Letter from the editoR Dear Readers, I asked a friend what “haunting” meant to her. Her answer was simple—a feeling that can’t be forgotten or ignored. Horror, humor, love, loss . . . anything with the potential to linger. Her definition came to mind as we were selecting creative works for this edition. We provided a broad theme and were answered by numerous pieces of exemplary quality. Each work contained in this edition is different from the next, and each provides its own definition of what “haunting” truly is. For more than sixty years, The Crucible, under various names, has provided a medium for creative expression at UNC. This year, it is our honor to present the 2015 Fall Edition, “The Haunting & The Haunted.” Our contributors have done everything to make this edition possible. Firstly, we extend our thanks to Lisa Zimmerman, our advisor and supporter. Our thanks go to Student Council, Buffalo Wildwings, Barnes & Noble, and Café Mexicali who helped fund this edition. Thank you pstutorialsws and AuroraWienhold for providing the brushes and texture used in creating graphics. We would like to thank Sigma Tau Delta and Write for Market for helping us with advertising. And, of course, our sincerest thanks to the featured writers and artists, without whom this edition would not exist. So please, enjoy with our regards, Jessamyn Hutchins President & Editor-in-Chief & The Crucible staff
StafF Officers: President Jessamyn Hutchins “Master of Utterance” Vice President Lexy Alemao “Nearly Headless Gatekeeper” Creative Director Lashanah Tillar “Dark Lord of All Formatting” Treasurer Jeremiah Strong “Guardian of the Cursed Treasure” Secretary Danielle Rich “Ambassador of Darkness” Social Media Manager Drew Meile “Supereme Warlock of Twitter” Faculty Sponsor Lisa Zimmerman “Head Queen of Editing”
Editors: Maddie Siegle “She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” Cyrsta Clow “The Bloody Reader” Elliot Lawful “Harbinger of Editing” Andrea North “Lady of the Dark Tower” Hannah-Jayne Duran “The Beast”
Table of contentS poetry Tayler Smith Margarita Azarkh
Carnival Worker Scarecrow
2
Emryse Geye
Choices Yellow Dress
4
Bring Him Back The Feeding Two Susurrante (Whispering)
9
David Labo Jessamyn Hutchins Emily Barker
3 6 11 12 13
prose Amelia Moseley
It’ll be Fine
16
Jessamyn Hutchins
It
26
Tylara Brown
Reaper What You Sow
29
Maddie Siegle
Monsters Take Many Forms
38
Lashanah Tillar
The Secret Season
45
art Cyrsta Clow Lashanah Tillar Emma Bixby
Title Page Art Snapchat Horror Haze Krawkow The Mind Sparrow
37 15 1 8 52
P o e t rY
Emma Bixby
Krawkow
Tayler Smith
Carnival Worker
I hated the way he said my name with every syllable stretched between his teeth like chewing gum. “Come back. You know you want to play.”
2 The Crucible | Smith
Margarita Azarkh
Scarecrows
We stood our ground among deserted trees with arms outstretched like bare branches. Our fingertips pointed to forgotten dead fields and our naked bodies firmly rooted down. Bitter cold seeped into our veins, tender skin dry and flaky, crumbling with each blow of the wind. Weeds learned to grow around us, rocks eroded under and between our toes, vermin quietly nibbled on our emotionless eyes. We stand our ground with arms outstretched, protecting the land that abandoned us.
Azarkh | The Crucible 3
Emryse Geye
Choices after Reddit user drrd777
If you wake from a nap to your mother calling you down to dinner, you’ll probably: throw back the covers throw your legs on the floor throw yourself into the hallway. You may notice the scent of meatloaf, or tacos, or kugel, wafting up the stairs. You may notice the door on the landing, partly open. You may check. If you check the door on the landing to determine why it is open, you might find your petrified mother at the bottom shushing you and begging you not to go downstairs; to hide here with her, because, “I heard it too.” Do not laugh at her very funny joke. Do not assume that evil men have taken the time to record your mother’s voice and are playing it to tempt you and ensnare you. But assume that there is somebody else, 4 The Crucible | Geye
somewhere in your house. Maybe there. Maybe here. If you find your mother at the bottom of a closet asking you to join her, do not close the door and snuggle into the coats without thinking. Check for her wedding ring, the roots of her hair color, her scars. Choose which mother you trust, mother or the other-mother. Choose quickly. Choose wisely.
Geye | The Crucible 5
Emryse Geye
Yellow Dress after Reddit user vaultkid321
Once, she told me that she couldn’t sleep— but it might’ve been a dream. So I spent too many nights on the grass, granite headboard and cicada lullaby, shaking off the dew with the dawn. Waking hollow and cold, wondering if the vampires sucked me dry in the dark. I’ve been searching through these moons; my fingernails encrusted with dirt, but, we all have to sleep sometime. Alone in my bed, at her witching-hour whisper, I open my sheets through my slumber and pull them over our eyes; they’ll have to peel back the covers if they want to identify our bodies. I don’t question how late it is, I don’t question how long it’s been, I don’t question that she smells the same. The morning comes crisp and austere— autumn is here, and while I’m used to waking up cold by now, the chill from my gaping window is seeping into my bones. When I open my eyes, I remember that she always looked best in yellow— her father asked me what to put her in, and I pulled this dress off the hanger. A spring flower, for a spring farewell. 6 The Crucible | Geye
The buttercup-colored polka dots smell of dirt, clutched in my hands, and I’m choking out the smell of her.
Geye | The Crucible 7
Emma Bixby
The Mind
8 The Crucible | Bixby
Emryse Geye
Bring Him Back after Kim Z. Dale
My son loved my dog. Or wait, I guess it’s the other way around; I did adopt her first. His chubby little hands woven like tree roots in the fringe on her ears. Their bodies echoing each other’s crescent on his bed, her bed. She brought my son back one cool summer evening when it was dark and he had pedaled out past the street lamps. But she couldn’t bring him back every time. We drove away in a wash of blue and red against the dark walls. My boy didn’t run out of the car to greet her on our return. Tonight, her muddy paws tell me she’s been out looking for him, again. The sound of feet on the porch, in the hall, tells me she found him. Geye | The Crucible 9
I wish I could be as elated as she is: tail wagging, tongue lolling. Hold him in my arms once more. Instead, I feel my grip tighten around the axe handle; I know she loves him, but it just keeps getting harder to put him in the ground.
10 The Crucible | Geye
David Labo
The Feeding
I could have killed the crows, and don’t you forget that thought crossed my mind not once, but several times, though it wasn’t their lives I wanted. It was mine. Those cowards, they cawed, clawed, and crept into my thoughts where words once wandered, I began to ponder a life where there were none. I became a slave to sound and celebration as I raised my bleeding body, shaking as the crows swarmed and scraped against me. A world trying to kill me, I wish I had known this from the start, but I stand here dying and if one thing’s keeping me alive, it’s art.
Labo | The Crucible 11
Jessamyn Hutchins
Two
I am frantic Confused by fear Devouring worms Stealing my soul Consumed by fear What was that noise? Stealing my soul Invading the silence What’s that noise? I’ve lost your voice Invading the silence Our constant instruction I’ve lost your voice The whispering Our constant instruction Cobwebs in my mind Whispering Devouring Worms Cobwebs in my mind I am frantic
12 The Crucible | Hutchins
Emily Barker
Susurrante (whispering)
I wasn’t listening well when I heard it, but it came to me anyway like so many strands of cat hair every time I need to seem serious. It fumbled along the corridors of my mind trying every door marked “occupied” in an effort to find a friendly ear for just a night, maybe two - depending on the weather. And it snowed, so it stayed, and shuffled and shushed with words muffled and rushed till I looked it right in the eye and said, I know you echo of motherly lullabies still caught in attic rafters, soft snores harmonized with cricket chorus while on the breeze blew an “I love you,” and that was it too. Just a moth of a memory flitting about, chewing holes in old masks and leaving my pointer finger dusty.
