Amanuensis 2023

Amanuensis

Aliterarypublicationof: BillericaMemorialHighSchool 35RiverStreet

Billerica,Massachusetts01821

Volume47 2023

Amanuensis: (e m an’ yoo en’ sez), n,. pl. –ses (sez). A person employed to write what another dictates or to copy what has been written by another; secretary\A*man‘u*en’sis\, n.; pl. Amanuenses. [L., fr. a, ab + manus hand.] A person whose employment is to write what another dictates, or to copy what another has written. n : someone skilled in the transcription of speech (especially dictation) One who is employed to take dictation or to copy manuscript [Latin manunsis, from phrase (servus) man, (slave) at handwriting :, ab, by; see ab-1 + man, ablative of manus, hand; see man-2 in Indo-European Roots.]

Editorial Board

Aahana Goel

Meredith Hillson

Julia Kobylinska

Devina Paul

Madeline Simone

Matilda Undzis

Saish Yennampelli

Advisors

Jessica Camasso

David Ciccarelli

Special Thanks

Catie Button

Matt DeFeo

Brenda Fredericks

Brett Kelley

Sandra Millikan

Kathryn Muse

Cover Art

Front Cover: Hailey Magaldi

Back Cover: Herin Lee

TABLE OF CONTENTS

*denotes contest winner

TABLE OF CONTENTS WRITING

*denotes contest winner

“Midnight Hunt”

By Tea Pucillo

The dreary breeze tickled my face, making me shudder ever so slightly. The air on the balcony felt tight and cold. The fog made it so I couldn’t see past the dark forest, the moon had started to rise, signaling to me it was time to return to my room. I returned inside to the castle. It seemed like I had been walking for hours, yet I still couldn’t find my door. The unfamiliar halls made it easy to get lost in. I wandered through the dark corridors desperately searching for my room, the only sounds coming from my shoes tapping the floor and shuffling of my dress. It was only my first night here and I had already broken two of the three rules Lord Carlton had warned me of.

“We have three strict rules here that you need to follow. Not only breaking them could get you into immense trouble, it could also be the last thing you ever do.” His monotone voice had stated, like this had been his routine. I should’ve listened.

“Rule number one, never leave your room after the hour of eight. Rule number two, never enter the west corridor, especially at nights, and rule number three, always lock your door at nights, especially when the moon is full. As long as you follow these rules your stay here should be sufficient.” I should’ve just gone back into my room after supper. I never should have gone to the balcony. Instead of being lost in the darkness of the west corridors, I could have been safely snuggled in between the soft blankets with candlelight filling the room instead of the moon’s.

“Are you lost?” a small voice called from behind me. I turned around to face the voice. It was a little girl. She was wearing a satin nightgown, and was holding a plush toy. She had an inquiring look on her face and was awfully pale.

“What are you doing out here?” I replied. She now wore a sour look and scrunched her nose.

“I asked you first.” she stated angrily. She moved a couple steps towards me, and stomped her feet.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you. I heard that it’s dangerous to be out here-” I was interrupted by a loud scream. I turned my head towards the deafening sound.

“I think it’s best if we get out of here.” I turned my head around to face the little girl but she was gone, and there was no trace that she was ever there in the first place. That’s when I saw it. It stood seven feet tall, its body was completely covered in hair but yet it still looked torn between beast and human. Its eyes glowed red in the dark passage and it emitted a low growl when it caught sight of me.

I didn’t give it any chance to catch me. I ran with everything that I had in me through the halls of the castle. Like destiny, I found my door. I ran inside my room and slammed the door shut tightly. I sank into my bed and started to drift off. I would be leaving first thing in the morning. I woke up shortly after chained to the bed, with Lord Carlton in front of me. How did he even get in? The room was dark, and the moon was hidden behind the clouds.

“What a shame.” He whispered. “I was hoping you were smarter than the rest, thought maybe you would have listened to me.” He moved closer to the bed.

“The rest?” I croaked. He looked up at me and smiled. He had this sinister smile on his face. I wondered if this was the whole point I had been put here. Was there ever even going to be a wedding?

“The rest of the girls, of course. You did just as I expected you to, though. We choose them wisely. We choose the ones we know won’t listen, the ones who have a reputation of disregarding the rules. What a shame, you had almost made it out, if you would have locked the door.” The door. I must’ve forgot to lock it when I came back in. I was so close.

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“The chase is usually the fun part, but you’re too fast, and too clever for him. So, I decided to make it easier for us.” He stood a few inches away from me now. He smelt vile.

“Us?” I croaked. Just then, the clouds in the sky shifted a little, and Lord Carlton shuffled in pain.

“I don’t want to do this. It’s only survival.” His body twisted around, and his bones broke. He was being rearranged entirely. His sharp screams and cries of pain filled the room, and soon there was no more Lord Carlton. Only the beast I had seen earlier. I could only shake in fear as he stood tall, and an inhuman growl left his mouth. He lunged forward towards my body and bit my neck. The last thing I saw was the same little girl I had seen earlier. Only now her nightgown was torn and covered in blood and now she was surrounded by many more girls, who were in the same exact state as she was in.

“Are you lost?” she asked. “So were we.”

Jessika Zimmerman

“Prognosticator With Everything Perfect”

By Melissa Panaligan

There’s nothing wrong, claims the mother. “You don’t want medications, They won't help. You will grow out of it.”

Impressionate was the young girl. Determined to fix herself, she walked about life acting as if distinguishing factors between her and others, were nonexistent.

Nonexistent, her mind wishes upon the many stressors, Rid education.

Knock on wood 10 times Cried is what she did, But nor will she knock.

March 13, schools will be closed for 2 weeks.

Knock out, the outcome her mind desires for her enemies, End social interactions.

Count to 100.

Tore her hair, But nor will she count. Quarantine from your closest of friendships.

Count of 0, the amount of family she wishes, Receive no love.

Awake and check the stove.

Biting nails unable to sleep, But nor will she arise.

Family of 4 subject to fire, one survivor.

Incapable of dealt with pressure, Lonely with no relationships, Loveless and nonfunctional.

“Moonshine”

By Liana Mackenzie

Blood. All I saw was blood.

It covered the walls, dyed the carpet red, and shook me to my core. If only John was home. He would’ve known what to do, but he's been gone longer than usual now. All I could do was stare. Stare in fear at the murderer in front of me. I could barely move. Why out of everyone did it have to take my son? Why couldn’t it have been me?

