October 2013

October 2013

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Midnight Writers

Table of Contents Cover: “Wishing on the Ordinary,” Illustration by Hecate

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This Page: “Sea-Witch,” Illustration by Nike Page 3:

“Inferno’s Kitchen: One,” a short story by Janus “Skull-duggery,” a photography by Suzy-chan

Musings of Hades: Lady of the Underworld settles in

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Echo’s Echo

“Ghost,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm “Guertina’s World,” a short story by Eros

A pumpkin’s view on Halloween

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“For a Friend,” a rant by Daisuki “Hello, Old Friend,” a postcard from Hades to Calypso “Day at the Beach,” a photograph by Andromeda

“The Ocean’s Child,” a short story by Calypso “Sylvia and Pearl,” an illustration by Hecate

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“The Ocean’s Child,” continued “Rowan,” an illustration by Hecate “Ash,” an illustration by Hecate

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“Origin,” a short story by Athena “Elf Mage,” a photograph by Athena “Seasonal feelings,” a poem by Vivan Griselda

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“The Origin of the Ghoul Girl,” a short story by Amanda Farine

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“Pantheon,” a poem by BAD WOLF “Sea of Clouds,” a photograph by Andromeda “Jennifer Lawrence,” an illustration by Raven “Koh,” a short story by Nemesis “I am a Girl,” a poem by Luna-Moon Sparkles

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“The Bloody Phantom,” a short story by Exodus

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Villain has trouble vanquishing nemesis Woes of a Headless Horseman

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“Annabel’s Monster,” a short story by Hades “Illuminate,” a photograph by Suzy-chan “Medium,” a photograph by Morpheus

Ask Aphro & Dite

The new

“The Many Faces of a Clown,” a poem by Zenyatta “Monsters Meeting,” a poem by Scarlet

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“Behind the Mask,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm “Inside Your Mind” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm, edited by Junius Maltby “Masked Doll,” a poem by Bandersnatch

Page 10: “The Mausoleum,” a short story by Buckbeak “Carnations,” an illustration by Chronos

Page 11: “Midnight Welcome,” an illustration by Japanda3 “Fear,” a poem by Anastasia “Juggler Clown,” a poem by Reading Caterpillar

midnightwriters.webs.com

Calypso’s Island

Dear Aphrodite, I'm looking to vanquish my nemesis. We've been nemeses for several years now, and I really need to move on with my life. It's not him, it's me. Still, I'm not quite sure how to go about it.

Yours, Lost Dear Lost, Well, I'd say that starting off easy is the way to go. Maybe start with inviting him over for tea and biscuits. Be gentle, as becoming nemesisless too quickly may lead to unexpected consequences, like brokenemy heart. You may want to ask some local villains for subtly threatening witticisms and veiled murder attempts. Give him time to get used to it before moving in for the kill. When it comes time for the final victory, I would suggest that you vanquish thoughtfully.

Before you obliterate him, consider letting him know what a valuable and thorough archnemesis he's been, and how much you have appreciated his efforts. Then dispose of said enemy in any way you wish and know that villains all over the globe will support you. But be a true villain and clean up the mess you may leave.

Best of luck, Dite Dear Aphrodite, As much as I love October, it's a real pain. Kids are always stealing my head–sometimes they even try carving into it! How am I supposed to handle this? They didn't tell us this would happen at the Headless Horsemen Academy!

Yours, The Headless Horseman Dear Headless, Oh you poor dear! I'm frightfully sorry about your predicament. It seems as if those dreadful children just up their horrid antics every year. I commend you for not going all crazy-HeadlessHorseman on them already. As for getting them out of your hair, don't be afraid to use your powers to your advantage! Think about what you learned at the Academy! Float through walls, make stairs creek, creep up over them while they sleep, anything that you feel will make them stop! But if you find it truly difficult to get off that horse and try new and scary things, you could try a local support group. I'd suggest Paranormal: It's OK, you can be normal too! There are tons of goodhearted villains and shy paranormals who are fabulous at supporting one another through Horrification. Just remember to believe in yourself!

Good luck, Dite

Hello, Midnight Writers! Former President Hades warned me that this transition might be difficult for you, so I just wanted to clear a few things up.

As most of you know, Hades and Persephone have been blessed with a child! Of course, with a new godling running about, Hades has an exorbitant number of new, fatherly duties to which he must attend. Because we’re such close friends, I agreed to do a house swap with him. He and Persephone have moved to Ogygia to raise their child (I baby-proofed the island before I left!), and I’ve descended to the Underworld to take care of Hades’ domain. It’s very different from what I’m used to, but I don’t mind. I mean, it would be nearly impossible to baby-proof the entire Underworld, and we certainly wouldn’t want the little godling to toddle into the River Lethe or wander off into the Fields of Asphodel.

Hades informed me of his duties as President of Midnight Writers before he left, and I must say, it’s an honor to serve you. At the moment, I’m sitting in Hades’ study, penning my first piece as your new president. A few dear friends of mine are helping me run Midnight Writers: Echo, Hecate, Eros, Chronos, and Glittercheese.

To be honest, I never realized that Hades’ palace was so gloomy. He certainly had an eye for complementary shades of black when he was decorating. Luckily for me, I brought a few dozen of my favorite flowers and plants with me. I’m growing used to doing routinely checks around the Underworld, but I always get the shivers when I’m walking by Tartarus.

On the bright side, I get to see a few familiar faces in Elysium. However, there’s one familiar face that I try to avoid. Let’s just clear something up-I didn’t bewitch him into staying for all those years. He chose to, but that didn’t sound very becoming of a hero, so Homer omitted it. And don’t tell me that he’s not here to defend himself-you can’t just change history to fit your liking. Alright, so you can, but that doesn’t mean that you should.

Oh! Hermes is here, so I’d better go. He’s been helping me adjust to the Underworld, and he’s been a great help. (Did I mention that he’s kind of cute?)

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Echo’s Echoes

Hey Midnight Writers! Welcome to Echo’s Echoes. Each month I will guest feature things that are icons/fads of the month. For this edition I invited a group befitting of October to express their beliefs and options. So please give a warm welcome to The Pumpkins as their leader, John-O-Lantern, brother of renowned Jack-O-Lantern, addresses their situation in his speech: Not-So-Happy Halloween.

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midnightwriters2014@gmail.com

“When people think of October, they think of pumpkins. It’s a common misconception that us pumpkins relish October. Do you think we enjoy this month?

Of course we don’t! How do you think we feel about those disgusting humans hollowing us out and ripping out our internal organs? About them sticking knives into our bodies and carving irregular geometric figures out of our flesh? About them putting fire into our now-emptied bodies?

They fail to appreciate the exquisite beauty of pumpkins as they are and think that sculpting hideous expressions will make things much better. Ridiculous! How come the humans get to hoard free candy by just saying, ‘Trick or treat!’ in their abominable costumes? How come we pumpkins must endure without complaints while their torture to us, and get no treats in return? All we do on Halloween night is sit on the porch in agony as those petty human children cackle in amusement at our faces. This is outrageous! We demand a change! Pumpkins, it is time to pump it up! Rise up against the humans! Rise up!

Rise—” Apologies for cutting their speech short; we think you get the gist. To compensate, here is a phenomenal joke that will tickle your funny bones: “What is a vampire’s favorite mode of transportation? A blood vessel!”

Hahaha, not really. Alright, that’s it for this month! If you see any pumpkins on your Halloween night extravaganzas, give ‘em a little pat on the stump or drop some candy in their hollowed-out bodies. I think they deserve it.

Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Calypso, Echo, Hecate, Eros, Glittercheese, and Chronos 3

For a friend

By Daisuki

no reason? Answers like that that don't come easy.

