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ISSUE SIX

AUTUMN 2023

GHOULISH GRIMOIRES HAUNTED WORDS PRESS

Haunted Words Press Issue Six: Ghoulish Grimoires

Published digitally November 2023

Edited by Halle Merrick

Cover artwork by Maryana Simpson: ‘Sheet Ghost & His Cat Enjoy a Book’

This magazine is copyright Haunted Words Press Copyright to all work is retained by the original contributor

Any resemblance to real events or persons contained in the fiction work herein is entirely coincidental. Views and opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect those of the editor.

Twitter: @haunted_press Instagram: @hauntedwordspress Website: www.hauntedwordspress.com Contact: hauntedwordspress@gmail.com

CONTENTS 3

Introduction Middle Grade The Thirteenth Year

MG | FANTASY | ECO WITCH

MG | PARANORMAL | GHOST

MG | HORROR | MONSTER

MG | HORROR | WITCH

MG | SCARY | MONSTER

MG | FANTASY | WITCH

Kathryn Reilly

Little Ghost on the Stairs Jacoby Crane

What Comes Up From the World Below Ariadne Zhou

Hide and Seek Keller Agre

The Thranklmeindr Doodleslice

Baba Yaga and the Water of Life Amy R. Wethington

Art Amphibious Summoning Azhlee Avro

Long Gone Jacelyn

YA | HORROR | SUMMONING

YA | HORROR | DECAY

YA | SUPERNATURAL | DEATH

YA | FANTASY | POWER

YA | MYSTERY | VAMPIRE

YA | SPIRIT | DECEIVE

YA | HORROR | LOSS

YA | GOTHIC | HOME

Young Adult To Drown and Burn N.A. Kimber

Midnight Incantations Ogbewu Goodluck Idaa

Declan’s Big Day Benjamin Bradley

Devour Ayu Sekarlangit Mokoginta

Quake Marisca Pichette

Garden of Darkness, Dream of Spring Arda Mori

Author & Artist Bios

INTRODUCTION Whether this is your first time reading Haunted Words Press, if you’ve dipped into the void before, or if you’ve read everything we’ve published, we’re so happy you’re here for Issue Six: Ghoulish Grimoires. Each submission that we see, each issue that we create, each time someone reads what we put out, we are amazed and in adoration, and we don’t think that will ever change. So thank you, so much, for all of your support - this ghostly little press would not be here without you.

Issue Six is a collection of work from fourteen wonderfully talented contributors who have chosen to home their work with us. There’s short stories, poetry, flash fiction, and visual art, all brought together for the theme ‘ghoulish grimoires’, split for middle grade and young adult audiences. There’s witches coming into their power, demons spreading trickery, ghosts haunting halls, vampires finding homes, and a frog summoning evil. Whatever magical and strange creation you look for, there’s something for everyone within the pages of Ghoulish Grimoires.

This issue has so much talent nestled within it, and we are absolutely in love with how it’s turned out. We hope you love it as much as we do, and so without further ado, welcome to Issue Six: Ghoulish Grimoires.

- Halle Merrick, Editor in Chief

THE THIRTEENTH YEAR KATHRYN REILLY MG | FANTASY | ECO WITCH For MZG, who makes the world a better place with a magic all her own. Thirteen is a magical age for girls with the gift in their bloodline. A single witch, once upon a time, is not enough for the magics to survive. However, for those who have several ancestresses’ magic sleeping in their blood, enough to call at least one of the elements, the blood begins to whisper the moment after midnight on their thirteenth birthday.

At first the girls believe the whispering is a dream, but eventually they realize they’re awake and if they’re brave enough an adventure awaits—one that will change their lives forever.

Luckily for Keeley, she chose adventure.

Rising from her bed she donned her jacket and walked into the stilled evening. Reaching for her phone, an electric shock warned her against it. Witches draw their power from the natural world, and technology is never welcomed. Leaving it behind, she listened to the whispers floating softly and headed towards the new outdoor sports complex nearly two miles away. The stars shone brightly but her purpose more so.

Once, the whispers shared, this was all beautiful woodlands filled to the brim with tiny and large lives alike. So sad, so sad.

Keeley watched moths flit about, nocturnal creatures scurrying along sidewalks lit by lamplights. Arriving at the field of once-forests, she waited.

Continue on, continue on, straight until you feel the vibrations. And so she walked, anticipating something great. Her blood began to tingle and she stopped. Kneel and place your hands upon the earth and call it up, up.

The full moon illuminated all, ringed with a nearly purple light. Kneeling, she placed her hands as instructed but nothing happened.

Breathe and see, breathe and see.

Closing her eyes she tried again. She pictured the soil flowing away like a stream after a strong rain. Opening her eyes she inhaled sharply as the soil obeyed her, flowing as a river away, a small gorge opening beneath her hands, her blood warming as she maintained contact with the earth.

There, it’s there, the voices sang.

And sure enough, a leather wrap, covered in rich soil, guarded a book.

We, of the Earthen sisterhood, gift this grimoire to you. Do no harm, and leave the world a better place than you find it. Speak our spells and we will help you ever.

Clutching the book to her, the world seemed to hold its breath, stilling as she moved upon it. She left the manicured grasses under the moon’s bright light and walked toward one of the last remaining parks in her suburban neighborhood. And entering it she left the path, making her way towards the center. Arriving, she sat cross-legged and opened the spellbook.

The first page offered names dating back to the 10th century; the last Earthen witch to

keep the book was named Adora who turned 13 in 1815. Keeley carefully turned the parchment pages, noting the beautiful scripts and detailed flora and fauna descriptions. Diary-like entries speaking of the changing world and the spell keeper’s fears for the plants and creatures that lived upon it become more common towards the end. Adora’s entries shared spells that both protected areas of green growth and could accelerate plant growth to heal areas without them.

‘Oh my,’ Keeley softly spoke aloud, ‘she was planning to reclaim meadows and woodlands and marshlands and—-’

The forest seemed to tremble a moment and settle. Please, she heard, as quiet as a butterfly's flight, please help us.

But how? She thought.

A wind arrived and rustled through the book’s pages, settling upon one. She read the simple instructions and found an acorn nearby. Taking a deep breath she recited the words clearly, with belief:

within my hand I hold this seed a solution to mankind’s greed I wish for it to now grow strong for to the world does it belong its roots will be immortal here its branches grander every year the future it will turn around to this oath I will be bound

Before Keeley’s eyes, the acorn sprouted, roots reaching between her hands into the soil. She released the seed and it burrowed down; a trunk rose up until it was buildingtall, and branches emerged unfurling graceful lobed leaves.

Thank you the forest hummed.

‘You’re welcome,’ she replied. Keeping the grimoire close, she searched the forest and collected seeds of all shapes and sizes. During the walk home, Keeley stopped often, reciting the incantation, leaving mature trees in her wake: her thirteenth year would be a busy one indeed.

LITTLE GHOST ON THE STAIRS JACOBY CRANE MG | PARANORMAL | GHOST Little ghost on the stairs, Spooking cats and dogs and bears, Drifting quietly through the night, Preparing for the next big fright.

Little ghost on the stairs, Gives you shivers and on-end hairs, This little spectre knows what to do, To scare the daylights out of you.

Little ghost on the stairs, Lies in wait for all who dares, To cross their chilly lurid path, And face their unearthly wrath.

Little ghost on the stairs, Hollow eyes send piercing stares, Straight into your haunted soul, Dark like dusty pits of coal.

Little ghost on the stairs, Master of all jumps and scares,

Mischievous spirit of the hereafter, Bringer of all frisson laughter.

Little ghost on the stairs, Considers all hopes and despairs, Turning dark days into sun, Reminding all to have some fun.

Little ghost on the stairs, Will chase away the grim nightmares, Spooky yes, but no cause for alarm, Little ghost means you no harm.

WHAT COMES UP FROM THE WORLD BELOW ARIADNE ZHOU MG | HORROR | MONSTER I creep out from under the bed and lay myself carefully on the soft sheets, staring at my new freckled hands in fascination.

My old hands weren’t freckled—I think.

