On Folklore By Tracy Adkins Joseph was surprised to find the stones were cool as he leaned against them. The lichen-covered rocks of the ancient wall ringing the Oconee Hill Cemetery had baked in the noon-day sun. It seemed the rising full moon had sapped their heat to shine more brilliantly. “Come on, Andy. Always late shit ass loser,” Joseph whispered to himself as he shuffled his feet nervously and nervously scanned the road for the caretaker. Andy had been Joseph’s freshman year roommate and it had been his idea to break into the cemetery. Earlier in the day, Andy had pointed out an article in the Red and Black. “Bro! Check this out. It says if you stand under the cemetery bridge during a full moon, you hear a horse and wagon crossing the bridge.” “You’re high. Besides, they lock it up at night to keep out assholes like you.” “I know a way.” After Joseph had reluctantly agreed, Andy also invited that tool, Bernard. Joseph didn’t know Bernard well and didn’t want to. He was the kind of jerk that would pull wings off a fly and laugh. Joseph looked at his watch. “He has five more minutes…” Just then, a hand grabbed his wrist. “BOO!,” Andy yelled and guffawed. “Jesus!” Joseph hissed. “Shut up, you dumb shit or we’ll get caught. Where’s Bernard? Let’s get this over with,” Joseph spat. “Bernard chickened out. Let’s go.” Andy trotted down the trail. After one last check for the caretaker, Joseph followed. As they sat on the riverbank, the menacing full moon peered down through the bridge girders. Drought-browned leaves crunched under their feet and grasped from the bushes surrounding them. A nervous tingle crept up Joseph’s neck. “Let’s just go.” Before Andy could respond, the bushes parted and a large shape moved towards them. “Woooooo! Joseph, I’m the ghost of sad virgins! Wooooo!” The dopey blond waved his arms above his head. “Bernard you dumb shit, you’re late!” Andy said. “You were supposed to scare him on the trail.” Bernard shrugged. Joseph clambered up the bank, then looked back down. “This is dumb. I’m leaving.” “Look!” Bernard pointed at a black shape in the water. “A beaver!” He picked up a rock, aimed, and chucked it. Joseph couldn’t make out details, but saw the rock hit its mark. Bernard snorted. “Direct hit!” He jumped up and down celebrating. Bernard didn’t see the black shape in the water elongate and stretch towards the shore. The slithering arm was enormous and swift. Joseph’s mouth opened but dismay choked his words. It was too late. When the black tentacle ensnared both boys, Andy’s eyes widened. Bernard looked vaguely confused. Seconds after, one stifled scream disappeared with them below the river waters. Joseph was frozen, watching silent ripples recede on the surface. Stunned, he didn’t hear the horse hooves or wagon clattering across the moonlit bridge above.
It's Friday the 13th in Athens By Andrew Benzinger It wasn’t even midnight by the time I left Clocked, but the usual Friday night buzz on Washington Street was nowhere to be found. The hushed autumn air told me to head home, and I was well on my way when I came to that creepy alley beside Trappeze. You know the one. As I walked past it, I told myself not to risk a glance and spook myself. But a harsh smack followed by a heavy thud caused me to whirl around. An undergrad had collapsed not twenty feet from me in the middle of the backstreet, an oddly shaped object rolling around on the slick pavement beside him. And near the far end of the alley stood a man. Even from here, I could see the fresh tracks of crimson that streaked his forehead and cheeks, glistening in Clayton’s streetlights. I swear he was grinning, staring right at me. “Hey!” I yelled, and my feet pushed me into the alley even as my head screamed to run. But by the time I’d taken four steps, the bloody man was around the corner and out of sight down Clayton. I decided to give up on him and help the kid. He’d risen to a dazed crouch and grabbed the rolling object - a football - as I walked up. “You okay?” The kid mumbled something to the effect of ‘I don’t even like football’. I took it as a no. His forehead was quickly forming a crown of blood - just like the perp. I helped him to his feet, but he couldn’t walk straight. So slinging his arm over my shoulder and leaning his weight on mine, we made for the street. I told him I’d seen a cop car a little further down Washington, but he was busy murmuring something incomprehensible to himself, still clutching that football which appeared just as bloodcaked and battered as him. We made it to the police car, right where I remembered it, and a cop got out as we stumbled near. I guess we were a pretty sorry sight. “What happened?” she inquired as she jogged over. I explained as she helped guide the kid into the backseat. She buckled him in, and his head lolled on his shoulders like a ragdoll with the football settled in his lap. She turned to me and leaned on the backdoor, “You're saying somebody pegged his head with that football?” “I think so.” She shook her head and sighed, “Never know what those crazy fans’ll do next.” “You a fan?” I blurted. She smirked, “Just moved here. I don’t even know who we’re playing tomor-” Suddenly, the car door flew open, almost knocking the cop off her feet. The kid scampered from the car and in one breakneck movement hurled the football right at the cop’s head. There was a clean wap as the torpedo hit its mark, and the cop let out a shocked grunt as the ball bounced off her head and into her open hands. I watched, stunned silent. The cop swayed on her feet, senselessly clutching the ball while the kid stood and swayed like a bobblehead with her. I realized the crazy kid was grinning! I looked from the cop to the kid, back to the cop.
I finally managed to stammer, “Ma’am? Are you…” The cop turned slowly to me as streams of blood raced one after another from her hairline, into her unblinking eyes, down her cheek like red tears. A sick grin broke across her face as if she’d just learned a killer inside joke, and she rasped, “It’s Friday the 13th in Athens.” “So that’s how fandom spreads… ” I gasped, the realization hitting me like a 50 mile an hour football, “It’s contagious!” I turned and dashed as fast as possible from the sports-infected zombies. Behind me, the crazy cop flung the bloody football high into the air. “Go long, boy! Sic ‘em!” I heard the kid cackle as the whistling football descended toward me like a spiraling missile. I barely even felt the impact as the ball sent me into a world painted blood red and concussing black. I woke up Saturday morning with a wicked headache. How I’d gotten home was hidden from memory. All I knew was I needed to find tickets for the game that afternoon - and fast.