Answers are as hard to find as diamonds when it comes to the relations between your most favored. And when they suddenly break off that tie it seems as if your heart is ripped out and left in the dust for you to recollect and stick in your pocket until you find the answer to put it back together. The answer was out of reach and was trying to call out to me, but I couldn't hear it. I can't hear it even now, but I can hear the sound of my heart crying after the heart it was once paired with. Was I just a burden to them? Was I the problem? Those are the kinds of questions you ask yourself when you don't know the answer. Not knowing whether to place responsibility on yourself or to completely let go of the leftover pieces from a past friendship is like trying to choose between two different doors in front of you. When it’s all one-sided, it’s a lose-lose situation. So I decided to choose both doors in front of me and defy anyone who gave me any other answer besides the one I chose for myself. I chose friendship. I chose to try even though I was getting myself hurt over again by the same old friend. But knowing their pain of choosing their own selfishness over their friends was enough for me to realize that I couldn’t just leave them to suffer. A friend helps another friend see the light in front of them; a light that they need to step into. I decided to carry this responsibility. I decided to carry but not burden myself with it.

One-sided friendship is sacrificial, stupid, and reckless, but forcing yourself to let go of the light behind a friend's darkness is too troublesome for a person like me. Friendship is a give and take. And I don’t intend to take anything back once I’m done. I’m doing it all for a friend.

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“Day at the Beach,” Photograph by Andromeda

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Being a newbie of my own life, it was hard to make the right kind of friends, look for the things I truly wanted, and be myself. Unintentionally, I created many wonderful, kind friends among a variety of people. Having friends, happiness, and dreams were my own star; life was like a dreamscape, and friends were the creators of my storybook called life. All I could ever want from such friends is a day spent running through the wind on a sunny warm day where the ground is friendly and time is on my side. Being with my talky friends who were friends with each other, my weird friends who were friends with themselves, and my best friends who were friends with me-the real meis all I could have ever asked for. But what do you do when the most important person suddenly cuts off the bond you created together for

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Origin

By Athena

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She was Aeron d’Eytinge, daughter of Adair and Aerilyn. When Aeron was born, it was prophesied that she would be a warrior of great renown. However, the oracle warned, should she enter the annual tournament for the title of the Sacred Spear-bearer, she would enter a death match of which none could divine the result. Adair heeded the oracle, and vowed that his daughter would never enter the tournament. But not even an Elvish king can defy Fate…

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Aeron grew into a peerless warrior–fierce, proud and undefeated. She and her best friend Lorica d’Carse were inseparable from birth. The only point of contention between them was Lorica’s yearly title of the Sacred Spear-bearer in a tournament that Aeron was never allowed to enter. At first, Aeron was content with congratulating her talented friend, but as the years passed, Aeron began to wonder why Lorica was awarded the title when she deserved it equally. Her jealousy grew and grew until finally, in her twenty-first year, she decided to compete under an assumed name and pit her skills against her sister-in-arms.

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Lorica knew immediately whom she was fighting against and relished the challenge. The fight went on for hours and hours, each warrior beginning to lose focus. Aeron’s aim grew wild, and one of her spells began a rockslide. One massive boulder came crashing down, headed straight for Aeron, but she was too distracted by Lorica’s attack to see it. Her sister-in-arms did see it, and pushed Aeron out of the way, only to be crushed herself.

In horror and guilt, Aeron exiled herself from her homeland. She dyed her hair black and wore only red and black to grieve for the innocent blood she had spilled. She changed her name, combining the name she was once proud of with the name of her dead sister-in-arms. She was Aerica d’Menai, friendless and guiltridden; a drifting soul with a burning need to do good, but also to never forget the harm of which she had proven capable.

“Elf Mage,” Photograph by Athena

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By Vivan Griselda

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Seasonal feelings

Summer rolls around just in time, While the sunshine shows me once more he’s here to stay.

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With you I don’t have to try to make the poem rhyme, Because you help me see that the rainbow is only a page away.

Now the colors of the trees have turned warm, And the air has grown cold while keeping peace with the storm.

The years have passed and my feelings still haven’t changed, She realized that autumn leaves would always fall back into place.

Even with all of these emotions that got rearranged, The boy now knows the monsters can’t take the smile off her face.

Hours move by fast when the moon returns, Your fingers are dancing through the night to the keys.

Thankfully I can finally say my heart no longer burns, The girl has seen that true romance will never freeze.

So the two challenge all of the horrifying creatures, The ones that dwell under the starless sky, Can you even try to hurt us again?

My secrets stay hidden in the musical notes that have yet to tell, Half moons on the haunted night can see even over the fence.

Now I know that to stay safe you must have balance, Walking through the cold streets is certainly no easy task.

Quiet souls will protect you even if they seem absent, Keep in mind the most useful ones may be hiding behind a mask.

You pass out the tricks, And I’ll give out the treats.

My dear friends, never let the power of the monsters, Take over you and the ones you love on Halloween.

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I poked my head out the window and threw the necklace down to Amy. She caught it with one hand and yelled up to me, “Remember to meet us in the forest tomorrow!”

“Don’t worry! I will,” I yelled back down to her. Then I closed the window and waited for my parents to come inside. Just then, Amy tapped on my window and waved. I opened my window and waved back. We thanked each other for the other’s bravery and heroism before she and the other ghouls flew past the moon in search of the forest.

I heard my parents coming up the attic stairs, so I quickly ran to the bag of old clothes and held it over my back to make it look like I was just putting it down. My parents opened the door and smiled at me.

“Hi, sweetie! We’re home,” Mom said. Then she stared at the bag of old clothes in my hand. “Were you just about to put that down?”

“Um, y-yeah,” I stammered. “I was busy looking some of my old stuff and I kind of lost track of time.”

“Kind of?” Dad exclaimed. “Your mom said you were in the attic four hours ago!”

That’s what you think, I thought.

Out loud, I said, “Well, like I told you, I lost track of time!”

“Well, it’s time to go to bed now, honey,” Mom told me.

“Okay, Mom,” I said, following my parents down the stairs.

That night, I lay in bed, thinking, I’m going to help find homes for ghoul kids. I wonder if that could be a job.

Then I turned over on my side and began to fall asleep. I dreamt I was running a ghoul kid day-care center with Amy. The next morning, I woke up to my alarm clock. I pressed the ‘off’ button on it and rubbed my eyes tiredly. Then I saw a note taped to my night table. I got out of bed and picked it up.

Dear Haley, Thanks again for all your help. I knew I could count on you. Remember to meet the other ghouls and I in the forest. Bye! Sincerely, Amy P.S. Whether you’re human or a vampire, you are now the best friend I’ve ever had. My ghoul friends and I have just started building Vanita’s house, but we could use some help with the others in different parts of the forest. See you there! Bye! I smiled after I read that note. I felt like a real hero, setting all those ghouls free. I looked out my window. A girl was walking along the sidewalk. She was definitely human.

I could tell.

Just then, I smiled sneakily. I wondered if she’d meet any of ghoul kids. After all, stranger things have happened. Take that night for example. You can never really tell who you’re going to meet or what you’ll discover in your own home.

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Mom handed me a bag of old clothes and asked, “Can you put this in the attic?” I shuffled upstairs and plopped the bag on the floor. I was about to go back downstairs when something caught my eye: the most beautiful box I had ever seen! I had to open it! I slowly lifted the lid, revealing a glowing stone necklace.

I pulled it out and put it on.

Suddenly, ray of sunlight shot through the window and shined on my hand, making my hand swell up.

“Ow!” I exclaimed, biting my tongue in surprise. After I pulled my hand away, I saw blood on my palm. Yikes! Quickly, I felt my teeth. They were sharp, and they were dripping blood! But the strange thing was that only two of them felt sharp. Two of my teeth had turned into fangs!

Oh, no! I thought. I, Haley Duane, am becoming a vampire!

Bling!

The sunlight made my skin swell up even more. Quickly, I jumped into a rectangular-shaped crate and hid inside.

A couple hours later, I heard the front door open. Mom called up to me, “Sweetie, Dad and I are going to the dinner party. We’ll be back in a bit. Bye!” Mom closed the door, and I jumped out of the crate and tried to take the necklace off. But it wouldn’t unclip; it was stuck together!

Just then, the necklace got smaller and smaller as I began to morph into something else. Before I knew what was happening, I had become a small animal with wings; I was a bat!

Gurgle! Gurgle! Gurgle!

