water. Arthur always gave Harry his bread and water. Every time the man came back, he would yell at Arthur and Harry and ask where he could get more money. Arthur didn’t have any more money, so the man would hit and kick Arthur. Harry was only eight years old and he didn’t know where his parents kept their money. So, the man would go to hit Harry and Arthur told the man to hit him instead of Harry. Arthur and Harry were both exhausted and very hungry. Arthur was positive that the police were looking for them and that they would be rescued soon, but in the meantime, they tried creating a plan of how to escape. Arthur remembered that he always kept a pocketknife deep in the back pocket of his torn, blue jeans. He reached down, hoping it would still be there, and it was! It was like a gift sent from heaven. First, Arthur got the pocketknife and cut the rope that had his hands tied together. Then, he took off his blindfold and cut Harry’s rope off his hands. Their first idea was that they would look around to find anything that they could use to hit the man. However, they couldn’t find anything; it was a solid concrete room with nothing but two wooden chairs. Then, Arthur had the genius idea of using the legs of the chairs to hit the man. Arthur heard a noise coming from outside of the door. So, he told Harry to put on his blindfold and hold his hands behind his back to make it look like he hadn’t moved. Arthur did the same. The man came in and set the bread and water down, just as he had the two times before, almost paying no attention to the two until Arthur said, “What could you possibly want from a seventy-two-year-old man and an eight-yearold boy?” The man replied, “I need money and you two were easy targets. An old, rich man, and a little boy who comes from a wealthy family.” Then the man left

and after the door slammed, the two took their blindfolds off and went back to work. Arthur told Harry the final plan. The plan was to stand on each side of the door with their weapons, and wait for the man to come back and they would ambush him. Then, they would hit him and knock him out or injure him, and they would run. They both believed this was a good plan. They waited and waited for the man to come back, but it seemed to take forever. Then, they heard the man unlocking the door, and they quickly stood up, one on each side of the door, ready to attack. The man walked in, and Arthur and Harry both swung. Arthur hit him in the head and Harry hit him in the stomach. The man fell, and Harry and Arthur took off running. They ran out of the basement, up a flight of stairs, and at the top of the stairs there was a big, buff man waiting for them. “Oh no,” Harry said. Then, a very unexpected thing happened. A cop came up behind the big, buff man and said, “You are under arrest for the kidnapping of Arthur McBride and Harry Griffin.” He put the man in handcuffs and another cop went down the stairs to get the other man, who was laying on the floor knocked out. The cops handed Arthur a bag that contained all his money that the man had stolen from the safe in Arthur’s basement. Arthur asked the cops why the man needed money. The cops explained that the man had lost his mind and he had never done anything of that nature before. Arthur was still so confused, but the world may never know why the man needed the money so badly. Arthur and Harry were so relieved; they both started crying and Arthur hugged Harry. Arthur said, “I’m so sorry son.” Arthur and Harry walked out of the house and there waiting for Harry were his parents. Harry ran and hugged his mom and dad and they squeezed him very tight. His mom said, “Oh Harry, we were so worried about you! We missed you so much! Are you okay?” Harry replied, “Yes mom, I’m fine, Arthur took good care of me. When

the man was about to hit me, Arthur told him to hit him instead! He also always gave me his bread and water. He’s the best.” His mom began thanking Arthur for keeping her little boy safe. Arthur told her it was no problem and that he was just glad they were both safe. Both Arthur and Harry will always remember this Halloween. Harry will never be a ghost again, and Halloween is no longer Arthur’s favorite day of the year.

“Every book you pick up has its own lesson or lessons.”

-Stephen King

The Ghost of Alexander Palace by Sarah Edwards They say if you listen to the shushed whispers in dark street alleys, or to the elders talking about the good ole days, you’ll hear the rumors. The rumors of the ghosts that changed my life forever. There used to be tours of the infamous palace. Curious tourists wandered all throughout the now barren, overgrown gardens, the cobwebbed, dust covered ballrooms, and the cold, lifeless bedrooms. Today, it looks as if no one has ever lived here, as if it were just a museum. And to be fair, no one lived there for long. The Alexander Palace, a beautiful, stately mansion built by Catherine the Great, was just a vacation home. The last Tsar only used the Palace when the Bolsheviks put him and his family on house arrest. It used to be a house filled with laughter and music. Not anymore. Not since the muggy, warm night in July of 1918, when the Bolsheviks herded the Tsar, Tsarina, and their five children into the cellar and murdered them. They say if you look close enough, you can still see the blood of young Alexei splattered all over the cold, dirt covered, concrete floor. But no one goes on those tours anymore. Too many people came back with stories. Stories of heels click-clacking down the grand, window-lit hallways and of a child singing an old Russian lullaby. Some even say they saw the Grand Duchess Anastasia, with all of her long red hair, walking in the garden. It is said, if you walk near the old, rusted palace gates on any night in July, you can hear a young woman screaming. Screaming as if it is the last thing she will ever do. After this happened several times, the police went to investigate, but there was no trace of anyone ever being there. The locals tend to say it was the ghost of Tsarina Alexandra screaming as she watched her children be slaughtered. After dark, especially in the winter months, the palace comes alive. The windows will be lit, putting off a warm, yellowish glow. Music can be heard all throughout the grounds. Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, and Chopin are most common. In some windows, if you look close enough, you can see a man in a formal, military-like suit, looking out the window. Sometimes, a woman in a long, elegant ball gown joins him, and together, they stare out the window into the town of Yekaterinburg, as if watching the world go by. About four years ago, a friend and I decided to see what exactly goes on in the lonely palace after dusk. So, as soon as the dusk came, we crept out of our houses, and sprinted as fast as we could to the mansion. As we neared the gates, I heard my friend, Lili, start to breathe heavily. “You scared?” I jokingly asked her. At fourteen, I figured I was too old to believe in ghost stories. It was probably just some teenage delinquents playing a prank. “No way, Darya. Just catching my breath, that’s all.” She replied, as if assuring herself that’s what she was doing. 15