Freedom of Choice By Valor Breez (read at your own risk) WAS YOUR BIBLE WRITTEN FOR HITLER by Valor 'the eldest' Breez(c)2019 "before i formed you in the womb i knew you" The Bible and why aren't these IDOLS 'The Prophets of Doom' ?! as they say in Da Hood Stevie wouldnt have ta wondah and even Ray Charles coulda seen that the story of Noah's Ark does not belong in the Bible for its intention is to make some mean if its author
were a black man with an old Baptist rising and a zodiac full a bull when asked why he wrote it hed pull a wig wearing 'Flip Wilson' shake a voodoo doll that resembles 'Lil Wayne' an spit out "DA DEVIL MADE ME DO IT" but we know better or think we do so lets start at the beginning: as a black man in this planets culture for such i have a sensitivity to the use of black images therefor it was quite distressing to me as a black child in Sunday School to be made aware of the black birds NOT returning to the Ark and there being NO rescue squad sent out after them just more discarded blackness gays were still selecting their clothes back then and active in the church choir world so & yet it hadnt occurred to me then that someone on that Ark must of been gay AND with Gods approval
being all seeing and all knowing years and moans later it was very comforting for me to learn through a nature program on PBS that the 'black birds' were scavengers what a huge smile immediately consumed me face drawing me out of my melancholy and into a mirror just to be sure "so very sure" and revel in the such for what a menued feast twas laid out before them and most of all FREEDOM 'the freedom of choice' every where they flew thousands of decomposing bodies now a discarded bloated blackness had they chose that just a swaying on those moon kissed tides beneath stars so bright they could have been 'candles lit by angels' both the guilty politician and the innocent child food for pecking 'food for thought' obviously no consultant geneticist
'on board' prior to no wonder those black birds would not of returned to a stinky and most confining lack of democracy thats why they say in tv court, "do you promise to tell the truth AND the WHOLE TRUTH..." very sparingly i therefor say the following, 'amen' for how satiated i would have been to have been so apprised of such great tidings for as a child of poverty so fascinated by the fearlessness and the playfulness in that 'ever present darkness' in which those lusting great gray humped back rats with their squinting apologetic eyes and ugly dirty pink naked tails a twitching or a thrashing scavenged i ate a pellet put out for them by the incinerator then hid in the short thick bushes crumbly with a very bad taste it was nothing happened (just like Clinton i hadnt swallowed) but i did gather them and trash them just a little boy
without a dog dare i repeat yes 'amen' Noah's Ark is a story that emboldened Hitler and his ilk now round the planet it should never have been released it should never have been included in and snuggled innocently among your Bibles holy stories unless the connection the addition is not purely happenstance who is the author and whom did he hate so much and why was he to call forth The Prophets of Doom and why did such a psychotic like degree of explicit premeditated cruelty be included in your Bible these are the normal questions that normal people such as yourselves have already asked and the answers are as empty as a poor mans fridge would some say the storys hidden evil 'back fired'
that the evil conjured centuries before centuries later 'came home to roost' why have civilizations throughout time believed in an 'afterlife' a 'River Styx' seances what revengeful spirit soooo believing it had been wronged wrongfully seized wrongfully enslaved tortured maimed made to witness unspeakable horrors to loved ones by a ruling curse of people would seize control of a writers mind from the depths of its grave but not ANY writers mind whIch revengeful spirit some say from the tombs of the early Egyptian dynasty periods a zombie a Frankenstein a Dracula like blood sucking mummified spirit who did insanely seize upon the ultimate control of the writers open mind infesting this innocent one who had already been approved to write a story a very special story an everlasting story a story whose destiny was to appear upon the most delicate and holy pages of
YOUR BIBLE infesting it with an evil plan who would be so evil to impregnate that writers story the writers mind kidnapped his sanity held hostage until that sickened and treacherous spirits will be done the composing of a story sooooo insidious that its birth in you does cause your mind and the normal minds like yours to upon reading this story fall into a trance like state a trance that believes there to be nothing wrong with that story nothing odd about that story nothing sinister at all just pancakes at an I Hop with maple syrup and two strips of bacon YET to a specific and most twisted and most gnarled and evil mind bent on MASS MURDER ETHNIC CLEANSING COLLATERAL DAMAGE
such a mind as THAT upon hearing of such a story and the reading of such an evilly corrupted story this psychotic mind will come to seethe in the belief that it is being EXALTED TO THE STATUS OF GOD A GOD WITH THE AUTHORITY TO MURDER AT WILL but not with water The Prophets of Doom did not and do not use water Hitler did not violate The Code the 'Hitlers' of today do not violate The Code they do not use water these new 'Hitlers' use guns automatic rifles and home made bombs even as you kneel beside your children as they prepare to go to sleep and you read to them : and so into the Ark the wild animals marched two by two from all over the world and after the waters rose and the dove returned a rainbow was given
given with the promise that there would be no more intentional mass murders by water a rainbow appearing soooo beautiful that golden haired angels weep with tears of love and Gods love for you and i and our family ... "...until we dream of Life and Life becomes a dream..." Stevie Wonder THE END
Bermuda Triangle By Amberleigh Brewer ‘How did it all go so wrong?’ I thought to myself as I struggle to unlock my seat belt. It had been an ordinary morning. I had thoroughly checked the engine on my private jet plane and had gone through the practice route multiple times with no complications. Only there was one problem, I had to fly over the Bermuda triangle. I’ve heard of multiple instances where troubling cases have occured to boats and planes that dared to pass the Bermuda Triangle but, I thought it was just a superstition. With that in mind, I started the long journey from Florida to Puerto Rico. Everything was working normally until, I got half way through the route, then things started to get complicated. The plane started to sputter as if it had lost all of its fuel. I knew that couldn’t be the case because I had just refilled it that morning but, if that wasn’t the problem then what was? As I was pondering the possible explanations, I suddenly realized the plane was speeding down at a rapid pace. I began to panic and then I abruptly stopped thinking and just sat there accepting my doom.The last thing I remember was the crystal blue water before me and then I blacked out. When I eventually woke up from my coma, I concluded that I was at the bottom of the ocean in the Bermuda Triangle. The water was pitch black and freezing cold. The only light I would receive was the occasional angler fish that would linger by. Now here I am at the bottom of the ocean struggling to unlock my seat belt. I came to the conclusion that it had jammed during the crash. I knew that if I had any hope of making it out alive I had to find some way to unlock that seat belt. As I was struggling to unlock my seat belt I noticed that my pants felt wet and freezing cold. I looked down and noticed that the plane started rapidly filling up with an abundance of water.I observed the plane and eventually found the problem. In a corner of the
plane there was a hole, I figured that it must have happened during the crash also. At that point I came to a realization that I had a .0000001 percent chance of making it out of this situation alive, but I had to try. I recalled that I had a pair of scissors in my backpack. I concluded that if I could reach over to the seat next to me I could grab the scissors and cut myself free. I knew my time was limited because the water was now up to my neck. I grabbed my backpack and quickly searched for my scissors. By the time I found them the water was only inches away from the top of the plane and I didn’t know how much longer I would be able to hold my breath. I could feel myself slipping away and becoming extremely exhausted. I kept encouraging myself to stay awake, but I couldn’t fight it anymore. ‘Nooooo!!!!!!’ I screamed as I sat up in bed. I had to calm myself down before I hyperventilated. “It was just a dream,” I told myself and I went back to bed. Apocalypse approaching By Mark Bromberg
After the fireball appears and the Horsemen ride in, their chargers huffing and puffing through the smoke, it won’t be long before Broad Street explodes beneath our feet and all Athens goes down the escalator to the bargain basement.
At that point Satan will slide up to each of us with a cool drink, sweet tea of course. He’s wearing a red-and-black jersey with a big G on it: “What happened up there?" he’ll ask.
All of us will shrug. “The last we knew, there was a Presidential tweet and then … bang! Here come the Horsemen.” “Ah!” Satan will say. “Good work there, that Donald.”
He grinned. “When he signed the contract I knew hubris would get the better of him. But so soon! Where am I going to put all y’all?” he said, slyly. At that point Trump himself appears through the brimstone.
Surprisingly, his made-in-China tie never catches fire as burning cinders start to pock his flesh. “… No problem, Satan. You’re the best," Trump laughs, smoke billowing out his nose. "I got this."
He shows the Prince of Darkness his plans for the Trump Hell Hotel. One million floors! 10 BILLION ROOMS! “ Just sign here … and here … “ He watches Lucifer sign with his goat-like hoofprints scorching the paper. “ … and once more here."
Donald and Satan have a laugh at their great good fortune. Then Trump puts his hand on the Dark Lord’s scabrous shoulder: “One last thing …” Trump howls, as he shows Lucifer his own signature on a Contract For Eternal Rent:
“ ... YOU’RE FIRED.”
Sinking By: Valerie Corpening
Suddenly, the world crackled back into color and sound. "Where am I?! How did I get here?!.... I must have blacked out. I recognize this street corner, but I feel like I'm swimming underwater." The muted colors of night start to fuzz in and out again. "I think I'm starting to panic. I just have to start walking. I feel like I'm sinking into the sidewalk. There's barely anyone else out in Athens now; it must be really late. Ok, I'm walking but the Earth is moving under my feet. There's a sense of dread building in my stomach and at the stem of my brain. Keep moving." "Everything seems to be closing in now. I feel so alone. I'm so alone. Oh no no, please, I don't want to cry right now. Just breath. Just breath." Eyes scan the street as the overwhelming feelings of helplessness and fear start to culminate into a spiral, until they lock on something in the distance. "Wait what is that?! Is there something in that sewer drain?!! It looks like a face‌...that can't be right‌‌. I'm just drunk. Get home. Keep walking." A shuffle down the block leaves another sewer drain coming into view, as tension immediately starts to build. There's the face again. Frozen, standing and staring in disbelief, deep, dark, guttural terror begins to set in. Close enough to make out details this time, no distinguishable features can be discerned except murky brown and green skin, that seems to be melting off, and two sunken black pits where it's eyes should be. Amorphous, the creature writhes as it stares back. A gasp for breath jars the brain back to reality. "Run! I have to move! I have to go! I don't understand. I can't understand anything. I'm trying to move, but I'm paralyzed in fear and my eyes are locked on the creature, who's gaze is now penetrating me." "Come here to me," it seems to beckon. "What's happening?! Against my senses, I'm stumbling closer to the sewer drain. It's pulsating at my approach. I still can't break it's gaze. I can't tell if there's anyone around anymore. Everything around is blurring again. Now though, it's not panic I'm feeling." "Come, I will care for you" the creature seems to say. Hot tears are still pouring. "I'm kneeling only feet from the creature now, it's body made of dirt, sewage, and nightmares. The loneliness and terror are falling away with my surroundings and I'm floating in the black void of the creature."