It was past midnight now, and the murderer still wandered as if it knew I was still alive. The killer’s ax dragged on the ground, clanging into everything and scraping against the floorboards like nails on a chalkboard. John. All I wished for was John. For John to come and save me. For John to comfort me. But he was still gone. When I was finally able to, I fled. I jumped out the window and ran to a parked car at the end of the road. Not just any car, but my own. I also noticed John in the driver's seat. But when I finally saw his charred and burnt body and heard the ax once again, I knew it was all over.

noun: moonshine - foolish talk or ideas.

Minick Cooper

James Glavin

Luca Pesaturo

“GreyPond”

ByKaitlynLambert

“Now,children.Gatherround,andIshalltellyouastory.Oh,youwantaspookyone?Well,Ishall certainlydomybest.Thisisthetaleofafriendofmine,frommyyoungerdays. Hewasabusdriver,youngandspringyatthattime.Andeveryday,likearitual,hewouldsitonthebank ofGreyPond.Therewasnothingremarkableaboutthispond,itwascoatedingrimeandwastoosmallforboating. Inthosedays,myhousewasnottoofarfromthispond,andIjusthappenedtobewatchingoutmywindowone morning,thedaybeforeHalloween.Mytownwassmall,andnevertrulycelebrated.Decorationswerescarceand stingy,ifthereatall,andonlyasmallhandfulofchildrencame‘roundthehousesinsearchoftreats.Assuch,I didn’thavemuchacarefortheholiday,justasmuchasIdidn’texpectanythingtohappen.Oh,howwrongIwas. Anyways,onthisdrearyday,myfriendcamewithhistweedjacketandhiscuppateaandsettledhimself rightdownonthedampgrass.Hedidnotsitwithhisusualpoisebutratherwithhisheaddownandahandonhis hat.IknewthistobeduetothewindbecauseIcouldhearitwheezingthroughthegroveoutback,bickeringwith thewindowpanes,upheavingdustbins,andsendingstraypapersaloft.Andyet,eveninthefaceofthis misfortunateweather,therehesat,gazingoutontothepondandatthetendrilsofmorningmistthatrosefromits surface.

Oh,howhelovedGreyPond.Hehadtoldmeoncethatitwastheonlyplacehecouldlethisthoughtsgo free.Asthecolddaysapproach,thereisoftenathickmistthatsurroundsthearea.Whenwewerekids,andwhenI wasstillable,Iwouldgowithhim.Wewouldtrytomakesenseoftheshapeswesaw.Ashegazedforwardthrough thefadedcurtainofhaze,Iwonderedifthatwaswhathewasdoingnow. Whenhesuddenlyflewtohisfeet,Ijumpedaswell,startledbyhissuddenmovement.Withaglanceatthe weatheredclockonthewall,Iconfirmedthat,yes,ithadonlybeenafewminutes.Hewouldusuallystaymuch longerthanthis.Curious,Iwatchedashestalkedoffintothewoodsandfollowedabeatentrailaroundthepond untilIcouldonlyvaguelyseehisshapethroughthefog.

Now,thisstruckmeasoddbecauseIknewthismantobeacautiousone.Hefollowedthesamescheduleeveryday andhadnevervarieditforaslongasIknewhim.AndIknewthathewouldneverventuretotheothersideofthepond,for thatsidewasnothingbutabandonedbuildingsthatwereneverrepairedafterafire.Thatshorewasmuchmuckierthanit wasonourside,andthemistseemedtostickclosertocertainlargeshapesthatnoonecouldidentify.Andyet,therehewas. Ontheothersideofthepond,IcouldjustmakeouttheonemanIthoughtwouldneverventurethere.

House-riddenasIwas,Icouldnotcrossthestreetandgodowntothepond’sshoreforacloserlook.Isettledfor pressingmyselfagainstthewindowandsquinting,searchingforareasonforthisoddchangeofcharacter.Hewasslowly approachingalargeshape,andIblinkedtoclearmyeyeswhenIsawsomethingmove.Uponcloserinspection,Icouldtell thattheshapewasaship.Yes,asmallsteamship,tatteredandbeachedupontheshorethatnoonewentto.Howithad gottenthere,Iwasnonethewiser.Itriedtolocatemyfriendoncemore,onlytofindthatthemisthadnowswallowedhim entirely.Somethingmovedontheshipagain.Aheartbeatlater,along,lowwhistlereverberatedfromtheship;Icould hardlyhearitthroughthewindow,butIcouldfeelitinmybones.Itwasachillingsound,awarning. Anditwasthatmoment,children,whenIfirstknewsomethingwaswrong.”

ThatwasthestoryIhadtoldtomydarlingsastheyhuddledaroundme,theireyespleadingforatale.Clingingto mylegsastheylistened,twohadlookedatmeindisbelievingawe,thethirdscoffedattheseemingfantasyasIfinishedthe storywithaflourish.Itoldthemthatthebusdriver,scaredsillybywhathehadseenatthepond,hadfledfromthistown andwasnowtakingtimeoffinMajorca.AndthatwastheonlyuntruththatIgavethem,foritwouldbetoopainfulforus bothtodoanythingbut.

Beingyoungastheywere,thesechildrendidnotcareforthenewspaperwithit’sstrikingheadlinesthatboldly declaredfraudandscams.Assuch,theyhadnotseenthefrontpageoftheWeeklyPostandhowfeaturedaghastlycreature seenstalkingaGreyhoundasitcrashed.Oh,itwentintohorrificdetail,thispaperdid;itspecializedinsoakingupevery juicydetailthatitcouldscroungeup.AndsoIread,filledwithgrippingdreadbutunabletolookawayasitspelledoutthe incident.OneGreyhoundonabridge.Ahandfulofwitnessesswearingthatademongotupfromthedriver'sseatand impatientlystalkedtheasliesoftheswervingtransport,itslongfingersscrapingtheseatsasitpaced.Andmany,many screamsofsheerterrorasthebusseemedtojumptheguardrail,smashitselfontheground,rolloveragainandagain,and makeit’swaywithatremendoussplash…tothepondwhereIhadlastseenit’sdriver.Uponreadingthis,Ihadthrown downthepartaboutsearchingforsurvivorsandpickeduptheotherpaperthatIreceived,theStarDaily.Thisonecovered theongoingsearchforthebusandtheso-calleddemon,butIknewthatitwouldbenogood.Noonecouldfindthebus, andIdidn’texpectthemto.Noonefindswhatthepondwantstokeephidden.ButsometimesIcouldseeit.Standingat thesillofmyfavoritewindow,there,nexttothesteamshipandshroudedinmist;theremainsofamemory.