It’s been so long, but I don’t know if it’s been weeks, months, or years since I was taken by the monster under the bed to the world Below—

All I wanted to do for a long time after I was taken, transformed, and trained to terrify other children was to go back home, but that’s not possible. When I was taken to the world Below, the monster swapped appearances with me, and she is now living my life here up above.

Just as I have finally done my time and will live out Elaine’s life now.

After I’m done admiring my new unwrinkled, unblemished skin and my nails that are no longer gnarly claws, I roll around in the bed a bit, enjoying the feel of actual sheets and a mattress under my body.

…It’s actually a bit too soft.

Maybe I had grown too used to crouching beneath beds and sleeping on hard floors.

Wow, I’m actually going to have to be awake during the day again. And go to school again. What is that going to be like?

At least the parents seemed nice from the snatches of conversation I had heard while they had comforted their daughter and reassured her that there was nothing to be scared of.

My parents had told me that too.

They were all wrong.

I flip over and shove my face into the pillow, breathing through my nose.

Those are all problems for tomorrow. The thing I have to remember now is that my life in the world Below is finally over, and my name is Elaine now.

Elaine, Elaine, Elaine.

Not—

Best not to even think of it, it’s not my name anymore.

Forget, just forget it all—

That’s probably the only way forward.

‘You’ve got quite the appetite today, Elaine!’ Elaine’s mother (no—I need to call her Mom now) exclaims.

I finish off my bowl of cereal and eye the box. ‘Could I have some more, please?’

‘You’ve already had two bowls—and you ate them so fast,’ Mom comments, picking up the box. ‘Are you sure you don’t feel sick?’

I shake my head, eyes pinned on the box. Food in the world Below was disgusting slop, but when you got hungry enough, anything could be choked down to just fill the clawing empty feeling in your stomach. And you’d have to fight with the other monsters to even get a portion of slop—those claws came in handy back then.

But I don’t need them now. I’m Elaine, and corn flakes taste heavenly, even if I would have whined and not eaten them in my life before.

‘I feel fine,’ I insist, then try widening my eyes (this had even worked on other monsters back below). ‘I’m just really hungry, Mommy—could I please have another bowl?’

‘...half a bowl,’ Mom concedes, pouring out some corn flakes and milk, then checking the clock on the wall. ‘And it’s nearly time to go, so you already put your books in your bag, right? And don’t worry about your water cycle presentation, I’m sure it’ll go great!’

It’s a good thing that I eavesdropped on Elaine practicing that presentation before—

We had been going over the water cycle when I was taken Below, but it’s been so long that I’ve forgotten most of it.

The bigger problem is—

I know Elaine’s best friend’s name is Brittany, and I also know some of her classmates’ names. I have no idea what they look like though.

Well, whatever—

I can figure it out.

It’ll be nice to have friends again.

Monsters didn’t have friends.

I gulp down the cereal and try not to flinch as Mom touches my shoulder.

‘...are you sure you’re alright, Elaine?’ she asks, crouching down to peer at my face with a frown. ‘You seem a bit—off.’

I paste a smile on my face and bounce out of the chair. “I’m great! I’m just a little nervous about—my presentation, but I’ll be good!’

I’m never going back to the world Below, so yes, I’ll be good.

One way or another.

I had forgotten how many children were at school and how bright it was.

Honestly, it’s a little overwhelming, and listening to the teacher read us a chapter from some book about kids accidentally not having a substitute for the day is a good time to try and calm my breathing down and stop digging my nails into the palms of my hands. After all, it’s not like I have leathery skin anymore. Or claws—

Wait, what do I do if I get attacked? I have nothing to defend myself with anymore!

No, stupid, I don’t need to do that anymore.

I’m safe here.

...or as safe as I can be in another girl’s skin.

No, I’m Elaine now.

I’m not—

Forget the past, all of it, all at once.

That’s what They kept telling us to do after all.

‘Earth to Elaiiiiiiine.’

I snap up, glancing over at Brittany, Elaine’s—my best friend. ‘Yeah? What’s going on?’

‘It’s lunch, silly,’ Brittany giggles, pulling me up by the arm. ‘Although I heard the cafeteria is sloppy joes again—barf fest. Maybe literally—remember what happened with the pizza that one time?’

‘Mhm,’ I nod, trying to make it seem as though I had any idea. ‘So gross.’

‘A cockroach leg!’ Brittany shudders, then mimes gagging. ‘You have to wonder— where did the rest of the cockroach go? Did Kelly already eat it?’

I make a face despite the fact that I’m pretty sure that I’ve eaten cockroaches before. It added some texture to the disgusting slop. I’m salivating just thinking of actual flavors and texture—a sloppy joe will be like heaven.

‘It’s a good thing you just eat salad though,’ Brittany says blithely as we follow the class into the cafeteria.

‘Uh—I was thinking of expanding actually,’ I improvise quickly. ‘Salad is so boring.’

Salad would also be heaven after the world Below, but I can already smell the sloppy joes, and I need that.

Brittany blinks, staring at me. ‘Really? But—what about your whole vegetarian thing?’

‘Kind of bored with it?’ I ask in a high-pitched voice, grabbing a tray. ‘It’s so—so inconvenient.’

‘...well okay, but what was with you lecturing me all yesterday on eating a hot dog, huh?’ Brittany demands, also grabbing a tray. ‘All that stuff about not knowing what things were ground into the sausage—I had nightmares, you know that?’

I haven’t had a nightmare in a long time—I was already living in one Below. But no— focus Elaine. How are you going to explain all these changes?

“Sorry about that,” I say lamely. “Um—yeah...sausage is made up of weird things I guess, but in the grand scheme of things, isn’t everything?”

Brittany pauses, mouthing what I just said as her eyebrows shoot up. “Uh—you were already doing a weird hippie phase, so I guess? As long as you don’t lecture me about what I eat anymore.”

“Deal,” I say thankfully and nearly start trembling with excitement when the sloppy joe lands on my tray. And there’s dessert in the form of a cookie too? Heaven is truly tasty food and a full stomach.

As I dig into the meal, Brittany sits next to me and flicks her braids back. “Wooooow— did you not eat breakfast or something?’

“Woke up super hungry,” I mumble through bites of food, “...growing pains?”

Brittany tilts her head as her eyes flick down. “Oh. Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me—did your period start?” she whispers, keeping her head down.

I blanch, also looking down at my pants. “No! Why would you think that?”

Brittany shrugs, poking disinterestedly at her food. “Deborah got mad cravings when she started her period—one time she ordered a whole pizza for herself! And wouldn’t share with any of us! Are you sure it’s not like a sign or something? Maybe you’re about to start.”

I look uneasily down at my pants again. “I sure hope not,” I mutter as I inhale the rest of the food on my tray. I’m still not sure how much time has passed in the world above, but at least in the world Below, I had never seen anyone go through puberty. Or at least, human puberty—

Whatever monster puberty was, we’d already been transformed once, and that was enough of a shock, so it wasn’t like we really knew what was normal or not with our new bodies. But either way, it didn’t matter how much time had passed— I had been transformed into a perfect copy of Elaine’s original body, and I hoped like hell that body wasn’t about to start its period. The freckles and red hair were already a lot to get used to, I didn’t need anything more.

As I bite into the cookie, trying to slow down so I can savor the sweetness of the chocolate and the butteriness of the cookie exploding in my mouth like fireworks of flavor, a head of short spiky black hair catches my eye from a neighboring table.

It’s a boy. A boy laughing with his friends and acting out driving a car.

That’s—

That’s Chris.

Older now—the same age as me since all the fifth graders eat lunch together at the same time, but still, my little brother. If he’s also ten now, that must mean that three years have passed since I was taken. Did he notice? Did any of them ever notice that I was gone?

Wait, oh no—

That meant that she couldn’t be far away either then.

‘Elaine? Elaine? Hellllllooooo?’ Brittany says, waving her hand in front of my face.

I look away quickly, blinking my stinging eyes and trying to swallow through the way all the pleasant food in my stomach was now rebelling against me. ‘I—uh—what?’

‘Oh my god,’ Brittany whispers, her eyes darting between Chris and me. ‘Are you—do you have a crush?’