"Comfort and warmth are consuming me. So warm, but sinking. Sinking deep. Deeper and deeper." "You are home now" the creature seems to say. My senses are all numbed and my consciousness itself is fading too." "Sinking. Where am I going? Home, I must finally be going home." The world crackles back out completely, and there's nothing but the dark and quiet once more.
Tune of Madness By Salem Curtis Growing up as a sensitive child was no easy feat in the south. Particularly down in Athens, Georgia. Of course, at the time we didn’t know the area as Athens, for it was given a name in the winter of 1806. At the peak of my childhood in 1734, we were just a small town in the colony. The nameless town I knew was a bitter place, filled with paranoia, disease and pollution. Void of any love or warmth. That’s why growing up as a sensitive child was not easy. While it couldn’t save me, it was what extended my life. Hearing stories of the Salem Witch Trials was always unsettling. My mother was a witch herself, so I felt disgusted after hearing about how inhumanely humans are able to treat each other. My mother considered herself an earth witch, and she devoted her life to protecting and honoring nature. In the midst of the Industrial Revolution, she chose to recognize and respect the gifts of this planet. Fortunately for my mother, yellow fever claimed her soul right before the textile factory was built. It all began in 1734 when she passed away. After the McCarter Fibers plant was built, pollution was rampant. No one was surprised that mortality became a part of the daily routine. With the new textile factory oozing smoke into our small town, it was expected. What was not expected was how they died. Samuel McCarter, the founder of McCarter Fibers, was the first to pass. Five workers followed. The disconcerting nature of it all was that every single worker had reported having a tune “stuck” within their mind an hour before dying. This tragedy left us all devastated and paranoid. We avoided singing and any sort of musical activity. This collective uneasiness left the perfect recipe for a witch trial to begin. People wanted explanations to ease their fear, pinning the blame on women. On a gloomy morning a few days following the incident, the town council -- solely comprised of men -- hanged Mary McCarter. The patriarchal wrath of the town murdered more women. In addition to those fatalities, over half of the town’s population perished over the course of the week following Samuel’s passing, and they all reported having a tune in their heads one hour before dying. Despite the madness that plagued the town, I maintained my composure. This calm aura made me a target. I woke up at the cusp of dawn, but before I could carry out an escape plan I’d fashioned the night before, an ominous silence filled the streets. Disregarding my collectedness, I ran to the window of each of my neighbors in a panicked frenzy. Everyone was dead. Then, I heard a tune that brought me peace.
“There's something going on that wasn't here before Keep your eyes glued to the floor No one's going to say goodnight There's something going on that's not quite right, uh huh” “Strange” by R.E.M.
The supernatural killer By Jesse Dantzler
“The DNA tests are complete,” Zelda said. “We know what kind of organism it is now.” I looked at the computer. Wait a minute... “This is a hybrid between gorilla and human DNA?!” I said. “Yes. It is unbelievable. However, This extraterrestrial is quite smart. The-”
She was cut off by the alarm as the creature broke free. It broke its bonds and decapitated a nearby scientist. The soldiers opened fire on it, and it jumped toward them and sliced them in half with his razor claws. Then, It grabbed Its other weapon and started to shoot down everyone in the room. Zelda and I got out of the lab just as the creature was done rampaging and broke through the roof to find its next victim. I got in the passenger seat of a van with a few other soldiers. We started driving down Hawthorne Avenue. Then, as we were driving through downtown Athens, something landed on the vehicle. It cut a hole in the part of the van containing the soldiers and messily murdered every person there. “Everything okay back there?” The driver said, responding to the commotion. The creature grabbed a severed arm and rearranged its fingers. The arm
was thrust through the door as a thumbs-up. Then, It somehow made the perfect impression of one of the soldiers “Yes, driver. Everythin’ is goin’ fine.” “Alright,” The driver said. Then, he paid for his mistake. It crawled
through the door and the driver met a gruesome end. I jumped from the vehicle when this was happening and ran through the woods for an hour before stopping. I then realized how dark the woods were, and how easily I could be killed. For all I knew, the beast could be after my head. I started getting hysterical at the suicidal mistake I just made. Then, I heard a twig snap. I looked in that direction and nothing was there. Then I looked behind me. I saw a pair of glowing eyes vanish into the darkness. My heart was testing the limits on how fast it could beat. I started walking backward. Then something grabbed me. I turned around and accidentally punched a tree. I was starting to hyperventilate. I heard the drip-drip sound of something drooling. I armed myself with a stick, after hearing another twig snap. I then heard the crunching of leaves as it got closer. Then, I tripped onto something. The glowing eyes revealed themselves again, RIGHT BESIDE MY HEAD. Then, I was OUT of there. I ran at top speed for ten minutes. Eventually, I ran into a clearing somewhere near Bishop Park with a house in the middle. “HELP! HELP! HELP ME!!! ” I yelled, banging on the door. Then, The creature, in all its glory, opened the door. It grabbed my throat and lifted me 7 feet in the air. I then met with a brutal demise, full of carnage, at the mercy of the Extraterrestrial.
It could be after you too...
Gametime By: Charles Ten Eick It was that strange purgatorial hour in Athens, Georgia, after last call had sent the drunks and service industry skeletons slinking home alike, and for Allister it was the gametime. He marched the length of cobbled brick along Broad Street between College and Herty, stopping only to compulsively check his watch and crack his knuckles. He had an awful case of the pre-performance jitters, and rightfully so, because although this was not his first cultist ritual, it was by far the riskiest. Allister loved the Devil, at least as much as his fellow Dawgs loved football, and so far it seemed the Devil loved him too. He’d never been caught. Not a single one of his blood sacrifices had even been reported on. The macabre finger-painting he’d laid down before the double-barrel cannon at city hall hadn’t even made Flagpole. It irked him. He wanted notoriety, and so far, all of it had been washed down the gutter like so much frat bro vomit. He swerved around another puddle of the stuff and came to a halt. He thought he could hear it coming. He waited, toeing the chunks. Suddenly, a blacked-out van came barreling around the corner, belching smoke. It was Charlie, his partner-in-crime, although lately he’d come to think of him as less a partner and more of an Igor. He pulled up, rolled the window down. “You got ‘em?” Allister asked. “Yeah, Boss, but one of the bastards bit me!” Charlie brandished one hand, wrapped in a white t-shirt soaked in blood. “Only one?” After Charlie cut the engine all was quiet down Broad, save for a persistent racket from inside the van. He hopped out as Allister circled around back. Something in his stomach began to turn and when he swung open the back door, it flipped over completely. Barking flooded the street. “Dammit Charlie, did you forget the muzzles?” “I went to the store and they didn’t have any that would fit!” “Jesus…”
There it was. He had evoked the arch-enemy’s name. But it was too late now. In fact, it was time for kickoff. “It will have to do.” Allister jumped into the van. Inside was a cacophonous growling din, a series of cages painting blocky fishnet shadows on fur coats, and glistening teeth. There was also a black apron with a long pocket containing Allister's favorite butcher’s knife. He put it on and got to killing. He extinguished each fighting spirit, one after the other, with a grunt and a long pull of the blade about the collar. “Alright Charlie, get them out. I want a nice clean circle around The Arch.” Allister stood aside and lit a cigarette. When the work was done, that was exactly what they had: a blood drawn ring dripping down the marble steps from carcass to carcass, bulldogs, six in total. Allister uttered an incantation and then the hellgate opened.