The Ghost of Alexander Palace, cont’d by Sarah Edwards “Good, because I don’t want to have to climb these gates by myself.” I reply. By the time we finished this conversation we had reached the gates. Instead of climbing like we had originally planned, I noticed the gates weren’t even locked. Before Lili, the better climber of the two of us, began to scale the gate, I motioned for her to stop, and pushed the old gate open. The screeching sound it made was terrifying. I cringed, waiting to hear someone running toward us. “We should go back…the noise was too loud. Someone will catch us,” cried Lili. “Well we better just run inside the gates. They’ll never catch us inside the garden. We can hide behind some of the Camellia bushes. Come on!” I said before running full speed up the drive to the garden. I didn’t notice that Lili didn’t follow me until I was already deep into the garden. I must admit, it was pretty scary. The grim covered statues seemed to stare right at me, as if they were watching my every move. I continued walking on the old, cracked pathway. I noticed there was a nicely carved stone bench in front of me, and I decided to walk over and get a better look. Suddenly, a strong, Siberian wind blew. I tightly held onto my brown, puffy jacket and cursed under my breath. When the wind finally died down, I looked up, and every hair on my body rose to its full height. There, right in front of me, was the Tsarvich Alexei. He was sitting right in front of me on the bench, reading a book. His golden hair fell into his clear blue eyes, and he seemed puzzled by what he was reading. He looked up at me, smiled, and waved, his young face clearly visible in the light of the full moon. “This can’t be real. There’s no such thing as ghosts.” I assured myself. As quietly as I could, a turned around and ran as fast as my legs could carry me. If only I had been paying attention to where I was going, I would have realized that I missed my turn and was now running to the front door of the Alexander Palace. As I neared the gates, I paused. I could hear Beethoven’s 5th Symphony coming out of the mansion, and most of the windows had light coming out of them. Oh no. “Don’t go in, Darya. Don’t be an idiot.” I thought to myself. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to my conscience. Instead, I crept up the moss covered, marble stairs and opened the door as quietly as I could. As soon as I stepped inside the house, I was amazed. The house looked like it had back when the Romanovs lived here. The light, pink marble floors were freshly waxed, the chandelier was lit with hundreds of tiny candles, the grand staircase was dust-free, and there was not a cobweb in sight. “This is not right. On the tours, the house was a mess…what in the world is going on?” I wondered 16

out loud. Since I am a dangerously curious person, I decided to explore some more. To my left, I heard heels walking down the hallway, and someone scolding a scullery maid for stealing food. To my right, I could hear laughter and music. It was an easy choice to choose the right. I tried to stay hidden as I crept down the hallways, finally reaching the entrance to the Imperial Ballroom. I decided to peek my head around the corner, and I wish I hadn’t. Normally, the ballroom is decorated with massive, professionally done paintings lining both sides of the wall above the windows. When I would tour the palace as a young girl, I was always in awe of the beauty of the dancers in the pictures. But when I looked around the corner that night, the paintings were blank, and there were people on the dance floor, dancing a traditional Russian waltz. The women were in beautiful, floor length dresses vary- ing in color, and the men all wore suits with the traditional military style suit jacket. The six chande- l i e r s , three on each side of the room, were brightly lit, and on the throne at the front of the room was t h e royal family. But, at the same time, it wasn’t the royal family. Yes, they looked just like all of the photographs I have ever seen of the family, but something was different. They were partly transparent, as if they were being projected from across the room. Right then, I knew something was wrong; this was not possible. These people all died over fifty years ago. The house hasn’t been cleaned since then either. I was terrified. Without even thinking, I yelled, “Ghosts!!!” The music stopped. Every single one of the ghosts looked at me. I gulped loudly, turned around, and ran. I ran and ran, until I couldn’t run anymore. The ghosts seemed to be everywhere. Coming out of the walls, the ceilings, even the floors! By now, I could see the big, ornate, wooden doors. “You’re almost there! Just a little farther!” I kept saying to myself. I was going to make it. Right as I touched the door, a ghost came out of nowhere and flew through me. It felt like my body was becoming ice. It was the coldest I’ve ever been, and that’s saying a lot for someone who lives in Eastern Siberia. But knowing I couldn’t stay there, I pushed myself to keep running. I ran back through the gardens, by the bench where I saw the Tsarvich, through the gate, and all the way to my dilapidated, one story house. Looking back, I guess I should have listened to the elders. I never should have wandered into the Palace. Maybe then I wouldn’t have nightmares every night. Maybe then I could still walk by the Palace without having goose bumps. Maybe then I wouldn’t jump at the slightest surprise. But at least I know the truth now. The ghosts of the Alexander Palace are real. 17