‘No, ew!’ I snap, making a face. ‘Gross!’

That’s my little brother!

Brittany sighs, swinging her legs as she rests her hand on her cheek and looks over at Chris. ‘Guess you’re still not at that stage yet...Chris isn’t so bad, he’s kind of cute! ...he’s just really obsessed with cars…’

I shrug but can’t help it as the corners of my mouth quirk up a bit. “Oh, really?’ At least some things don’t change.

Brittany frowns as she looks at me. ‘...you’ve been acting weird all day!’ she accuses, stomping her foot.

‘I uh—I ate something weird last night, and also—the presentation! Stage fright, you know, hahahaha,’ I try to laugh. ‘And um—maybe you do have a point about the signs of a period thing, who knows.’

Brittany immediately pats my hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’m prepared,’ she whispers to me. ‘I took a ton of Deborah’s pads, so if you have an accident, I am here for you!’

‘...thanks,’ I whisper back.

Elaine’s best friend is my best friend because I’m Elaine and I can’t let anyone get suspicious of me....but Brittany does seem nice, I don’t remember the last time someone had my back.

In the world Below, we were all competing to go back up above, so you couldn’t trust anyone. And it’s not like I can really trust anyone here either with the truth, but— Maybe I can trust them with some other things?’

‘And if you want me to help you with your little crush, I will too!’ Brittany says, winking at me.

I pull a face at her as I lick off the last crumbs of the cookie from the tray. ‘I don’t have a crush,’ I say adamantly.

‘Suuuuure,’ Brittany says, rolling her eyes before pulling me up. ‘C’mon—let’s go play mermaid pirate assassins!’

Mermaid pirate assassins seems to mainly involve commandeering one big boulder in the playground, sitting on it, and acting out the adventures of Brittany the Bold and Elaine the Elegant.

‘Or maybe we should change your title,’ Brittany announces, lowering the stick that she is using as her pretend sword with wide eyes. ‘You were scary threatening those evil pirates! But ‘scary’ doesn’t start with an ‘E’....’

‘Eerie?’ I suggest, getting up from the crouch I was in to threaten the dastardly pirates who were trying to take over our ship.

The trick to scaring people, at least for me, was to make lingering noises, like claws against the floor, or audible heavy breathing, and then for it all to stop as soon as someone tried to see where it was coming from. You start with sounds, up it to things moving around the room, and then start leaving traces like claw marks around, and then when they finally see your glowing burning eyes under the bed—

Oh, they’re nearly out of their minds with fright.

It worked on me, it worked on all the kids I terrified throughout the years, and it had worked on Elaine too in the end, so of course it would work on some imaginary pirates.

‘Eerie Elaine, Elaine the Eerie.’ Brittany tries it out, then nods with a pleased expression. ‘Sounds better than before! Creepy! Fearsome! We’re the scariest mermaid pirates in the seven seas!’

‘Yeah!’ I say, pumping my fist up.

I told myself that after returning to the world above, I’d never scare anyone ever again, but surely just doing it for play, to imaginary characters, was fine? It’s not like I was

enjoying their fear—I was just playing around. It wasn’t like before when sometimes I had savored the whimpers and tears of those kids who had no idea how lucky they had it, still at home with their parents, and never knowing anything of the world Below—

Those were bad thoughts though, and I shouldn’t think of that.

‘Elaine the Eerie, what should we do with these dastardly, traitorous scum?’ Brittany cries out, pointing her stick down to where they had tied the attackers.

‘...we should make them walk the plank!’ I declare loudly. ‘And then jump into the ocean!’

‘Yes, and then they’ll be eaten by the sharks I summoned!’ Brittany declares, throwing her head back and cackling madly. ‘They’ll never escape!’

‘On you go, my mateys!’ I yell, and the two of us manage to throw all the pirates into the ocean and take over their entire treasure island before the bell rings and we have to go inside again.

‘You were so much meaner than usual!’ Brittany says approvingly, ‘Whether it’s your period coming or that crush, I like it!’

‘Shhhh,’ I hiss, seeing some of our other classmates peer at us. ‘Not so loud!’

Brittany mimes zipping her mouth shut, and then the teacher is having us draw names from a hat to determine the order of the water cycle presentations.

I manage to get through alright (mainly by frantically scribbling down terms while the other kids were giving their presentations), and at the end when I sit down, Brittany pats my hand. ‘There, not so bad, right? And you had such bad stage fright before!’

I smile back at her. ‘Guess I managed to get over that.’

She’d have to face down much worse things Below. What is there to fear after everything I have seen? I can do this—it feels weird, but I think I can do this.

Brittany gives her presentation next, and I clap loudly when she’s done (that’s what a best friend should do, right?), but the rest of the day is pretty dull. Class drags on with just papers and lectures (had school always been this long and boring? It’s so— peaceful. With no near death experiences at all—which was exactly what I wanted, right?), and I take some desultory notes and manage to not fall asleep (mainly due to Brittany poking me), when the bell finally rings.

‘Ugh, I don’t know why they made all of us give the same presentation,’ Brittany says, stretching out her arms and yawning. ‘Don’t blame you for nearly falling asleep, I almost did too! And gross, we have three whole math worksheets to do? I feel like we shouldn’t be blamed for the sub not giving us the math homework she should have last week.’

‘Mm, yeah,’ I nod as I frown at the worksheets laid down on my desk.

I had sort of listened to the math lesson, and technically I think I already learned this once, but— How much work were you supposed to show again? It’s been so long since I had to write anything down.

‘At least your mom’s an engineer, so she can help you out,’ Brittany sighs, walking with me down the crowded hallway to our lockers. ‘My parents on the other hand—what good are English professors for anyway?’

‘Essays?’ I ask as I fumble through my planner to find the combination that Elaine had noted down.

Brittany purses her lips. ‘Sometimes, but then sometimes they get sidetracked— oh, look, it’s your crush-’

‘He’s not my crush,’ I snap, looking over to where Brittany is pointing. And there, smiling down at Chris is—

Me.

My face—older, more defined now, but the cheeks still round, my tan skin, and my glossy black hair.

She had cut it short though—nearly a bob.

And that along with the way she just took Chris’ hand in hers had me hurtling down the hall, ignoring Brittany yelling behind me, as I grab her shoulder and force her to face me.

She stares at me, her brow furrowed. ‘...can I help you?’

‘You stole my life!’ I scream at her and then claw at her face.

Or try to anyway—I keep forgetting that I don’t have claws anymore, and the imposter moves fast, ducking and shoving me away.

I pick myself up, and see Chris staring at me in horror, as if I’m the one that’s a monster, and something in my stomach twists, and I—

Burst into tears.

I cried myself to sleep every night for who knows how many days Below. I stopped after

awhile though—it wasn’t helpful, and there was no one to comfort me, not down there. But this— this is too much.

I’m not entirely sure what happens after that—a bunch of adults rush over, Chris looks on the verge of tears himself, Brittany is yelling something, and in all of this, the imposter’s eyes (my face) start off horrified, shutter, and then after that she’s talking with the adults.

Our parents get called, of course (or to be more precise, my parents and Elaine’s parents are called), and then we’re hauled off to the principal’s office, sat down, sternly lectured at, and then finally left alone to wait for our parents to arrive.

The imposter immediately moves her chair into a corner and glares at me. ‘Don’t try to attack me again, you’re only going to draw more attention to us,’ she hisses.

‘You stole my life,’ I repeat, glaring at the imposter.

‘Like you stole that girl’s?’ the imposter retorts, gesturing towards all of me. ‘What did they call you—Elaine?’

‘That’s not my name, and you know it,’ I hiss back, my eyes narrowing as my fingers dig into the seat of the chair.

‘Well, I lost my name, so why should you have any claim on yours?’ the imposter demands, rubbing at her cut lip before crossing her arms. ‘You know the deal— you get to return to the world above, but you need to forget who you were before. All of it.’

‘I didn’t choose that!’ I yell, slamming my fist into the chair.

‘None of us did!’ she yells back at me, the cords of her neck straining. ‘You think I

wanted to be dragged from my bed to the world Below? Do you think that if I had the slightest chance of going back to my mom, I wouldn’t grab that with both hands? But I didn’t get that, you didn’t get that, and neither will Elaine. And we just have to deal with that.’