Barker | The Crucible 13
“Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by your evident suspicions touching my sanity,”
14 The Crucible
“The Gold Bug” Edgar Allan Poe
ProsE
Lashanah Tillar
Haze
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Everything will be alright.” But it wasn’t fine. We were 30 miles from the nearest town when the tornado siren began wailing with the thunderclaps. The radio kept urging us to take shelter. Deep within the canopy of Spanish moss, I wish he had been inclined to listen sooner. The house howled. I snapped awake, terrified for a moment that the tornado was close. My heart pounded as I scanned the horizon for my doom, before my eyes fell on the ruined house again as I identified the noise. My mind finally made the connection. Then another thought: where was Aaron? I searched the porch, hoping for some sign of him. Nothing. Not from the door, the windows, the gaping hole in the roof. Because he would do something ridiculous like that. Fishing a flashlight from our glove box, I forced myself out of the warmth of the car. Wind whipped my hair violently as I forced myself to that decrepit porch. A train raced in the distance as I placed my hand on the knob. I wasn’t sure if the chill I felt was from the bellow of the tornado’s engine or the door. The door creaked. The floorboards creaked. Everything creaked. It was like every horror movie I had ever tortured myself to see. Why was I walking directly into what I knew was a terrible, terrible idea? My hand started shaking, making the flashlight’s beam waver in front of me. It slipped in my palm as I started sweating. I passed the light back and forth, trying to wipe my hands off on my pants. 16 The Crucible | Moseley
This only made the light waver even more. “Aaaaron,” I pleaded with the stillness, nearly whispering. “Please stop hiding.” A gust of wind pushed the mansion. It let out an angry groan. I screamed, dropping the flashlight. I buried my face in my hands. “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Aaron! Where the hell are you!?” My shaking hand gripped the flashlight. I wiped my face, trying to stop crying. I was completely trembling. This was terrifying. Why did we have to stop here? Where was Aaron? Why was I still in here? The blaring of a train horn echoed through the marsh. The tornado was getting close. I tightened my grip on the flashlight. “He said the cellar. I need to get to the cellar.” I stood up and pointed the flashlight back in front of me. Something was there. I think. It wasn’t like a wall, the light didn’t really stop on it. But the light definitely flickered through something, like it was a hitting a formed mist. Mist eerily in the shape of a person. A chill raced up my spine as I slowly and stupidly moved the light up to top of the thing. It was painfully slow, wondering what heinous face was waiting at the top of the form. Some fanged monster with a snarling maw and glowing, evil eyes. Before I even reached the top, my nerves gave out. Another scream echoed in the hall. The flashlight tumbled across the room as I collapsed back to the floor, curling up into a ball. I was dead. I was so dead. There was a ghost and it was going to eat me and that didn’t make sense and I was so, so dead. “Hey, hey, Morgan, calm down! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry!” “Aaron?” I asked, looking up. The ghost was bending over, its hands reaching out towards me. I screamed again, sliding back against the floor until I hit a wall. Spiders came to mind, and I panicked. Jumping to my feet, I began swatting frantically all over, praying that none of the disgusting arachnids had gotten on me. “Ew, ew, ew, ew, ew, ew,” I squealed, jumping around. My voice was hoarse from screaming. I was wheezing from all these jump scares. Moseley | The Crucible 17
“Morgan, are you ok?” “Stop scaring me like that. It’s not funny.” “Ha, sorry about that.” I looked around, trying to find the flashlight again. We needed to get out of here. I didn’t care about the storm anymore, I could not stay in this house any longer. “I never thought I’d want to see my in-laws as badly as I do right now.” “My parents like you.” “They like me around you.” I grabbed the flashlight. It felt good to have that light again. “Can we get out of this place now? That tornado should have-” My words caught in my throat as the light fell back on Aaron. He jumped in, “Don’t scream again. Please, don’t scream again.” “A-aa-aaron y-ou’re, y-you’re a…” I stumbled, the words still impossible to get out. A knot formed in my stomach, mixing fear and denial together. A lump formed in my throat, but I forced myself to swallow it. Aaron looked down, turning a little to look at his predicament. “A ghost. Yeah, it looks like it.” “What happened?” I demanded, suddenly furious at him. “Why did you scare me? How did you get yourself killed?” “Hey, calm down. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he answered. “As for the the dying bit. Well, that might have been, eh, well, hm...I might have tried climbing to the top of the house to scare you.” “You what?!” I shouted. “You got yourself killed trying to scare me?” “Aw, come on, it would have been funny.” “Would have been? You are DEAD!” “I’m sort of dead,” Aaron replied, sticking his arm through the wall. “Actually, for that matter, how can you see me?” I clenched my hands, trying to keep myself from shouting. “Is that really your concern right now?” “Well, I’m just curious. Are you like a medium and didn’t tell me?” “Aaron!” “It’s an important question! I want to know who all can see me, 18 The Crucible | Moseley
you know? If I’m gonna be stuck like this,” he replied, pulling his arm back from the wall. “I mean, my parents are going to want to know.” I sighed, and rubbed my temples. “I’m not believing this. This is not happening right now.” “Oh, come on, this could be fun. No more lines, right? I’ll be the first for everything,” Aaron said. “What good does that do you? You’d phase through whatever you were buying.” “I’d...hm,you’re right. This would have been far more useful in high school…” “Aaron!” “Why do you keep shouting at me?” “You’re not taking this seriously.” Aaron shrugged. “I’m dead. We can’t really fix that, can we?” “Can you go back to the part about being dead?” “It’ll be fine.” h h h
“I feel like that’s stereotyping.” “Aaron, it’s exactly what you do.” “I’m not going to be grouped in with some cheesy horror pictures made by people who don’t even know about the real thing. Was I consulted on this? No. No one’s asking me about what it’s like being a ghost. I feel totally misrepresented here.” He was cracking a smile the entire time. I shrugged. “Maybe you should submit your resume to Hollywood then. Be a ghost consultant for horror films.” “Maybe I will then.” Aaron began making sarcastic plans about being a Hollywood star as I worked on balancing our checkbook. It was hard to focus with his atrocious acting. I hadn’t even realized how late it had gotten until about two in the morning, though I wasn’t in the slightest bit tired. “It’ll be the next classic,” Aaron stated, finishing his newly contrived horror plot. “I’d put money on it. If I had any.” “Alright, let’s send the proposal,” I replied, typing up a bunch of Moseley | The Crucible 19
nonsense on an empty document. “Where do I start?” “Start in a swamp. Everything is covered with Spanish moss. It’s midnight and storming.” “Of course, is there any other way to start a horror story?” “You could start in a carriage in the mountains going to a castle and being attacked by wolves.” “Or our wedding night.” “Ouuuch, Mor-” HOOOOONK! Both of us jumped. Tires squealed to a halt. I looked at Aaron. “What was that?” We bolted for the front door. I clutched my phone, hoping no one was hurt, but prepared for an accident in case. A large, black truck had parked itself beneath the streetlamp, a trail of blood dripping from its tires. A big, burly man was swearing on the phone, looking entirely irritated and unconcerned about hitting something. “Yeah, the truck’s fine. Shut the hell up, woman, it was just some stupid bitch that wandered out into the road. The truck is fine!” I lit up my phone, trying to see what was in the road. I covered my mouth. A beautiful red-ish spaniel was lying in the road, though in the bad light, I couldn’t tell if it was her fur or all the blood from being run over by the truck’s massive wheels. Aaron scowled at the sight, and rushed towards the man. “Weren’t you looking where you were going, asshole? That was someone’s dog you just hit!” “Would you shut the hell-” the man stopped, suddenly looking Aaron square in the face. I doubted the man expected to see what he did. Of course, before Aaron could get another word in, the man was racing to his vehicle. In a matter of seconds, the truck had peeled off in the other direction. “What a jerk,” Aaron grumbled, floating back over to me. He sighed at the dog’s body, though as he squatted next to me, a little wisp jumped up from the corpse. It shook itself off, and suddenly the fluffy, bouncing form of the dog pranced over to Aaron. He rubbed her between the ears. “Hey, there girl. Hey, you’re alright.” 20 The Crucible | Moseley
