Chapbook edition
Table of Contents SHORT STORIES The Boy in the Woods.................................................................................4 The Affliction of Cooper Barton...............................................................6 A Drinking Problem...................................................................................9 Vulnerability...............................................................................................11 Greg and Sarah’s Night of Torture and Terror.................................... 13 A Brief Account of Booker House.......................................................... 19
ARTWORK Death............................................................................................................ 22 Spooky Barn................................................................................................ 23 Walk Through The Woods......................................................................24 Baba Yaga..................................................................................................... 25
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SHORT STORIES
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The Boy in the Woods by Alexandra Hill In a small village far away was an urban legend. There was a boy that had gone missing in the haunted woods hundreds of years ago, and the village people never dared to step into those woods. It all started before the woods were presumed to be haunted. Children would run in the field in front of the forest, gather the wildflowers, and chase butterflies. There was one boy, however, that was fond of the forest and wanted to enter it. The village people didn’t mind it, as long the child returned home before dark. He entered the forest and saw a ton of beautiful flowers and varieties of trees. As he got deeper, he felt a strange sensation. Nature was strange to him, but he was interested in it. He headed back to the village and brought home some of the flowers that he found within the forest. As days went by, he would go to the forest every day to explore more and more of it. He loved seeing all the animals and exploring the new scents. However, one day, he got lost in the woods, and no matter where we walked, he couldn’t get out of the forest. It was as if the forest didn’t want him to leave. He began to get scared and cried, falling to his knees as he sobbed. Meanwhile, the villagers began to worry when the little boy didn’t come back from the forest. They went into the forest and searched as far as they could before dark. Once it went dark, they pronounced him missing or dead. The search party went over to his home and told his parents the terrible news. The parents were devastated and sobbed. The boy in the forest was starting to calm down and turned around to see a dark figure looking at him from behind a tree. Curious, the boy went closer only to be impaled by the figure going into the boy’s body and soul. The boy then looked at his hands and began to laugh hysterically. He wasn’t the same boy -4-
anymore. In the present, the village has grown larger, and the legend has stayed alive. No one ever steps foot into the forest. Whenever a child wants to go near, the elders tell the story about the boy that went into that forest and never came back. Some nights, though, some kids claim to have dreams of the forest. In their dreams, they see the boy laughing menacingly with blood flowing out of his eye sockets before they gouge their own eyes out. Right before the boy does, though, the children all wake up. One kid, however, never woke up. The next morning the family went to wake their son up, only to see that he no longer had his eyes and had a scar on his arms, saying, “I am always watching.�
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The Affliction of Cooper Barton by Hannah Waugh The old house on the corner creaked and groaned, its weight bending to the merciless wind. The shifting of the rotting planks and boards eerily resembled the moaning of a human voice. The house appeared as if it had been pleasant-looking in its prime; an open porch snaked around the outside of the house, and a winding garden pathway led to the front door. The wide double doors had been delicately engraved, a brass knocker centered on each. Time, however, had degraded the house. The paint was peeling back to reveal the rotting wood underneath, and the brass had tarnished to a deep, green hue. The garden had been neglected for years and now only contained overgrown weeds and the skeletal remains of dead shrubs. Its name was Blight Manor. Despite its appearance, Blight Manor was occupied. A man lived within it; he had inherited it from an anonymous, deceased relative, people said. Or perhaps he had bought it to carry out his shady business, the bolder ones said. People spoke about this man behind his back, but not one of them had ever said one word to the man; the townsfolk went to great lengths to avoid him. Parents told their children that he was the worst kind of man. This man, you see, was a writer. His name was Cooper Barton. He was known to lock himself in his house for weeks at a time, never emerging until his deadline was met. He spoke to no one, acknowledged no one, and they did the same to him. Tonight he had shut himself up in the house, as it was the night before his deadline. Within the house, the man sat at a worn, wooden desk
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in the library. He was a small man, and the ornate chair seemed to swallow him whole. Bookcases towered around him, their shelves filled with tomes that used to inspire Cooper; now, they only taunted him. A laptop was perched upon the desk, its bright screen illuminating the small room. A document was visible on the screen. Cooper leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest. He stared at the words on the screen, watching the blinking of the cursor. Cooper allowed his heavy eyes to slide closed. He listened to the shifting of the house, wishing he could decipher the meaning of the groans. Imagine all this house has seen, he thought. If only it could give him inspiration‌ The floorboards behind his chair shifted, and the sound startled Cooper awake. He sat up in his chair, frantically looking left and right. The shadows seemed to be swirling and pulsing around him, but the house was silent again. The man scolded himself for being so easily frightened, settling back into his chair. He fell back into the ritual of staring at the blinking cursor, his eyes closing once again. A door