Thenextmorning,Iputonmyslippersandstumbledtothedoor;thetrekwasasdifficultasever.Nomatterhow muchIpleadedmygoodhealth,Iwasnottoleavethehousewithoutassistance;butthiswasmoreimportant. Thepondwascallingme.

AndsoIshuffledalongtheneglectedtrailtotheotherside,tothemuckandthemistandtheremainsofabus. Somethingmovedwithinitscarcass,aganglycreaturewithlimbsliketreebranchesandribsthatbulgedthrough stretched-tightskin,andeyes-eyesthatIhadfalleninlovewithsolongago.

“Myoldfriend,”Ibreathed.

AndIletthemistswallowmewhole.

Katherine Medeiros

“The Raven’s Prologue”

By Carter Grise

SirRaven,isit?IfIamnotmistaken Pleaseprofessyournewfoundallegation

Indeed I will, thank you, your honor I must explain these vituperative deeds of dishonor Twas was the bleakest of days, Of cold wintry violence and pearlescent haze I'd been seeking rest, to flock to an aerie Though in discovering his home I found it quite eerie

Darkened it stood, though it seemed as by choice All lanterns were dim, and out rung a voice It spoke as though pained, and clung miserably, clutching the air so desperately

Raspy and hollowing it stole the wind Inviting my curiosity to inspect the din It wailed for someone, a Lenore I'm sure, "For dear sweet Lenore, how could you? And why‽" The demeanor descended to an angry cry I peered through a window and saw destruction nigh

Tattered curtains and battered books, a scratched window, and uptossed nooks I saw that man, now seated over there He was ransacking his chambers without a care

He struck himself once near the eye Dancing blow drawing painéd cry He sighed in rage, and calmed himself Before retiring to bed, asleep by twelve

Longer I lingered, intrigued and awake I listened intently as unconsciously he spake "Colder she grows in the tombstone hollow Rolling in her grave, betrayed in sorrow Sweet Lenore whom I did adore I couldn't stand you anymore."

I flew around and rapped, tapped at his door I waited and waited, furthermore Could he have been addled? Of mind unsound?

To my concern I was duly bound

He awoke from his slumber confusedly, Only to accost me angrily Twas then I knew undoubtedly An active mind never rests, you see Especiallyin torment of actions guilty

You shall wretchedly bathe in your lies!

To say such things is verily unwise You speak of half-truths, and imagined nonsense You share revelations empty of contents!

Gentlemenofthecourtroom,yoursilenceisrequested! Beincapableofdoingso,youshallbearrested. Iseeitessentialweendthisdebate, asbothsidesgrowincreasinglyirate Let'shearthedefendantspeakfromthestand Tishightimeweheardhistalefirsthand Nowspeak,willyou?wedon'thaveallday

Thecourtgrowsimpatientinthisdraggedoutdisplay

Indeed, I shall explain the source of my pain

Lest my story be forgotten and my attempts be in vain

To sway jury and judgment, stave off punishment

In my acquiescence of accusations

No claim unscathed shall remain

Release me from my cell, with lock of lies

Let my story be spilled and freedom be the compromise

All the perfumes of Arabia couldsweeten this little hand For it has not partaken in malevolence so grand

I beg of you to listen with presumptions cast aside See my sorrow sincerely, not as regret concealed inside For the deed hath been done, and though truth appears shy Upon this stand I am bound not to lie

I recall an afternoon, bland and bleak, Not yet hauntedby feather and beak

Begrudgingly stilled and restless I sat, while waiting for something--anything at that

The tock of the clock on the mantle withered me, in the wake of my shock it near spoke tauntingly

A bitter reminder of my home now house, darkened and gloomy with singular spouse

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Lenore had been sickly, ghostly in pallor I looked on in horror, as sickness ravaged her I begged the alchemist for a cure or draught I asked pleadingly, and he gave me the flask

“Take this brew, she’ll need it,” said he. “Have her sip it, though sparingly”

“Why alas good man, I shall remain in your debt!” said I unknowing of the incoming threat The roiling poison stowed in my coat would return home to blacken her throat!

This tell-tale heart does not tell tall tales!

I only sought to cure her ails

It’s true, I insist! I could not have known! Twas the alchemist who hath done this, and let his wrath be sown.

Understood,defendant,yourinsistenceisheard Letyourvolumebedampened,lestwerequireaword. Nowcontinueplease,answertheexaminer Whathappenedonthedayyourecallgrievingher?

Wishing and weeping for my lost Lenore

I retired to my chambers, heart sunken to the floor

When I heard a shriek and caw from a ravenous maw Of feathered creature of beak and claw

It scratched at the rooftop, it screeched at my door, I wished it silent for my poor late Lenore Eventually it stopped, and though not peacefully, I succumb to sleep, drifting near unceasingly until

(Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary…)

Herin Lee

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Julia Parker

Alyssa MacDonald

Jordan Silva

Magaly Aviles Avelar

Ava Hawrylciw

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Frankie Hawkins

Angela Rodriguez

“Untitled”

By Owen Swint

It had been a long week, with each hour ominously passing slower than the previous. The intense hurricane battered loudly against the classroom windows, and bequeathed a gloomy, almost supernatural feeling in the classroom. I felt as if this tedious week had aged me, and I was decaying like an old man. As the final hours of class approached, any meager sense of hope that I had left was drowned out by the inevitable tragedy that was about to come. It seemed that even the aggravatingly simple math equations I was tasked with computing would not make the time pass slow enough.

*

My heart seemed to beat in synchronization with the teacher’s alarm as it went off at a quarter till’ 2. The classroom fell into a dark, eerie silence as the teacher strided across the room to silence her alarm. Every moment felt like a year, as I knew what was coming. Her voice shrieked through the air like a jet speeding at mach 10 as she said, “I have returned your test grades into the gradebook, and I am disappointed with some of your scores. There will be no retakes on this test!” My heart dropped below the floor, as her shrill, witch-like voice pierced my eardrums. The underlying exhaustion from depriving myself of sleep to study seemed to transform me into a monster. The pitter-pattering of my classmates’ keyboards along with the pounding rain occupied my limited consciousness, driving me mad. I whipped out my computer, reliving the countless moments of academic glory, finding an exceptional grade on my test. I knew today would be different. My fingers hammered across the keyboard as I entered the gradebook login information. There it was. The score. I had failed. All of the remaining consciousness left my body as I lay there, a corpse, killed by its own failure.