Scary Story By Akasha Elihu I could feel my heart beating fast, pumping in my chest. I can’t believe the Twilight races are finally here! I saw people start before I heard the pistol. I started to pedal fast to catch up to the others on their bikes. My bike swerved a little as I got close to some trees. My breath shook as I went down the hill. Then, I noticed my hands were clear as I took a second to look at my gears. I saw how my parents in the crowd were anxiously looking for me in the bike race. Even though I was holding on tight to my handle bars I suddenly couldn’t control my bike. I rammed into the curb, but that doesn’t stop my bike’s pace. I try to gain control of the bike, though deep in me I feel the uselessness of doing so. I started to tug on my bike frustratedly. I see that now no one even notices me, as my wheels roll deeper into a forest on the side of the street. Looking up at the moon, I start to sweat, as I hear crunches of pine straw under my bicycle. The red clay slowly staining my fresh new wheels I got for my 9th birthday party. Skrrt… I start to shake when my blue and gold painted ride stops. Then a loud scream pierces the air. My neck rolls to the side, popping, as the world seems black for a while. The last thing I see is the world fall, and my breathing knocks out of me. I wake still in the forest but now I don’t hear the cheers from the street not so far away. I see that my bike has fallen, too, as I try to stand up. Rolling my bike next to me as I walk, I hear more subtle screams. I start to move faster down the path with the wheel marks from my bike earlier. I start to sprint, my bike rattling next to me, now that I hear steps approach me. I feel like
throwing up, and curling into a ball on the ground, to tell myself that none of this is happening to me, but I just keep running. Running, running, running, like there is no end. “How much longer?” I didn’t know I was this far from the streets of downtown. I realize that I’m going nowhere, yet running in place. Finally, when I realize that I am at my last string I open my eyes. Jumping out of my bed I run to turn the lights on in my room not accepting what had just happened. I clumsily trot to the kitchen to splash cool water on my face. I quietly peer into my parents room. I was relieved that they were still there, so I shut their door. Now calmly walking to my room, I open my door, only to see in pure fear, my bike laying on my bed tucked in neatly.
FOXY LADY By Joan Elton The wind is crazy up here on the rooftop of Georgia Theatre, the total opposite of how unmoving and sticky it’s been today. A decent Jimi Hendrix cover band is rocking out “Fire,” which is fitting: Today is the anniversary of the fire that ruined this place; at least that’s what the bouncer said. My guy friends Alex and Reed are my drinking buddies tonight. In between songs Reed suggests we do Fireball shots. Normally I’d give him hell for such a lame choice, but weirdly it sounds perfect. The band begins playing my favorite Hendrix song “Are You Experienced?” when my phone finally dies. It’s been on 1 percent battery for over an hour, so it’s no surprise, but still a bummer. Looking around, most people are vibing with the music. A few are looking down at their phones, and some are doing the most annoying thing possible at a concert: taking videos. Do they really plan to watch those later? Toward the end of the concert, Alex and Reed decide to air guitar. It’s beyond
dorky, yet I can’t help but crack up. For the finale, the band plays “Foxy Lady,” which naturally Alex and Reed loudly sing to me. After the show, our trio hangs for a bit at The Grill and then Uber back to Reed’s apartment complex on the east side of town. Reed offers up his place for us all to crash. Alex accepts but I decline. I’d much rather sleep in my own bed. I promise to text them both once I’m home. They’re semi-worried, but with just two Trulys and that Fireball shot at the show, not to mention those feta fries — basic, I know — I feel more than capable of driving. I plug my phone into my charger and begin the drive home on Lexington Road. After a few minutes my phone comes back to life, and it starts going haywire. Dozens of notifications pop up and more keep coming. Beyond a couple random missed calls and texts, I have tons of Snapchat messages from someone named Jimi. One Snap was of the band we saw playing earlier. The frame is pivoting back and forth between the stage and where I was standing with Alex and Reed. Another video shows a small group of people off at a distance in a parking lot. I have so many DMs too on Instagram. Just from the few I can catch while driving, it’s a one-sided conversation, and the last messages are in all caps. My phone dings again, another Snap. This one is a rear shot of a car — my car! —driving on a long, dark road. I replay the video, this time with the sound on, and I almost swerve off the road. Over the crackling hum of a car engine and the AC blowing I hear a man’s voice. He’s casually singing the closing line of “Foxy Lady” over and over.
Here I come baby. Coming to get you.
No Laughing Matter By Adam Fiddler Thirty minutes until people would start arriving, but I would be surprised if anyone showed up on time. Food, music, and decorations were all ready; this was going to be the perfect Halloween party. It had to be. Not that I’m a perfectionist. I just like things in order. I don’t do chaos. And this party won’t be chaotic. It can’t be with everything going so smoothly. Good tunes, good food, good vibes, and one fine costume. I came up with it myself. I’m going as Ugg-A. I’m in a bulldog costume with Uggs for ears. Pretty proud of it if I’m being hones-What is that? Arthur, my roommate, is usually very clean, but peeking into his hallway bathroom, there's liquid green dripping all over the countertop. Different colored makeup containers spilled out over the counter, pooling in little Van Gogh puddles on the tile floor. White and blue and green and red. It was going to stain! Gloves on, cleaning bucket filled, brush in hand; I get to work. HA HA HA HA HAAAaaaaa--. Well that’s off-putting. A boisterous laugh echoed through the apartment. I couldn't tell where it was coming from. “Hello?” I asked from the bathroom. “Someone early? The party doesn’t start until 9.” No answer, so I step out of the restroom and into the hall. I walk into the living room to find a message has been scrawled out in a maniacal red. pUt On a HaPpY fAcE I can feel my face go pale, my ears begin to ring. With anger! How dare Arthur change my decorations! Although, I have to admit, it was pretty spooky. Eh eh eh eh eeeehhhhhhhhh. Another laugh, not quite the same as the last, comes from a different area of the apartment. “Helloooo? Arthur, is that you? These decorations were NOT approved.” HeeeehehehehehoohooAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA! New laugh. New voice. How many people are in my apartment? A door slammed from Arthur’s side of the apartment. More laughter. A shotgun cocked in my bedroom. Laughter. A jack-in-the-box exploded from behind the kitchen counter and laughter, laughter, laughter. A piercing, shrill scream fills my apartment, and it takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from me. Then there is only silence. A long scratch resounds from outside the main door, like someone dragged a knife along the entire length. “Is someone out there?”
At first there is no answer. And then-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. A loud bang resounded against the door. And another. And another. All the while, the laughter returns. Bang! Bang! Bang! The door bursts open and Arthur falls into my lap. Knife sticking out of his chest. Attached is a note that says, "Super Original." Arthur is wearing a 70’s style red suit. His hair is green. His face is littered with white and blue and red makeup. His breaths come in gasps as he tries to utter his final words. “Let’s.” Gasp. “Put a smile.” Gasp. “On that--.” But I’ll never know what he was going to say.