upstairs slammed, the noise reverberating throughout the whole house. It echoed, reaching Cooper’s ears time and time again. He stood, positive that he was no longer alone within the house. Stepping delicately across the wooden floor of the foyer, he came to stand at the foot of the winding staircase. He strained his ears, listening for any noise that may have revealed what was waiting for him. Seconds passed, then minutes, but to Cooper, it felt like hours. After confirming the silence time and time again, he ascended the staircase. Each step creaked underneath his weight. Cooper stood at the mouth of a long hallway, lined on each side by wooden doors. Peering at each of these doors, he discovered that all but one stood ajar. He took a delicate step toward this door, careful to place his feet only where the wood would not creak and groan. Standing just outside the door for a minute, he listened for any noises coming from within. He heard nothing. Hesitantly grabbing the doorknob, he swung the heavy, wooden door open, revealing the grotesque scene within. Within the veil of darkness of the bedroom, Cooper could make out the outline of something sinister. It was sitting in the -7-
center of the room, hunched over what appeared to be a dead bird. It was tearing at the animal with claws and teeth, and feathers littered the small room. It had heard him enter and turned to him with its black, soulless eyes. It screeched and cawed, lunging after the terrified Cooper. Unable to contain his dismay, the man let loose a bloodcurdling scream, seeming to shake the house’s very foundations. Cooper deftly stepped back as it lunged for him. He spun on his heel and ran for the stairs. He did not dare to look behind him. He heard it following close behind him, the scratching of claws against wood. One moment of hesitation and he would be the creature’s next meal. Upon reaching the stairs, he bounded down the first two steps. The next steps, however, he did not reach. He lost his footing, his feet caught beneath him, and the man began to tumble. Head over heels, Cooper fell down the winding staircase. The creature watched from afar while his prey landed at the foot of the stairs. It stood before returning the shadows from whence it came. The police arrived at Blight Manor only minutes later. They had been called when someone complained about the screaming. Upon kicking in the rotting door and traversing the entryway, they found Cooper Barton in a crumpled pile at the bottom of his stairs. His neck had snapped on the way down, and his eyes were still open in pure terror. He seemed to be looking to his desk, where his laptop, and unfinished work, sat waiting. No one could say for sure what had happened to Cooper Barton that night. Some say he killed himself. But others, the bolder, say he had been killed by...writer’s block.
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A Drinking Problem by Nicholas Adam Dagel Dearest Mother, it is I, your loving son Anselmo. I’m writing to inform you that your youngest son is a success. As you know, it’s been nearly a fortnight since my landing in Bavaria. In the time since my arrival in this ominous and beautiful country, I have been appointed as the dutiful servant of the mintmaker, the issuer of currency and a wealthy landowner, the right and honorable Count Orlok. The Count has recently taken to sickness. And in his illness, he has required the services of an able-bodied man to help him in the upkeep of his estate. He also requires assistance in the performance of his duties as mintmaker. I had been staying in an inn after I arrived in this foreign land. I went to the innkeeper and inquired where I might find employment. The innkeeper informed me of the open position here at Count Orlok’s estate, and upon the beginning of my employment here, Count Orlok graciously provided me with lodging in a small cabin on his land. It’s funny, dear mother, when some locals heard of my acceptance of this position, the Vicar himself came to me to warn me of the Count’s strange activities. However, I’ve found that despite the odd hours he keeps, the Count is a truly generous and kind-hearted man. I’ve found the denizens of Bavaria to be a superstitious and cowardly lot. Count Orlok is a lovely man. He’s even offered me some inheritance if I continue in my faithful service! Regards, Anselmo. Dear Ronaldo, my loving brother, I require some assistance. You see, I recently accepted a job in the employ of one Count Orlok. Things have not gone to plan. Upon my arrival in
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Bavaria, I found myself quite low on money after my long trek from Holland. I inquired about some employment opportunities and was informed of one such opportunity to work for the Count. Some of the locals informed me that Count Orlok is a strange and dangerous man. I paid them no heed and took them for superstition. But upon commencement of my employment, I learned the truth of Count Orlok’s supposed affliction. When I met him, he had a deathly pallor about him and the strangest yellow eyes I’d ever seen on a living man. Months later, I learned the reason for his disquieting appearance. Count Orlok is a vampyr, dear brother. Worse than that, there have been some murders. Shortly after my arrival at this estate, the town drunkard, a boisterous man named Beauregard, came to live here. The Count informed me that my new primary job was to bring Beauregard casks of wine from the village whenever he required them. I was confused at first until I learned the purpose of this errand. You see, in all my time in his employ, I never witnessed Count Orlok eat or drink anything to speak of. I learned this was due to his condition of vampyrism. Unfortunately, it seems that Count Orlok had developed a taste for alcohol. Except that because of his affliction, he couldn’t consume any liquid other than human blood. As a result of this, the only way Count Orlok could satiate his desire for drink was to consume it from the blood of a drunk man. This is the reason for his agreement with the drunkard, Beauregard. However, I refused to assist in this activity if I wasn’t going to receive the benefits of vampyrism myself. When I informed Count Orlok of my position, he became quite violent, and I feared for my life. I tore down the curtain covering the window, at which point, the Count violently burst into flame. Then, in my rage, I stabbed the drunk Beauregard. In any event, I now desperately seek rescue from Bavaria. I implore you to come and rescue me, brother. Regards, Anselmo.