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beep beep*--*beep beep*--*beep beep*

Paige McCaffrey

“TreeTopia”

By Chloe McDermott

The year is 2235, and the streets of London don't have the same pep it did in 2002. Or at least that's what I've been told. What used to be the royal palace is now an oil facility. It used to be filled with life, tradition, respect and vibrant celebrations. Now it is filled with a thick, engulfing smoke cloud that grows more and more by the day. Now in case you haven't read a history book in the last 200 years, or stepped outside, I will happily fill you in. Everything changed in 2033.The world was scrambling to solve climate change, pollution and the growing political stress in pretty much every government.After years and years of discussions, arguments, battles and failed solutions- humans snapped.They gave up trying to make things right, and just stuck with what made them money which happened to be factories and oil. What used to be lively green parks, are now barren desserts stripped of their resources and beauty. My name is Susana, and I'm 17 years old. I've lived in London forever, and I hate it. I've never seen a tree. I've seen documentaries about them, and museums' sad attempts to replicate them, but it's not the same. Life just isn't the same without trees.Yes the government found a way to artificially create their own combination of oxygen but I know it's not the same. I can't tell you how, but I know.

My typical day starts with putting on my work smock.All gray head to toe material that felt closer to a paper bag than cloth. I eat the standardized breakfast that everyone in London eats, a brown bar of sludge packed with the exact amount of nutrition needed to get a person through until lunch time. If brown had a taste, it would taste like those breakfast bars. I then head out to make it to the factory on time.As kids, we are told if you are late the whole system falls apart entirely.There's no such thing as taking a day off, or a family vacation. People don't see a need to celebrate anymore, there's too many other things left to get done.

One more thing I do that no one else knows is that on my way to the factory, I walk by the tree memorial. One small, six foot statue of a tree. Written in rusted words on the front plaque; “The trees we couldn't save, but whose sacrifices were necessary.” It just makes me sad. Why have fields of trees, when you could have fields of buildings that make millions of dollars. I just like to look at it as if it was a grave and grieve the tree I will never get to sit under. No one else seems to care about their loss, so I will pick up the load.

I can't explain why, but for some reason, I was particularly in my feelings that morning. So much so that I reached out and hugged the statue. But I must've slipped or missed the statue completely because my arms were wrapping around the air. Suddenly I was on the ground rolling around like I'd tripped on something. I kept my eyes closed hoping no one was around to witness the embarrassment that was me. But in the distance I was surprised to hear birds chirping.There haven't been any birds in London since we cut down all their homes. So when I gained the courage to look around, you can't even fathom what was before me. I must've really hit my head or something.All I saw was green. Green grass, green branches, green leaves and green fields of life. I must've, really, really, hit my head hard. But what took my breath away the most, was the tree. In front of me was one, intricate, lively, thriving, real life tree. I couldn't do anything but throw my hand on the bark and feel it. I think I cried. No, I definitely cried. It was beautiful. But I knew I had to wake up, I was definitely unconscious from my fall and needed to get up.

Suddenly, a bird who was startled by my presence, frantically flew out of the tree, and in the process broke a branch off. It wasn't until the branch hit my shoulder that I realized I wasn't dreaming. It hurt, it was a decent sized branch. When the realization hit me, along with the branch, the panic soon followed. Where was I?! How do I get back?! My factory leader is going to actually kill me for being late!

“Get it together Susana!!” I knew I had to snap out of it and find my way out of here. But I didn't know if I wanted to leave, trees are more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. I decided I should at least find other people to see if they could help. So I got up, and set out into the forest, which was glorious. Intricate branches, bright green leaves flowing in the breeze, and nature living freely where it belongs.After 5 minutes of traveling, and gazing at the breathtaking view, I reached a clearing. Before me were wooden buildings that resembled our own, but they weren't perfect, as if built by hands and not tools. I decided to enter the biggest building in the group, maybe it's the most important? Or authorities are in there who would help me?

As I approached the two massive doors that were at least 4 feet taller than me, I hesitated for a moment. But I needed to go in. I had an urge to go in. It took all the strength I had, but I finally pushed the doors open. Inside were a bunch of wooden chairs that looked like they were made for an art project, but were rarely used. I yelled out hello, hoping someone would hear me. Suddenly a small rabbit hopped out to my feet. I had to fight the urge to scoop it up and hug it tight. It was that cute.

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“Hi little buddy, what are you doing here?Are you here to help me?” I went to pick up the little guy when he suddenly stood on his back legs like a person.

“Ah Susana! I was worried you'd get lost and never find me! My name is CharlesThumpins. What brings you to our lovely town! We are so happy to have you!”

“Wait- you were waiting for me? How did you know I was even here?” I said.

“We can track everything in and out of that portal honey. Come on! We have already stalled, let's get you situated.” He put on a top hat and started to hop his way to the door. Now even though I was really confused that a bunny was talking to me, my head was still hurting from that branch. So I honestly thought I was in a dream. I had to run to catch up. He was fast.

Once I got there, he was hopping into what resembled a safari jeep.

“So, where are we? Like how loopy am I right now?”

“Dear you aren't loopy, you are inTreetopia.” Did I hear that right?

“Sorry- what?”

“You are from the other world. Where people started to care more about money, and business than the actual state of the nature that surrounded it. Once they started chopping down trees to build pointless, gas leaking factories we knew we had to do something.” I remember thinking, Finally! Someone who understands!

“We?” I asked, starting to wonder who “We” included.

“The Council.The creatures who wanted to put a stop to the slaughter. We banded together, found this world and set up camp. We keep it secret so we can preserve the wildlife.The trees deserved better, and here they can finally get what they deserve.”

“That is amazing!This is amazing! How long have you been here? How did you start this? Why can you talk? Can all animals talk and you've just been hiding it?” I couldn't refrain from throwing my questions at him, there were so many things I wanted to know.

“Those will all be answered, but right now you have to see the town. We pride ourselves on fostering joy and beauty here, unlike London.” I could have cried because it was so beautiful. Green fields of trees, and animals and plants. I don't remember if Charles said anything else because I was so lost in the scene before me. Frog ponds hopping with tree frogs, and leaves blowing in the wind. It was the jeep suddenly stopping that snapped me back to reality.

At that point, I really thought I must be in a coma, because what I was looking at had to be fake.