Suddenly, I was starving! I heard a fly buzzing outside, so I flew towards the nearest open window and swooped right out. Then I flew towards the fly and slurped it up.

“Hey!” someone called out, and I looked down. A girl with red hair was sitting on the log against the side of my house, and she had fangs just like mine! I swooped down and changed back into my vampirehuman form and sat down next to her.

“Hi, I’m Haley,” I said.

“I’m Amy,” the girl said. Then she looked at my necklace and smiled. “I see you got my gift.”

My eyes widened. “You mean this is your necklace?” I gasped.

Amy nodded. “It was all part of my plan,” she told me.

“What plan?” I asked.

“Well, when I was six, I wrote comics about some ghouls coming to the human world,” Amy explained. “I wanted humans to see what it would be like to meet real ghouls, so I dug out my aunt’s magic stone necklace. I wanted to use its magic to bring my comic characters to life. But I couldn’t use my universal powers to make it work since I’m only one girl, so I put the necklace in your attic since I figured you’d wear it and turn into a vampire yourself. Then both of us could activate its power and bring my

“That’s funny,” Amy remarked.

“It should be in the sky with the others.” Then she pulled me down so I could put my necklace into the comic book cover. Just then, Vanita’s house came out of the book. It was brown and black and very shabby-looking.

“Oh, no! Your house must have been eaten by wolves,” Amy said, turning to Vanita’s comic page.

“Wolves?! Why would they want to eat my house?” Vanita asked, puzzled.

“Ever hear of The Three Little Pigs fable?” Amy asked, crossing her arms.

“But I thought the big, bad wolf blew down the houses with his breath,” I recalled.

“These wolves like to eat wood.”

Amy explained. “I drew them an empty wooden cottage for them to eat, but they must have finished it!”

“Oh, no! Now where am I going to live?” Vanita moaned.

“We could build you a house,” I offered, turning to Amy, “just like the three little pigs in the story did.”

“But where will we get the money for all that wood? My parents and I need lots of space,” Vanita stated.

“Your parents are still in my comic, cleaning up the mess the wolves made,” Amy reminded her. “But I can get them out and we can all build a new house together. We can afford it by drawing stacks of cash in my comic and bringing it to life.”

“Great! Let’s get started,” I exclaimed happily. Then I frowned.

“Wait. How am I going to explain to my parents that I’m a vampire who’s helping another vampire and her ghoul creation build a house?”

“Easy. Just take the necklace off, go back to your house, tell your parents you have to help out some friends tomorrow, and meet us in the woods,” Amy suggested.

“But I can’t even take the necklace off. It’s too tight,” I explained.

“Haven’t you tried just unclipping the extra chain?” Amy suggested.

“The what?” I asked.

“The extra chain under the top one on the back of the necklace?” Amy asked. “You didn’t see it?”

“Sorry,” I said sarcastically. “I was a little too busy panicking about being a vampire!”

“Oops. I should’ve left a note,” Amy said, blushing.

I crossed my arm. “You think?” I said.

“I’m sorry,” Amy said apologetically.

I sighed. “As long as I can be human again, I forgive you,” I told her. Then I took the necklace off, gave it back to Amy, and hugged her as I morphed back into my human form.

Just then, a car pulled up in front of my house. Uh-oh. It was my parents. I had to get back in the housefast!

“Amy, do you think I could borrow that necklace one more time?” I asked.

Amy nodded and handed me the necklace. I put it around my neck and morphed into a bat., fling up to the attic window and swooping in.

Changing back into my vampire person form, I took the necklace off.

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By Amanda Farine

comic characters to life!”

“But where will they all stay?” I wondered.

“They all have their own houses,” Amy explained. “I’ll just move their entire homes to the real world.”

“But what if they cause trouble for the humans?” I pointed out.

Amy blushed and kicked a rock.

She obviously hadn’t thought of that. Then she smiled and said, “I know! We could make their homes invisible when people walk by their area. Then nobody will know about them.”

“But what about when the actual ghouls need to go out in the open?”

“Most of my characters like to stay inside by day and play by night,” Amy explained, “so people won’t ever have to see them.”

“Well, just in case something goes wrong, maybe we could find the grown-up ghouls jobs. Then they could be useful to our world,” I pointed out.

“Okay,” Amy said, smiling. “Now let’s get to work!”

As we began to work on our project, I grew excited. I knew this was wrong, but I couldn’t help but yearn to see the reactions of the creatures and humans. After we placed the stone necklace, still hanging from my neck, into the center of the comic cover, the comic glowed a spooky shade of green. Then, a few at a time, white spirits began soaring out of the book and into the sky. Once all of the spirits were out, Amy blew a ghoul whistle, making all the spirits come onto the ground and change into their living ghoul forms.

“Okay, everyone, listen up! As soon as I get your homes out of the comic book, go inside them, okay?”

Amy said to her ghouls.

“Okay,” the ghouls said in a chorus.

“Good. Now let’s get this new life started!” Amy exclaimed, looking at the full moon.

“Yeah!” the ghouls all cheered as their homes began to float out of the book and into the sky.

As soon as all of the homes were out, the ghouls changed back into their spirit forms and flew into their houses. The last one to fly up was a green ghost with violet eyes and black hair. She was just about to take off when Amy stopped her.

“Not so fast,” Amy told her.

“First, I want you to meet my partner.” Then she turned to me.

“Haley, this is Vanita. I made her into a ghoul mix that changes into a green ghost and a red-eyed bat. But most importantly, she can change into a black-haired girl with a sweet, understanding personality.”

“Hi, Vanita,” I said, waving towards the ghoul girl’s direction.

Vanita waved back with her green, see-through hand and smiled.

“How old is she?” I asked Amy. “Eleven,” Amy responded. “But she’ll be twelve in August.”

“Cool,” I said.

“Well, that’s about it. You can go now, Vanita,” Amy said, turning to the ghoul girl.

“Okay. Bye, girls!” Vanita said as she soared towards the sky. Then she flew back down and frowned.

“Where’s my house?”

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The Origin of the Ghoul Girl

Fin

Pantheon

“Sea of Clouds,” Photograph by Andromeda

by BAD WOLF Your sun rises in the east, bringing life and light, As we watch, we laugh, for its power is slight.

Your kind has worshipped it year after year, Blinded to the true pantheon out of disbelief and fear.

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Yet we watch from on high, our fists clenched and ready Some to bring blight, but most to keep life steady.

Our essence divided, wherever we’re needed, We come to your aid when hope is depleted.

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We look upon your world, its sea of clouds spanned wide, And deep in our hearts, we feel something like pride.

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Koh

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By Nemesis Legends say that deep in the spirit world there is a tree. Old as time itself, the Yggdrasill is also known as the “the ash tree of the horse of Yggr.” At the beginning of creation it housed the nine worlds in its branches, but it has long fallen to desolation and sickness, and now houses the monster Koh below its roots. The land surrounding his covert is barren, dark, and scarcely inhabited, except for Koh's faceless victims and at least one gargantuan wolf. You may enter Koh’s lair to ask questions; he has a vast amount of knowledge due to his long life span. Beware, anyone who enters his lair is advised to remain emotionless, for Koh steals the face of anyone who expresses his emotions in front of him.

Koh has the body of a giant centipede with a giant eye as a head, but a face takes the place of his pupil.

With each blink he can switch faces from his collection of millions of stolen faces. There is much speculation on what his real face is but he seems to appear mostly with a Japanese noh face mask with gray circles around the eyes.

I am a girl

By Luna-Moon Sparkles I Am A Girl I may wear cherry red lipstick and tie my hair up high But, I know how break a jaw with the power of a punch.

I may dream in cupcakes and lavender But I can throw a football farther than Tom Brady would even bother.

I may know how to cook pancakes and tea But, I can beat you at Pac-Man anytime of day.

I may draw pictures of rainbows and unicorns But, be careful I might bite.

I am a girl and I can do things better than a boy can.