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Vulnerability by Eimy Gonzalez
We were alone. Unconsciously, still in my sleep, I heard the slam of the front door. We were alone, and I was terrified. Slowly, I dragged myself from the covers of my bed. I moved so patiently that I was not sure if I was moving at all. I knew that eventually, I would have to face what was out there. I did. I opened the door quickly. There she was, clearly eavesdropping on my awakening. Her eyes were like glass. She gave a long tight squeeze, her sour smell intoxicating my lungs. I needed to get out, I thought. Instead, I gently pushed her away and closed the door behind me after entering the living room. I tried to push my heavy thoughts away and get lost watching something, anything. The voices were so loud. I could not hear them, but I know she did, as she clumsily turned the house upside down in search of something. I was so nervous; I couldn’t help it. The voices that lived in her head were suffocating me, too. I gained nothing from watching cartoons; I was still swallowed in fear. Still, I hoped. I heard the clicking sound of a door closing. I ran to the window and saw her cross the lawn to the neighbor’s house. I jumped! I went in search of her phone. Time was running out, and once I found it, I dialed the only number I knew. No one answered. I was so terribly alone. I left a desperate voicemail and hung up immediately, just as the front door was pulled open. Her footsteps were harsh, and her breathing was heavy. She was like a ghost, passing through and shutting herself in her room. - 11 -
I heard crying, things being thrown, and finally, something shattered. At first, I thought it was the sound of her mind breaking in little pieces or my heart, which was now pricking my chest. But no. She surged from her dark hole and threw the living room door open with hands behind her back. I stood and slowly made my way away from her. Then, she attacked. Like a snake, she threw one of her hands forward to grab my own, quickly making her way up my forearm. The grip was like iron, her nails digging into my flesh. I was crying; I couldn’t break loose. She was on fire, and her smile was vacant. “Die, die with me.” She smoothly repeated these words over and over again, like a lullaby. I was in shock when she pulled out her other hand, revealing a piece of broken glass. Then, the spell was broken, and I sprang into action. I kicked her off with enough strength to startle her and run off. She chased me until I finally broke free. The air outside was sweet and full of spring, but all I could see were my blurry tears. Arms were soon around me; the police were shaking me back into reality. How long had I been standing there, unaware of my surroundings? I did not know. All I could see was hatred and hell within the eyes of my mother as she was pushed into an ambulance. I never counted the stitches she got, neither do I look at her in the eyes. If I do, I can only see the trail of blood she left behind and the screams wishing for my death.