“Welcome to our main attraction. We take every new welcomed friend to our Syrup Water Park!”Yes.You read that right.Asap water park. It was massive! Five huge winding waterfalls gushing with maple syrup that lead to a gigantic reservoir of straight up syrup. Completed with floats and lounge chairs surrounding it. I felt like I was in heaven.

“Could I- may I…? I couldn't get the words out. He smiled like he already knew.

“I thought you'd never ask.” Once he cracked the biggest smile I dove right in. Back in London there's no more water parks, playgrounds or maple syrup. Just schedules, work loads, factory bells and discipline.That was the first time I'd ever seen one.

As I jumped in head first, I got a mouth full of sweet syrup. It was the perfect temperature- not cold but not too hot that it burned your tongue. Sweet yet not too intense that you would get a headache. I must've been in that pool for hours. I just remember feeling total and complete bliss. When I finally had enough for the day, I climbed out and syrup was pooling at my feet. I felt like I was drunk off of happiness. I shuffled into the back of the roofless jeep, and passed out.

When I woke up, I was lying down on the ground, a lazy smile on my face, and soft grass beneath me like a perfect bed. Could my life get any better?At that moment I decided I would stay there forever. I would join the council, have my own chair! I belonged there. I wanted to start as soon as possible! I sprouted up to my feet. But when I went to move- I couldn't.

“What is wrong with me?” I looked at my feet and screamed. Where my feet used to be- were deeply grounded roots!That's when I heard Charles hopping.

“Good morning sunshine.” His warm smile became a wicked grin.

“What's happening to me? Charles, help me!?”

“That's what we said when they went to cut down the last tree. ‘Please!’ ‘Stop!’ ‘Save us from extinction!’ But they didn't care, no one did. We all paid the price. Simply because we existed in their space. So the last remaining creatures worked together, devised a plan, and made our own world. We were going to make them pay for once.”

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Sam Gaona

“But what does that have to do with you?You're a rabbit!And I havent done anything!” I pondered. He looked at the ground and chuckled to himself.

“Silly, silly, girl. Real Bunnies don't talk, true. I used to be that way, until a factory making nuclear bombs had a malfunction with their formula. Instead of paying the precious money to safely dispose and neutralize it- they dumped it in a forest, my home. It morphed me, I could talk, listen to other animals and think like a human.And I could understand the trees. I could hear them, and feel the pain that was seeping through their hard exteriors. Most importantly, I could lead them.And that's exactly what I've done.“

“I'm so confused.” was all I could muster.

“I'm sure you are. Let me explain while your roots grow. We found a way to make our own world. Once we got settled, we wanted revenge.After thousands, and thousands of years, being chopped, wood chipped and sawed, it was the peoples turn. So we developed a plan to lure our enemies.Asafe, beautiful scenic utopia, where people can lay in the grass and be filled with syrup. But what you didn't know is that the syrup is filled with seeds. Seeds that turn your insides into tree matter and your outsides into bark.”

“WHAT! Why would you- how could you-”

“Save your victim begging for someone who cares. Look around you. See all those trees. Look closer, really look at the bark.” I stared at the tree sitting in front of me, my mind already panicking, losing its grip on reality. I wiped the tears pooling in my eyes, to keep my vision steady.That's when I noticed what was in front of me all along. Engraved in the tree's exterior wasn't bark, but the shape of a face.Aface that is screaming right at me but frozen in time forever. I cried.Then I bent over and threw up.

“Yes. Every tree you have passed and admired, used to be your neighbors.You didn't think you were the only one who was curious about the trees did you? Who cared about their existence?There were no trees left.Your people killed them all. But I knew I was the only one who could avenge them. So I developed seeds to replicate the properties of a tree.To transform whoever consumed them into one mass of bark.That's not even the best part. ” I started to choke on my own tears.

“I knew exactly what I had to do. No trees meant no business for lumberjacks, poor fellows, and you humans are so desperate for money that they will do anything. Even strike a deal with a talking rabbit. I told them I had a secret world of trees, and that I'd let them cut them down to sell wood to secret clients. I thought it was only fitting that they were the first victims. Once I got them to cross the border, I offered them a special maple syrup beverage filled with secret formula. I mean eventually I had time on my hands and decided a whole park of sap would really be a show stopper, but I digress. I enjoyed every second of their torture, and once they let out there last plead- I cut them down myself.” He smiled to himself. I kept crying in horror.

“But why hurt the people who care!?”

“Because all it took for you to care was for us to be annihilated!You deserve to be punished for your race's mistakes. Welcome to the real world. Now every six months I have lumberjacks come to cut down what they think are random lifeless trees. But in the end it's their own people. It's the best victory.To have humans cut down their own, thinking they were trees?The thought just makes me smile. I've been doing this for 20 years, and it is still just as sweet. I don't plan on stopping until they have killed most of their own race.Then when they realize what they have done, my job will have been done. ”

“This isn't revenge, you aren't any better than us, you are just as cruel!” I yelled. I was no longer rational.

“I never said I wanted to be better. I wanted to be worse.And I think I've accomplished my goal. So, you have two minutes left before you fully form into the thing you've longed for. If anything, I'm giving you what you've always wanted.You are welcome.” and with that he hopped away.

As the roots traveled further and further up my legs, I used my last moments to think for the last time. Why did we wait so long before we started to care? What should I have done differently? Maybe I shouldn't have dove into the syrup head first. Maybe I shouldn't have trusted the talking rabbit. Maybe I shouldn't have ventured into the woods, instead I should've gone back through that stupid portal home. I shouldn't have hugged the statue, and I definitely shouldn't have been late to work. I made all those decisions, and if I just chose differently, I wouldn't be turning into a tree for eternity.

The lesson you should take away from this sad tale is don't forget to care about life before it's too late. Time is short and what you have today could be gone tomorrow.Then before you know it, a talking rabbit could trick you and turn you into a trunk with branches. Finally, if you find a portal to another world, don't just venture in head first, stop and think before you make your choice. For it could be a matter of life or death.

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

Kora Parlee-Kerrigan

Molly Fitzgerald

Shaenny Gregorio

“Halloween Poem”

By Julia Luther

Twas the night of Halloween, October 31st

A night of eating candy but fearing worse

A group of teens to old to beg

Decide to go to a haunted house instead

Upon their arrival, a line awaits

For hours, they stand there fearing what's beyond that gate

As the night began to fall, and darkness took over the only thing visible were faces of horror

Hours had passed and it was finally time

But after hearing petrified screams they wondered

Would they be fine?