“Aaron, we can’t have a dog. I don’t know how to take care of a ghost dog. You hardly know how to take care of yourself.” “It’ll be fine.” h h h
“Mooooooooooom!” I sighed, setting my briefcase down. “I’ve been home five minutes, and already I’ve got people wailing like ghosts at me.” I walked into the kitchen, where a very cross Meghan was staring at me. “What is it?” “Dad scared off Evan again,” she told me as Aaron floated into the room, a smug look on his face. He had definitely done something. “Is that true?” I asked, sending a scowl his way. Aaron shrugged. “Look, I just reminded the boy who was in charge. I didn’t like how he was touching my daughter.” “He had his arm over my shoulder,” Meghan returned. “Exactly.” “Aaron,” I barked, forcing him to break his smug expression. “You can’t go scaring off every boy who walks into this house. You never gave any of Noah’s boyfriends a hard time, you need to lay off Meghan’s.” Meghan beamed in triumph. I quickly added, “Don’t get smug with him either, missy. You have a test at the end of the week, and you know you need to be studying for it. We already agreed Evan wasn’t allowed to come over tonight.” “But Moooom!” “There is no wailing in this household. Studying, now, and he’s not coming back over until after you’re done with your exam.” Meghan sent me a pair of daggers I readily returned. She grumbled as she made her way upstairs. I looked at Aaron. “You and me are having a talk.” “But Mooooooom!” I sent him a pair of daggers far more fierce than Meghan’s. She had learned well. “Alright, fine,” Aaron whined, recoiling at my glare. “You need to stop scaring her boyfriends.” Moseley | The Crucible 21
“I’m her father. If they can’t handle me, then they don’t deserve her.” “What exactly did you do to the poor boy, because he’s not here now.” “I just poltergeist-ed the TV. Made one of the monsters look like it was jumping out of them. You should have seen him, Morgan. He went running! Oh, it was the best.” “Meghan’s right, you are a monster.” “He-hey, that’s not very nice.” “You’ve scared every boy who’s tried getting close to her.” “I’m trying to protect her!” “Did you try to protect Noah?” “Noah wasn’t afraid to punch someone. Meghan won’t do it.” I crossed my arms. “Are you encouraging violence?” “No, I’m- What do you want me to do? I gotta test the kid. I’m her dad. And I know me being like this makes that even tougher on her, but doesn’t that mean whatever guy sticks around instead of running for the hills actually cares about her?” “I think that’s a really cruel test, and I don’t think you have any proof.” “You’ve stuck around, haven’t you?” I paused, trying not to smile as he grinned with pride. His smug expression came back, and I bit my lip as he enjoyed that moment of saying something outstandingly sweet. “No more TVs,” I finished, before my straight face broke. “This is testing, not psychologically traumatizing.” The doorbell rang. The both of us turned towards the front door as a shaky voice made its way to the kitchen. “Me-Meghan? Are you alright? I’m sorry. I saw the ghost, and I tried to...are you ok?” I turned back to Aaron. His smile broadened. “It’ll be fiiine.” h h h
“Mom, are you sure?” I sighed, taking a deep breath in. I looked out the window. Aaron paced nervously on the porch of the old house. 60 years hadn’t helped it, though Aaron hadn’t aged a day. 22 The Crucible | Moseley
A coughing fit overtook me, and Meghan reached over from the driver’s seat. “Mom!” I put up a hand and just nodded, before covering my mouth as another fit came over me. Noah opened the car door, and the both of them helped me out of my seat. The sun was filtering itself through the Spanish moss. It was a lot brighter now than it was when I first had been here. That was a long time ago though. The three of us walked over to a mound beneath one of the ancient oaks outside the house. A little wooden cross had been set to mark the location. I leaned heavily on my cane in one hand, and Meghan’s arm on the other side, trying to stay upright. After a moment, I found my gaze stuck on Aaron, awkwardly pacing the porch. Minutes later, I was making my way over to the porch on my own. Aaron’s expression was grim. “You’re sure you want to do this, Morgan? You know, there are way better-” “I’ve already made up my mind about it, Aaron. Just tell me where to go.” Aaron passed through the door. I looked back one more time. Meghan was leaning against her brother. Both of them were staring at the grave. Meghan was crying loudly, and Noah trying to not to cry at all. I pushed the door open. It was significantly harder this time. Age was more powerful than wind. The door creaked. My bones creaked. Everything creaked. The wind barely jostled the house, but just enough that I could remember the fear from that night in the storm. I laughed, remembering for a moment the monster I thought lurked in the house. “Up here.” Aaron hovered above the stairs. Leaning heavily on my cane, I followed. It was hard work. Aaron stayed by my side, trying to offer support. The further up we went, the more I felt like, for the first time in over 60 years, I could actually feel him there. “Don’t ghosts usually stick around because they have unfinished business or something?” I asked, my voice hoarse from coughing and breathing hard from the climb. “That’s the idea.” Moseley | The Crucible 23
“So what was yours?” We came to the roof. It wasn’t exactly flat, but if I didn’t move, I was certain I wouldn’t fall. Well, almost certain. It was beautiful though. You could nearly see over the trees, and the sun was setting beyond that. What a beautiful way to go. “Well, I couldn’t leave you.” I looked at Aaron. For as long as he had been like this, he hadn’t aged a day. Always that young, handsome man who I’d lost here years ago. Now, all that remained was that goofy face on a body I hardly recognized for a moment. I don’t know if he had always been aging and I had just chosen to ignore it, or if just now time caught up with him, as if he had never died. But now he looked as old as me. Older, even. But just as handsome. “Aaron,” I replied, tears in my eyes. “I mean, we said death do us part and all that, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. I wanted to be with you. But I’m sorry. All these years must have been difficult for you. If I had just-” “Aaron,” I cut him off. “I couldn’t imagine having spent a better life than the life I got to live with you, and the amazing family we raised together.” He was crying. I realized suddenly so was I. He laughed, though it was more like a hiccup with him crying. “You know, I was scared, when I first found you after it happened. Worried that you’d leave. That I’d hurt you because I was dead. But you never cried. You just accepted it. And now, here I am, been dead for 60 something years, and I’m bawling my eyes out.” I laughed, and shook my head. “You scared me pretty badly that day. Not to mention, I was pretty livid at you.” “Ha, sorry.” “No, it would have made a great joke. Pretty good story to tell now though.” “Yeah, I guess.” There was silence. The sun sunk further on the horizon. An eerie silence crept in, and I started to feel a chill run down my spine. “Morgan, are you really sure about this? I can go get Meghan and Noah and help you down. We can head back to town, and-” 24 The Crucible | Moseley
As the sun began to fade, I kissed him. For the first time in 60 years, I felt the warmth of my husband next to me. He rested his forehead against mine as I started to feel myself fall backwards. “It’ll be fine.”