I thought back when I was down in the world Below that that would be easy. As long as I could escape, as long as I was human again, as long as I didn’t have to scare kids anymore and someone would take care of me—what else mattered?

But—

I don’t know if that’s enough anymore.

‘Look—I know it’s rough,’ the imposter says, her voice going slightly softer as she leans forward. ‘You’re—what—a couple days back? A week at most?’

‘...first day,’ I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself.

The imposter whistles, leaning back. ‘That’s rough. My bad luck, I guess—or yours maybe, who knows. It’ll be hard for a while, I’m not going to lie to you—but you’ll get used to it eventually. You’ll still have nightmares, don’t get me wrong—I don’t know if those will ever go away. And your family is definitely going to find you off for some time—but thankfully so many things can be explained by puberty and hormones. The truth will never even cross their minds.’

‘Is it nice? Stealing my entire family?’ I ask icily.

The imposter leans forward again. ‘Yeah, it is. Anything is better than the world Below and you know it. You could have said no and stayed down there instead of stealing Elaine’s life, but you didn’t, did you? You grabbed it, just like I grabbed yours. So, don’t act like I’m the only villain here—we’re both monsters, and you know that.’

Do I?

Of course, we were both technically monsters—we had both been transformed into those monstrous forms and terrified children for years. And then stolen their lives.

The imposter sits back again, letting out a breath as she slumps over and runs a hand through her short hair. ‘But whatever we were—I’m Kimberly now. And you’re Elaine. Let’s just move on.’

‘How?’ I demand, looking up at her. ‘How am I just supposed to—’

‘It’s just like down Below,’ the imposter interrupts. ‘One day at a time, and don’t think about who you were before, right?’

Is that how she got through? That’s only sort of what I did—I did try to make myself stop thinking about my family, it was too painful otherwise, but what carried me forward through the terrible food, the training, the nightly scares, and Them, was knowing that there was going to be an end to this.

That one day, I would leave this world Below and return to where I had come from. I knew that it wouldn’t be the same as before, but at the time, I thought I wouldn’t care.

Anything was better than being down there, right?

And that’s true, but—

I have nothing to look forward to now.

‘That’s not—how do you live with yourself?’ I demand.

The imposter’s mouth twists into a sneer. ‘Don’t act all high and mighty—if you really

feel that bad, then go crawl back down to the world Below and beg Them to switch you and Elaine back, if you can even find her. I don’t much like your chances there, and even if you do somehow succeed, don’t think you can get Them to let you switch with me. I did my time, and I’m not going back there.’

My stomach clenches at even the thought of returning.

I can’t.

I won’t.

Even if I hate myself forever—

I don’t think I can.

Sorry Elaine—but I endured all I could down there, and I’m not turning back now.

And now I sound exactly like the imposter herself. This is awful. This is the worst.

Elaine’s parents come rushing in at this point, and even though it’s satisfying watching them glare at the imposter and hug me, they have so many questions that I can only try to stammer out an answer to, and then my parents come rushing in—

They look the same, pretty much, if stressed right now.

But their eyes when they look at me—

They don’t see me at all.

‘Let’s go home,’ I say, turning to Elaine’s—to my parents, wide-eyed, choking on

my tears. ‘I can’t—I was wrong. I shouldn’t have hit her. I was wrong, I’m bad, I can be grounded, just—just please can I go home now?”

I can never really go home again, but at least get me away from here.

I get bundled away into the car by Elaine’s—by Mom, and she just rubs my back in the car as I cry.

“‘What happened today?’ she asks, her voice worried. ‘Is it—did someone say something mean? Did the presentation go badly?’

I take a shuddering breath, shaking my head. ‘It’s just—today isn’t good. I’m not good.’

‘Oh sweetheart, you are good,’ she says, hugging me tight. ‘I mean—trying to punch or bite someone isn’t good, but I get it, sometimes we just have bad days. And they suck a lot—but we can’t take it out on others, alright? It’s hard, but you’re our good girl—our best girl, and we know you can do it.’

If she knew who I really was and where Elaine was now, she wouldn’t say any of This. But it’s all I have left now. My real parents wouldn’t believe me even if I tried to tell them. The imposter is right, I can’t go back. But is this really the only way forward? To pretend for the rest of my life to be someone else and that the world Below doesn’t exist?

I just sob harder, and eventually Elaine’s—Dad comes back, and we drive home while they talk in low worried murmurs, and at home, I’m wrapped up in a blanket and Dad hands me a big mug of hot chocolate.

‘With cinnamon, just how you like it,’ he smiles at me.

I dully take it over and sip it, managing a smile. ‘Wow, so good!’

I don’t actually like cinnamon—at least I didn’t when I was still Kimberly. After the world Below though, anything tastes good, so it’s fine. I can adapt. I can be Elaine.

Dad pats me on the head and says quietly, ‘...you want to talk about it, Elaine?’

I shrug, hunching over the mug of hot chocolate. ‘It’s just a bad day,’ I mutter into the mug.

Dad sighs, brushing my hair. ‘Well—the other girl—Kimberly, I think her name is? She said that she didn’t want to escalate the situation and that you just seemed to have a meltdown on her—but you know that if she did anything to you, you can tell us, right? If you’re being bullied—’

‘I’m not being bullied,’ I interrupt, drinking down the rest of the hot chocolate quickly. ‘I’m fine, Dad. Today was just—a lot.’

Dad is still frowning. ‘I talked to Brittany after—she said that you guys had fun today, but that you’d been acting a bit off. She mentioned something about periods—uh, if that’s the case, you know you’re not going to die and that your mom has pads—’

‘Yeah, I know, it’s not that,’ I say quickly, waving a hand. ‘I just—can’t I have a bad day sometimes?’

‘Of course,’ Dad says, nodding, his eyebrows still furrowed. ‘We all wake up on the wrong side of the bed sometimes.’

More than he knows. He and Elaine’s mom—Mom—both seem really nice. They don’t deserve to have their daughter replaced with me, but neither did my parents. No one

deserved anything they got, that much the imposter got right. The only one maybe I can blame is Them—and all I really understand about Them is that they sustain themselves off the fear of children.

Why They picked this particular system and why They had to steal away more children to do it—

Maybe They got more fear this way, and maybe They just didn’t want to spend the energy scaring children Themselves. What difference does it make? You can’t fight against Them.

‘I’m going to go do homework,’ I say, pushing the mug back into Dad’s hands. ‘Thanks.’

‘You sure? You don’t want to take a break?’ Dad asks worriedly. ‘It’s not like you to be so studious…’

“Got a lot to catch up on,” I say truthfully, then scamper off before he can ask any more questions.

At least Elaine didn’t have any siblings, that would have been even more people that I needed to fool. How did the imposter do that with my family? With my little brother? Chris seemed to find nothing wrong with her at all— But he had been little back then, and it has been three years. How would he know that she was gone?

If everyone has forgotten—if the only one who even knows at this point is just me and the imposter—shouldn’t I try to forget too? I can’t change anything—what’s done is done. And if I am never going back, then all I can do is focus on being Elaine now.

Forget about Kimberly and my parents and Chris—I’m Elaine, and Elaine has no siblings. That is my only path forward.

I—how am I supposed to live otherwise?

Am I supposed to go back and confront Them?

No. I’m not going back there. And even if I did and somehow won—what am I supposed to do then? Kimberly can’t go back to her original family, so I can’t go back to mine either, even if Elaine could.

No, there’s no path there. Then—

I’m just going to have to live like this.

I’m Elaine.

I’m Elaine, and that’s all that matters.

HIDE AND SEEK KELLER AGRE MG | HORROR | WITCH Maggie said we could hide anywhere, but we all knew there was one house that was offlimits. No one ever explained to me why we couldn’t nestle ourselves within the darkness of the large trees that stood in front of the house next door to mine, but the overgrown grass and chipped paint were usually enough to steer me into picking a different spot. Still, I had never won a game of hide and seek in the dark, and I knew the flashlights would never reveal my position if I hid in front of the empty house.