“Jennifer Lawrence,” Illustration by Raven

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pulling in my chest again, the power of the house leading me where I need to go. Among the crumbling gravestones, I find his name. I grab the rusty shovel and begin to dig. The work is long and hard, but I use the time to go over what Bloody Mary said. The Sight. When I was little, I would see people who weren’t there, but my mother would pat my head and tell me I was so “imaginative.”

She told me so often I began to believe her. I shake my head and focus on the grave. Just as I finish and break open the wooden casket, something cold hits me on the back, knocking me to the ground.

I know who it is, but I’m defenseless. I put the poker and salt down to dig up the grave, but his freezing hands steal the heat from my bones as they flip me onto my back.

“It must stop.” He says, his eyes bright with madness, “No more senseless death, no more unwilling casualties. I can see it. It floats around you in a black cloud. It is the harbinger of death, but no more.” He brings his hands toward my eyes.

His fingers graze my cheeks and silent tears of hopelessness run from my eyes. He hisses and pulls his hands back, the salt in my tears burning him. I scramble towards the salt and poker before I run to the casket and finish breaking it open. He starts toward me, stronger now that he’s so close to his remains. I ward him off with the poker as I pour salt over his bones.

I kick the cooking oil canister into the hole and light the match. He makes one more desperate lung towards me, but I’ve already thrown the match in the grave. His nails rake four lines across my chest before his body catches fire.

He stares at me, shocked, as the flames consume him, and, in a final flash of light, he disappears. I pant heavily; the weight of what just happened threatens to overwhelm me. The air in front of me flickers, and she is there in all her blood-covered glory.

“Thank you,” she says simply, but the words are heavy with gratitude. A light begins at the center of her chest; it spreads to cover her whole body, healing her wounds along the way. I am able to get a glimpse of her healed before she disappears in a burst of light. I was right; she is beautiful.

A smile finds it way to my lips and I shake my head. Something about me is different, special, supernatural, and I have to use it to help the dead who are stuck here and stop those who threaten the living. I know after tonight I may never be able to enjoy a simple night at a simple party, so my first act as a tested ghost hunter is to head back into that old, powerful, Victorian house, find my friends, and dance until the sun rises.

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My name is Mary; I’m sixteen with an obsession with the supernatural. When Halloween rolls around, I’m the one with the detailed costume planned at least two months in advance. This year, I’m going as Bloody Mary. This year, there will be no trick-ortreating, though. This year, my friends roped me into a party. Oh, joy. At least it’s a costume party.

Hopefully I can leave early and do something fun. I hear the doorbell ring from my room and my brother’s feet as they pad over to open it.

“Mary! It’s your friends; I didn’t know you had any!” Shouts Toby.

I roll my eyes as I walk over to the door to face my friends and their disappointed sighs.

“Most teenage girls wear regular clothes with animal ears or something to costume parties,” says Jackie, a tall, pretty blonde who would easily fit in with the popular elite. Personally, I think she looks ridiculous with her fake dog -ears. Sam, with her punk rock band-tee and frayed black jeans, does her trademark eye-roll.

“Even I have to admit it’s a bit… much,” says Jamie, who I consider my twin. She shares my affinity for the supernatural, though not to my degree. She, at least, has vampire teeth in with fake blood running down the sides of her mouth. I flash a look of hurt.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask, twirling my blood stained white dress. Fake blood covers my hands, and bloody tears run down my redcontact-filled eyes.

“Honey, if you don’t know, nothing can help you,” says Jackie as we all clamber into her car. I’m pleasantly surprised when the car pulls in at a Victorian-Era house several minutes later. I can almost feel it pulling me towards it in the middle of my chest.

“Kind of creepy, right? This is right up your alley, Mary,” says Sam. “It’s probably going to be the best part of this party,” I reply.

Jackie sighs.

“Just try not to make me disappointed in you. It’ll be fun; you’ll see,” she says. Walking in, the house is awesome. I can almost feel how old this house is, but what’s inside disappoints me. It’s filled with the smell of sweaty bodies and the sound of the top forty playing at top volume. I sigh inwardly. I definitely don’t belong here. My friends pull me into the center of the crowd, where I can taste the sweat and feel the music shaking my bones. My friends start bouncing up and down and

take their lives as he took mine.”

“How can I save you?”

“You have the Sight. You can see the dead, the ones trapped on earth. There is only one way to stop him. You must coat his bones in salt and burn them. It will force him to move on. He will attempt to stop you. Ghosts fear two things: salt and iron. Salt would be in the kitchen; iron could be by the wood stove, the fireplace poker.

But hurry,” she turns her empty eye sockets towards me, “Thank you. I too had the Sight when I was living. It is a blessing and a curse. Beware child, the road ahead is hell-ridden for you. Go now. Quickly,” her voice is now dripping with sorrow. I turn from the bathroom and feel the old house’s power guiding me to the kitchen, pulling me by the center of my chest. I grab the salt and cooking oil, and I sprint for the wood stove and snatch the iron poker along with some matches.

The tugging in my chest is stronger, leading me to the back of the house.

I make it out of the house and into a graveyard. The gray light of the stars casts shadows from the headstones, creating phantoms in my mind. The pull in my chest becomes a cold stone in my stomach. It takes me a minute to recognize it. Fear. I can feel something watching me; the sensation comes from everywhere at once yet still feels like one, powerful being. The fog twists in front of me, outlining a gaping, hungry mouth and cold, black eyes. The smoke writhes and solidifies into the shape of a man in a black suit. He has blood dripping down the soft underside of his jaw and a messy circle at the top of his head where the bullet exited his skull. Despite his odd clothes and wounds, he looks like a kindly father, the type that smokes a pipe in the movies. The ones that would kill whoever threatens their family. Oh, joy.

“I see you have spoken to my daughter. You, too, bear the mark of the curse. I can see it in your eyes, so bright, but so broken. I can see your darkness. I must stop you, child, and those in my house who you have tainted with your black soul. It is my duty to protect the living from the witches,” he said matter-of-factly. He was mad, his eyes shining bright with what he considered his “calling.”

“You. Are. Dead,” I pronounce each word slowly, as if that will make him understand, “I’m sorry for what happened to your wife, but what you did to your daughter was wrong, and what you plan to do is terrible. I’m not sorry for what I must do.” I swing the iron poker at the ghost. He disappears in a swirl of fog, but he isn’t really gone. I hunt for a shed or something that would hold a shovel and am lucky to find one. I can feel the

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By Exodus

needling me to do the same. I swing my hips in time with the music and soon guys start to come up to dance with my friends. I guess blood doesn’t attract guys.

Wimps. I close my eyes, but a guy taps my shoulder.

“May I have this dance, Cinderella?” he smirks.

“It’s Bloody Mary, and you’re definitely no prince charming.

This is obviously a dare from your friends over there.” I sigh and nod towards a group of snickering, staring boys, “You may, however, point me to the bathroom. Even ghosts have to relieve themselves.” He points, dumbfounded, and I walk past his bunch of snickering idiots. I hear a whisper of “shot down” and a few sarcastic wolf whistles. Oh, how the human race has fallen.

Once I leave the loud music, the house speaks to me again. This time with creaky floorboards no one has replaced in years. There is only a single naked bulb giving off little light, basking the restroom in a twilight glow. I face the mirror and jump; in the old house, the effect of my costume doubles.

“Mary Bloody, indeed,” I whisper, smirking. My reflection wavers in the grimy mirror and is replaced with an image that puts my costume to shame. She has an old-fashioned and torn dress and open wounds all along her sides, arms, and chest, all pouring blood.

Her eyes are gone, her eye sockets are dripping bloody tears down her cheeks. Her lips are full and deep red but pulled in a hideous scowl. Her skin is paler than snow, her hair is darker than obsidian. It crosses my mind that she must have been beautiful once.

“This is an old, cursed house. Its past is dark, twisted, and branded with blood and fire,” she says, her voice soft and sad. Her hand presses against the mirror. I try to speak, but words of assurance stick in my throat.

“What’s your name?” I choke out. My voice sounds oddly steady and determined, covering up my shakiness and fear. Her scowl softens into a smirk.