Manus, The Primeval One by Austin Jones

There is a story that happened quite a long time ago about a young boy and a tormented spirit older than time itself, their eventual meeting, and the anguish and torment the boy experienced till his death. Most of what will be told today may not be entirely factual and some of the events mentioned are somewhat disturbing to listen to. But make no mistake, this story, as outlandish and obnoxious it may sound, is completely true. First let us introduce the aforementioned young boy. The boy named Liam Prescott, age 15, was rather plain looking with dark brown hair and eyes. He wasn’t short nor was he very tall. He lived what one would call an ordinary life. He lived in a quiet neighborhood with his family. His mother Lilia was a nurse and his father Randy worked as an accountant. He had two siblings, one older brother, age 16, and one younger sister named Maggie, who was 10. They lived together in a quiet neighborhood in Montana. Liam had recently begun 9th grade at Brightview High School along with his lifelong friend Harry Livingston. These two had been almost inseparable since the day they met. They did everything together. They played and worked together and even got in some near-death situations together. Harry will become more important later on so keep him in mind. Then there was the tormented spirit. His full title, was Manus, the Primeval One ,but for time’s sake we’ll just call him Manus. His appearance was quite interesting, yet also very alarming. He was large, very large. Standing at about 23 ft. His arms were disproportionate in length. His right arm was much bigger than his left and much more grotesque as well, with hair growing seemingly everywhere on it. On his palm was a large gaping hole with sharp dagger-like spikes lining its interior. His face was like that of something one might see out of a demented person’s drawings with narrow, red eyes and large horns growing out on either side. He was a truly haunting beast to look at and where he came from, and even how old he is, is not known. The unlikely pair met on a cold day in November. Liam was on his way back from school with Harry, talking like they usually would about life and how tonight’s homework would be absolutely terrible. They continued to walk when they came upon a strange looking man sitting and slowly rocking on the ground. He was thin and pale with wide, unblinking eyes and a look on his face that clearly said, “I’ve seen something that I won’t ever recover from.” It was clear the man needed help so Liam, being the sensible human being that he was, went to assist the demented looking man. Harry stayed back thinking it might not be very wise to approach the man and even objected to helping him and just continuing their walk home. But Liam insisted that he help him. “E-Excuse me sir?” he said somewhat timidly, “Is everything alright?” The pale man paid no attention to him and continued to rock. He tried once more. “Excuse me, do you need some help?” The man then stopped rocking and slowly turned his head towards him, his eyes still wide with fear. All of a sudden with nearly inhuman speed, with seemingly no real reason for doing so, he grabbed Liam by the throat with one hand and in a voice that could only be described as taken over by some sort of demonic entity, he said, “You.” “You are my next conduit.” he bellowed, still looking at him dead in the eye. “What? What is that supposed to mean?” He tried to struggle but only in vain. The strange man’s arms were not muscular by any stretch of the imagination, yet his grip was like that of iron. The man answered, “This body has become frail and weak. It will soon die.” “But you, you are young, and a suitable host for my soul.” Liam had no idea what was going