‘Ready for another game?’ Maggie asked.

‘Yeah!’ Rachel said. ‘One more, then I have to go home.’

‘You always have to go home first,’ Maggie said.

‘It’s not my fault.’ Rachel scrunched her eyebrows, wrinkling her forehead.

‘Whatever,’ Maggie grumbled. ‘But the game’s not over until everyone’s found.’

‘Fine. I’m the best seeker anyway.’ Rachel looked up, fluttering her eyelashes, and touched her chin to her shoulder.

Maggie rolled her eyes and said, ‘Ready? Go!’

Maggie and Ben, my younger brother, ran down the street toward the cul-de-sac. I ran in the opposite direction toward my house. The downstairs lights were on, but I didn’t

see either my mom or dad inside. One of the two rooms above the garage was bright, reminding me of a pirate with an eyepatch.

I held my breath and took my first step onto the empty house’s yard. I didn’t want to step on the cracked driveway because I thought it looked too much like an extended tongue. I imagined the garage door opening and the house swallowing me whole.

Most of the house was hiding behind the tall trees like someone shielding their eyes with their hands. The dead leaves and sweet gum balls knocked against my shoes as I searched for a place to hide as close to the road as possible. I stood behind the massive trunk of one of the trees and looked out at my street. Further down, I could see the glow of a flashlight. As I sank my nails into the bark, I heard a noise behind me. It was the creak and snap of a screen door shutting. I turned around quickly but only saw the door lightly hitting the frame as it settled and sat quietly. My legs felt heavy, and my feet were glued to the ground.

‘Hello, little one,’ said a scratchy voice.

‘Hello?’ I asked, searching for the voice’s location.

A short and wide woman in raggedy clothes emerged from the shadows. Her skin was bumpy, and she walked with a limp, as if one leg was shorter than the other.

‘I know you. You’re one of the Richardson boys. I want to thank you for burying all your pets under the same honeysuckle bush in your backyard,’ she said. I could see her mouth stretch into a wide smile as the light from the lampposts reflected off teeth that were a little too big.

‘Although,’ she paused. ‘I wish you’d had more of those toads. Two just wasn’t enough!’ She began to laugh. It was a horrible coughing and snorting cackle that made me shiver.

I pictured her insides completely dry and filled with dust.

‘Who are you?’ I asked.

‘Me? I don’t remember my name, that is, if I ever had one. I’ve been here for a long time. I saw your parents move in. I know you stay up too late and that your mom and dad sleep in different rooms. I know your brother, Ben, takes your clothes and wears them when you’re not home.’ She took a step forward, and her eyes reflected the moonlight, making them look hollow and animalistic.

‘I know you want to be a chef more than anything else in the world,’ she said.

I swallowed dryly and said, ‘So?’

‘I can help you. I’ve been cooking for many years. In fact, I’m finishing up a recipe right now. I just need your help with the final ingredient. Will you come inside with me?’

I took a cautious and numb step forward. A bright light blinded me from the right side. I put my hands up to cover my eyes.

‘Found you! Told you I’m the best,’ Rachel said.

I looked back toward the house. The yard was empty and quiet except for the faint tapping of the screen door.

THE THRANKLMEINDR DOODLESLICE MG | SCARY | MONSTER When a closet door is left ajar The Thranklmeindr is seldom far Behind the coats it lurks and listens While on its lips saliva glistens

Of all the specters and ghouls of Fall Thranklmeindr rates the worst of all A demon king with terrible horns Like spiky poisoned gigantic thorns

They're sharp as knives and they are plenty Perhaps nineteen or even twenty They protrude here, there, and everywhere Between great clumps of greasy grimy hair

It is clothed in leaves, dead and rotting Damp and foul from excessive snotting Its eyes like rubies are glowing red Filling your soul with a burning dread

And dare not a glance below its nose Seeing that mouth insanity grows Grinning teeth huge like cobblestones Boulders designed for crushing bones

And despite standing near nine feet tall It has no trouble, no none at all Squeezing its girth down from toe to head Into the darkness beneath your bed

Take heed now children and don't tell lies For Thranklmeindr has many spies Spiders whisper what they overhear In Thranklmeindr's listening ear

For it delights in catching liars To boil above its infernal fires Distilling fear sweat from screaming souls To store in glass jars and serve in bowls

Take heed little ones and mind my tale To beg and plead comes to no avail Of mercy Thranklmeindr's lacking Especially when it’s attacking

So shut the closet and seal it tight And make sure you do so every night And tell the truth, no fabricating ‘Cause Thranklmeindr's always waiting

BABA YAGA AND THE WATER OF LIFE AMY R. WETHINGTON MG | FANTASY | WITCH Mama and I had our own ways of dealing with Papa’s sudden death.

I framed that last picture I drew before Papa died, my ink drawing of Baba Yaga and her chicken-footed house dancing around in an old-world forest. My best work, according to Papa. Papa remarked on how I’d brought it to life. How could I not? After all those Baba Yaga stories he read to me at bedtime in his deep bass voice that resonated in my soul.

My favorite story was Baba Yaga and The Water of Life. Even though I knew Baba Yaga was just as likely to eat me as help me, my ambition became to enter the old witch’s world and get her to bring Papa back to life. Papa made my cabinet from the same mixture of rowan and cedar trees featured in Baba Yaga tales. And I was just young enough to believe my cabinet would be my ticket to Baba Yaga and her world.

Every night before I closed my eyes, I’d shine my flashlight on my picture of Baba Yaga’s dancing house, snuggle deep under the covers, and imagine Papa’s voice saying I love you, Zelda Buddy, his warm goodnight kiss lingering on my forehead.

Sometimes I swore Baba Yaga’s voice would be what woke me at three or four in the morning, beckoning me from deep inside my cabinet that smelled of cedar and adventure. Across from my bed nestled in the corner between window seats facing the back and side yards that flooded my shadow-filled room with moon and starlight.

Mama dealt with Papa’s loss by spending a month in bed. I did my best to keep the house stocked with fresh flowers, clean, and made at least one hot meal a day. I also dusted off my guitar and sang folk songs and simple hymns to raise her spirits. Mama propped herself up on the four-poster bed she’d shared with Papa to eat and chattered on and on about how proud of me she was. How grown I seemed for a twelve-year-old.

Relief flooded my system when Mama sprang up one day in the middle of July to don her best summer dress and throw herself into the dating scene of the sprawling lake town of Wakkalakka. She’d freshen her makeup while humming to herself, unbraid my pigtails and smooth out my hair after my bath, sing off-key about me being her sunshine, let me order pizza, and watch a movie in my pajamas while she went out. Between her dates every other week or so, she and I would do fun things. It was me and her against the world. The way it should be. Our new normal.

Until Mama got engaged to Bruce, who had two sons.

Bruce charmed Mama with flowery compliments and gifts. He reminded me of a black bear with a full beard and hairy chest, arms, and legs. Tom and Hank were teenage versions of their father except Hank had red hair and Tom was blond. Tom didn’t have facial hair yet, but Hank was covered in peach fuzz.

I tried to get along with my soon-to-be stepbrothers. For Mama. But I didn’t like how they teased me or tickled me until I struggled to catch my breath.

During the weeks leading to their wedding, Mama blushed and gushed over every little thing Bruce did.

The morning of Mama’s wedding, my eyes were puffy and bloodshot.

Mama tugged at my hair to braid it with purple and white ribbons while singing about me being her sunshine. She stopped abruptly to ask, ‘Didn’t you sleep last night?’

I wished I could wipe off Mama’s goofy, love-struck grin. ‘The storm woke me.’

‘Must of slept through it.’

‘Don’t see how. One of the thunder crashes shook the whole house.’ I pointed through my bathroom window down to the courtyard below. ‘Just look at those tree limbs all over our yard.’

Mama’s eyes popped out. ‘Yikes. Don’t worry. Bruce and his boys will take care of that this afternoon. After we get back from the wedding.’ Mama let out a contented sigh. ‘Won’t it be wonderful to have three strong men helping out around here?’

I swallowed a painful lump developing in the back of my throat. ‘I guess. Do I really have to give up my room? Can’t they share the spare bedroom?’