Moseley | The Crucible 25
nonfiction
My dad proposed his own theory about what It was—a transdimensional being using my fear to cross over into our world. He was joking of course, but that’s not comforting. This is the most vivid dream I’ve ever had. Something woke me in the morning, and I went to the backyard. There weren’t any unusual sounds, but I knew I had to go outside and look at the sky. My brother came with me. Due west in the sky, some distance above the horizon, was a light. It hung in the air, a little larger than Venus on a clear night. I looked at it for some time, wondering why there was an object that bright in the sky during the day. The light got larger—not brighter, just larger. It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t actually growing. It was getting closer. There was a small part of me at that moment that felt worry. It could have been a comet headed directly for us, but it was too slow. Mostly, I was just transfixed. It was beautiful and exciting. Then the light broke, eight smaller lights separating from the main light and encircling it. Whatever this was, it wasn’t normal or natural. My dad and I are both interested in UFOs and alien conspiracies. My first reaction was to go and get him. My brother went back around to the front to grab something. I ran into the house, entering through the basement door. The door to my parents’ room is right next to that, and I knocked and shouted for my dad. 26 The Crucible | Hutchins
“Dad! Where’s the video camera?” I called. I rummaged in the TV room, digging through my dad’s plethora of electronics. In my excitement I stumbled and tripped. Urgency gripped me as I looked for the camera. “Why?” He asked. He sounded groggy and unhappy that I was making so much noise at nine in the morning. All I could think to answer was that there was something in the sky and he had to come see it. I tried a couple times to convince him, but he refused. I disentangled myself from cordage, frustrated that I couldn’t find the camera and get him to come out. I ran upstairs, hoping the camera might be under the coffee table. Part of me considered getting my sisters, but I knew they wouldn’t be interested in strange lights in the sky. Not finding the camera, I rushed back outside to see how the lights were progressing. I ran down the steps into the back yard, ducking under the wire that keeps our fence standing. I took up my position on the patio again, staring at the sky. Eight lights still hung around the first. From those, multitudes of small spots broke off, circling the eight small lights. But unlike the nine lights I had first seen, the small spots continued to multiply, and race towards earth. I could see them, red and white and shaped almost like crosses. There were two types, one with straight wings and one with wings set at an angle, so thin and silent I wondered how they were piloted. I knew someone flew the craft—they were not drones. Nothing man-made has ever flown so recklessly. Forward and backward seemed to be the same direction to these ships, up and down mere technicalities. They whirled and spun in the sky as though they were little lego figures being directed by the hands of invisible children. Down the hill, cars finally stopped on the highway, people staring at the objects. I was the only observer who didn’t feel fear. I knew people were frightened, but I was consumed with joy. Proof, mystery, science and creation were all in the sky before me. The ships came in low. I think the first emotion that wasn’t good was surprise. Crackling, green beams rained down, and where they touched they not only cut Hutchins | The Crucible 27
through anything in their path, they burst and burned. My attention was taken from the lights and carnage. A figure stood before me. It was something I have never been able to account for. There was a suggestion of color to It, a seeming of light. But while I could see everything around me in perfect clarity my eyes danced off this figure over and over. I could not see It, I simply knew It was there, tall, lean, and dark like the blur of a shadow seen from the corner of my eye. It held something. I turned, hearing my brother call out to me. He was on the steps leading to the yard, then a light passed through him. If he was completely destroyed by the resulting explosion, I didn’t watch long enough to know. I had turned back around. The thing before me held the object like a gun, and swept a blurry arm towards me. The green lights raced all around the yard. A beam sliced through my house and the ground shook beneath me. If It could see me, It didn’t get close. It was wanton destruction, and I was sure I would be caught in the middle. Then I realized It did see me, It just didn’t care. My heart skipped a beat, and fear gripped me for the first time, but the vision continued. I turned to run down the hill. The moment I moved, the beam came for me. I saw, rather than felt, it slice through my middle. Realizing I was still in a single piece, alive though I should had been sliced in half, intensified the new feeling of terror that had been sparked. I fell to my knees and looked towards the creature I could not see. It didn’t move, and I couldn’t see if It had a mouth. But It spoke—a voice and words I will never forget: “Thanks for opening a door for me.” I told my dad in the morning, drawing images I had seen on a scrap of paper. I wrote the entire dream on that page and put it in my room in a binder with my short stories. Even now, I can remember almost every detail, which is good because two days later the paper went missing.
28 The Crucible | Hutchins
Flames lick lightly against my face, tickling my exposed skin as I creep from room to room in search of my target. Laughing inferno ravenously consumes the structure of wood and metal. Greedy element that it is still devours the house quicker than I anticipated. Smoke floats high, dancing on the ceiling, obscuring vision and emanating an almost relaxing aroma. Reminiscent of campfires on star filled nights, comforting in its familiarity. Once white paint, now stained with soot peels swiftly from its formerly snug marriage with the walls. Distasteful forest-colored shag carpet melts under the intense heat of the spreading fire, the now waxy texture of the formerly fiber floor squishes under my sneakers. My exquisite balance from years of dance training saves me from slipping on the sticky and slick surface. My slow trudge down the blazing hallway leads to the target trapped in what was once a bedroom. Pressing my palm firmly against the solid hard wood door, I feel the glowing embers steadily eating the lumber, proof of the house’s age as it puts up a futile fight against becoming charcoal and ash. Silently offering my respects to the valiant piece of timber, I confidently stride into the scorching heat. A cold smile cuts across my pale face as I once again offer thanks to the deities for my new body, glorious in design that cannot be harmed by mortal threats such as this blistering heat. My target cowers in the center of the room encircled by a ring of leaping blazes. His eyes are wide in fear as tears fall freely from Brown | The Crucible 29
them, creating the illusion of flamed filled orbs. Between coughs he mumbles prayers to his God to save his pathetic existence from the living breathing inferno he created. Humans never respect nature and the elements, thinking them easily controlled or destroyed. A snicker escapes my violet-hued lips as my mercury colored eyes linger on his shaking form, looks like he has learned that natural power is not so passive a thing to allow mortals to hold its leash without biting back. His incessant cowering confounds me, why do mortals fear the inevitable? They know from birth that death lurks in the corner, patiently waiting to retrieve their souls from the fragile shells they inhabit. Why do they recoil from its sweet and comforting embrace? I didn’t shrink from death, so I have no pity for those that do. “You can’t have him.” Snapped out of my musings by the strong yet soft voice, I almost groan in annoyance. Why now? Why do I have to deal with this pompous, self-righteous ass when I’m so close to collecting this puny mortal’s soul and calling it a night? Materializing behind me is the mortal’s Guardian, a human’s reward for good deeds in a previous life. When reborn they have a Guardian for a specified amount of time. Damn it. My simple assignment has just hit a snag that happens to be a dickhead. “What a surprise. It’s been a while Adrian. Hey, is that a wrinkle? Maybe you should consider Botox. The humans seem very fond of it. You really should take better care of yourself, maybe take some time off.” My voice falsely sweet and dripping sarcasm as I meet his dark, unremarkable brown eyes. I wish I could harm him, the very picture of cocky arrogance, but I have rules to follow, damn rules. “Now Willow my dear, you should know better than to try and take a protected soul. I’m very disappointed in you.” He smiles widely and tries to chuckle in his usual condescending manner, but my comments seem to have gotten to him, if only a little. Good. I hate him; the idea of getting under his conceited skin pleases me more than it should. Thinks he is so high and mighty, we Reapers are just as important as the infuriatingly revered Guardians if not more so, bloody bastard. “Didn’t know this one’s protected, it wasn’t in the memo. I just go where I’m told to go, so bite me. And what’s with the suit Adri30 The Crucible | Brown
an? I thought I told you to change your old fashioned look.” His eyes narrow in fury, not used to a reaper being so disrespectful, especially not twice in less than five minutes. I can’t help myself by antagonizing him every chance I get, which to our mutual frustration has been fairly often as of late. “Some of us prefer to dress professionally my dear.” He comments while sneering disapprovingly at my own attire. Brown orbs flicking up then down taking in my faded and torn blue jeans, heavy scuffed black boots, loose fitting t-shirt with a random band of the week logo displayed prominently, my amethyst and raven streaked hair pulled back from my vampiric, pale complexion emphasizing my silver eyes that must glitter in the increasing firelight surrounding us, violet painted lips and lilac eye shadow. I find nothing wrong with my wardrobe or appearance in general. Not giving him the satisfaction of squirming or looking sheepish, I stare back unfazed. His clothing isn’t my cup of tea either. Pinstriped suit in standard black looking uncomfortably stiff, an off-white almost cream dress shirt and baby blue tie with perfectly matching hancherchief poking out of his breast pocket. His slicked back black hair gives the impression of car oil turned into hair, slightly tanned skin without any trace of orange, shows it to be real instead of fake spray-on chemicals. His eyes are dull brown that fail to show any sign of life or glow despite our brightly blazing location. It must have been in style a few decades ago, but to each their own I suppose. However, dull it may be. Poor Adrian just rises to my bait with every comment. Talking for nearly ten minutes straight is a record for us, uncivil as it may be. He seems to have forgotten his charge preferring his unsuccessful attempts to insult me. All the better for my purpose here. My attention shifts from Adrian back to my target still cowering on the floor. The flames consume the room moving closer to the human, his breathing now labored and burns an angry red against his dark skin. All possibility of escape now unattainable. Perhaps by the time he remembers why he is here the stupid human will be dead and I won’t have had to even lift a finger. I can just wait for the dazzling blaze or the continuing lack of oxygen to extinguish his still beating heart. However, that is far too lazy for my Brown | The Crucible 31