on. All he really wanted now was for someone, ANYONE, to get him away from this lunatic. The man spoke again, “You should feel honored boy. For now you belong to Manus, the Primeval One. You are now MINE!!” The pain became unbearable now. Every fiber of his body was in agony trying to resist the demented man. The man let go and then, just as soon as it had started the pain went away: All except for a sharp stinging in his right hand that would not go away. When he got his bearings again, the first thing Liam noticed was thatHarrywaslonggone.Whichmadehimthinkthathehadabandonedhim. Thisisthefirstexampleofhis separationfromthoseLiamlovesandholdsdear.Helooked aroundandfinallysethiseyesonthedemented man. Only he wasn’t moving. Not a single twitch from him. Liam quickly deduced that the man was dead. He began to panic. What was he going to do? He thought to himself. People would show up eventually and think that he killed him. Not knowing what else to do, he ran. While he was running, his head began to ache. It hurt so much that he stopped and collapsed, holding his head in anguish. A picture began to take root in his mind A picture that he didn’t try to make up himself. It was almost like something was forcing him to conjure up this picture. He couldn’t make it go away either. No matter how hard he tried, a grotesque creature had taken root in his imagination. A creature with a right arm twice as long as the left and much more muscular, the longer one covered in thick, black hair and on the palm a gaping hole lined with razor-like teeth. A creature that couldn’t be described as anything more than a monster. It was as if the creature had somehow forced itself into his brain. The creature spoke in his mind. “Greetings child.” he bellowed in a low grumbling voice, “Wh-what’s going on?!” Liam said out loud, holding his aching head “Who are you?!” The creature answered, “Who am I?” “I am Manus.” I am the embodiment of pure, unbridled hatred, the kind of hatred that turns a man into a beast and destroys those around him.” “You are the one I have chosen to carry out that hatred upon others.”AsmuchasLiamdidn’twanttobelieveit,itwasclearnow thatthisManusfigurehadpossessedhim. He never was a believer in such things, at least, not until now. Over time, Liam had come to live with the fact that he would be possessed his entire life. But in that time, he had lost much. Not just part of himself, but also those around him. He began to distance himself from his friends and family. When they tried to see what was wrong, he would lash out in anger saying it was not him,butthem.EvenhisbestfriendHarryeventually leftduetohisanger.Thetwofriendsgotinmanyfights, both verbal and physical. Liam had blamed Harry several times for “abandoning” him all those years ago. This went on until Harry couldn’t take it anymore and left Manus didn’t help either. He would tell Liam constantly that he would outlive any and everyone he cared about as long as Manus had control over his body. He would taunt him saying he would be alone for the rest of his life. This went on for years and years. Manus wasn’t lying either. He outlived everyone he had ever cared about. His mother and father, both his siblings, Harry, along with other friends and acquaintances. At age 90 he was at the lowest point he had ever been. He was living alone, in an abandoned building in a small town in Nevada. He was feared and hated by the residents there because of his shabby looks, warped and disturbing facial features and his random outbursts at anyone

“You have grown weak and frail Liam.” “You are of no use to me anymore.” Liam didn’t answer. He didn’t care anymore. Nothing mattered. No one mattered. All that did was his eventual freedom from this curse. Manus commanded that Liam leave his home and go out of town . He knew he didn’t want to, but he complied lest his mind and body be tormented more. He walked out of town and sat down at a bench at a punlic park. There was nobody there save for a young girl playing on the playground. He sat for a long time. He tried to get up from the bench but Manus’s grip on his mind made him stay seated. The young girl eventually noticed Liam in his sorry state and began to cautiously approached him. “H-hello there sir.” She squeaked. “Is everything a-alright?” Liam tried to fight Manus and keep himself from lunging at the girl. Why he was here was clear now: Manus needed a new host. He kept trying to ignore her but she persisted. “Is everything okay sir?” she askedagain.LiamkepttryingtofightManusbut wasoverpowered.Hehadcompletecontrolnow.Liamslowly looked up at the girl, smiled and got ready to lunge...

When asked, ‘how do you write’, I invariably answer:

“ONE WORD AT A TIME.” -Stephen King

28-3 by Gray Long There is no easy way to tell you this story. It still brings chills to me today all these years later. I’m going to start this story on Christmas morning. My mom, dad, sister, and I gather around the tree. My sister and I are tearing open presents until there is one singular present left under the tree. My dad reaches under the decorated tree and hands me a small box. I tear it open and inside lies two tickets to the NFC Playoffs to watch me and my dad’s favorite football team, the Atlanta Falcons take on the Seattle Seahawks. I’m elated to see my favorite team play in one of the biggest games of the year. A couple of weeks later, my dad and I suit up in our jerseys and head to Atlanta for the game. We are excited and nervous not knowing if this game will be the end of our season. The Falcons destroy the Seattle Seahawks 36-20. We eat dinner and celebrate the huge win realizing our team is one game away from going to the Super Bowl. The following week the Falcons win and they advance on to the Super Bowl. Eventually Super Bowl Sunday arrives. February 7th, 2017. The game begins and from the beginning the Falcons jump all over their opponent, the New England Patriots. At halftime the Falcons are in the lead 21-3. It appears the game is all but over. The falcons score again and now the score is 28-3. My friend turns to me and says “We are going to win the Super Bowl.” A jinx is defined as “a curse or the attribute of attracting bad or negative luck.” That statement had jinx all over it. With 4 minutes and 49 seconds it began. Suddenly everything began going the Patriots way and nothing would go the Falcons way. In our minds all we could think is that this was not possible; there was no way we could blow such a huge lead. With 6 minutes left, the Patriots scored to make the score 28-20. We sat there 22