‘It’ll just be until we can add on to the house. I promise they will move your cabinet and anything else you want downstairs.’

‘Not much will fit in a closet.’

‘Pantry. It’s the size of a small bedroom.’ Mama stared deep into my eyes. ‘Promise you’ll try to get along. For me.’

Looking down, I stifled a sob. ‘Okay.’

At the wedding, I worked to contain my eye-rolling and humph remarks. I hated the Pepto-Bismol pink dress Mama picked out for me, but for her sake, I pretended to love it. I hoped no one could tell that I’d cried myself to sleep that night. The stupid highheeled shoes dug into my ankles like knife blades as I walked down the aisle as the maiden of honor. Across from me my two new stepbrothers whispered and snickered during the ceremony.

As soon as I could, I ditched the shoes. My dress covered my bare feet, happy to be freed of their high-heeled prison. During the cutting of the wedding cake, Constable Joe, gussied up in a civilian suit and tie, took me aside. He placed a large hand on my shoulder and whispered into my ear, ‘I know what you must be going through. My mom remarried shortly after my dad died. Things will change and maybe not for the better. If you need help or want to talk, you know where my office is.’ He pressed his card into my hand. His name and phone number were embossed in easy-to-read purple letters against a light bluish-gray background. ‘Call me any time of the day or night.’

Right after the wedding, Bruce and his sons moved my cabinet downstairs to what used to be our pantry along with a small pallet and table with a reading lamp. No windows. The ceiling light was a light bulb with a pull-down chain. Before I could stop him, Hank yanked my framed picture of Baba Yaga from the wall, smashed the glass, and ripped it to shreds. ‘Won’t be needing this,’ he said and tossed it in the growing pile of garbage that used to be my treasured items.

‘Stop it!’ I screamed. ‘I drew that for Papa.’ Salty tears ran down my cheeks like an open faucet, snot bubbled out of my nose like a smoldering volcano, and my body shuddered like a jackhammer every time I grabbed a breath.

Mama wrapped her arms around me. ‘You must be brave. We need to do what we can to make them feel at home. For me.’

‘This is child abuse.’ I pushed her away and pulled out my cell phone. ‘I’m calling Constable Joe.’

Mama’s face grew serious, and her eyes narrowed, ‘No, you won’t.’

‘But I drew that picture for Papa. You can’t think it’s okay for me to sleep in a closet.’

Mama softened her tone. She smoothed my hair, ‘Look I made sure your cabinet was moved to your new bedroom. I’m sorry about the picture. We’ll get you more art supplies and you can draw another. Tom and Hank need a place to sleep. It’s just for a little while. Until we can add on to the house.’

Tears welled up in my eyes and my heart raced, ‘I don’t care.’ I began dialing Constable Joe’s number when Mama grabbed it from my hands.

‘You can get this back when you learn to be more pleasant and accepting of our new situation. For me.’ Sometimes, at three to four o’clock, I’d awake with a start. Disoriented at first in my small windowless closet bedroom. I swore I heard Baba Yaga call from within the cabinet. But it was always silent and pitch dark.

A couple of days later, Mama took to bed with a fever and covered herself with five quilts to keep from shivering when I overheard my stepbrothers talking.

The two boys were outside the open window, pretending to chop wood, but they were

taking turns smoking a pipe and coughing.

‘Won’t be much longer,’ said Tom. His voice started soprano and ended in a scratchy bass.

‘Nope,’ said Hank. His voice had settled into a permanent baritone.

What won’t be much longer? I turned the pot of soup down to simmer, hid behind the gingham blue curtains, and pressed my ear close to the glass. The acrid smoke from the pipe found its way through the window and made my eyes water.

‘Tired of this do-nothing town,’ said Tom. ‘The quicker we’re on our way to the next household the better.’

‘Too bad the brat doesn’t like powdered sugar,’ said Hank.

Powdered sugar! Those donuts Mama eats every day. My hand trembled as I covered my gasp.

Tom laughed. “No matter. She’s old enough to fend for herself when the time comes.”

When the time comes?

Shaking, I crept back to the stove and ladled chicken soup into a bowl to take to Mama. Warn her. Maybe get her to come with me to a neighbor’s house. My heart pounded in my ears as I climbed the steps, not spilling a single drop of the hot soup.

I encountered Bruce at the top of the stairs. He grabbed the bowl from my hands, sloshing soup on the floor and his pants. In a cranky, exasperated way he asked, ‘Why didn’t you warn me how hot this is?’

‘Please, I need to see her. Make sure she’s okay.’

‘She needs rest. No visitors except me. At her request.’

A chill ran up and down my spine as I glimpsed a half-eaten donut sprinkled white on a plate atop Mama’s bedside table, Mama’s face splotched, her eyes closed, her breathing labored. ‘But...”’

‘Go.’ Bruce growled and shoved me back in the direction of the stairs. I almost lost my balance but caught myself. More soup sloshed on the floor, and he uttered a string of curse words that followed me down the stairs.

Since I had no way to call, I ran to Constable Joe’s office three miles away, my braided pigtails flapping behind me. Cars and trucks thundered past me. The swirling cold wind caused my breath to cloud the air. Why hadn’t I grabbed my scarf and coat? I sprinted until I needed a breather and sprinted some more. My heart pounded against my chest. I considered different ways to tell Constable Joe my fear that Mama’s illness was caused by deliberate poisoning.

I paused before opening the door to Wakkalakka’s police station. My lungs burned and my breaths came out in gasps as I pulled the door open to reveal the small front lobby, where the constable’s secretary sat behind a sliding glass window. The secretary slid it open to speak with me. He had no interest in my story. ‘Save it for the constable,’ he said and returned to his computer monitor.

I sat as far away from the front door as I could in the small lobby. The freshly mopped wooden floor smelled of lemon-scented Lysol. The metal bench pinched my back, and I kept having to reposition myself before my hindquarters got numb. Every time the door

opened the cold air caused goose pimples to rise on my exposed arm.

Finally, the secretary called my name and showed me to the back offices. I felt small in front of Constable Joe’s desk. I squirmed in a chair where my feet couldn’t reach the floor.

Constable Joe jotted down the timeline, my account of Tom and Hank’s conversation, and my conclusions regarding Mama’s illness.

‘I think Mama’s being poisoned.’ I paused for a breath of air. ‘All those powdered donuts,’ my pulse quickened. ‘She’s real sick with a fever,’ my heart thundered in my chest. ‘Hasn’t left her bed in days.’ I reigned in my emotions best I could. Didn’t want to be seen as a blabbering idiot.

‘I don’t suppose you brought one of those donuts with you.’

I shook my head.

‘No worries. Tell you what, I’ll run you back to your house and have a conversation with your stepdad. Do a wellness check.’

Constable Joe’s chair squeaked and scraped across the wooden floor as he pushed it back under his desk to grab his coat. ‘We all thought a lot of your papa. Such a tragic accident.’ He opened a closet and fished out an old coat which he handed to me. ‘I can’t believe you walked here in such horrible weather.’ Constable Joe shook his head. ‘Come along. I’ll get to the bottom of this business.’

I tugged at the oversized coat Constable Joe had given me as I followed him to his black and white sedan. The wind picked up and the air had that burnt leaf smell it gets before a big snow. Shivering, I scurried up to the seat next to him and closed the door lickety-

split. The five-minute drive wasn’t long enough for the car heater to blow out warm air. Constable Joe was sure to get to the bottom of this. Have Bruce and maybe my stepbrothers arrested, and by the end of the day, it would just be me and Mama against the world. Like it should be.

Bruce met us at the door. His large body took up much of the space in the door frame. ‘Thank God you found Zelda. We’ve been worried.’

‘Have you now?’ Constable Joe barged in with me trailing behind. ‘Mind if I take a look around? Zelda here walked all the way to town. Without a coat, mind you. She’s worried about her mama.’

‘All of us are,’ said Bruce. He motioned at me to stay behind as he led Constable Joe up the stairs to see Mama.