work ethic to allow, especially with the irritating bastard observing me. Even if Adrian wasn’t here it’s not really my style to take the hands off approach, I enjoy my work far too much for that. Glancing around the room as subtly as possible I notice the crumbling ceiling about to collapse under its own weight, the fire too much for the structure to fight any longer. It won’t take much to push it past its literal breaking point. Sending a minuscule amount of energy to the feeblest portions of the ceiling I force it to deteriorate and collapse on the unsuspecting mortal. “Nice try my dear, truly lovely effort, but not nearly good enough.” I snap my head in the direction of Adrian’s overly smug voice so fast I could have had whiplash (if I wasn’t a Reaper mind you) to see my target safely with Adrian on the other side of the room. “Quick reflexes, I’ll give you that, but there is no way that puny insignificant mortal is getting out of this house alive.” My tone drips ice as I glare venomously at Adrian. I ball my fists and grind my teeth. How dare he get in my way. “This puny mortal as you ignorantly put it is not insignificant and I promise you he will make it out of here alive. I will make sure of it. I have guarded this young man since he was born and I have grown attached to him. You will not take him!” he spits at my feet and stand rigidly in front of the shaking human. His perfectly manicured nails bite into his to soft Guardian flesh from the tightly balled fists that shake with restrained anger. Unable to hide my surprise at his behavior, my mouth hangs slightly ajar from my quickly relaxed jaw, my entire posture suddenly tense as I step back, wary of this outburst. He actually spat at me. In all the years I have the displeasure of knowing Adrian he has always been a cocky, condescending by-the-book asshole. Never once showing the slightest hint of emotional attachment with any of his human charges. This new development definitely changes the equation; jumping from algebra to calculus in the blink of a coffee tinted eye. Damn, math was never my strong suit. Great I will have to tip toe around an emotionally compromised Guardian with a protected charge while trying to get the soul I was sent to collect. This just gets better and better. 32 The Crucible | Brown
While suspended in my shocked stupor Adrian whispers in his charger’s ear. The human can’t hear us nor see us, but if we try hard enough we can give impressions, inspiration, ideas, feelings that sensitive mortals can pick up. The human smiles in relief and wipes tears and snot off his burned face, he stumbles on wobbling legs as if a great epiphany has hit him like the proverbial bolt of lightning. It seems Adrian’s message got through, lucky human. All the good it will do him, there is no way out. The only escape left to him is death. He struggles towards the conflagration that was once the strong oak door long since engulfed by the overwhelming destruction this human hoped to survive. Curiosity gets the better of me and I stand to the side to watch the human’s pitiful attempts to escape his fate. Slowly straightening his charred arms, obvious pain twists his features in a determined grimace, disregarding the leaping flames nearing his scorched limbs. His glistening eyes close against the intense heat, narrowing singed eyebrows in concentration he swings his arms up wildly and the flames follows like an obedient dog. Next swinging his arms towards the ground and the fire sputters and then extinguishes as if they had never been. Shock overwhelms me for the second time within the span of a few short minutes. This mortal is a pryokenetic. How could I forget, it was in his file, in large bold writing no less. Hell his underdeveloped power is how this fire started. While cursing myself for this unforgiveable forgetfulness, the relieved and dumbfounded human rushes out of the ruined bedroom. It takes only seconds to snap out of my shock and pursue my target. Calling upon his ill-used power to escape the death trap he accidentally created is genius and I should have considered this possibility. I find him trapped in the flame-––laced passage. He mumbles something about it being a hall to hell. I laugh so hard I snort through my nose. Overcoming my laughing fit I form my plan to collect this soul and get home. This mortal has been guarded since birth; apparently he was very good being in his previous life, which means his time of protection should be up soon. Concentrating on the pulse of the magical ties this human has to Adrian and his protection I notice its steady unBrown | The Crucible 33
raveling heralding the end of Adrian’s Guardian contract. How fortuitous, guess the boss didn’t screw up sending me to collect a protected soul after all. All I have to do is stall them until the binding breaks, then that soul is mine and Adrian won’t be able to do a thing to stop me. I feel a cruel smirk glide its way across my face as I casually flick my wrist at random objects and combustible flames. Each time Adrian shields the human and urges him forward with soothing and encouraging words of hope. I use the ruse several more times, another part of the ceiling collapses, the skeletal remains of a book shelf topple over, a floor board cracks under his weight tripping him, chemicals from the kitchen explode causing a shower of broken and half melted glass to fly towards him when he passes the kitchen. Adrian shields his charge each time sending a grin at me as they near the front door. He thinks he is winning. Arrogant fool. I hear shouting from outside and it occurs to me that maybe he isn’t as arrogant as I thought. Human fire men obliterate the door with axes of shining steel. Covered from head to toe in protective gear then remind me of old sci-fi movies when the aliens enter the house to abduct the unsuspecting victim, only this time it’s a fearless rescue. I huff in frustration as my prey is saved from the inferno meant to be his grave. “Well it seems that I win my dear,” Adrian says watching his charge being cared for by the paramedics. He should have been rushed straight to the hospital, to a burn ward, but he is fighting. “So it seems,” I agree non-committedly. “Now there is no need to be upset my dear, you put up an admirable fight. You just had the unfortunate luck of going up against your better. Perhaps someday you will best me.” Positively gloating, his obnoxious smile showing all his pearly-whites. I stare blankly at him, silently seething. Trying hard to keep my jaw unclenched and my hands flat against my sides. Don’t give him any hints, don’t let him know; let him think he’s won. I repeat this mantra in my head as he continues to ramble about how amazing his abilities are and that this outcome was inevitable. Well, we’ll see about that. “No, no I can’t leave yet. Ralphie, I have to get Ralphie! I have to go back. He’s still in there!” the human in near hysterics pushes against the paramedic trying to put in an IV which is probably a 34 The Crucible | Brown
sedative of some kind. “Sir, you have to calm down or you will go into shock. There you go that’s better. Who’s Ralphie and where in the house is he?” the paramedic, a young woman with short blonde hair in a tight ponytail speaks soothingly to my distraught target. His Guardian is by his side sending calming energy to his charge. Distracted the lot of them, this can work in my favor. “He’s my dog… a terrier. He’s brown and black and… he was in the laundry room, it’s where he sleeps. Please… you have to go get him. He’s my only family. Please.” Sobbing against the poor woman’s shoulder his words come out in clipped phrases. She waves to her partner to tell the firemen about the dog, though it’s obvious to everyone that there is no way little Ralphie could be alive. Perfect, that’s all I needed. My senses feel a dark pulse of potential disaster coming towards us. Not my problem another Reaper is on the way, but I can use this to my advantage. Concentrating on a little black and brown terrier I form the illusion effortlessly. Now I investigate the tie between human and Guardian to find it’s almost vanished, I count down the seconds like it New Year’s Eve at midnight. Four, three, two, one, it’s show time. My Ralphie fake darts across the yard barely singed towards the road. Right on cue my target sees his “family” rushing towards danger and shoves the young paramedic on the ground, dead yellow grass scrapes her face and hands as she yells for him to stop. In spite of his injuries his books it towards Ralphie oblivious to his pain. Adrenalin, the miracle chemical of the human body, gotta love it. In all the commotion of the fire, escaping “dog,” and pursuing burn victim no one noticed the oncoming drunk driver. Conveniently speeding down the wrong side of the road headed straight for my target. I just love it when a plan comes together so perfectly. Noises is all that happens for the next couple seconds, screamed warnings, truck horn blaring, tires screeching and then complete and utter silence. My target is nothing but a crimson smear across the asphalt. Torn limbs, exposed bones, perforated organs strung for yards down the road. His life’s liquid glistens in the firelight, beautiful yet gruesome, like a macabre Jackson Pollock that a serial killer would love Brown | The Crucible 35
to hang in his living room. Adrian stares dumbly at what’s left of his former charge. He turns wide eyes to me, his mouth is moving but no sound accompanies the movement. I flash him a dazzling smile as I turn away flipping a lock of my dual-streaked hair over my shoulder. I can finally collect the soul I was sent to get earlier this evening. I pull his soul up and steady him while he collects his balance. He turns dazed and confused azure eyes to me, completely normal for the newly deceased. He turns to stare at the ruin that was once his earthly shell screaming in fear. “What happened? What’s going on? Who are you?” Again routine questions, though I wish someone would ask something original. After the living-impaired get their wits about them the next questions are usually are we alone in the universe? Is there a god? What is the meaning of life? Where is your black cloak and scythe? Who really killed JFK? Always the same, no variation, it get tiresome. I so don’t feel like dealing with that shit tonight. A little energy boost, subliminal message and voilà “sleeping-not-an-annoyingpain-in-my-ass-soul” ready for delivery to the boss. I really deserve a bonus for this one, maybe hazard pay. Got to look into it. Or at least a day off. Turning back to Adrian I holler“Looks like I won. Better luck next time.” With that last remark I grab my easy-to-manage soul and high tail it back home. Maybe now I can get some much needed down time. It’s not easy being a Reaper.