still believing that the game was ours for the taking. We take the field prepared to score and put this game to rest. The offense fails atrociously and we are forced to punt. With 57 seconds left the Patriots score to tie the game 28-28. The game went to overtime where the Patriots scored to win the game 34-28. It goes down in history as the largest blown lead in super bowl history. I sat in silence shocked, angry, and hurt. I thought it wasn’t real like it was some sick joke. I knew social media would never let me forget what had just happened. It was an epic collapse on the most epic stage in sports. My dad and I drove home in silence with nothing to say. I’ve never seen my dad that hurt. To this day, I don’t think I’ve fully recovered from what happened that day. Sometimes I see highlights of the game and feel an instant sickness in my stomach. We are on the wrong end of every joke. I have not forgiven my friend for his comments; I think to myself “if he would’ve just not said anything.” The only hope I have is that one day the Falcons will return to the Super Bowl, but until that day I’m a member of one of the most cursed sports teams of all time. I have yet in my lifetime seen an Atlanta sports team win a championship. I don’t think I’ll ever be the person I was prior to that day. It made me less of a person. It caused me trust issues that will take years to get over. I gave that team my heart and they threw it on the ground and stepped all over it. I angrily turn off the radio when sportscasters bring it up. Sometimes I wake to the sound of 28-3 chanting. It is a living waking nightmare.

Halloween Night by Anna Matthews It was a brisk, cool morning, October 30, 2015. It was a Friday, the day before Halloween and only the beginning of what would affect their town so tremendously. The Evans family- along with everyone in the town of Barnesville, Georgia had decorated their yards in spider webs, inflatable witches and ghosts, carved pumpkins, and skeletons to prepare for the night of Halloween and all the trick-or-treaters. The Evans family was living on Thomaston street, which is the most popular street for trick-or-treating. Amanda, who was a ninth grader that loved cheerleading and tennis, and was the daughter of Ryan and Sallie Evans. Amanda had always loved Halloween and, as a tradition, every year she would invite three of her best friends over to get dressed up as a group, go trick-or- treating down her street, and spend the night together. This was a tradition that they started in the third grade and none of the girls had ever spent a Halloween apart. Luckily, this year the girls Halloween tradition would be even better, so they thought. They were super excited because Halloween fell on a Saturday this year; therefore, the girls could stay up all night without having to worry about school the next day. Friday morning at school Amanda, Betsy, Rachel, and Annie were anxiously waiting for the bell to ring at 3:00 p.m. to start their weekend. Once school was dismissed, they all were picked up from school by Amanda’s mom, Mrs. Sallie. Friday night was spent at the Evans’ household eating pizza, watching Halloween movies, and planning out their Halloween Saturday night. Watching all the scary Halloween movies Friday night influenced the girls greatly. The movies were full of spooky mysteries of haunted houses on abandoned streets that led the girls to conspire an adventurous plan that would satisfy their new-

found desire to live like the Halloween movies they had just recently watched. Now that the girls were obsessed with haunted houses, and decided that they were too old to go trick-or-treating, Amanda came up with a – so called brilliant – plan to make their Halloween tradition more adventurous and memorable this year. Amanda’s plan included the abandoned house that was on the road behind her house. This house had been vacant for as long as the girls could remember. They knew about this abandoned house because Amanda’s older brother teased them about it every Halloween when they were younger. He told them stories about ghosts who lived there, and all the spooky things that occurred. The girls decided that they were now old enough to know that he was just messing around with them, and they wanted to go checkout the house. All giddy and anxious inside, the four girls finish getting their costumes created, and tried to get some sleep for their big adventure, which – little did they know – would lead to a heap of misery for the town of Barnesville. After the girls tried their hardest to sleep the night before, Halloween had finally arrived, the day that the girls had looked forward to every year, although after that year it would be just a bad memory. Mrs. Sallie woke the girls up with waffles and apple juice waiting on the table. Mrs. Sallie sensed the excitement in the girl’s attitude and asked what their plans were for Halloween and Amanda replied, “Oh you know just the same old thing we do every year. We are going to dress up and go trick-or-treating and come home like we always do.” Amanda’s mom was satisfied with her response and left for her shift at the hospital. The rest of the afternoon the girls were hanging out and talking about how much fun they were going to that night. As the day passed, the girls