Though it was too late to turn back, for they had already begun

Waiting in line since half past one

While entering the house they were greeted by screams, and puddles of blood flowin like streams

But they thought nothing of it, as it must be a prop, reasonable to think until they heard CHOP!

A scream was let out, and this wasn't fake

But no one would one know

And the wearing of a costume is all it would take.

Then one by one, the group became smaller, and with each disappearance they left with a hollar

By the end of the night, there was much more fright

Because this brave group of teens, was out of sight

And never to be seen again, after that night.

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

Gianna Nalumansi

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

James Cyrus

“Untitled”

By Sawyer Schneider

A veil of darkness engulfed the road ahead, its stones only visible from the faint blue flashing of lightning. On one side, a man named William with a quill and a sealed vat of ink and a bound book of blank parchment. On the other, a towering castle ordained with religious markings and cracks through its dark brick. William looked ahead at the opaque nothingness in front of him, goosebumps of fear creating scales along his arms. With each step forward, William winced, the rain soaking his shaggy black hair as it traveled down his face and back. It wasn’t long before he was blind to the path on all sides, trusting all but his gut and newfound faith to guide him through the road where men of steel once traded blows for honor and glory. He continued, putting one foot in front of the other until the cloud around him seemed to all but disappear. In front of him, the church beckoned.

Stepping inside, William looked upon with familiarity the Victorian halls. He had, after all, been studying them all his life. He’d grown up eastward of here, in an unnamed village belonging to the fields and beholden to no King. His father, an alchemist who bought potatoes with potions. His mother, a carpenter, who built, log by log, the home William would grow up in. William grew up fascinated by the folklore that spurs chatter amongst campfires. Stories of knights, war, magic, and love all captured the mind of a young William. His father taught him history; how alchemy as the village had come to know it was inspired by the writings and teachings of ancient magicians. His mother taught him how to read and write, and from the age of 9 he had begun to study how his world had come to be. Fascinated with the study of magic, he made the decision to leave home. He’d journal about his odd findings and unique discoveries, and return with stories far greater than the legends he’d grown up on.

That was 2 years ago. He missed the comfort of his mother and the odd liquids he’d brew with his father. With each setting sun, he wished nothing more than to return home. But he knew he couldn’t, at least not until he wrote about his findings at the supposedly haunted Falkstone Church. In his village, it was said this place was where religion turned into ritual, and where empires crumbled to chalk. It was also the place where William’s mind wandered to any given moment. He was, at heart, a scientist like his dad. He knew that if he really wanted to bring merit and truth to underpinning myths of his home, he’d need to face them head on.

And so, into the dark building he went. Getting on one knee, he pulled a tall candle from his backpack, lighting it with a piece of flint and a sharp scrap of steel. The light of the flame chased away the empty void that had surrounded him. To his left, an array of empty plates with the smell of freshly-cooked livestock still swimming in the air. To his right, a tall collection of books inscribed in a language unique to the people who’d study here. The church was long said to have been an old university, one that had been corrupted by radical students colliding with the religious clergy that had taught them. A rift had made its way through the academy, resulting in a violent series of events. William walked over to the books, pulling one out with a title that read “Moesau i vetenskapens ʻepekema.” The first page showed an illustration of a man holding his hand up, with a sort of sparkle surrounding it, as he ascended above the mass below him. William understood, at least somewhat confidently, that he’d stumbled upon some sort of theological book. The unfamiliar language made it impossible to understand the complexities about it, but the included art proved somewhat useful. The same man as before, this time as a shepherd leading a flock of sheep. Lifting his head from the book, he glanced upon a dark gargoyle staring back at him, sneering like a hungry wolf. Soon, the light began to fade, a shadow slowly encroaching upon the hall. First, it consumed the walls, then the tables, then the books, and finally the fire on William’s hand.

Suddenly, the room was replaced by some kind of organic matter. Fleshy claws adorned the walls and shark-like teeth tiled the floor. A vine sprouted from the book William was reading and wrapped itself around his arms. The floor opened its jaws to reveal a wet and hungry mouth, swallowing William whole. William slammed the cover of the book shut, and the room turned back to normal. The book, however, fought back. It ripped its yellowed pages out from its own spine. The pages pinned William to the ground, and the room faded to black once more.

This time it was different. William looked up; he was beneath the room. The mouth above him closed, and William was never heard from again

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

Romana Raducan

Luis DeAraujo

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

Annalisa Morrissey

“Concrete Jungle”

By Aiden Christian Fell

When BE-262 the observation drone woke up from its hibernation protocols, it had expected to wake up to an Earth with barren, lifeless continents and sprawling, thriving seas. What it didn’t expect was waking up in the middle of a massive, seemingly unending labyrinth of stone. Based on its calculations, BE-262 had woken up about 535 million years too late. Its creators have existed for much longer, so it tried to send a signal out. But nothing came back. A lot had happened, and questions were floating in its processor, but BE-262 still had orders to observe this planet and report back to its masters. It was built for this after all.

First, BE-262 went into a network of tunnels it found below the city. They were dark, wet, and putrid. BE-262’s sensors detected huge amounts of bacteria and viruses in this place which would kill most life in its database. In the corridor, BE-262 detected movement and hovered forward to investigate the source of it. When it rounded the corner, it saw a creature covered in fur many times bigger than BE-262. There were whiskers on and a pink nose on its snout. The creature’s head had black eyes on its sides, ears protruding from the back, and two large front teeth in its mouth. It noticed BE-262 and lunged at him, thinking it to be a quick snack. The little drone’s propulsors strained to dodge out of the way of the lunging alien, and it barely got out of the way, staying high enough that the beast couldn’t reach it. The furry organism vocalized some strange squeaking noise as it looked at its would-be prey hovering over it.

After hours of toiling in the filthy sewers, BE-262 decided to explore the city above. It climbed out a tiny hole in the ceiling and into the open once again. There it saw the species that made these massive towers up close for the first time. They were even bigger than the animals it saw in the labyrinth below. Most of these creatures were pale, but some had darker skin tones. They all walked upright on their two hind limbs, they wore clothes that would look primitive compared to the attire of BE-262’s creators despite their complexity, and they all carried small devices connected to some sort of digital world wide web. The creatures were talking to each other, but there wasn’t any way to understand what they were saying. And learning to do so could take years. BE-262 tried to contact its masters to relay what it had found on this planet.