“I’ve been called many things by the living” she says in her inky voice. “Mainly, Bloody Mary. Do not fear, I am not as hostile as the legend says,” she continues. Her face then turns dark. “The one you must fear is my father, William Hawthorne. He killed me, blaming me for my mother’s death. He called me a witch, saying I had brought a curse upon our family.

After he killed me, he took his own life. He, too, is trapped in this house,” Her tone is urgent now.

“You can see me. No one else has seen me since my death. You must save me and those in the house.

When midnight comes, he will

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The Bloody Phantom

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I laugh.

Didn’t save me from her.

Then we became friends.

Joking, laughing, smiling, Together.

She would tease when I tried to Act like a man In front of her…

A man, when I was but a boy.

My face would burn, But her smile was worth it.

But does she remember?

And then…

We grew up.

Does she still know me?

It’s still me.

I know you.

I remember you…

Do you remember me?

The boy Behind The mask?

Do

I see you Through the windows Of my mask; My protection.

I know you.

Your face, Your laugh, Your smile, I know you.

Do you remember me?

Clinking glasses, Champagne flutes.

Mingling classes, Ancient roots.

Do you remember me?

The little girl From that day.

The little girl From not so long ago.

I tripped, And fell.

In love.

You saved me From the cliffs.

But not from you.

Then you met me.

And then we laughed And smiled Together We became friends.

You were my hero.

And then…

We grew up.

Do you remember me?

The girl Behind The Mask?

It’s still me here.

The one who giggled at your jokes.

Teased you When you tried to be a man And still stayed a child.

We grew up And you became a man for real.

Do you remember me?

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By The Owlish Bookworm

I know her.

Her hands, Her hair, Those eyes.

It’s her.

That mask, It hides her.

But I know.

Does she remember me?

Musical phrases, Flowing gowns, Dazzling lights, Tittering sounds.

Does she?

I remember.

That day at the cliffs.

I saw herToo close to the edge…

She didn’t know what would happen.

I caught her, But fell anyways…

Fell in love.

Saved her from the cliffs, I’m told.

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Behind the Mask

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“Inside Your Mind,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm, Edited by Junius Maltby

Masked Doll

By Bandersnatch The mask is always there It covers her face, hiding her From the angry world They think she’s scarred Under that mask That it protects innocent eyes From the monstrosity beneath But really she tries To hide her beauty So that they will not be afraid

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The morning dew created a heavy fog above the ground, making it difficult to see where to stop and where to start. I fumbled to take out my flashlight, and I quickly turned it on, creating a break in the heavy fog. I tentatively walked toward the opening toward the fog, unsure of what was going to happen next.

“Carnations,” Illustration by Chronos

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The earthy, moist smell of fresh soil filled the air as I stepped out of the car, coming from the humidity of the early morning and the rain that was sure to come later. I stepped on to the ground, the ground moist from the gathering dew, causing my shoes to sink into the soil like quicksand. I started to walk, with every part of me screaming to turn back before it was too late. But I persevered, ignoring the voices in my head; this was something I had to do. I got to the entrance and stopped. There was a big, rusted gate, but faintly I could still see the black that had once been everywhere on the gate. Now it looked old and worn out, desperately in need of a new coat of paint. I hesitantly pushed the gate open, wincing as the hinges of the old gate squeal and groan. I pushed the gate as far as it could go and timidly walked in.

cream. I was there for her first everything, but I wasn’t there I brushed past the bushes and when she rested her eyes for the the vines that covered the strucfinal time. Carnations laid on her ture and pushed the door open. casket, slowly wilting away, The door had been shut long betheir purpose in life fulfilled, fore, but it opened with ease. I unlike hers. stood at the entrance of the mauThen I saw her. She was standsoleum, stuck on how little the ing right behind her casket, place had changed. There were still rows and rows of caskets, all wearing the same dress she was filled with remains. All through buried in. Her long blonde locks were tangled and dirty. She the walls, family members lay looked skinny and unusually silent and still, waiting for the next one to join. In the middle of pale. Her face looked older, as if the mausoleum, there was table. it was caked in makeup, while And there she lay. The one who her eyes looked sunken in. She whispered, “Now it’s your turn.” had the rest of her life to live, who had been taken from the She smiled angelically as she world too early. She was in a walked toward me with her arms closed casket, but I didn’t need outstretched. I shivered as I felt to see her. I already had memoher cold, hard hands on my rized her face by heart. warm neck, her hands tensing, allowing me to savor the moI was there for her birth, for ment before joining my family. her first step, and for her first day of school. I was there for her Fin first bike ride and for her first ice once beautiful design was gone.

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By Buckbeak

that I had to do, and now that I was here, it was something that I couldn’t run away from. Right now it was all or nothing, and I had invested everything into this moment. I could see my destination getting closer. The large looming mausoleum stood up on the hill, proud and strong, as it had for the past 100 years since it was built for my family. All of my dead family members, long gone and some forgotten, lay in the house of death. All that was left of those I knew were the brittle bones and ashes of the men and women they once were.

The mausoleum was about the size of a barn; it was made out of white stones that had aged over the years, turning brown or even a yellow in some parts. There were big white columns on each of the side of the door, giving it something of a Greek structure.

But due to the vines that covered almost the entire mausoleum, the

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The Mausoleum

Would someone see me?

If I see anyone, what would I do?

What if something happens? Anything could happen here, especially at this time of night.

I kept walking; I knew that this was something

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“Midnight Welcome,” Illustration by Japanda3

Fear

No t

The Many Faces of A Clown

By Anastasia

By Zenyatta

Do

At first, You don’t notice it.

Then It slowly creeps up on you

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From behind And you try And try To think of a way out But you can’t Concentrate Because of Your heart beating

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And snatches you

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Then thousand miles per hour And your head pounding

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So fast That you can barely Breathe So all you do is

Scream

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But no one hears you And that tiny Sliver of hope That you’ll be saved

Disappears So you give in to fear And let it take you Until you’re gone.

Fast and speedy, Slow and steady.

Always asking, always needy.

Always helpful, always ready.

Sometimes hasty, sometimes quick, Sometimes with a clever trick.

Calm and fiery, Modest, proud, Peaceful, scary, Draws a crowd.

Funny, sad Laughter and tears.

Happy, mad, Old beyond years.

Truthful, liar, Always jokes.

Pants on fire, Up in smoke.

Who's the cheerful actor here, He's the CLOWN, Year after year.

“Juggler Clown,” Illustration by Reading Caterpillar

Monsters Meeting

By Scarlet The dead that walk In a straight line Wondering what to stalk The vampire that sucks Needs to stop

Before they runs out of luck The mummy that needs a mop Cleans up all the trash At the werewolf’s stash The monsters begin to quiet down Halloween is almost here Says the giant clown 11

Annabel’s Monster

By Hades

daddy is there. The next morning, Daddy grins and says, “The monster’s gone!”

“Illuminate,” Photograph by Suzy-chan

Other times, it whispers, “Bells... pretty little bells. Do you sound like bells when you scream?”

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But it isn’t.

A monster lives in Annabel’s One day Annabel is colorhouse. She’s never seen it, but ing a picture of Snow she knows it’s there. She hears it White’s evil stepmother. at night, when she tries to sleep. She’s a lefty. Fortunately, crayons don’t discriminate.

Sometimes it asks, “Annie...Annnnieeeeee,where Something thumps in her are you?” closet.

“Anniekiiiiiinssss. Come play with me.”

Eventually Mommy and Daddy take her to a nice doctor. He talks to her in a soft voice that reminds her Annabel tells her mommy about it, but Mommy just smiles of marshmallows. He looks and pats her head, assuring, “It’s like a marshmallow, too. just your imagination. You’ll “Your parents told me you’ve grow out of it.” been hearing voices, Annabel.”

They’re relieved, actually.

She isn’t, though. They don’t believe her. Nobody does.

“It’s a monster. It follows me around the house.”

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“I believe you’re scared of something in your life,” the doc“Have you seen this monster?” tor tells her. “That’s why you think there’s a monster. You “No, but it talks to me. I know have to confront your fears so it’s there.” you won’t be scared anymore.”