Strangers By Hadia Alkhafaji I was walking to a bus stop from a UGa basketball game trying to keep my eyes open it was midnight and my friends had left 30 minutes ago in a rage of Georgia losing by a lot but I stayed. It was dark I could barely see the streets were almost empty besides a few cars. As I pulled out my phone to see more clearly. I saw the bus, I ran to catch the bus, but my legs fell asleep I sat down fast in the fourth row. Nobody was on the bus except a little boy. Why would a little boy be all alone on the bus at midnight? He had blond hair and he was wearing a ripped, blue sweater he looked about 6 years old.“Hey, the little guy what's your name” I said “I’m not supposed to be talking to strangers” he said. “It's ok you can trust me, I will tell me you, my name if you tell me yours” He was alone and I didn't want to leave him there. “My name is Kristen. ”Edmon” he whispered. “ Edmon where are your parents” I had to repeat the question over and over and then Edmon said “Gone” I shivered I saw something that looked like blood on his clothes” My stop was next. When I got off Edmon grabbed my wrist “Be careful” I yanked my hand back and got off the bus. What was he talking about? Why was there blood on his shirt? Where were his parents? I was a block away from my home when I saw something in the forest. It was very tall and it had claws it was almost like a human but it wasn’t. I stumbled as I ran and I fell. I saw it behind me about 7 feet away from me I saw some blue cloth on one of its claws. I ran into the forest “GRARH” it roared. The streets were yet again silent and I was in the middle of nowhere when I needed somebody. “HELP” I called but nobody answered It attacked me from behind, I fell to the ground. What was this monster attacking me? It stuck one of its claws in the side of me. I spit out blood as I yell “HELP!” Then blacked out when I woke up I was in a hospital bed and they were rolling me to a room. I started to panic and I couldn't move. “Can't move, I CAN'T MOVE!” I tried to get the doctor's attention but they didn't listen to me. “DOCTOR?” but they still didn't hear me when they came to a room they said to me “You are paralyzed, What happened to you?” Dr. Jones “I was attacked by something I’m not sure what it was but I was tall and had claws” I sounded crazy They didn’t believe me and I didn't blame them. That day will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Local Flavor By C liffton Jacques He knelt down to chain his bike. Fallen leaves scuttled beneath him as he worked his cold hands to fasten the lock. He could not be late for work on his first day. He secured his bike and ran to the back door of the restaurant. “You must be the new guy” said a voice from his side. A man was sitting perched on two legs of a chair that rested against a brick wall. “I’m your manager. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right in” he said while gently sucking on a cigarette. Once inside, the manager introduced himself and began to describe the work. “It’s not a hard job. You wear the apron. You say, “hi welcome to the Grit how may I help you?” and what do we say when the customers ask if we are really vegetarian?” His finger pointed up as if about to conduct an orchestra. The kitchen staff suddenly chimed together in unison. “We Would Never Kill An Animal!” Without hesitation, the manager hurled him out onto the serving floor. “Excuse me!” “Check please!” “Are you sure this vegetarian?” He whizzed and whirled between the tables until each one was served and sweat dangled from his brow. He took his first break from the day. Sitting in the same chair from earlier. He locked eyes with an older woman exiting and clutching her pink overcoat as to keep the wind from wrestling it away. She smiled when she saw him. He had waited on her table moments ago. “Thank you for the meal. It was lovely. You’re Nathan’s replacement?”
After he gave her a quizzed look, she explained that Nathan was her favorite server until he simply stopped showing up a few weeks ago. “Here is a picture if you ever seem him come in.” She showed him her phone. Her and Nathan were smiling in front of the restaurant. His face was glowing and topped with bright red hair. He promised to let her know if he saw Nathan. The manager poked his head out. “One of the cooks is out. Need you to manage the Black Bean Chili. Not hard, just stir often and don’t let it burn.” He walked back inside and manned the chili station. He plunged a wooden spoon deep into the vat. Turning over with each whisk a new gust of steam that wafted up to his face. Over his shoulder he could hear his manager loudly waiting a table. All the while he kept stirring, digging his way through to the wet bottom of the pot. A customer asked the manager. “Are you sure this is vegetarian?” His spoon thudded against the bottom. Something must have gotten burned to the bottom of the pot. He pulled the wooden spoon out. As he inspected his utensil, pressed firmly into the wood were three bright red hairs. And once again he heard his manager reply, “We would never kill an animal.”
Scary Story By I srael James (7th grade) It was a late night that I didn’t completely mean to have. I had gone out around 12 pm to meet up with my ladies at the 40 Watt for a fun night of music. It was near Halloween so my friends demanded, “Come on you never get out anymore because of all your big fancy college work.” They had never been into college since our freshman year at Clarke Central. Either way, it was true I had not been out of my small apartment on Pulaski in a while so it would be good to get out so I got ready and meet them. It was now around 4 am and I was on the way home and it got really quiet and oddly got dark. Then a large dark shadow of a body, jumped out at me.
“What the hell?!?” I screamed. “Oh sorry,” said the man, “I thought you were someone else.” “Oh, um… It’s ok.” I said very timidly. I quickly started walking again and picked up my pace as the shadows seemed to close in around me. I started to shake and get very sweaty as I was quickly walking. I felt as if someone was following me so I started to walk as fast as I could as I saw my apartment get closer into view. I ran up to my door and unlocked it. I ran in shut, the door, and locked it. I took a deep breath set my bag down. I realized that my dog had not come up to me yet so I started to call his name. “Oscar. Oscar. Oscar!” I said, getting very nervous. I started to walk to my bedroom and looked to see if he was on my bed but he wasn’t. “Where could he be?” I thought. Oh no… I ran outside and looked. He had gotten out and I saw his figure lying on the ground. I started to walk towards him and call his name but he wasn’t responding. As I got closer I saw a knife in his neck. The horror hit me--someone had killed my dog.. Then a quick gust of wind flew in behind me. And there it was--the thing--it’s face a monster, a thing that you could never describe, a thing that would kill you before you could say “goodbye.” No one knows what happened next. Believe me I would love to tell you but I’m dead.
On Repeat Rhys Lindquist The sinkhole opened up where West Broad meets Alps, in the wee hours of the morning. All those lanes of traffic ground to a halt. It's not like we hadn't seen a sinkhole before, especially with the soggy weather we'd been getting. But this was so sudden and so violent that it was almost like some creature had bitten a chunk out of the street—an enormous hole, so deep the bottom was covered in darkness. After only a few hours, caution tape had been put up and people in various uniforms were standing around the hole's edges. Crowds started to come and snap pictures, and all city officials could do was erect barriers so nobody tumbled over the side. And then they started pulling things out of the hole. I walked down there, that first morning. The breeze carried wisps of paper up out of the chasm. I looked down at a scrap of newsprint that had gotten stuck to the pavement by the tread of my shoe. Only parts of the ink survived, but I could still make out what it said. COL RB ARER F ATHE S OCT B R 2 , 212 A day or two after that, they sent someone down with a bucket. They were told to pull up whatever they could find from the detritus on the bottom. The first thing they returned with was a
fast-food container with the dessicated remains of tofu over dried-up, ancient vegetables. If I had to bet, I'd guess the yellowish dust clinging to it would be nutritional yeast. Several disintegrating shirts came up in the bucket too, still red and black where they weren't mostly holes. It seemed like the sinkhole was full of... us. Anything that anybody associated with Athens. Backpacks, student IDs, souvenir footballs, broken scooter parts. Library cards. Beer cans. Records. Then, when they reached the floor, it broke open to a new layer. That was when we started finding the newspapers. The dates on them just didn't make sense. They were from 25, 50, even 100 years after the present. Some of them used strange slang, or referenced local politicians who were never elected. The further down we dug, the closer the papers got to today, until finally we found the most recent issue of Flagpole—but it wasn't right. U GA lost the Notre Dame game, according to them. The cover showed unfamiliar players. I think something happens every hundred years or so. I think something razes the town—and us—and starts it all over again, slightly different. And we all forget. Some parts of our culture stay static, but some things change a little. The beer cans have some kind of snake on them instead of a terrapin. The furthest out the papers go is a little over one hundred years from now, but the thing that really worries me is that another false floor gave way at the bottom of the sinkhole today. And the guys with the buckets started bringing up bones.
Scary Story By Adah Nackashi (age 12) I am coming home from a long day of work. I work at the Grit. I live with my roommate Vicky. I get home and hear banging. I am confused because Vicky is not supposed to be home till 9:00 and it’s only 8:30. I guess she probably got home early today. I walk inside and the banging gets louder. I reach the kitchen where I thought the banging was coming from. In the kitchen, I see Vicky cooking. I smile and say “your home early!” “Yeah, they let me out early today. “Business was kinda slow,” Vicky says “Oh cool!” “What are you cooking?” I say “Pasta.” “Go wash up,” Vicky says. We watch the news as we eat. There is some creepy stuff on it. “ Fox News, Hey there we are warning all to be extra careful this Halloween. There have been quite a few missing reports from our police. We hate to say it but there is a serial killer on the loose.” “Thank, you and goodnight” Today was like any other day. I did my work, ate lunch, and more work. I got a text from Vicky. She wants to go to Manhattan for a show. We go. It’s great! “Wow, they sound so good!” Vicky exclaims. “Yeah, they do sound good!.” Vicky gets up to use the bathroom. She comes back and we continue to watch the show. That night on the way home we listen to the radio.