Still nothing…

The rest of the city was even vaster than the tunnels under it. There were towers in all directions that were so tall some looked like they were scraping the sky. There were noises from all sorts of sources, such as the chatter of the pale creatures that called this place home, their gadgets, and many other sounds stroked BE-262’s audio sensors. They were more complex than what BE-262 was supposed to hear. After a while, It decided to hover up to the top of the tallest tower it could find.

There, the view made the concrete jungle seem endless. The noises below were muffled now that BE-262 was up so high. Now that it was up here it could see massive winged machines flying over the city, leaving trails of condensation behind them. Clouds miles long or wide accompanied the machines as they made their way through the sky.

BE-262 tried to contact its masters one more time. Once again, Nothing. It was becoming apparent that it was alone here. A question came to its main processor: what does it do now?

BE-262 computed answers at light speed as it gazed into the sky from the top of its perch on the tower. After one hour of calculating, a course of action finally revealed itself within BE-262’s processor. It decided that the best thing to do was to explore this world and its people and learn everything there was to know about them. It may take a while, or it might be a short journey. But whatever there was to discover, BE-262 was going to find it.

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

TanmaySonawane

Jason Chen

“Gothic Short Story”

By SaishYennampelli

It was a normal Friday night. Or so Brandon thought. Brandon’s family recently moved into a new mansion. However, this mansion was extremely old, and there were many rumors that the house was haunted. Brandon has never believed in ghosts and demons and laughed at the rumors. It was 11:00 o’clock at night, but Brandon was full of energy and decided that he wanted to burn someof it by exploring, as he never had any time due to school and sports.

Everything seemed normal until he got to the west wing of the mansion. At first glance, everything seemed perfectly fine and looked like a newly remodeled wing. However, the deeper Brandon explored, the more cracks he saw trailing across the walls and ground, weaving in and outof each other. Suddenly it all stopped at one door. It was a door like none Brandon had ever seen before. It was ten feet tall and wide, built completely out of very polished and shiny bronze where you could see your own reflection. As he stepped up and turned the doorknob, he could sense a knot formingin his stomach and knew it was a bad idea, but his curiosity got the better of him. A gust of cold air escaped, and when Brandon stepped inside the room that followed, his mouth widened, and his eyes started to bulge. As he turned around to leave, he heard the loud thud of the door slamming shut and the soft click of a lock set in place. Horror turned into fear. Brandon started banging on the door.

“HELP, HELP, SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME” Brandon screamed for what felt like hours, but in reality, it was minutes.

“Hello, Brandon, no one can help you now. Welcome to Purgatory,” said an ominous deepvoice that gave him chills.

Brandon started to feel dizzy, and suddenly everything went black, and Brandon hit the floor. When he woke up, his head was throbbing, and he was shivering. As he looked around, all he sawwas gray—everything was gray. He walked around for a while and tried to find an exit, but nothing was in sight. However, there was something about the place that seemed eerily familiar. That's when it hit him. The place he was in was exactly like the mansion, but everything was dark and gloomy. Thehalls were lit by blue torch lights which barely helped the lighting situation.

Every room was completely different from the last. One would hold a creature of some sort, while another would hold a psychotic ax wielder. Some people in the rooms looked oddly human,and it creeped Brandon out. Some would be screeching in pain, their bodies contorted inhumanly, while others would be huddled in the corner, silently crying. As he walked, he felt shivers run down his spine, and it felt like someone or something was following him. Every time he felt this, he started to feel colder and colder. The fifth time this happened, when Brandon turned around, he saw a huge six-foot figure in shredded black robes floating in front of him. He would not see its face, but when it spoke, he recognized it as the same voice he had heard earlier. He started to see his worst nightmares, his family dying, the house burning, explosions, every bad thought he had ever had.That was when he realized what was happening to all the other people. He ran, he ran as fast as he could. He could see his escape back to safety. 50 feet, 40 feet, 30 feet, suddenly he would feel his legs buckling, and his mind would escape from his grasp. The hooded figure came to him on the floor, crawling towards an escape. His mind was trapped in the repeated cycle of everything evil, and Brandon lost all hope for escape and slowly went insane like everyone else there.

One characteristic of gothic literature that was in my story was haunted places. Brandon’s house was haunted in my story, and one specific house wing was very creepy. This helps the reader know what type of story this is. The second characteristic is the dark corridors. My story had a long hallway with cracks. And once you enter the room, it is dark and gloomy, and everything is gray. This sets the mood of the story as fearful and scary. Lastly, the third characteristic is the magic and supernatural stuff. The hooded figure in my story was supernatural and scary. It was the story'smain villain and was portrayed so that the reader would know it was not real.

Gianna Nalumansi

“Untitled”

By Rylie Stromme

It was only days away before the end of October. At the time, the sky was flowing with a mix of rain and snow brushed together by gray clouds. Our story begins in the midst of the woods where the trees started to grow taller and the hills were begging to run steeper. The two children in the back of a red car packed with a week's worth of clothes were asleep. The mother in the passenger seat was quietly reading a news article about the location they were bound to be staying in. The father was at the wheel, and the windshield wipers kept his view clear.

As most stories like these are, the car never goes the way it’s meant to go. The driver must always get lost, and someone must always die. The next event that happened to our little family was as expected. The roads were twisted, and the rain was splashing far faster than the wipers could get rid of it. All it took was a blink of an eye. The father of the two children veered a hard left. It’s also possible he veered a hard right, but no one could see a thing. The next thing you know, they were stopped in front of a dark building.

The hotel known as “l'hôtel de estrutura” was a castle-like building. It had thick stone walls with broad windows surrounding the castle where walls did not. There were two sets of stairs that wound around each other that lead to the main entrance of the castle. The parking lot located next to the entrance was entirely empty except for the family of four who had just arrived. This is because such awful weather is not suitable for a good vacation. Our family was poor and this was all they could afford.

The family walked inside the hotel, gazing at the wonders inside. An abandoned desk sat in front, with a large open dining hall behind it. A staircase was placed down the middle separating two long tables. The hall was dimly lit with a few candlesticks. Large statues sat on either side of the hall peering down at the tables.

A bell sat atop the desk. The son walked up and pressed it. A large bell sound echoed through the hall. An almost ghost-like figure appeared behind the desk. It said nothing, but only handed the mother a key and pointed up the stairs. She took it, and the family followed closely behind her as they began up the stairs. Once they reached the top, they found a single door sitting atop the stairs. The mother took the key and unlocked the door. Inside was an average hotel room. There were two beds, a bathroom, and a small couch in the corner. The mother began to look around, before she realized that her daughter was nowhere to be seen.