36 The Crucible | Brown
Cyrsta Clow
Snapchat Horror
Clow | The Crucible 37
This can’t be happening. What am I supposed to do? It’s staring at me from across the room, settled on the door. Beady eyes tear across my form as it challenges me to move from the spot I’m huddled against. The creature twitches slightly and I recoil even further into the wall. I can’t breathe. The sounds coming from my mouth are unfamiliar as they reach my ears. Wheezing, coughing, breathing much too rapid. My mouth is painfully dry, and my tongue is swollen as I try to swallow. A hard lump goes down my throat, which I’m pretty sure is my heart. There’s no escape. I had come into the room to change after I came home from work, unaware of the beast’s presence. Only once I’d turned around had I realized the horror in the space with me, the sight eliciting a shrill screech from my lips. Now it lounges on the bedroom door, the only exit from the room. I understand that I am not fast enough to evade it should it come after me. I can’t open the door without nearing the hideous thing, and it knows it. It mocks me silently as it continues to observe my shaking. I’m barely standing as I return its gaze fearfully, my legs trembling with such ferocity that I need to hold onto the bedside table next to me for support. I force myself to loosen the death grip of my clenched fingers, color returning to the previously white appendages. They don’t remain still when I run them across a nearby framed picture on the furniture, the image capturing Jackson and I seated 38 The Crucible | Siegle
together at the beach. I’m hoping the sight will calm me down, but it isn’t working. The thing in the room is huge. Its grotesque body contorts against the wood, spindly legs incessantly feeling around. The mottled brown of its wings looks rotted, not unlike the creature itself. A long, slick abdomen lies beneath them, appearing to pulsate. I feel nauseated. It moves lower on the door, and for a moment I am paralyzed as I watch it. Is it going to move? It travels a bit more before stopping, merely sticking to the surface with its feet. Okay, calm down. I can do this. I can get away. Right? Think. Breathe. That’s what I need to do, think and breathe. I drag in something ragged that can’t be considered an actual breath, but it’s the best I can do. Now time to think. The window? No, I’m up too high. I curse my love for the 6th floor view when Jackson and I bought it. Okay, what else? No more doors. Is this the room with the attic door? No. God, how I wish I had the creepy door right about now. I wouldn’t even care if some other nightmare was up there. Anything to get me out of this one’s line of sight. Could Jackson help me? I check the time. Oh no. He won’t be home for at least another hour, and that’s if there’s no traffic. Who knows what this thing could do to me in that time? No, I am going to have to help myself. Do I have any chance of killing it? I guess, but considering how fast it was when it announced its presence by flying by, I doubt it. I don’t even have anything with a long enough reach to get it. The other choice is to kill it close range, but the thought of getting near it causes a deep dread to spread throughout my chest. The only option left is to make a run for it. I’m going to have to lunge for the handle on the door and wrench it open with enough force to jar the creature off, giving me enough time to slip away. Maybe I can barricade it inside. I’m going to have to be stealthy and quick. I release my tight hold on the table, preparing myself. Okay. Okay. I can do this. I circle around the bed, watching the wings flutter ever so slightly. It hasn’t moved much. I step a few times, cautious, my eyes Siegle | The Crucible 39
trained on the figure. Move. Come on. Just move a little to the left, I need to get to the knob. Yes! I creep forward, timid. It still isn’t moving. My heart is slamming against my ribs, aching as I nudge ahead. My breathing is even more rapid now, short gasps escaping me. My lungs are constricted, feeling like they’re weighed down with iron. The hair on the back of my neck stands at attention like a well-trained military unit. Goosebumps trail up my arms, shivers accompanying them. I’m almost to the door now. My legs are shaking worse than ever, so bad I can barely even stand. I can feel the tears pricking my eyes, the sting bringing with it a blur of liquid that obscures my vision. This only lends to my growing panic. I’m within reaching distance of the door knob now. Unfortunately, the close proximity to it also places me near the monster. I can practically feel it shift back and forth on its legs, the distance between us seems so small. I’m close enough I could lean forward and touch it, not that I have the desire to do so. The sight of it is even more ghastly from where I’m standing. Fueled by my terror and vivid imagination, the revolting patterns on its wings twist into grim images of haunted faces. The beast stares at me, unflinching, daring me to edge closer so it can attack. The dark eyes appear to be endless. The black depths of its soul seep out from the sockets, trying to pull me in. It undulates where it sits, legs poised to press off the surface quick as lightning should I move. It’s now or never. I lunge for the door, and this is when the creature strikes. It slams into my arm, causing my immediate recoil. It dives again, this time aiming for my face. I shriek and pull back, ducking as I do so. I turn, driven away from the exit by the relentless creature. Where can I go? The sound of wingbeats fills my ears, growing louder until it’s the only thing I can hear in between the pulses of blood rushing through my heart. The constant roar of my heartbeat deafens me as I skitter around the room to avoid the continuous assault. The creature swoops down wildly, tracing an erratic path around the room. I dash to hide behind the bed, trying to keep my eyes on 40 The Crucible | Siegle
it. But as I rise again, I don’t see it. I’ve lost it. This is bad. This is extraordinarily bad. It’s too quiet. I can’t hear it brush against anything, only the sound of my still frantic breathing. The light of the day has begun to fade, the sun lending its support and safety no longer. A dim crepuscular ray is the only thing penetrating the shadows now invading the room. Is it safe to reach for the light switch? It’s all the way across the room, and with no knowledge of the whereabouts of the nightmare hunting me, the voyage seems too precarious. How could I have lost something so spine-chilling? How did I let it out of my sight? The moment of quiet continues as my eyes scan the area, desperate to find it again. Muffled noises of traffic outside sound in my ears. Then something collides with the back of my neck, the feeling of six individual legs suctioning to my skin. I scream again, fumbling with my shirt as I try to shake off the horror clinging to me. My fingers brush against it, and I have to hold down the bile rising in my throat at the touch. I finally manage to fling it off of me, and I sprint towards the armoire. I can’t escape the beast’s torment from an undefended position. I trip on the leg of the desk chair, crashing into the side of it and landing sprawled out on the floor. The air in my lungs leaves me for a moment, but I shake my head and spring back into a standing position. Once I reach the armoire, I take a glance back to see the creature still zigzagging across the room. It’s making its way over to me. I climb in, shoving back coats and scarves to make a crevice I can fit in. Now the winged being is flying straight at my position, and I’m struggling to close the panels because of my legs. I jam my back against the wood of the furniture, pulling my knees up as far as they go. I thank every deity I can think of it when the doors finally close. I’m safe, for now. I suddenly hear a resounding thud against the wood. The awful thing residing outside is scrabbling against the armoire, attempting to find purchase on its exterior. A constant buzzing sounds lightly, a noise unnatural and disturbing to me. Tears pool up in my eyes again as I bury my face into my knees. Siegle | The Crucible 41