“Good evening to all. Fox News. We have some news. Tonight there was a great show at The Manhattan. But, sadly there was also a death. Male. Timothy Cane, 23 years old found dead in the restroom. We are unsure of the cause of his death. Let's all be careful.” Vicky and I exchange glances. I turn back to the wheel. It’s been pretty hectic. There have been 3 deaths since the last news report. One of the deaths happened at The Grit, one happened at Sandy Creek Park, and the other at The National. The weird and freaky thing was that Vicky and I were in all these places. I was super worried now, was the killer after me or Vicky? Thursday night I wanted to stay home. I ate my dinner and took a long relaxing bath. I hear a bang. It sounded like a gunshot. I get out and get dressed, I walked towards the bathroom. The first thing I see is blood all over the mirror. I shift my eyes. Standing there was Vicky holding a gun. My Boss was dead in the bathtub, blood all over the floor. I scream. Vicky was the killer. I had been living with a killer! I feel a chill go down my spine. I yell: “ Help!” But, no noise comes from my mouth. I want to run but I am frozen. I cannot move. I try to run. BANG! I wish I could tell you what happened next, but, I’m dead...
Passing Through By CM Reeves I rub my eyes with the back of my hand. Red and green lights swirl into a brownish color that muddies my already cloudy vision. I had just finished my fifth vodka soda- or was it my sixth? Which street corner is this? The walk signal! Shit. I cross the street in bare feet, high heels dangling in hand. Ten seconds to make it across. Nine, eight, seven…. Okay. I made it. I collapse on to a stone ledge. It is getting cooler. There aren’t as many cars on the street as there were a moment ago. In fact, there is only one car stopped at the light. Where are my friends? I look around. Wasn’t it only a moment ago that I stumbled out of Flicker with Mallory? That was five blocks away at least...
The light has been red for what seems like an hour. The truck stopped in front of me is quiet, engine barely humming. The bars are noiseless. I cannot see the driver through windows that reflect only the traffic lights ... and a face. The light flicks green and the truck lurches away before I can see. My apartment is only a few minutes away, but I cannot figure out which way to walk. I know that if I rest here, I will wake up on Sunday morning in a bush, smelling like beer and patchouli. Pedestrians might think I’m a discarded mannequin or a murdered body. I need to go. Despite my unsteadiness, I will myself to stand up and turn. If I cut through campus, I can get to Thomas Street faster. Lost but determined, I walk across a red brick pathway. As I climb the steps, I am hit with a force that feels like an ocean wave, but colder. I stumble backwards and remain static for a moment before I notice them. The Arches, poised tall and silent, appearing suddenly as if they had been conjured. I get up again. As I pass through a second time, I feel a freezing grip. Then I see him. “PLEASE,” he screams. “STOP!” He has no eyes; his touch is chilly and indefinite. I sprint. I do not remember waiting for the light to change; all I know is that I end up at The Grill. It is daylight when I become cognizant again. I am in a booth, Flagpole and barely eaten chili fries on my table. It is 7:32AM. Attempting to ground myself and make some sense of this haunted hangover, I glance at the bottom of the open page before me. LAST TUESDAY, A UGA FRESHMAN PASSED THROUGH THE ARCHES AND COLLAPSED. THE YOUNG MAN DIED OF CARDIAC ARREST IMMEDIATELY. THE STUDENT HAD NO KNOWN HEALTH ISSUES. THE CAUSE OF DEATH IS STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION.
My stomach churns. Glancing at my wrist, I see finger-shaped bruises. I feel frozen. I need to get home soon. But this time, I’ll take the long way. -
CM Reeves
Maat’s Feather By Veigh Snider “Have a Happy Halloween!” called Leuruna Anatta brightly to the exiting couple. She turned towards the counter and oh“Sorry for startling you.” He was dressed as an Indiana Jones-style adventurer. It was a good costume, too, with a dented, dirty ostrich feather rammed into his hat. “No need to apologize! Um – your togo order will be ready soon.” He leaned in. “Want to hear a story about a curse to pass the time? It looks pretty dead in here.” She agreed readily, but the discerning onlooker would see her bite her lip. He saw. He was studying her face a bit too keenly. “There was a professor who worked in an Athens almost identical to yours but situated in a neighboring reality. In this universe the gods stayed in certain, explicit contact with their creations.” “Must be nice.” “Well, you see, mortals only had access to empirical knowledge while the gods knew and could manipulate all knowledge. The professor could model how the universe behaved, but he never knew why it obeyed the gods’ laws. He desperately wanted to know, so he challenged Athena, Athens’ patron goddess, to a battle of wits. Other mortals said he’d forsake his humanity to even be able to conceptualize this knowledge, but I say there never was an action more human! “I won, but by her design. My soul was conceivable universe. In theory, I stretched – scraped even - to inhabit a body in every should have been able to understand the nature of infinite realities by comparing them. But imagine trying to react to infinite circumstances with just one consciousness. You necessarily have to abandon bodies in almost infinite realities to be able to function. You’d think cosmic nihilism would set in eventually, but instead you are abandoning your family, friends, and life infinitely. Pain, pleasure, mundanity, everything experienced infinitely is...terrible. “But I persisted, slowly slouching towards Athens and the woman who cursed me. I say
woman – not goddess – because I believe she is someone like me. Maybe I’m self-absorbed, maybe I’m desperate, but I cannot believe she cursed me for some schadenfreudeic pleasure. But why? To study me and the others she cursed so that she can perfect the method by which to function in multiple realities.” “It may be coincidence, but I’ve never met someone who moves like y’all do. You move as one, and reality seems to acquiesce to your will. Did you find what you were looking for? Was it worth it?” Wrath emerged in his voice, “Why did you do this to me?” But then he laughed sadly, “More than likely with infinite possibilities, it’s just a coincidence.” He picked up the togo order on the counter, “Sorry for scaring you earlier,” and he awkwardly made his way out the door and down Prince Avenue. Her eyes followed him. The professor never did find the knowledge he was searching for, and, to Leuruna’s relief, he never realized he was right about her.
The New Kid By Lindsay Stanley Late Tuesday night, I was wandering around UGA’s North Campus. I was new and not yet accustomed to my surroundings so I figured that I would take this time to try to learn my way around since I’d be here for a while. I fumbled down the sidewalk and ran into a few people, but they didn’t even feel me bump into them because their noses were buried in their phone screens. “Whew, ” I thought. I wasn’t quite ready to be noticed anyway. It was about midnight when I made my way across the street from the Arch. The combination of midweek dullness and the beginning of midterm season had practically made a ghost town out of downtown Athens, but that’s when I felt most at-home.
As I passed the Wuxtry Records store, I could hear footsteps and the sound of something being dragged across the pavement. “Someone’s coming,” I thought. From what I could tell, there was somebody walking alongside the building. I quickly ducked to the side of the sidewalk closest to the building and plastered myself against the storefront window. The footsteps were heavy and labored. I took a few deep breaths as they grew louder and louder, and I anticipated the appearance of this mysterious person. I saw the distorted shadow of a tall man stretch across the sidewalk as he came closer to the corner of the building. Finally, the man appeared. He was dressed in dark clothes and had tousled hair with a scruffy beard. I could also tell that he was carrying a couple of full canvas bags that he could barely keep off the ground. “That explains the dragging, ” I thought to myself. He must have sensed my presence because, as he turned the corner, he looked straight at me! I could not make out his face, but I could see the eerie glint in his eyes as the streetlights shone down on us. “Now or never,” I said to myself. In one motion, I came out from my hiding place at the window, lifted my arms and let out an unnatural high-pitched shriek. The man’s eyes widened, and he immediately began to run down the sidewalk, dropping his bags and screaming along the way. I leaned against the front window with an air of self-satisfaction. “Not bad for a first time, ” I chuckled. I secured the lock of hair that had been displaced during the encounter and crossed the street
away from the records store. “That was enough haunting for one night,” I thought to myself as I floated past the Wells Fargo. A feeling of peace rushed over me as I sniffed the aroma of baking cookies from Insomnia across the street. I sighed. Man, I missed cookies.