began to put on their costumes. That year, they had decided to be the Cheetah Girls as a group. While getting dressed, Amanda had to take her dogs for a walk because both her parents were at work. Annie, Rachel, and Betsy stayed at the house while she was taking care of her chores. Little did the girls know that that would be the beginning of what would become the worst day of their lives. While walking the dogs, darkness began to fall outside and people were already walking from door to door asking for candy, therefore, the streets were getting crowded. Amanda decided she would walk one street over, which was the street with the abandoned house on it. To her surprise, she caught a glimpse of a car parked in the driveway of the abandoned house and realized the door of the house was wide open. She got a little nervous because no one had ever been inside the abandoned house or lived there since she was born. This was a known fact around town, and she started to rethink their whole plan to go inside the house that night. As she decided to turn around and go home to inform the girls of what she had seen, a person came walking out of the house with many Halloween decorations and Amanda made eye contact with him. Amanda sensed that this person was not normal, and was up to no good. Amanda slowly turned around to get home as quickly as possible, but the psychotic man knew that Amanda saw him and he immediately jumped in his car to chase after her. He demanded her to stop while speeding after her, but Amanda never stopped. The man was angry that she was not obeying him; therefore he sped up, which led him to run up on the sidewalk, and hit Amanda at full speed. The man had fully lost his mind. He picked up Amanda’s body and put it in the car and drove slowly back to the abandoned house. Annie, Rachel, and Betsy had now been sitting at the house for over an hour waiting for Amanda to come back so they could leave. After about twenty more minutes of waiting, the three girls decided to go look for Amanda. They searched up and down

the street that Amanda lived on, but the girls had no luck in finding her. They continued to search through the crowds of people trick-or-treating calling out her name, but there was no sign of her. Annie stopped. She was frustrated that they kept walking in circles even though they knew Amanda was nowhere on the street. Therefore, she took a moment to think of a plan. Annie said “Maybe she decided to go ahead and walk on the road with the abandoned house without us because we all know she was a little obsessed with the house anyways. I could see it in her pretty blue eyes when she was talking about it last night. She was definitely obsessed.” So, the three girls decided to go over a street to where the abandoned house was located. When they turned onto the street with the abandoned house, they were startled. This street is not known for decorations but there was a crowd of people in front of the abandoned house admiring the magnificent Halloween decorations that – from a distance – appeared extremely realistic. The girls felt a sense of relief because they concluded that Amanda would be in the middle of the crowd, so they started toward the crowd. Once all three girls were standing at the front of the house, they called for Amanda. While looking for Amanda, the girls overheard conversations in the crowd. A lady said, “Look at how realistic the mummy hanging from the tree in the front yard looks. I wonder who took the time to decorate and make the yard look so festive.” So, Annie, Rachel, and Betsy all turned their attention to the mummy hanging in the tree. According to the lady in the crowd, the mummy was mummified perfectly, only showing eyes through the toilet paper. Once the girls took a close look at the mummy, Annie gasped and started screaming. “I would know those blue eyes anywhere!” The girls ran through the front yard towards the mummy. Annie started to rip the toilet paper from the decorative mummy and revealed their greatest nightmare: it was Amanda.

The Murder in the Fields by Peyton McPherson The murder occurred on October 4, 1999, in a clearing in the woods. Olive was having an affair; she had been having the affair for a whole year. Her husband, Aspen, hadn’t found out, so if you ask me, she was pretty good at deception. Aspen and Olive had two kids together, a boy named Levi and a girl, Lydia. The girl, Lydia, died in a car accident shortly before the tragedies which were to occur. Her death was the foreshadowing of the horrors to come. Her last words to Levi ‘it has began.’ One day Aspen was on his way home early and decided to call Olive and let her know. He heard another man’s voice, and he asked who it was, but Olive said nobody. Although he was never suspicious before, Aspen started to imagine maybe Olive was cheating on him. Aspen knew before he could accuse Olive of cheating, on him he had to have evidence. He started looking around, when Olive wasn’t home, for anything that would give him any ideas as to who it was. He looked everyday for about a week and didn’t find anything. Yet on the last day, when he was about to give up, he found a phone number in the cabinet where she kept her make-up. He decided to call the number, there was no answer, but the voice mail had Olive’s voice and a mystery man named Maddox’s greeting the caller. Aspen had to figure out who the mystery man was, so he went around asking his friends if they knew anybody by that name. None of the friends had heard of this person, find Maddox so he decided to secretly ask some of Olive’s friends. One of the friends, named Harper, knew who the mystery man was and decided to help Aspen figure out if it were true. To help, Harper find Maddox’s address. Aspen got off early one day, and when he got to the house, and there was the man. He was sure that it was Maddox, the man that Olive had been cheating on him with. So Aspen went up and asked the man what his name was. “Maddox” he replied. Sure enough, that was the guy that he had heard in the background of the voicemail. He asked Maddox if he had been seeing Olive and Maddox said no. Aspen said, “That’s a lie. I heard you on the phone when I called Olive.” Ironically, Maddox was pretty mad at Aspen for accusing him of cheating so he decided that he was going to knock Aspen out. But he didn’t want to do it in broad daylight, so he convinced Aspen to come inside, where Maddox, then came up behind Aspen, hit him, and tied him up. Aspen tried to get free, but the knot was tied so tightly that he couldn’t even break it. Levi had gotten home early that day and decided to surprise his dad. Little did he know he would find him tied up. Levi was furious and began looking around to see who had done this to his father. He heard a noise, untied his father and they went to find the intruder. They found Maddox in the garage looking for a shovel to bury Aspen, and he was yelling a bunch of words, with a demon like and instructive tone. Sort of like he had demons inside his head telling him, “Kill him. kill him. kill him.” over and over again. But Aspen protested he keep screaming, “no,no,no!” over and over again. Levi snuck up behind Maddox with the another shovel and hit him in the head. It knocked Maddox onto the garage floor, his head cracked open and started to bleed.