For a moment I have the urge to call Jackson, to hear his voice. I’m just so scared, I need someone I trust to talk to. I want to listen to anything that’s not the disjointed breaths of air my lungs struggle to pull in. But I now realize I’ve carelessly left my phone out on the table in the living room. I’m utterly alone. A broken keen escapes my throat as I realize the desperation of my situation. The sound of the wings brushing against the wood startles me once again. How long have I been avoiding the monster? Half an hour? Maybe even a full one? The rapid, fluttering appendages outside keep connecting with the wood panels softly, causing me to curl even further into myself. My back is throbbing, a sharp pain lancing through the spot where my spine is wedged against a corner. I’m not sure how long I can hold this position, but I don’t intend to face the object of my fear. Time passes, the dim light coming through the cracks on the armoire fading away until I am left to sit in the gloom of night. My body has stopped feeling agony, now only presenting me with the dull, numbing sensation of poor circulation occasionally punctuated with pinpricks. The creature has ceased to make any noise, but I know it’s just waiting for its chance to strike again. I hear rustling from another room. Is Jackson home? I hope desperately this is the case. “Sarah?” I hear a muffled voice call. “Are you home?” I have to call him. If he thinks I’m out with friends I’ll never be able to leave. How can I respond without endangering myself? “Sarah?” Jackson calls again, this time closer. “In here!” I shout, panicked. “In the bedroom!” The light switch is flicked on with a click, and a warm glow slips through the cracks. “Where?” I hear him ask in a confused tone. “Umm,” I comment hesitantly, “the armoire?” There’s a moment of silence as he takes in what I just said. Then I am temporarily blinded as the doors swing open. “Sarah?” Jackson asks once more, this time incredulous. “What on Earth are you doing in here?” “I, uh,” I start, but abandon the thought when I see the monster 42 The Crucible | Siegle
rise up from behind him. “Watch out!” He stiffens slightly when the creature makes impact with his face, bouncing harmlessly against his skin. “Oh, look,” he says, realization filling his eyes. “It’s a moth. That’s why you were hiding, isn’t it?” “Get it away!” I squeal as the insect flutters towards me. “Close the doors!” Jackson bites his lip to keep in a laugh, and then sighs. “Calm down,” he soothes, “I’ll get it.” He herds the moth away from my scrunched up form before carefully reaching up to snag it from the air. “Want to see it?” he teases. “No! Stop it! You know I’m scared of them!” “Okay, sorry,” he responds, not in actuality looking apologetic. “I’m just trying to show you they’re not that bad.” He transfers my worst nightmare to one hand, walking to the bedroom window to open it. He makes sure the animal flits through the frame before closing it again. “There,” he says, “it’s safe now. The absolutely harmful monster is gone.” “Don’t be a jerk,” I answer, attempting to push myself out of my spot now that the danger has gone. Jackson strides over to pull me out after my efforts are not successful. I resist the urge to crush him in a grateful hug. Being engulfed in panic any time I see a moth certainly makes my life difficult. Summers in the apartment are sheer terror for me. Thank god for fearless boyfriends. Or at the very least, boyfriends that are fearless of moths. Jackson’s pretty scared of outer space. I took him to see an astronaut thriller last week and he almost cried. There will be no museum trips to that new space exhibit for us. “You do know it can’t hurt you, right?” he asks dubiously, almost as if he can’t quite wrap his head around my actions. “You do know what a phobia is, right?” I ask back, matching his tone. He shrugs, seemingly accepting the question as more of an answer. Siegle | The Crucible 43
“Besides,” I retort, “I just read an article about this girl who had to have a moth removed from her ear. While it was partially alive.” “You, my friend, need to stay away from the internet.” His quips are not meant to hurt, but to instead calm me down. The familiarity of his joking makes the fear of the last hour or so melt away. He ruffles my hair affectionately before giving me a quick peck. “Come on,” he says, gesturing his head to the door. “Let’s go get some dinner. We’ll go somewhere inside so you don’t have to worry about the night lights attracting any more bugs.” The scent of the cooled off tarmac invades my nose when we step outside to the car, the sound of cicadas and commuters commingling in my ears. As we drive out to the restaurant, the cool night breeze weaving pleasantly through our hair, Jackson speaks again. “How long were you trying to avoid that moth?” he asks. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I reply, gazing out the window. “It was more than an hour, wasn’t it?” “Shut up.”
44 The Crucible | Siegle
The boy in the shop had raven eyes. Marcy brandished her broom at him. “Get. Get!” The corner of his mouth tugged into a lopsided grin, and I could see it. The beak, the feathers, all of it lurking beneath smooth, porcelain skin. Then I blinked and it was gone. Left was a thin, teenaged boy in a Dr. Pepper T-shirt. He did his best to give Marcy a pitiful look. “But I’m hungry,” he whined. Something dark was smeared at the corner of his mouth. A few candy bars were clutched in between his slender fingers. Marcy whacked him in the arm. “I said get out!” The boy dodged her second attack and rushed for the door. Just before he exited he twisted back to Marcy and said, “Thanks for the snacks.” Then he was gone. Thanks for the snacks. His mouth had moved, but for some reason the words resonated louder in my head. Except it sounded less like words and more like cawing. Marcy hurled the broom to ground. “I hate them.” She turned back to me. “Every goddamn summer, Ari. Always skulking around, stealing shit.” I went back to wiping down the grimy counter, only half-listening. “I swear, it’s like they can’t find something else to do or another town to harass.” I shrugged. “They like it here.” “Yeah? Well I don’t like them.” She stomped behind the counter Tillar | The Crucible 45
and began to tidy up violently. I glanced at the small analogue clock above the door. 7:50 PM. I finished wiping the counter. “Er, do you mind if I leave a little early?” Marcy regarded me with murder in her eyes. “Leave a little early? Leave a little early? What do you think this is? You’ll leave when you’re done cleaning up.” I gestured toward the spotless shop. “It’s not eight yet.” “I’ll bug you.” Marcy sighed. “Away with you!” I reached under the counter and grabbed my backpack. “Thanks!” “I expect you to be ten minutes early tomorrow.” “Mhm, don’t count on it.” I saluted her as I exited the shop. The familiar doorbell wished me a farewell as I stumbled down the steps. My foot got caught in the gravel path, and I almost had unpleasant relations with the ground before I managed to throw my arms out to catch myself. I picked myself up, knees scraped and hands bleeding. I showed Greer’s a rude gesture. Greer’s was the type of white-trash general-store that tourists found quaint and charming, and even residents found too redneck. The type of store with a graveled parking lot that liked to hurt unsuspecting teenagers, a weathered porch, and a creaky front door that dinged when you stepped inside. Unfortunately, it was the only place even willing to stay open in the summer, let alone hire. Most stores usually closed when they arrived. The sun was low in the sky, a mix of sickly oranges, browns, and reds. Very few people were out now. I didn’t blame them. There were many strange things in Sprawl besides boys who sometimes looked like ravens. I kept my head down and headed for the bus station. At some point a boy in a red jacket took an interest in me and followed along curiously. I let him follow me for a minute before getting annoyed. I whipped around to give him a glare. “Shoo!” He cocked his head to the side as if to say, “What?” “Go on, get!” I turned and took a few steps forward. I sighed 46 The Crucible | Tillar