Josie's Demise by Molly Suggs and Victoria Garland
Her eyes fluttered open. She was lying on the cold, hard concrete. The last thing she remembered was cleaning up after the Wild Rumpus and having to deal with the aftermath of one of the most hectic nights of the year. Of course, it had to be the frat boys and their annual pranks. Toilet papering downtown--how unoriginal. As she looked around she was blinded by the bright light of the morning sun beaming on her face. The students had started coming back to campus for their morning classes. Something seemed a little eery though. Lying in the middle of College Avenue, you’d think somebody would have seen her. Suddenly, two girls started screaming and pointing at the arch. She, like everybody else in the vicinity, rushed to the university’s famous monument. As she was running, she accidentally stepped on someone's foot. “Sorry!” She yelled after them. Oddly, they seemed unfazed. Weird, she thought. She didn’t think much of it though. Maybe they just didn’t feel anything. Everyone gasped and screamed as they realized what was hanging from it--a dead body. Not just anybody’s--hers. It was wrapped in toilet paper, leaving an opening for her lifeless eyes to peek through. “Oh my gosh, y’all, that’s Josie!” screamed one of her best friends. “Somebody call 9-1-1!” “You guys! I’m right here everybody!” She yelled. She waved her arms frantically trying to get their attention. Yet nobody heard or saw her. Voices echoed through her head, this just wasn’t adding up. Something just wasn’t right, why is this happening. Am I dead? No, that just can’t be true. It just can’t. She tried to convince herself that she was just dreaming. She looked down at her cold pale hands. The realization hit her, this wasn’t just a nightmare. Out of nowhere, a voice called her name. It was coming from a dark alleyway, close to the Georgia Theatre. She felt as though she was weightless.
“Josie, Josie,” it called. “I didn’t expect you to come so soon.” The voice, as she thought about it, sounded oddly like her grandmother’s, except much creepier. The funny thing was though, her grandmother was dead. She was entering the afterlife, or so she thought. It all happened so quickly she couldn’t comprehend. The voice that resembled her grandmother grew closer and suddenly cut off. Everything went black a chill went down her spine. She buried her face between her knees and rocked back and forth sobbing. Then everything went quiet. Josie looked up and saw that she was back at the arch. She ran towards the crowd as fast as she could but suddenly a bony hand clutched her shoulder and pulled her back. A ghoulish face with sunken eyes and a gaping hole for a mouth was pulling her away. Shrieking at her friends to help, she was overtaken with horror as they became more distant. To this day no one knows what happened to Josie, where she went or what took her.
Smile By Tre Kathan “Damn! That’s the last time I uber someone to Sanford Stadium. Bastards robbed me of everything. Even my phone charger” he yelled exploding with frustration. “Great, so now I’ve got an uncharged piece of junk. Might as well head over to the Hi-Lo lounge,” he sighed. At the bar, someone yelled towards the door, “Good game tonight eh? Beat those out of towners 24 to 3.” “I couldn’t watch it, too busy gettin’ robbed,” he replied. “Well that ain’t too good is it mate, and don’t want anything else happening, do you?” he said. “I guess not,” I said hesitantly at the odd question.
“It would be a real shame if something else were to happen, especially something life-threatening,” he said still grinning. “I’m gonna leave, I think I’ve had too many drinks,” I said starting to stand up. He comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder pushing down, “You should stay, I insist. And look around, you’re the last one,” the man said now looking emotionless. “I’ll stay,” he said shaking slightly. “Good, good decision. Now, follow me.” The man stands up and starts walking, but he stays sitting. “NOW!” he commanded. He hurriedly stands up and starts following.
Hesitantly he asks “Where are you taking me?” “You’ll see.” Walking out the back entrance he sees, “A limo?” “Just get in,” the man grunted. He paused and then, he started to run! “You shouldn’t have done this.” He takes a baton which he was concealing and WACK! He was hit over the head and knocked out. Two men emerge from the limo and carry his body inside the vehicle. After being unconscious for hours he awakens to find himself in a small room with tools strewn about. He attempts to stand but he is tied to the chair. “I... Is that blood?” While he is trying to comprehend the situation there is a small click behind him. “So you’ve finally awoken, it took long enough.”
“Where am I? What are you going to do to me?” “Getting straight to the point, are we? We’re in the abandoned mill on the outskirts of town, no-one has been here in decades. As to what is happening, we’re just here to have a little fun. I like fun, doesn’t everyone?” “I’m not going to play your sick games.” “At least put a smile on your face, or I’ll put one on there for you,” saying this he pulls out a knife. “What are you gonna do?” “I’m gonna put a smile on that face.” He takes the knife and very slowly cuts the corners of his mouth into a smile. “There, better. “NO! NO! MY MOUTH, IT BURNS!” he screams in agony. “Now the real fun begins,” he says pulling out a hammer. All you can hear is the screaming of him being repeatedly beaten, drowned and burned. The only remains the ACC Police could find was pieces of him were scattered around the facility.
THE INVITED By Harry Valentine
It seemed like an innocent question: “Would you like to attend?” But now here I am, hiding in a dumpster, trying to quiet my heartbeat, hoping he doesn’t find me.
When I met Brendan, he seemed like an alright guy, except for the smell. He had that intentionally un-deodorized stink to him that was natural, I guess, but not preferred. We drank from the same keg, knew the same people, and liked the same music.
Soon came the friend request, which I accepted. Then came the follow-request for his band La Croix Boys, which I accepted. Then came the event invite: La Croix Boys at Caledonia. “Sure,” I thought, “if nothing else is going on,” and I accepted that too.
Then the direct messages started. Grateful for my support. Good to have a new friend. Good to have a new fan. They felt copy-pasted. I left them unopened for plausible deniability.
When the night came, I had forgotten. I threw a jacket over my flannel and strolled out onto Washington to hunt down a grilled cheese.
I leaned back after my meal, one hand resting on my belly, the other reaching for my phone. My stomach grumbled as I looked through the missed calls, texts and notifications. I was initially delighted at the volume, but that delight turned to uneasiness. I listened to one of the dozen voicemails, picking from the center of the list.
“Where are you? You said you’d come. Why would you say that if you weren’t going to come?”
I recognized the voice, but I hadn’t given Brendan my number. I previewed the voicemails. All longer than the one before, all from an unsaved 706.
I had only glanced at his band’s page, but it was enough to recognize them when I set my phone down and looked across the street. There, out on the sidewalk, stood the La Croix Boys, guitars and drumsticks in hand.
Staring, for God knows how long. All of them, but Brendan.
And that’s when I smelled it. The stink of sweet PBR and sour sweat flooded my nose and mouth, threatening to force up my tater tots. I turned to find Brendan seated next to me.
“Listen,” he said, and started to scream. It was a bellow and a screech rolled into one, and it poured from him at a volume that made my ears throb. The La Croix Boys, dead-eyed and swaying, clawed at their guitars and snapped their drumsticks to a sick beat as they entered the restaurant, and I ran, blindly, dizzily, out into the street.
And now I’m here, crouched in an alley dumpster where I don’t think they’ll find me, waiting for daylight to wash them away.
I get a text and slam my hand over my phone, hiding the blast of light from the screen. When I’m sure no one is around, I take a peek to find a new DM:
“It’s okay. We’re playing Little Kings next week.”
The Night Shift By Kennedy Walker Tick tock. I glanced at the counter’s clock. I wanted to leave as soon as I could. It was always like this at the Citgo gas station in Athens, GA. It was by nothing but a long, isolated road with a wooded area with trees that seemed like they would unexpectedly collapse right by it. A car or two would come by at this time of night and they would either ask for gas or grab a quick snack on a long trip ahead of them. This place was so terrifyingly eerie that someone with sense gains chills and splits the moment they came. The only reason I’m not running too is that it’s the only available job I could get, which my brother claims is my fault. I shut my mouth because he is a home for me until I can scrape enough money to leave and go to the community college nearby. I usually had my co-worker Randy here too, but he told me that he’s at a football game tonight, so he wouldn’t come join me until halfway through my shift. I hated that because of the creepiness of being alone and how anything could happen. I decided to take my mind off that by bathroom cleaning and snack restocking. About an hour in, I heard rattling coming outside the bathrooms. It was about 1 A.M., so I thought it was my co-worker or someone trying to get gas to hurry from here. When I came out, no one was there. I went to the front and looked around, but no one was to be seen in the vast darkness. As I walked back I heard loud steps going around the station. They were slowly thudding as it got louder and stopped. Gaining courage, I took the mop from nearby and nervously crept around the building to see no one. I walked back inside and couldn’t breathe when I looked back at the door afterward. There was a dark figure at the door now, banging the door with some weapon. I locked the door quickly and ducked behind the counter to hear it banging on the door. All my superstitions that were my main problem for me not accepting the excellent college due to ghost legends before came back to life as I knew that was a ghost. I hid there for eternity when I heard a creak as the door opened. I grasped the mop and look up to see alarmed looking Randy staring at the cleaning tool in my hand. When he finally calmed me down, I explained to him my horrific encounter. We looked at the station’s security footage to see that no one was there. When I told him about the ghost possibility, he said that it could've been in my head and my mind got the best of me. After the shift, I drove home thinking that I was overreacting. As I slept on the couch at home, I heard footsteps going around the house. I wasn’t going to wake my brother up because he would ignore me. I peeked out the window and saw nothing. I just about ignored it until I saw it at the kitchen window. It
was the same figure from before. Though instead of banging at the window with the weapon, he was pointing it at me.