The hunt for the daughter began. The mother, father, and son spread out in the hotel to find her. The mother went downstairs to the dining hall. She circled around the tables, and without luck headed over to the statue on the left. There was a small corridor behind the statue. She knew her daughter was a curious little girl, so she started down the thin hallway. As she was walking, she realized what was happening. The space between the walls seemed to get thinner and thinner. Soon enough she disappeared.

The father was next. He spent time looking around the balcony next to their room. It was almost pitch black here, except for a single candle at the opposite end of the balcony. He made his way around to it, and soon found that more candles were dimly lit on the floor. He followed the candles to a single square room. Mounted on the ceiling was a large crystal chandelier. He called out to his daughter, her name echoing off the walls. Once he stepped under the chandelier, he looked up only to find the chandelier coming closer to him.

The last to look for the daughter was the son. He went down the stairs back to the entrance. He rang the bell. No one responded. He rang it again. Nothing. Getting annoyed, the son rang the bell over and over, frustrated at the entire situation. The candles grew lighter and lighter the more he rang the bell. Soon enough, the desk caught on fire, and the son was engulfed by the flames.

“Jared, over here! I think I found something!”

“What is it?”

“It’s a car. Jared, I think there’s people in here.”

A red car packed with a week’s worth of clothes lay sideways off the side of the road. Three passengers were inside. A mother, a father, and a son. Their daughter was nowhere to be found.

Brooke Herrick

“Symptoms of Grief”

By Mia Monteiro

1/16/64 - two weeks since her passing

It started a week after we buried Elise. ‘It’s just the grief.’ They told me. ‘It’s normal. It’ll pass.’ They’re right. They have to be. But does grief feel like this? Does it feel like all the air is being ripped from your lungs? Does it feel like someone watching your every move? In the daylight, in the night, when there can’t possibly be another soul around, but you can feel their eyes piercing you from behind. Perhaps. But perhaps not. The only thing I know for certain is I miss her dearly. Some days as I move through the house it’s almost as if I smell her perfume. When I lie in bed at night I can almost swear I hear her voice whispering in my ear. I can’t make out any words. But it sounds like her. I’d know her voice anywhere. Perhaps they’re right. Maybe this will pass.

1/25/64 - three weeks since her passing

I don’t know what’s going on. Pictures of us are falling over. Things are going missing. I always feel as if I’m being watched. And I keep hearing Elise’s voice! I hear her whispering in my ear. It’s louder than before, but I can’t make out what she’s saying. But she sounds distressed, like she’s petrified. I tried telling my family, but they just look at me like I’m crazy. I’m starting to feel like they’re right. I’m so scared. Even as I write this I feel eyes on me. It’s impossible for anyone to be here. It’s impossible! Even so the feeling is too strong for it to be all in my head. All of this is too real for it to be all in my head. I just want this to end.

2/4/64 - four weeks since her passing

I can’t do this anymore! I’m losing my mind! I’m constantly hearing Elise’s voice. She’s warning me, begging me to run, telling me I’m in danger. No matter what I do I can’t drown it out. I’m so scared. Everywhere I go I feel eyes on me. I feel this horrible presence. This pure evil follows me like a black cloud. All I want is my sweet Elise. Not this voice. I want her. I want her back. I want her to tell me I’m not going crazy and that everything is okay. I need her more than anything. I’m all alone, and I’m so scared. No one will believe me. They watch me cry and plead for them to help me. They watch me with pity in their eyes, mumbling about how I ‘need serious help’. It’s too vivid. I know it’s real. I know I’m in trouble.

2/7/64 - four weeks since her passing

Elise’s warnings are more frequent and more frantic. My time is running out. I stayed at a friend's house, and I met with the priest. No matter what I do, or where I go, I hear Elise’s warnings and I feel those eyes. Last night I saw this figure in the mirror. It was black and humanoid and it had these glowing red eyes. It was the eyes that have been watching me, tormenting me for weeks. I could only see it for a second but it was there, and I’m terrified. I’ve taken to calling it the Shadow Man. This morning I saw it walk past the window. I closed all the curtains and took down all the mirrors. All the doors and windows are locked and I stocked up on food. I don’t know if I can hide from this, but I have to try.

2/8/64 - 6 hours until sunrise

The house is silent. There’s no Elise. There’s no Shadow Man. The only thing I hear is the ticking of the clock and my own heartbeat pounding in my chest. I’m trying to stay calm, but I can’t. It’s like I have this hourglass in front of me. The sand is slowly filling the bottom, mocking me, forcing me to watch as my time on this Earth comes to an end. I’m waiting for something to happen but nothing is. I want to let my guard down and sleep. But I know the minute I do it’ll get me.

2/8/64 - 3 hours until sunrise

It’s been fifteen minutes since I heard something fall outside the room. It sounded like glass. I’ve been holding my breath waiting to hear something else, but nothing. Only the wind and the sound of the grandfather clock. The chime marks the hours leading up to my demise. I can’t take much more of this. I’m sitting here waiting for some unknown entity to kill me. But I only have three hours left.

2/8/64 - 2 hours until sunrise

I can feel Elise next to me. She isn’t saying anything, but I know she’s there. She’s waiting with me. There’s two hours left until the sun comes up. Which means in two hours I’ll be confronted by my greatest fear. Or I’ll have to figure out what to do next. What can I do? I can’t leave and I can’t ask for help. I can only hope that this ends tonight. Whatever the outcome may be.

2/8/64 - 1 hour until sunrise

Elise is gone. I don’t know where she went. Glass just broke somewhere in the room. And the eyes are back. I can’t see them but I know they’re watching me. I can hear banging in the walls. I can barely breathe. The knife is clutched in my hand. If it’s here I can’t run. I trapped myself in here. This is it. I’m ready.

2/10/64

Dear Anna,

I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you. August passed away two days ago. He was really struggling since he lost Elise. He kept saying that he was being watched and that things were going missing. It was terrible. We all just thought it was the grief. I think it made him go crazy. We had him talk to the town priest, but it didn’t do him any good. A few days before his passing nobody heard from him. He was locked up in his house and refused to leave. But yesterday some friends went to check on him. He had trapped himself in his study, and he had been stabbed multiple times with a kitchen knife. He was found with food, the knife, and an old journal. The journal was confiscated by the detective as evidence. The coroner ruled it a suicide due to insanity. It’s all just so weird. The funeral is this Saturday. I really hope you can make it. It would mean a lot to me if you were there.

Sincerely,

Marry

Chengjie Chen

Herin Lee