Annabel doesn’t hear what the “The monster’ll go away if I doctors tell Mommy and Daddy, stand up to it?” but it doesn’t worry them.

“Yes, Annabel, it will.”

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Daddy doesn’t laugh. He nods and listens, and he tells her he’ll check her room that night.

“Daddy will always protect you, Belly-Button,” he reminded. He checks under her bed. He checks in her closet. He checks behind the curtains. Nothing. But still he sits next to her, and Annabel sleeps soundly, knowing her

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“NO! NO, I WON’T!” Annabel scrambles out of her room.

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Most of all she hates when it laughs. It’s a funny tinkling sound, like change in a pocket, and it sounds like her best friend.

But it’s not her best friend, and she’s scared one day she’ll forget.

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She drops the red wax stub. “W-W-Who’s there?”

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The next time she hears thuds in her closet late at night, she grabs her teddy bear and lowers her feet from the bed.

Annabel tiptoes across the floor and aims a shaky flashlight at the door. “I know you’re there.”

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“Medium,” Photograph by Morpheus

More banging.

“Fine! You asked for it!” Annabel opens the closet door.

She sees nothing. Only her dresses and blouses and skirts on hangers, her shoes on the rack, cardboard boxes tucked away.

Nothing. No monster. Then she looks at the mirror on the back of the door.

Her reflection is smiling at her.

But Annabel isn’t smiling.

What…what…?

The reflection opens her mouth, and that tinkling laughter comes out. She lunges.

Annabel falls backward, dropping her teddy. The flashlight rolls across the floor. Her body shakes, trembles, convulses.

All is still.

Slowly, the girl gets back up.

She steps over her bear. She bends and picks up the flashlight No response. with her right hand. She walks “Leave me alone, back to the closet, looks into the and I’ll leave you mirror, and smiles. alone.”

“Good night, Annabel.”

A muffled clatter.

She smashes the glass.

“D-Don’t make Fin. me go in there.”

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meet! She’s from the great line of Thistlebane; Ebony works at HellMart to pay off the mortgage on the trailer her family lives in.” A girl wearing black lipstick and eyeshadow stomped up in her black combat boots. She had giant bat wings that stuck out like dead leaves.

“Ha ha, very funny,” She said sarcastically, and the wilted flower on Beelzebub’s hat burst into a cloud of dust and broken dreams.

“My flower of despair!” Beelzebub groaned, and Moloch rolled his eyes.

Taking over, Moloch growled, “Our last contestant is Chad, full name Chadwick Aleron Grimbald VI. He is a former star player of deathball, the national pastime of Hell. He likes beer and hot girls.”

“Yo!” A broad man stepped up.

Ryan could almost see the muscles in his wings, and he thought of the taunting jocks of his childhood.

Another person to avoid.

“And of course, our only human, fan favorite Ryan Winkler, the worst demonhunter in the universe!”

Beelzebub shouted, a new half-dead flower attached to his hat. Suddenly, a blob zipped down from a ceiling and attacked him.

“Aaaah!” Ryan screamed.

“It’s just your chef clothes. Get into line.” Barbie scoffed.

Sure enough, Ryan saw his stained clothes has been replaced with a white chef’s hat and clothing. It smelled kind of weird though, and it rippled sometimes. So everyone was wearing blobs. Great. He inched into the line of contestants.

“Are you ready for the first challenge?” Beelzebub asked, though it was more of a statement then a question. The contestants nodded, and Ryan wondered for the billionth time what would have happened if he listened to his mother and gotten a girlfriend.

To be continued…

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Ryan Winkler, demonhunter extraordinaire, lounged on his ragged couch eating X-tra Cheezy Cheeze Pops™. His hunting equipment leaned against a wall, bought over time with the help of his mom. It was Halloween, and instead of doing something productive like hunt down malicious demons or ghosts, he decided to take the night off. He burped loudly and patted his large stomach. That crazy spirit that was probably just the wind had made him hungry. He lazily surfed the channels on TV, skipping past “Ghosthunters,” muttering about the amateurs.

He was about to fall into a cheesy stupor when his chubby fingers accidently hit 666 on the remote. At first, static filled the screen. Then, loud applause burst from the TV, and he fell off the couch, knocking his Pops™ to the ground.

“What the…” He groaned, looking at the screen. It flashed red and orange, almost blinding him. He ducked for cover, only to see a man wearing a red suit and top hat step out from the TV. He turned his face to the poor demonhunter, looking at him curiously with his large fly-like eyes, as a dead flower on his hat drooped over his face. Insect wings protruding from his back buzzed loudly.

“Christ compels you!” Ryan screamed, and started crying for his mommy.

“Calm down dude, they’re just goggles!” The man said exasperatedly, helping the sobbing Ryan up.

“Aaaaah! A demon touched me!”

Ryan wiped his hand on his pants and tried to run away, only to have an icy hand grab his arm.

“Not so fast.” The man said, and pushed Ryan into the TV. Instead of feeling glass shards collide with his face, he found himself on a sticky pink floor. It faintly throbbed under his cheek. He tore his face off the floor with a slurping noise and faced the strangest audience he had ever seen.

Some had black feathered wings, others had forked tails. There was a monster made entirely out of trash.

A group of winged men were laughing and farting simultaneously.

They were sitting in rows of rusty bleachers and everyone craned their neck to see Ryan.

“I have captured a human in its natural habitat!” The man announced, pointing at Ryan, cowering on the ground.

“Dad, can I keep it?” A boy with tentacles for limbs yelled. His father, a 4th dimensional monstrosity, ignored him and read a newspaper called “Eldritch Weekly.”

“How am I even here? This wasn’t a channel on my Comcast pack-

to the side of him, “There are booby traps all over the stage, and if someone doesn’t finish making their meal in time, Moloch will eat them.” The demon said in one breath, voice shaky with glee.

“Time to introduce the other contestants.” Moloch said, shoving the crazed demon aside.

“Cade Dinklehorn, better known as Chop to his victims! Chop’s hobbies include killing living creatures and swearing vengeance on mankind. ” Beelzebub yelled off from the side, and a guy with scars all across his pale face was pushed by an unknown force, his wings fluttering.

“Chop, chop, chop…” He muttered, furrowing his unibrow. He looked like he could break bricks with his forehead, and Ryan backed away slightly.

“Our next contestant is Barbie Neverbloom, the former Ms. Hellion from five years ago, who everyone had forgotten about until she made another desperate bid for fame by being on this show!" Beelzebub said again, weaseling into the center of the stage.

An attractive young woman, who did in fact look like a Barbie doll, stepped forward and waved, a big smile on her face. Despite her chef garments, she looked radiant, and Ryan was about to say she was hot until she stretched out her black wings.

Dating demons is not good, he reminded himself, and looked at the floor.

“Next is the tech genius, Digit, actual name Jona Quintlock! He’s hacked into the CIA, KGB, Hell’s Secret Police, and Satan’s personal computer!” A guy wearing bottlecap glasses shuffled up to the edge of the stage and sneezed. His black wings folded back, and he took out a bottle of nasal spray.

“Here’s Ebony Thistlebane, the gothest person you ever will ever

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age!” Ryan asked the floor, which seemed to be the most normal thing in the room until a bloodshot eye grew from the floor. Before he could scream, he was yanked up by the man, who was starting to become kind of annoying.

“My name is Beelzebub, the Prince of Hell, the Lord of the Flies, and the dashing co-host of Inferno’s Kitchen!” He said dramatically, and pointed ahead with one gloved finger. The crowd cheered.

Ryan hadn’t noticed the elaborate stage right in front of him. The platform was covered with little islands of kitchen equipment, a fridge, oven, stove, toaster, sinks, blender, even a wafflemaker. A large pile of objects covered the floor, from blue intestines to truck tires to more usual things, like a raccoon with five eyes. A group of five people were lined up on the stage in filthy chef hats and aprons. A man wearing battle fatigues stared at Ryan, and he realized the man had the head of a black bull. The bull man snorted, making his silver nose ring jingle, and growled, “I’m Moloch, Destroyer of Men, and I will also be your host.”