when I heard him follow. “You stay. Stay.” This continued until we arrived at a familiar, ugly brick building. SPRAWL BUS STATION C was stacked onto the side of the building in big, white, block letters. I turned back to the boy. His innocent expression furrowed into a glare as he took in the building. He muttered something under his breath and scampered away. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and entered the station. An old woman stood behind the counter, tapping away at her keyboard with long red nails. I waited for five minutes as she continued typing, before clearing my throat loudly. This earned me a withering glare, but the woman reluctantly engaged with me. I slipped money across the counter, careful not to get the blood from my scraped hands anywhere. She stared disdainfully at the bills, but accepted them anyway. “Here’s your ticket.” I took the tiny, white slip of paper. They’d updated the greeting for the season. Mine read, Have a Good Day and Enjoy the Secret Season! “Have a nice day,” she said, although it sounded a lot more like, “Go fuck yourself.” I made sure to wipe my bleeding hand on the counter as I left. There was still some time before the bus came, so I cleaned the scrapes on my hands and knees in the dingy bus station bathroom. Once I was done, I sat on a cold bench and waited until the bus arrived. A girl next to me with electric blue tips popped gum, and I tried to ignore the way the skin on her arms seemed almost translucent and a thick coating of fur lurked beneath. Another secret of the universe. Eventually the bus arrived. The door opened and Mr. Gomez, the driver, greeted me with a cheery smile. “Hey, Ari.” “Hi, Mr. Gomez.” I stepped onto the bus and handed him my ticket. “Anything exciting happen today?” “The usual.” Which was pretty much the extent of our converTillar | The Crucible 47
sation every day. Still, Mr. Gomez usually offered me a candy or something else for suffering through the small talk. I took a seat opposite of the driver and stared out the window. Blue-tipped girl tried to follow, but before she could even reach the first step, the Mr. Gomez slammed the door shut. The girl placed the palm of her hand on the glass door and stared in. Her mouth fell open and she panted. “Fucking crazy bitch.” Mr. Gomez pulled the bus from the curb. The girl ran after us until the bus was too far away and she was just a speck in the distance. “I think we should hunt ‘em.” I looked away from the girl. “What?” Mr. Gomez twisted to look at me and I desperately wished he’d keep his eyes on the road. “Me and the boys think we should be allowed to hunt ‘em. Say, fifty dollars per head. That would cut down on the population real quick.” He sent me a sweet smile, and I felt my stomach flip. “That’s murder.” Mr. Gomez snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re a goddamn bleedin’ heart.” “Maybe.” The rest of the bus ride was spent in silence. When I reached the next station, I waved him goodbye and waited for the next bus. Sprawl touted itself as an All-American apple pie town. In reality, Sprawl was four or five hick towns that were too small on their own to really count as anything more than sprawling land space. So the residents decided to come together and call their little corner of America Sprawl. Ha ha. The only thing that really connected them was public transportation. By the time I got home, the sun was down and Ma had left the porch light on. I kicked off my black converse at the door and called out, “Ma!” No response. There were a lot of things to call my home, and silent wasn’t one of them. I hung up my backpack. “Ma! I’m home.” I sniffed once, and then sneezed. Ugh, it was that time of year again. 48 The Crucible | Tillar
“Shhh!” I quirked an eyebrow, a habit my Ma hated with a passion. I followed the sound into the kitchen, and found Ma pressed against the window of our Spanish-styled kitchen. Her hands were trembling. “What’re you doing?” Her response was another harsh shush. I crept behind her and peered out the window. Our backyard had turned into a haze of fire and smoke. Music blared, a slow, mournful tune, but the bodies dancing to it moved energetically. “They’re getting worse. Every year, more of them come. Ain’t right. Ain’t God’s will.” Her voice strengthened around His name, as though just the mere whisper of Him would smite the creatures outside. But they continued on undeterred. I sucked in a lungful of air. “Why didn’t you call Sheriff Olson?” “And what would that lump of a man do?” I pictured Olson, with his gut sagging below his belt, watery eyes, and snot dripping eternally from his nose. Fair point. Ma and I stood silently, watching the bizarre ritual. Some forms were human. Some weren’t. Others were half and half, caught in mid-form. Some said that the human mind couldn’t reconcile certain images, so it tried to fix what you saw. I wondered what it was that my eyes couldn’t see. I swallowed against the lump in my throat, then turned away. “Are we just going to ignore them?” “I don’t know, Ari. What would you have me do?” She sounded exasperated. “We could move them peacefully?” Ma stared at me, and Mr. Gomez’s words echoed though my head. Goddamn bleedin’ heart. I stood with her until I got sick of staring. “I’m going to bed,” I muttered. Have fun watching your monsters, I wanted to add, but I bit my tongue. I crept up to my room. From my window, I could still see the bonfire. The haunting music wafted in through the windows. I shut the window and closed the curtains, but the shadows of their dancing Tillar | The Crucible 49
forms still writhed across my floor. When I’d finally closed my eyes, all I saw was fire. h
h
h
I woke to tapping at the window. My hands clenched and unclenched around the thick blanket. It seemed as though the room had grown warm, but the blanket was the only protection I had against the monsters outside. The tapping persisted. Don’t think about itdon’t think aboutitdon’tthink— The tapping stopped. I released a breath of air that had caught painfully in my chest. Gone gone gone gone gone It was in my room. The shadow of a bird—raven?—loomed over the room. It was impossibly large. The air was suffocating. I slammed my eyes shut, until my face ached from the strain. The sound of footsteps echoed through my room. “Human,” it whispered. Except every letter was dragged out, and it sounded more like, “H-h-u-u-u-m-m-a-a-an.” Creepy. The bed sank down, and I could feel it lean over me. “Human.” It pecked at my side. It repeated this over and over, until, finally, I opened my eyes and looked up. It was the boy from the shop. His mouth was stretched from ear to ear, impish, and his eyes were two pools of fathomless black. “Human,” he said once more, except it didn’t seem as though his lips moved. Or anything really. He didn’t seem to be there at all. Just a trick of light and shadows. My mouth opened and closed several times before I found words that made sense. “This is private property.” It sounded stupid to me. Silly. Inconsequential. Goddamn bleedin’ heart. He nodded to my words. “Yes. Humans are always on our property.” “Our” was punctuated with hoots and calls from outside. He grabbed my arm and yanked me out of bed. It felt like grasping air. We walked over to the window. I glanced down at the mass 50 The Crucible | Tillar
of convulsing bodies. People. I looked away, then back. Animals. My mind couldn’t decide which assumption was correct, and it was maddening. “Want to join?” His smile is mischievous. How are you smiling? How could they grin with those fake faces? He laughed. “I’m faking? I thought humans were the masters of lying.” I said nothing, not the least bit perturbed that he could read my mind. “Want to join?” he asked again. I stared at the mess below. The shaking, spinning, screaming, and hooting. Where did they come from? Who made them? “Another secret of the universe, I think,” he said. The sound of their ritual grew unbearably loud. My eyes widened as I realized that I was in the ritual. I stood close to the flames as the creatures danced around me. Some were dressed, but many had foregone the concept of clothes all together. I looked up and the raven boy was still in my window, smiling. Then he was beside me. I glanced around and saw the girl from the train station, her blue tips bobbing to the music. “What are you celebrating?” “Everything.” Then he grabbed my hand. “Welcome to the Secret Season.”
Tillar | The Crucible 51
Emma Bixby
Sparrow
52 The Crucible | Bixby
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