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Greg and Sarah’s Night of Torture and Terror by Kori Heitner Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Sarah Keys, who lived in a house with her family. Halloween was her favorite holiday, and she would always look forward to it. Halloween night had finally come, and her parents decided to go to a party, so they asked their son, Greg, to take his sister trick or treating. They thought that Halloween would be like any other Halloween they’ve had. After going to some houses in their neighborhood, Greg noticed a really big house that looked interesting. “Let’s go to that house,” said Sarah. Sarah rang the doorbell and said, “Trick or treat!” When the door opened, a lady, who appeared to be just like any other lady, came out of the house. “Hello. What cute kids you are,” said the lady. “Thank you,” said Sarah. “Would you like to come into my home?” asked the lady. “I just made some Halloween cookies.” “Um, could you excuse us for a second?” asked Greg. “Sure.” “I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Sarah. She’s a stranger.” “But, she’s offering us cookies,” said Sarah. “Okay, fine. We’re happy to stay for a little while,” said Greg. “Good,” said the lady. - 13 -
Sarah and Greg thought the lady seemed really sweet. Little did they know, she wasn’t exactly as she seemed. It was getting close to nine o’clock, and Greg knew that Sarah should be home. “Well, we should get going,” said Greg. “Oh, you have to go, now?” said the lady. “There’s something I would like to show you in my basement.” “But, we really have to be on our way home,” said Greg. “Oh, this will only take a minute,” said the lady. Sarah and Greg followed the old lady to the basement. The lady opened the door. “What is it you want to show us?” asked Sarah. As Sarah and Greg went down the stairs, the lady shut the door and locked it. “Hee hee hee. You children fall for my tricks. You are not going anywhere.” “I don’t think she’s just a regular lady,” said Sarah. “I think she’s a witch.” “That’s right, little girl,” said the witch. “A hundred years ago, I tricked two other naive children into coming into my house and took care of them. Now it’s your turn.” Greg and Sarah did not expect that a lady who seemed to be very sweet and generous would lock them in a basement and torture them. “Wow, I thought you were a very sweet lady,” cried Sarah. “But you’re very mean and cruel!” “Thank you. It takes a lot of practice,” said the witch with an evil cackle. “I have to go finish working on my spell to make sure that it works on you children. I will be back by midnight, and that’s when you children will - 14 -
meet your doom.” “Greg, I’m so scared. What are we going to do?” cried Sarah. “It’s going to be okay, Sarah. I will get us out of here.” Greg tried to break down the door with all his strength, but he couldn’t get it open. The witch was working on her evil plan against the children. She read a spell from her book and picked up her magic wand to see if she could make a rat in her house disappear. She aimed her wand at the rat and said, “This creature is very gross. I don’t want it here. Make it disappear.” The rat vanished into thin air. “Goody, the spell will work on those pesky children”. Greg and Sarah’s parents came back from the party at 11 o’clock. They went to Greg and Sarah’s rooms to say goodnight but realized they were not there. They went all around the neighborhood to search for them. Finally, they came across the house where the witch lived. Little did they know, their children were being held captive in that house. They rang the doorbell, and the witch answered the door. “Hello,” said the witch. “Hello. We’ve been looking for our children everywhere,” said Mr. Keys. “Did they ever come around here, while they were trick or treating?” asked Mrs. Keys. Of course, the witch wasn’t going to tell Mr. and Mrs. Keys that she had their children. “Oh, well, there were many children that came by here tonight. I can’t remember,” said the witch. Suddenly, Mr. and Mrs. Keys thought they heard screaming. “Do you have our children held captive here?” Mr. Keys asked. “Absolutely not,” said the witch. Mr. and Mrs. Keys knew the witch was lying. “Greg!? Sarah!?” screamed Mrs. Keys. “Mommy, we’re down here,” said Sarah. “That lady’s a witch.” Greg - 15 -
and Sarah’s parents went towards the door, attempting to save their children. That’s when the witch picked up her magic wand, aimed it towards them, and made them fall over. ¨I’m sorry, but I can let you go down there, not until after I take care of your children at midnight,¨ said the witch. ¨I think this lady’s a witch!” screamed Mr. Keys. ¨You think right!” said the witch with an evil cackle. Mr. and Mrs. Keys tried to fight off the witch, but her magic was so powerful. Mr. and Mrs. Keys were really struggling to defeat the witch. Suddenly, the witch summoned even more evil creatures to help her make sure Mr. and Mrs. Keys wouldn’t save their children. They had big yellow eyes and scaly skin. They came after Mr. and Mrs. Keys. “Oh, no. What are we going to do?” asked Mr. Keys. “You distract the witch and those scaly, yellow-eyed creatures,” said Mrs. Keys “I’ll think of a way to destroy them.” “Hurry,” screamed Mr. Keys, “We’re running out of time!” “I’m really scared. The witch is probably terrorizing Mommy and Daddy!” cried Sarah. “I know, Sarah. I’m terrified too. This is all my fault!” “It’s not your fault, Greg. I’m the one who wanted to come in here!” “I know, but I’m your older brother. I’m supposed to keep you out of trouble. But don’t worry. Mommy and daddy will get us out of here.” Mrs. Keys went to the other side of the house to get the witch’s spellbook. She was very worried about her children. She knew that they were still downstairs in the basement, terrified. Suddenly, she thought of a plan to destroy the witch and the other evil creatures. She went to the other side of the room and got the witch’s spellbook. “I think this is the spell the witch was planning on using on our children. If we use it on her and the scaly, yellow-eyed creatures, maybe we can get rid of them,” said Mrs. Keys. - 16 -