They decided that they had to cover up the murder, but they realized that he wasn’t quite dead yet. So they put Maddox in Aspen’s truck and drove to the field behind their house because there was a grove of trees. Levi grabbed his dad’s gun just in case they need it. Once they got to the woods and took Maddox out of the truck. They carried him about 2,000 yards into the woods and decide to dump him. Maddox tried to escape and the son had no choice but to kill him. Somehow, Maddox gets loose so the son kills him. One shot to the head,one shot to the heart,and one shot into his shoulder and, he was dead. Olive had just gotten home. As soon as she heard the gunshot she came running into the woods. She finds Maddox dead and she cries over his dead body and wishes that she could have seen him one more time. Olive calls the police on Levi and Aspen, hoping that the two will go to jail for what they did. They try to reason with her ,but she doesn’t want to listen. She tells them that she is pressing charges and she wants a divorce. Aspen say fine and lets her have the divorce, so later that week they go on trial. Olive is at court acting like the grieving widow during the trial. The trial lasts four days from the opening argument to the closing argument,which is not very long for a murder trial, so the town knew the sentiment in favor of Levi and Aspen would prevail. The jury finds them not guilty as it was self defense. Olive screams after the trial was over and says this wasn’t self defense; they’re cold blood murders. Olive and Aspen get a divorce and try to on to live their lives. Exactly a year after Maddox died, Olive decided to get revenge on Aspen. She figures out where Aspen lives and goes to his house and waits for him to get home. When Aspen gets home, he doesn’t notice that Olive’s car is sitting right across from his house. Aspen goes inside but doesn’t shut the door. Olive goes in and has a gun; she looks for Aspen who is by the pool. Aspen is dating a nice new girl named Libby, and so Olive sneaks up behind both of them. Aspen turns around and says let’s be reasonable, and she yells at him it’s not time to be reasonable;it’s time to do it. Oh, but first i’m gonna kill your pretty little friend ;oh, and i’m gonna tie you up so you can’t save her. Olive says I want you to watch her die and says tick,tock,tick,tock and Aspen asks Olive to leave her alone. Then all of a sudden, Aspen hears bang,bang,bang ,all of the shots placed at the site of Maddox’s death. Aspen tries to get away by running into the woods and Olive shoots him in the same spot as Maddox and Libby. Olive realizes what she had and says that she can’t live with herself anymore so she shoots herself near the other. They say if you go by where they died (at about midnight) that you will be able to see them all saying different things. Maddox says kill them,kill them,kill them and Olive says you should have not murdered him over and over again. Aspen says no don’t kill her,don’t kill her,don’t kill her and Libby screams bloody murder. Levi still visits the graves of Aspen and Olive on a daily basis how this could have been averted. Levi lived alone for the rest of his life for what had happened to his parents he never trusted anybody. Some people say that he went insane and belonged in an insane asylum. Others said it was how he dealt with his grief because he had lost both parents and his sister. But, Levi knew that Lydia’s last words were a harbinger of what was to come and could not be averted.

The Bullet by Sam Potter

Silence That was all there was. It was me, the scalpel, and the crumpled heap of a woman before me. She was sedated heavily, and her vitals were barely registering, but she was alive. At least for now. “Schiiik” The tendon slid away before my hand. But now I wondered if it had been the right move. Cutting that meant months of recovery, but I knew I had to for her life. The bullet was lodged deep inside her, and with every second that passed, her life ebbed slowly away. “Krickk” The cartilage slid out. All that lay between me and the bullet was muscle. Contrary to common belief, the inside of the body is not all squishy. It is a dense intertwining of thousands of parts, and moving them often took as much strength as I could muster. Often, I went home with sore arms after a surgery. I pulled on the muscle with such strength that the veins in my arms stuck out. Holding back the muscle with one hand, I reached past the muscle layer and into the fat of the woman. I knew the bullet wasn’t far, but as I continued to reach, I grew worried I was causing irreparable damage. I kept reaching, and reaching, and rea—“YES,” there it was. My fingers grasped around the larger than expected dense object. I yanked it out quickly but steadily and threw it into the bin beside me. Quickly I moved the muscle back into place and sutured the wound back together. I rushed her to the ICU and watched as tubes, needles, and other foreign objects were inserted everywhere. She was still bleeding profusely, and her bpm had reached a critical level, but it appeared she would make it.