The Ropes By Philip Weinrich “C’mon, get in the car!” Jake said as the boys jumped off the bulldog in front of the YMCA. They were headed to the Athens Y Camp to climb the high ropes course. His friend Brent was already there setting things up. It had been years since Jake had been there and he was excited to see the additions he had heard about. Caleb, Luke and Seth sang “Gonna take my bus to Colham Ferry Road” so many times Jake felt like shooting Lil NasX. Thankfully, the ride wasn’t long and they were soon pulling onto the dirt road of the camp. Brent’s car was there, but he wasn’t around. Jake figured he was already at the course, so he grabbed his pack and led the boys up the trail. It seemed unnaturally quiet, Jake thought, but maybe he was just comparing it to when he was a camp counsellor. The boys chatted excitedly, but Jake couldn’t shake the feeling that the birds had stopped singing. When they got there, Jake dropped his bag in amazement. The new section was more intricate than any setup he’d ever seen. Ropes crisscrossed and went from tree to tree in every direction, glistening when the sun hit them. “Okay boys,” Jake exclaimed, “get your gear on!” Jake had them up the ropes in no time, as he was excited to try out the new section. He was still uneasy about Brent’s absence, but thought that he was probably just ahead, waiting to scare them. “Mr. Jake,” Caleb said above him, “I found something.” “Toss it here.” It was Brent’s favorite backpack, torn to shreds. Something bad must have happened to Brent because he never went anywhere without this pack. Jake looked up. The boys were already at the new section. “Hey g-g-guys?” Jake stuttered nervously. “It’s getting late. Let’s head back.” “But we just got here!” they yelled together. “I know, but it’ll be getting dark soon”, Jake lied. “I can’t,” Luke said. “I’m stuck!” “Sure you can! There’s nothing to be afraid of. Just let yourself down like I showed you.” “No, I mean I’m literally stuck!” Luke pulled with all his might. “My hand is caught in the rope.” Jake undid his carabiner so he could climb more quickly. When he reached Luke, he grabbed his knife and told the other boys to climb down. “I can’t,” Seth cried. “I’m stuck, too!” “Me too!” Jake tried to cut the rope but it was too strong. He tried pulling Luke’s hand free only to notice that he was now stuck. Desperately, Jake yanked and yanked… The vibrations traveled along the silk and alerted Her as She was wrapping the legs of Her still twitching prey. She spread all eight of Her legs across several different threads to tell where the disturbance was coming from and then waited expectantly. Another tug sent Her scurrying down that thread, knowing that Her babies were going to eat well when they hatched in a few days.
Last Year’s Bad Date By Rob White
There she is at the end of the bar. In all my years in Athens I had never seen this woman before our date that night and now she’s everywhere. She’s on the patio at Flicker as I walk by. She’s getting onto the elevator to the Georgia Theater rooftop as I’m getting off. Tonight she’s at Little Kings listening to the DJ outside. We were two strangers who matched on a dating app, had an evening of polite conversation followed by moments of awkwardness. I did it. I made it awkward. My signals were mixed and I don’t blame her for what happened next. She unmatched me. Yet despite being unmatched on the app, we appear to have been cosmically linked by the cruel god of fate. I have my drink and her eyes are on me the entire time. Her gaze bores into my soul. Well there it is. She hasn’t forgotten. She still remembers. She hates my guts. I leave my tip and go to another bar. I walk in the door at Max and halt in my tracks. There she is. She’s somehow beaten me here. Our eyes meet and she has to notice my face go pale. I play it off, order a drink from the opposite end of the bar and hurry outside to the empty patio. She follows me. She sits one table away and lights a cigarette. She’s messing with me, isn’t she? She wants me to remember how bad that date was. My anxiety is her revenge for an evening she’ll never get back. Luckily a friend walks by and joins me. We chat about life. We chat about how Athens is a small town. Ha hah. He leaves and then I leave. She’s still sitting there but she’s been joined by a friend of her own. I breathe a sigh of relief. She doesn’t notice as I offer her one last glance. I walk up Washington and think about how ridiculous I’m being. There’s no way she’s following me on purpose. She’s a fellow townie. We all migrate between the same few bars like a flock of tattooed geese. Besides, a bad date isn’t that big of a deal. It’s not like I killed her dog or anyth…. “OH, FU…..” I yell, halting suddenly in the middle of a crosswalk. I swear I left her sitting there at Max, but here she is, plain as day, stubbing out a cigarette on the patio of The Globe, looking dead at me.
I pull my heart out of my chest and keep walking, eyes downcast, determined this time to outrun the revenant. “Dude, are you alright?” a feminine voice asks. “Uh…yeah,” I look up. “Cool.” We stare at each other in silence. “Have an extra cigarette?” I straighten up a bit. “Ah…no. Don’t smoke.” She nods. “Do I know you from somewhere?” “Nope,” I blurt out, and then sprint away as fast as I can.
He’s Been Here Before By Cannon Wilson Bah-dunh bah-dunh dah dah dun da dunh—my name is the Woker, but you’re probably woker than I’ll ever be. I got the name phantasmagorically. You see, most ghosts make fun of me. We’re always up, but with no bits down there; that makes the other ghoulies think we should be more socially aware. Life after breath isn’t all haunting-out and boo-bashes for the Athens area above the dirt dead. Just like you breather bleeders, we have to choose sides along cultural divides. It’s a drag. Who cares if you’re left or right or up or down—I thought this was supposed
a football town. I mean, wouldn’t you like to see another National Championship come round? The question is: do you want it bad enough to bring the evil one out of the ground? Now, don’t get me wrong—he’s not that bad guy portrayed by the black leather thumping throng. Sure, he’s more than a little bit misunderstood, but I bet you’ve never been to a barbecue so good as when Lucifer starts stoking hickory wood. Then again, Satan’s more of a businessman than a Dawg fan. The price of forevever-ever-lasting fame still brings on a tinge of shame for someone I’m too polite to name. It’s how Diabolus double dips his dealing deck; because no matter the outcome there’s always some team and their fans left glum—that’s Abaddon’s fat pack of chocolate filled plums that he still gets in care packages from his mum. Near the center point of Glory Glory’s gather around, Apollyon commanded a clutch of Hell fleas to suck the inbred blood from that cute little t-shirted ice-sitter, unleashing the scary-scary spooky-spookies all out amongst the home team’s hometown. The bark after the bites almost made the hallow where my heart use to be beat for the first time since a stool supported me, and my tool. All good gone, if it wasn’t Beelzebub—it was his clone. Flipping my whip of what’s left, switching my eye-less sight upright what I saw was ember-red from the pits of Hell. Below those piercing pupils a cavity of close together canines chomped chills through this cooler than a cadaver Casper. Then that malice mired mean machine un-muted my memory, making me mouth: “Mephistopheles?” “They’re just fleas. Don’t you worry your little widespread panties.” “Is that fair?” “I mean… Tebow said his prayers.” “Guess you got me there.”
Now, nothing is for certain, going ahead and counting your chickens could mean curtains, but if we get to the ship, and we do sip a winner’s nip—point your thankfuls due past the ground because the ol’ Devil is the one who will have made that deal go down—ba-dunh ba-dunh dah dah dun da dunh.