It was at this point that Ryan tried to run away, but to his dismay, the portal leading back to his TV was gone.

“What’s your name, human?”

Beelzebub said, dragging him up to the stage.

“Uh… Bob.” “Okay… Bob,” Beelzebub said, a perplexed look on his face. “If that’s what you want to be called, but in our records we have you down as Ryan Winkler.” A giant red book popped out of nowhere as he said that, and it opened up to a blurb in tiny letters.

Ryan Winkler: weird demonhunter who lived with his mom until he was 33.

“You’re that demonhunter that the Winchester brothers laugh at.” Moloch grunted.

“Ha, Winkler, tinkler,” Beelzebub chuckled under his breath, and the book disappeared. By now, Ryan had calmed down and knew there was no way out of this unless he suddenly gained ninja powers and kicked the bug-eyed demon in his smug face.

As Ryan was thinking about his highly improbable fantasy and ignoring the jab made at his last name, the demon said, “ Anyway, the rules are simple. Make the worst food in the universe and give it to Moloch, a surprise guest, and me to eat. We will judge how terrible your food is, and if it’s too good, you will be eliminated. Whoever wins gets one wish fulfilled. In your case I would assume it would be going home.”

“That’s not too hard-” “Except elimination means dying, and you can only use the ingredients in that pile over there,” Beelzebub pointed to the festering pile of trash

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Inferno’s Kitchen: One

“Skull-duggery,” Photograph by Suzy-can

13

Ghost

By The Owlish Bookworm Alone.

He’s alone. Stupid boy.

This is going to be A long night, Isn’t it?

For I’m a ghost, dearie.

A restless one…

And you’ve just entered my domain.

Ratty rugs, Torn draperies, Dusty floorboards, Low-hanging canopies.

You don’t know anything, do you?

That’s all right. Come closer, dearie.

That’s it! Closer now!

Aren’t you curiouussss?

What is this place?

Wouldn’t you like to know?

And…

Let’s have some fun, shall we?

What’s in this room?

What was that?

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Ransacked room, Four-poster bed, Trail of blood, A body, Dead.

Look at you! Pounding heart, Eyes wide with fear…

Sigh… so young. And innocent.

It’s a pity that you’re going To die.

And what’s that now?

Closer still! And… there!

Hello lovely!

You can see me now!

Oh don’t panic! Yes, this will hurt But it’ll be over soon…

Sorry love! Don’t run…

You’re mine now…

Yes!

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als return and you feel normal again.

Sighing in relief, you enter another hallway filled with bodies covered in blood hanging from the ceiling.

You reluctantly pass through them, cowering in fear. Instead of a moving body, you see a blue rose with all its petals almost gone. You return to the vase and restore it to its regular state. As you enter another hall, you find a mysterious man with purple hair lying on the ground. After a short conversation with this man, you find out that he is another victim of this museum, and that the blue rose is his. As you both walk into another section of the museum, a hand reaches out from a painting… then the arm and the head. You shriek and start running, but the painting chases after you.

You both escape into another hallway and slam the door on the painting. Turning, you bump into a blonde girl, one who looks around your age. Her name is Mary, and you decide to join forces. You walk out the next door, leading into a room with rows of dolls; some are headless and some have red eyes.

“Take me with you…”

“I don’t like being alone…”

You back away from the dolls and hit a painting, separating Garry from you and Mary. You and Mary decide to investigate a room while Garry investigates another. He finds a book labeled “Guertina’s paintings” and flips through the book, stopping when he gets to the M – Mary. And next to it, a very familiar blonde girl. Running back to the painting, Garry finds you and Mary in a different room.

“Ib, where are you going? Didn’t you say we were going to stay together? Where are you going?”

You back away and Garry pushes

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When your eyes open, all that remain are the paintings.

“Hello?” you call out.

No reply.

“Is anyone here?”

There was still no reply.

Desperate to find someone, you travel down to the first level of the museum, but all that’s there is darkness and silence. When you walk towards the exhibits, everything seems normal. You continue on and pass by the painting titled “The Coughing Man,” and you swear that you heard the painting cough. Yet, when you look back, nothing else happens.

As you pass through the other exhibits on the upper floor, other paintings begin acting strange. One painting had fruit on it, but once you turn your back, you hear something plop to the floor. When you look back, a piece of fruit has splattered on the floor right under the painting.. Soon, you see blue liquid dripping slowly from another.

You take a few paces back in fear when something scratches on the floor. The red scrawl spells out “Come.” When you look back up to the blue paint, it spells out, “Come down below, I’ll show you something secret.”

You turn away and run downstairs, frantically searching for an exit, but the doors are locked. There has to be another pair of doors, or even just a window to climb out of, any way to get out of this terrifying place.

When you reach the painting of the angler fish, blue footprints lead to the painting. Though risky, this is the only “exit” you’ve seen so far.

Hesitantly, you step into the paint-

ing. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, you turn left to find a red rose, a vibrant red with soft petals.

You look up catch a glimpse of something resembling a door behind the desk. You quickly push the desk out of the way and open the door.

You see a giant painting of a woman on the far end of the wall. Lying in the middle of the room is a blue key. You pick it up. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but once you pick up the key, the woman stares angrily at you. Finding no other exits, you back out of the room, into the hallway. But this time, there’s red writing on the wall.

“Thief.”

Scared, you quickly turn away and catch a glimpse of a small piece of paper that wasn’t there before.

“You and the rose are one. Know the weight of your own life,” It says.

You walk back to the end of the hallway, but the stairs have disappeared, leaving a wall. The only thing you can do is look for another exit.

At the end of the hallway is another door. Using the key, you unlock the door. You enter into a green room.

Across it is another door, but it doesn’t lead anywhere; it only has a mannequin with a red dress on and a green key under it. As you pick it up, a crack diverts your attention back to the mannequin, and you see it take a step forward. You start running away in fear as the mannequin follows – until it falls into the crevice between the doors. You run out of the room as shadows grab at your legs. Slowly, you feel yourself getting tired…

When you check your bag, your red rose has lost some petals. You find a table with a vase of water. Sticking your rose in the water, the lost pet-

rit

Guertina’s World

Oh you’re here! Isn’t it wonderful?

Oh, god!

Please no!

Don’t!

Please!

Don’t do this! I’m not…

Noooooooooo!

AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

By Eros

Oh god.

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You can’t see me!

Are you scared now?

Run while you can!

Closer now! That’s it! This roomRight this way, dearie…I’ve a Surprise for you!

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Door creaks open, This looks like something From a movie.

Guys?

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You’re in my house, dearie.

What’re you doing here?

Oh, you’re one of those, aren’t you?

Think you’re so brave? We shall see.

Where’s the bravery now?

Sorry, love. You just messed with The wrong ghost.

Do

Haunted house, Rickety stairs, Stereotypical spider webs, This stupid dare.

Guys, not funny!

I know you’re there.

Mary to the ground. Together, you run down the stairs and into another painting, only to find dolls crowding around you.

“So there you are!”

You turn around to see an evil smile planted on Mary’s face.

“Look at what a doll gave me!”

Mary said, showing you a red rose.

“Isn’t it pretty?”

A red rose… Your red rose.

“Mary, please return that to Ib,” Gary sighed. “It’s important.”

“Sure,” Mary cackled. “Let’s make a trade. I’ll return it… if you give me Garry’s rose.”

Reluctantly, Garry gives her his rose and she walks away, laughing gleefully.

Following her, you see a blue petal on the floor.

“Loves me.”

Then another.

“Loves me not.”

“Loves me.”

Then, you see Garry, collapsed on the floor.

“It’s alright Ib, you go on ahead.”

Garry?

With tears in your eyes, you walk away, determined to find an exit and someone to save Garry.

You don’t know how many days and nights have passed; maybe even months or years have passed. But you finally find an exit opening to a bright garden. You walk out to find a very familiar blonde girl.

She turns around.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Ib?” she says, smiling.

She walks towards you with something in her hand. An axe. You see her lifting it up, and then pitchblackness.

When you come to, you smile at your old body.