“Don’t we need the magic wand to do the spell?” asked Mr. Keys. “Yes, it’s right there on the floor. Go get it!” Mr. Keys tried to pick up the wand, but the witch got to it just as he did. They started wrestling over the wand for about 10 seconds. But then Mr. Keys kicked the witch and got the wand in his hand. He handed the wand to Mrs. Keys. She aimed the wand towards the witch and the evil, scaly, yellow-eyed creatures and read the spell from the book. “The creatures are very gross. We don’t want them here. Make them disappear.” The witches and the scaly, yellow-eyed creatures went away. Mr. and Mrs. Keys got the key to the basement and went to the basement to get their children. “Mommy, daddy,” Sarah said. Mr. and Mrs. Keys hugged their children. “Are you guys okay? You must’ve been so scared.” “We were, but we’re okay now,” said Greg. “You guys saved our lives.” “Of course we did. We’re your parents. We will always be there for you.” “But why did you guys go into a stranger’s house?” Mr. Keys asked in a stern voice. “I was tempted with cookies,” answered Sarah. “No, it was my fault,” said Greg. “I shouldn’t have let Sarah come in here.” “Well, I just hope you guys learned not to go into strangers’ houses,” said Mrs. Keys. “When you meet someone, they may seem nice, but they may not be as they seem.”
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“I know”, said Greg. “I won’t ever put Sarah and me into a situation like this again.” So, the children learned a few lessons that Halloween after experiencing major fear. Don’t go into a stranger’s house; people may not be as nice as they appear to be. The end.
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A Brief Account of Booker House by Cameron G. Schneberger Before Booker House belonged to my aunt, it was a school for rich girls with blue eyes. Before it was a school for rich girls with blue eyes, it was a place where Union soldiers cleaned their guns. Before it was a place where Union cleaned their guns, it was a farmhouse owned by the Booker family. I stayed at Booker House for a week with my cousin. I was 11. It was a lavish place for a child accustomed to Midwest frugalness. It was a bonafide mansion infested with chandeliers, taxidermied foxes, and a small cleaning staff who lived on the premises. My aunt’s collection of exotic chickens orbited the house, and her hoard of marble-colored greyhounds migrated noiselessly from room to room, pausing for nobody’s hand. On the third night, my cousin and I shared a bed. The sound of a low groan enveloped Booker House that night. I don’t remember how long it lasted. The grown slowly crescendoed into a guttural shriek. I’d say it was only ten minutes, but my cousin claims it lasted all night. It terrified us. We shared a bed for the rest of our stay. I remember I ate yogurt for breakfast the next morning. I also remember interrogating my aunt about the cause of the sound. She offered no explanation aside from the undeniable fact that old houses produce all manner of sounds. ***** 14 years and two husbands later, my aunt graced me with the reminder of her existence and asked me to lunch. I was in college at the time. She drove me to a diner in rural Michigan that served frog legs. Booker house had long been sold in favor of a slightly smaller house that was allegedly much less work. “That place was haunted anyway,” she said, dipping a frog leg in ranch dressing. “You know that moaning sound? Never knew when it was gonna happen. One of my dogs ran away because of it. Never got used to it.” She explained the last in the Booker line to own the farm were a pair of twins, the Booker Brothers. They were infamous in their brief lives, - 19 -
idiots who inherited more than they deserved and drank most of it away. The only thing they loved more than grain alcohol was their pet cow, an unfortunate animal who the Booker Brothers dragged indoors frequently. They dragged the cow inside taverns, general stores, and a church. There was a rumor the Booker Brothers were romantically attached to the cow. One day, the Booker Brothers lured the cow to the fourth story of the Booker House. Cows can go upstairs but not down them, though the cow tried. It fell and broke its legs on the third story landing. Shortly after, the Booker Brothers euthanized it with buckshot. Then, they dragged it down the rest of the flights and out of the house. A flock of eager crows gave the cow a sky burial. “They kept the damn things in the basement. The cow’s bones, I mean,” my aunt explained. “Had to get rid of them when I put the new pipes in. They told me not to move them, but it made no difference. The cow haunted that house with or without the bones.”
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ART WORK
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Death by Rosa Collazo - 22 -
The Spooky Barn by Dian Yao - 23 -
Walk Through The Woods by Anica Graney - 24 -
Baba Yaga by Maria Schirmer Devitt
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