I drove home groggily, barely able to keep my eyes above the wheel. Luckily, I arrived without harm and crashed onto my bed. Today had been difficult. Until her arrival, it had been pretty routine, just rounds and paperwork. But then, she happened. The woman was rushed into the OR I was stationed at and from there my mind had been in an unconscious state. I barely knew what was happening. My fingers had been flying, making movements that only made sense from a decade and a half of practice. All of it was worth it though. She was alive, and she was going to make it. The night was fitful. I slept only in bits, and those were restless. I kept having this urge that something was wrong. It wasn’t a blaring scream, just a subtle feeling. When I finally gave up the notion of sleep, I got up and poured a glass of water. The cool liquid slid down my throat and into my gullet, but only left me with more thirst. As I sat on the chair and opened up my book, I settled in for a night of reading. “HELP!” I woke with a start. My reflexes jumped into action and I swung out, hitting air and throwing the glasses off my head. As I gained my senses, I realized there was nothing there. What then, had screamed, “Help?” I had dozed off in my chair just a little after one (reading always proved to be an excellent lullaby), and it was now 6:30. A dream then. Odd though, that I had no recollection of any other storyline to such nightmare. I got in the shower, the hot water revitalizing my senses, and my memory of the morning faded into the background. At work, my first order of business was to grab the bullet from the bin and take it to the mail where it would be shipped for examination. Hopefully, they would be able to use it as evidence in a trial for the shooter. I picked up the bullet, dense, and cold to the touch, and set it in my pocket. I walked over to the ICU to check on my patient. Earlier this morning, one of my colleagues who worked in the ICU called to tell me she was improving rapidly, and that I could

come see her tomorrow. I walked briskly but easily, and soon I was in the ICU’s window. I scanned the room and soon enough my eyes came to rest on her. I gazed upon her fondly, and slowly she turned to face me. She was beautiful. Even sick, pale, and in the harsh lighting, her face shone. Then, though she didn’t yet know who I was, she smiled at me. It was a kind smile, and for a moment she was the only thing in the world I saw. Then…she started convulsing. Her head bent over and her body started shaking. It was not subtle, but a violent writhing. The life seemed to be being strangled out of her. Her back was hunching and the veins all throughout her body strained. Then, all was still. The bullet, which I had started fingering while watching her, dropped from my hand as the once cool metal had turned to a scorching ball. My fingers recoiled, and though I glanced just briefly, the bullet appeared to have a faint red glow. I picked it up quickly (it now was just warm), though I knew not why, and rushed through the back hallways to the ICU. I darted inside and tore straight for the woman, whose name I still did not know. As I looked upon her body, I knew she was dead. She wasn’t breathing, her heart monitor showed a flat line, and even now, moments after her death, her skin was cool to the touch. My immediate reaction was blame. How could someone have done this? Who had left her alone, and why had he told me this woman was improving greatly. Though I had become acquainted with death throughout my years as a surgeon, this woman seemed different to me. Perhaps it was her beauty; I had been lonely these past few years. Yet, it seemed more than that. For some reason, this woman had been important, and I had failed. Finally, after what probably amounted to a half hour of refusal, I accepted her death and moved on to continue my day. Dejectedly, I left the room. I hated funerals. They glorified even the worst of people, and were often fake displays of grief

for more fake pity. Her funeral, however, was two days later… I took the day off from work and arrived at the cemetery for the afternoon ceremony. When I arrived, I came to the stark realization that I did not even know this woman’s name. I had debated not attending my own grandfather’s funeral a few months back, but here I was, taking off work for some stranger. Not for the first time, I wondered what I was doing. There seemed to be something more powerful at work. I was being tugged here, but I didn’t know by what. Her casket was opened one last time. Her family was first, then her friends, next her colleagues, and finally, me, a stranger in the back of the line. As I stood waiting, I instinctively reached inside my pockets. Coincidentally, as I had worn the same pants I did two days ago, I felt the bullet. It was scorching. How could it be this hot I wondered. It had been so cold when I pulled it out of her body. In fact, it wasn’t until she died that the bullet had shown any signs of warmth. When the last breath had left her body, though, the bullet had turned aflame. Now was not the time to ponder these questions. My turn had come. I walked up to the casket, and looked inside. There she was, the same beauty I had seen in the ICU. But then, I felt a strange tug in my bones, and suddenly, I realized I wanted to be free from all this mess. I didn’t know this woman, her family, or any part of her story. I took the bullet from my pocket, now the temperature of a smoldering iron, and threw it in the casket. She smiled. The dead body was smiling at me. But not the same kind smile, a vile malicious smile. One of harm, not kindness. Her eyes opened, she stared at me, and said, “Thank you.” The tug on my bones grew harder, but now it was not just a feeling. It was physical. I was being drawn into the crypt with her.