Please find something. Come on Constable Joe. I grabbed one of the powdered donuts off a tray for Mama’s teatime snack resting on a table at the bottom of the stairs and stuffed it in my apron. I thought about taking it to Constable Joe’s car with a note, but before I could find a pen, Tom grabbed my arm.

‘Stop it,’ I said.

Tom smiled at me and tightened his grip.

Constable Joe came down the stairs with Bruce following him.

Bruce used his most placating and cajoling voice. ‘You see Constable, my wife is being well taken care of. She just needs her rest is all.’

Tom released me when Constable Joe made it to the bottom of the stairs. He smiled like

an angel.

Constable Joe tousled my hair. ‘Let’s see this bedroom of yours.’

I led him to what had been the kitchen pantry. He sized it up. ‘I’m glad Bruce is planning to use some of your mama’s inheritance to add to the house. He says the first order of business will be to have a larger room built just for you.’

Bruce nodded. A fake smile was plastered on his face.

I leaned in to hug Constable Joe and managed to drop the poisoned donut into his front coat pocket. ‘Thanks for seeing about me,’ I said in a soft whisper.

He kissed the top of my head and whispered so the others wouldn’t hear. ‘Just hang tight. I’ll make this right somehow. But I have to follow procedure.’

As soon as Constable Joe’s car turned out of our driveway, Bruce grabbed my shoulders in a vise-like grip. I kicked and screamed but it didn’t matter. Before I knew it, he’d dumped me on the pallet in my closet bedroom and locked me in.

I was trapped. I pressed my face into my pillow and cried for hours before I calmed down enough to pull out the book of Baba Yaga tales, flip to the Water of Life story, and read in the dim light of my table lamp. My way of coping.

I tested the baseboard vent to see if I could use it to escape. It was rectangular in shape. It could be opened in case the kitchen area needed to be aired out. I managed to wriggle out my feet, trunk, and shoulders, but my head was too large to fit through.

I panicked and yelled for help. When Tom saw me, he laughed and shoved me back in. ‘Going to take more than that to escape,’ he said. ‘Reckon I’ll have to nail this vent shut.’

My flashlight battery died shortly after Tom pounded in that last nail. My table light burnt out that evening and the next day the ceiling light flickered and blinked. I feared it was a matter of time before I’d be locked in complete darkness. Left to die on my tearsoaked pillow.

I clung to the stories about Baba Yaga and longed to escape. Baba Yaga could be helpful or downright dangerous to whoever encountered her. But I was willing to take the chance if it meant saving Mama and punishing my stepfather and stepbrothers. To gift me some of that water of life for Mama. And Papa. Kick out my stepfather and stepbrothers. Perhaps use their skulls for that fence that surrounded her log cabin house on dancing chicken legs. Before it was too late.

Tom and Hank provided food and drink, but I didn’t partake for fear of being poisoned like Mama. I had read a human could go for weeks without food, but water…

That night between three and four in the morning, I woke up to a voice calling my name.

‘Zelda.’

The voice continued as I groped my way to the cabinet and became louder when I opened the cabinet door.

I pressed through stacks of bedsheets, shirts, sweaters, and pants to the back of the cabinet. I stumbled onto a water bottle and drank it all in one gulp. Something clattered and to my relief, it was a flashlight that worked. As I flipped its switch, a fierce wind

chilled me to the bone, and a wolf howled in the distance. The cabinet transformed into a deep old-world forest. A log cabin with lit-up windows scampered by on chicken legs and plunged deep into the dark, entangled forest, leaving a trail of spine tingling laughter.

This is it. I grabbed a sweatshirt, shoved my feet into some waterproof boots, and chased after the chicken-legged house. I didn’t care if it meant my death or salvation. If that house belonged to Baba Yaga, I would find her. Get her to help. And if she acted like a witch and threatened to eat me then so be it.

The house and its rider waited for me as I turned the bend. An old hag of a woman with a prominent wart on the end of her pointy nose dismounted and approached me with a sideways stagger. She wore a shimmering cloak that covered her hunched back and a red scarf tied around her head. Her screeching voice ran up and down my spine. ‘Who are you that you dare to follow me?’

‘I’m Zelda.’ I drew myself up and braced for a hurricane-force wind if need be.

‘Well, aren’t you a scrumptious morsel?’ The old hag grabbed me up. ‘I’m afraid you’ve caught me in a peckish mood. Although, you look to be half-starved yourself. You’re practically skin and bones. Didn’t anyone think to warn you of Baba Yaga?’

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Once I calmed down a bit, I relaxed in her grip and allowed myself to be carried to the chicken-footed house, which plopped down long enough for Baba Yaga to climb the steps to the front porch landing and into the oddly inviting house. Anything was better than being locked in a dark closet and being at the mercy of callous stepbrothers.

Baba Yaga muttered to herself and put me down to inspect me closer. She tilted her head upwards to meet me in the eye with her one good eye, the left one. The other eye

was milky and wandered around freely. ‘What game are you playing, child? You should be screaming out of your mind with fear. I’m planning to eat you after I fatten you up a bit.’

‘A warm home-cooked meal would be nice.’ I patted my growling stomach. ‘I’ve been locked in a closet for weeks and fed a daily meal of stale bread and water by my stepbrothers while my stepfather poisons Mama who’s on her deathbed. You just aren’t that scary to me right now. I’ve come to ask for some of your water of life. For Mama.’ And maybe Papa, too.

The floor lurched as the house began to dance. Baba Yaga took out a mortar and pestle from the counter overlooking the kitchen table and began humming. She stretched her arms far above her hunched back to retrieve various herbs from her pantry shelves to put into her mortar. Using the pestle, she crushed them to a fine powder to slide into the stew which she dipped into a bowl for me. ‘That’s quite a tall order. It’s not like I have a lot of life water. And there’s a cost every time I dip some out. I’m not sure you or your mama are worth it. Tell me, how did this come about?’ She traveled to the far side of her kitchen table to sit across from me.

I caught Baba Yaga up with my recent life events between sips of the hot stew. The warm chunky stew with bits of vegetables and meat warmed my belly and gave me a strange courage to confront the witch.

‘Tough break, kid,’ said Baba Yaga after I’d finished my life story. Her voice had turned gravelly. Her good eye tracked my face while the other one wandered around. ‘I’m not sure if it’s worth it to help your mama. I’m sorry. I know her type. She’s one of those women who needs to be married. What’s to keep her from jumping into another bad marriage? Look, you’re welcome to stay with me. I could use an apprentice with gumption. You’re too stringy to be tasty anyway and I hate having to floss after a meal.’

I flushed hot at the insult to Mama but eyed the items perched on a high shelf behind a locked glass door. One of them was labeled aquaolyfe. ‘Anything’s better than being locked in a dark closet. I accept.’

It took several days to get used to the house’s constant dancing. Apparently being an apprentice meant being chained to the floor and doing the housework, while Baba Yaga flew out on her deluxe mortar and pestle to make mischief. I tried multiple times to reach the top shelf where the aquaolyfe was locked, but the chain was too short. I tried all sorts of tools to hack off the chain, but nothing could penetrate the charmed metal. My hands were swollen and wrinkly from keeping up with the dish and clothes washing. And when there weren’t dishes or clothes to wash or shelves to dust or floor to sweep, I was made to do sewing repairs of Baba Yaga’s clothes and blankets. Still, it was better than being locked in a small, dark closet and I managed to keep my spirits high. There was plenty of light, and I could move freely within the chain’s reach. Baba Yaga provided a salve that kept the chain from cutting into my flesh.

One morning Baba Yaga left her book of spells on the kitchen table. Before she left, she winked with her good eye and nodded towards the book. ‘You should read the Cost of Magic chapter first. It’s at the end of the book.’

Gold letters blazed from the soft burnt-umber leather cover with such warmth they invited me to open the book. I breathed in its old book smell as I turned to the table of contents detailing the spells contained in each chapter. Each page faced an enchanting hand-drawn ink illustration with expert shading. One illustration looked so much like my drawing of Baba Yaga’s chicken-footed house that my flesh broke out into goose pimples. I flipped through the assortment of spells instead of paying any attention to Baba Yaga’s admonition to read the last chapter first. Cost of magic, geesh.