You’re finally free.

t

nately, they would rarely take in entire families. So Sylvia worked in Rowan, Sylvia, and their younger a bookshop and Rowan worked for siblings, Pearl and Ash, had lived on a furniture shop moving and transtheir own for years. Their parents porting various goods. had been caught by the police just under five years ago, leaving Rowan “Sylvia, is that you?” The younger and Sylvia to care for their younger girl asked again, stepping out of the siblings. bedroom. Her shoulder length platinum-blonde hair was held back by a After their parents had died, the headband. Her loose-fitting blue siblings had discussed leaving the shirt hung on her thin frame, covercity. However, they knew that the ing the top of her hand-me-down only life that existed outside the city shorts. Her sea green eyes softened for merfolk was that of manual laas she said, “So Eleanor was bor or as a spectacle in a circus. caught?”

They could not possibly find work for all four of them as household “Rowan told you?” Sylvia asked, servants, which was a coveted posi- but Pearl shook her head.

She made it back to a tiny apart- tion for merfolk in the city. Masters Continued on Next Page would protect their household sement, glancing around quickly before pulling out a key and unlocking vants from prying police. Unfortuthe door. Once inside, she unwrapped the red scarf she wore to cover her mouth and unbuttoned her overcoat. From inside, a young girl’s voice called, “Sylvia, is that you?” She was about to respond when her brother stepped out into the family room.

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s:

“Where were you?” He demanded. He had the same sapphire eyes and blonde hair, but his hair was cropped short and his eyes were worn from years of hard work and fear.

“You know where I went, Rowan.” Sylvia replied. “Eleanor was caught.”

tW

Decades ago, the over-pollution of the oceans had forced the merfolk onto land. In a single day, thousands upon thousands of new mouths to feed washed up upon shores across the world. They took human form and tried to live among the humans, but mankind would not have it. Terrified for themselves and their futures, the humans came together to strip the rights of any merperson who chose to abandon the water.

They criminalized merfolk living in the cities. They forced the merfolk to work on farms or perform other acts of manual labor. They began a new division of the police in every city, making it their only duty to sweep the streets in search of illegal merfolk trying to hide among humans. All it took was a drop of water for merfolk to reveal their true forms. Those caught were dragged away, never to be seen again. The only indication that they had ever existed was their name on the list posted every morning.

already gone.

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turned down to cover her sapphireblue eyes, she glanced stealthily at

By Calypso the list. Her brow furrowed slightly Two young women stood in the before she wrapped her frayed overstreet, covering their mouths with coat tightly around her and hurried bright blue scarves to avoid inhaling off. the smog that had settled during the The young woman made her way night. Leaning over a cart, they quickly through the city, her blonde carefully read the list of names that was posted outside the general shop waves tied back and tucked into her every morning. It was a list of crim- jacket to draw less attention.

Around her, the city was waking up. inals who had been caught by the police. But the police were no long- Shop owners were out cleaning their dirty windows with almost equally er concerned with petty thefts or misdemeanors. Everyone knew that dirty rags. The first wave of commuters hurried through the streets, the only names on the daily lists trying to spend as little time as poswere those of illegal merfolk who sible in the polluted air. had been caught within city limits.

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The Ocean’s Child: One

idn

igh

“It was only a matter of time.”

Rowan said resignedly. “She should’ve known better than to work at the supermarket. Too many prying eyes.” As the oldest of four, Rowan was used to rationalizing the disappearances that had become integrated into his daily life. He found it easier than mourning.

M

“’Eleanor Wright.’” One of the girls read aloud. “Did you know her?”

“Wasn’t she the girl who worked in the supermarket?” The other asked. “Should’ve known there wasn’t some-thing right with her.

She had that look about her, don’t you think?”

“You’re allowed to miss her, you know.” Sylvia said crossly, hanging her coat on the peg near the door.

Rowan shook his head tiredly and said, “Mourning just makes us lose focus, and that’s all we have right now.”

The two were too busy gossiping With that, he turned and went into about the names they recognized on the small bedroom the four shared. the list that neither noticed the lone We still have each other, Sylvia figure standing by the street lamp. thought to herself, but Rowan was With the brim of her worn fedora

“Sylvia and Pearl,” Illustration by Hecate

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“Ash,” Illustration by Hecate

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Pr in

kind, to see merfolk swimming freely, to find emotions other than worry and fear in the eyes of merfolk.

“Do you always eat lunch here?” Jon, one of her coworkers asked, startling her slightly. Despite his warm smile, Sylvia cast her eyes down and mumbled, “Most of the time.” She had never enjoyed talking to people. She found it difficult to hide her true nature and easier to just avoid conversation altogether.

“Would you mind if I joined you?” Jon asked. Sylvia hesitated before scooting over to make room for him on the bench.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Four years.” Sylvia said uncomfortably, glancing out of the window. She gasped as she saw her worst nightmare unfold before her eyes.

Two uniformed officers dragged Rowan out of an alleyway. He struggled, writhing and twisting in the officers’ grasp.

The two could barely hold him, and he broke free, sprinting through the streets, shoving people out of the way and leaping over carts. “Stop him!” One of the officers cried as they gave chase. Sylvia pressed her face against the glass as Rowan shoved his way through the crowd. All he had to do was reach the intersection with Parker Avenue.

She knew he could lose them there.

But he never made it. Someone threw a bucket of water onto him, dousing him completely. Within seconds, the transformation had taken place, revealing his shimmering reddish-gold tail. The scales receded around his waist, and two pelvic fins with deep red running along the bones protruded from his hips. Two slits on either side of his neck appeared, and he began to gasp

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idn

igh

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s:

“Thin walls.” Pearl said simply.

“Don’t you have to go to work soon?”

“I was just going to grab a bite and then go.” Sylvia said, heading into the kitchen. She pulled out a protein bar and bit into it as she poured herself a glass of water from the filter-pitcher they kept in the cool box. The pitcher, heavier than she had anticipated, slipped out of her grasp and fell to the counter, splashing a few drops of water back up towards Sylvia. Instinctively, she raised her arms protectively, but the water froze in midair before it could touch her. Sylvia lowered her arms and glanced at Pearl, who had her hand raised to shoulder height, her fingers flexed and her brow furrowed as she concentrated on controlling the water.

“Thanks.” Sylvia breathed.

“You’re getting better, you know.”

“I guess. I still can’t control waves like the merfolk in the legends could.” Pearl said modestly, lowering her hand. Unlike her siblings, she had been born with the ability to control water. It had been a common power among merfolk before their exodus from the sea, but it had become ever-rarer since.

“And when have you ever seen a wave?” Sylvia laughed. Pearl and Ash were landborn, and Rowan and Sylvia had been toddlers when they’d left the water.

Pearl shrugged and said, “I will one day.”

Sylvia didn’t want to point out that it took extensive background checks to leave and return to the city, so she just said, “Well, I’d better be off.”

She and Rowan worked across the street from each other, and both were experienced at avoiding police sweeps for illegal merfolk. The police couldn’t check shops or private property without reasonable suspicion of a merperson inside, so the two siblings often found themselves inside during the most common hours for police sweeps.

They made their way quickly to Baker Street and bade each other a quick farewell before hurrying into their respective shops. Sylvia went about sorting and cataloging books until her lunch break, when she sat in the small alcove on the second floor of the bookshop that looked over the bustling street below. She enjoyed the view, yet it saddened her immensely. It made her long to see the sparkling city of Atlantica, the last underwater refuge for her

Do

TOC cont.

“Rowan,” Illustration by Hecate

for air. He crashed to the ground, and the police tackled him, beating him mercilessly despite having him in their grasp.

“Isn’t that your brother?” Jon asked, frowning slightly. His eyes widened as made the connection, but before he could say another word Sylvia pinned him to the wall and covered his mouth her hand.

“Don’t you dare say one word.”

She threatened, her eyes wild but her voice dangerously calm. “Don’t you dare.”

He shook his head as a way of promising, and she released him, running down to the storefront just in time to see the two police hauling a barely conscious Rowan down the street.

16 To Be Continued...