There were three spells I couldn’t resist: Clairvoyance Spell, Water of Life Spell, and Change One Mistake in Time spell. I tried the Clairvoyance Spell first.

After reciting the words, I could see into any house in my hometown. Wakkalakka was laid out in front of me like an elaborate model filled with doll houses.

I checked on Mama first and found her much like I’d left her, laboriously breathing under five quilts. Bruce stood over her with a look of exasperated impatience. Tom and Hank were pumping water for my breakfast to shove into the closet. They were so callous they had failed to realize that I wasn’t there.

‘Unbelievable,’ I said and shook my head.

I checked in on Constable Joe next. He’d just discovered the powdered donut I’d dropped into his front coat pocket. I watched as he tested it for toxins. The arsenic test returned a positive result. ‘Zelda was right. They did poison her mama.’ He immediately left in his black and white sedan.

As Constable Joe arrived at my house, the coroner loading a body bag into his wagon. My heart sank. Tears welled up in my eyes. Mama? The coroner, dressed in black, his face shaded by a wide-brim hat, nodded to Constable Joe. NO, NO, NO! Tears tumbled from my eyes, and I sniffed a snot bubble back into my nose.

‘I think you’ll find the cause of death to be arsenic poisoning,’ Constable Joe said to the coroner. ‘I’ll need your autopsy report as evidence.’

‘Sure thing,’ said the coroner. ‘Poor lass.’

A search was made for me after Constable Joe discovered my bedroom was locked from

the outside. I was presumed dead even though they hadn’t found my body. Bruce and my stepbrothers were found guilty and sentenced to prison. For life. Their old deeds caught up with them. Turns out they were guilty of a string of similar crimes. Cheating widows and their children out of their inheritances. They had also been responsible for Papa’s accident.

Next, I tried the Water of Life Spell. One of my eyes clouded over in white spots, so I covered my right eye as I recited the spell. As soon as I uttered the words, the bottle from the locked cabinet floated down to me. The spell opened a window to a scene of Mama shortly before she drew her last breath. I watched as the bottle uncorked itself and tilted such that the liquid dripped into her throat. Color returned to Mama’s face, and she managed a smile.

Taking a deep breath, I tried the Change One Mistake in Time Spell. I returned to the scene of Papa working on his last house project. The harness that had begun to splay stopped and reversed course. Papa whistled down to a girl below. Me. ‘Time for lunch.’

The young girl that was me, but not me unwrapped the sandwiches and smiled wide at me. She mouthed the words ‘Thank you.’

My shackles slid off.

The house jerked to a sudden halt, and I caught my reflection in the mirror. I recoiled in horror. I’d become an old woman with a hunched-over back with a wildly wandering right eye. A prominent wart protruded from the end of my bulbous nose. I opened the book to the last chapter, and I finally read about the Cost of Magic. The first sentence stabbed me in the heart.

‘Any young maiden who utters spells from this book for their own gain will exchange places with the current Baba Yaga.’

I crushed herbs in my mortar and pestle and slid the contents into a stew for the young waif sitting at my kitchen table. I trained my good eye on the young girl across from me as the poor thing, half-starved, gulped down the stew. ‘Tell Baba Yaga your story,’ I said as my house danced on chicken legs in front of my skull-lined fence to which three skulls had been recently added. ‘Maybe I won’t eat you, after all. I could use an enterprising apprentice such as yourself.’

AMPHIBIOUS SUMMONING AZHLEE AVRO YA | HORROR | SUMMONING

LONG GONE JACELYN YA | HORROR | DECAY

TO DROWN AND BURN N.A. KIMBER YA | SUPERNATURAL | DEATH The trial was over before it ever truly begun. With my wrist and ankles bound I should have drowned when they tossed me into the river. But I was resilient. I am a witch after all...or I was. With a quick spell the ropes had come loose, and I swam downstream, to where the willow weeps. They found me there waiting that very same evening, a crown of rue upon my head. A reminder for them, more than for myself.

They bound me again and marched me through the village. I saw faces, now grown, of the children I had once shared my school days with. Of mothers whose children I had cured of the pox, and whose husbands I had brought back from the brink of death when the wars sought to claim them unjustly as its sons. Once they had thanked me, had reveled in my tricks, and praised my powers beyond measure. Now they sneered and damned me. They did not know what they were to lose.

Everything was ready for my arrival, for they knew I would not drown in the waters that I had called upon so many times. But fire, it was its own force and it bowed to no man or witch, save perhaps a God and if such a being did exist, it had other plans for me now. No man could ever tell, but I knew the fate of witches drowned by fire, and it was no afterlife, but a second chance, an opportunity for revenge or reward. Depends upon the witch.

So I climbed, with a grace and ease befitting a queen, and allowed them to tie my hands around the stake. When the Mayor stood before me and read out my sentence, his son, a cruel and unfeeling boy who had once claimed to love me, leaned in close to my face, to jibe or to mock, and I let him get just close enough that it was easy to sink my teeth into

his lower lip and tear, blood pooling down both our chins. He screamed and I laughed. The mayor hit me so hard my vision was coated in spots, but it did little to quell my delight. One last act of rebellion before this life of mine was lost.

My curses were silent, as they cast the flames of their torches to the wood and oil beneath me. They would be none the wiser, until it was too late, of the destruction they had brought upon themselves. The water was my friend, and if I should go, I would take it with me. If this should not be my home, it would not be anyone else’s. Yet, I was not completely cruel.

A small blessing went out to the children, making sure they would always be taken care of, until they grew past that age of innocence. And if they should grow to be like their parents, destroying that which they did not understand, in the name of what was good, they would suffer the same consequences. Would reap what their parents had sown.

The flames grew higher, but I refused to cry out. If they were a nobler sort of people, when I had left this body, they would seek to learn from my courage. But still they looked upon me in horror, for what natural, God-fearing creature could drown in fire and feel no pain? It was not their fault that they could not see the phoenix that will always rise from the ashes of those they burn.

First the clothes, and then every last strand of hair that had once grown from my body. The skin charred and the muscles seized and deteriorated as teeth clenched so hard, they cracked. Lungs choked upon smoke, a heart beating wildly to maintain. My body let me go before my neighbours could have their fill of me.

When I left, I couldn’t say I floated. No, I was carried. The wind had owed the water a favour, and once it had deposited my spirit a small exchange of ‘We’re even,’ happened before the wind drifted away.

In the cool embrace of the river that had refused to drown me, the flames that licked at my soul faded and the river began to sing me a lullaby, as it carried my soul down to the sea. I fell quite quickly into a heavenly sleep. The last I would have as a Witch of the Earth.

For when I awake, like a snake that sheds its skin, I shall be reborn anew. I drowned in fire, and I will be reborn in the tides of the sea, where men shall know the torment, of what manner of creation a witch becomes when she is burned.

MIDNIGHT INCANTATIONS OGBEWU GOODLUCK IDAA YA | FANTASY | POWER I. Whispers in the Shadows

In ghoulish grimoires' ancient lore, Dark secrets penned in blood and more, Whispers in the shadows, secrets dread, Awaken spirits from the realm of the dead.

Moonlight dances on cryptic runes, Beneath the eerie, haunting tunes, A necromancer's art, dark and dire, Summoning souls from a funeral pyre.

But beware the price, the sorcerer's toll, For meddling with powers beyond control, Ghoulish grimoires, a cursed delight, Unveil the mysteries of the endless night.

II. The Witch’s Tome

In the witch's tome, a sinister scheme, Ghoulish grimoires, a sorcerer's dream, Black cats and cauldrons, moonlit rites,

Conjure visions on haunted nights.

Pages stained with potion's brew, Incantations whispered, secrets true, Brewing storms with arcane might, In ghoulish grimoires, a spell takes flight.

Beware the charms and hexes sown, In the shadows, the witch's throne, For magic dark, in moon's pale glow, In the witch's tome, the secrets flow.

III. Oaths of the Night

Midnight's cloak, a shroud of dread, Ghoulish grimoires by candlelight spread, A conjurer chants with fervent breath, Binding spirits, sealing their death.

Inscribed in ink of infernal hue, Symbols ancient, and verses askew, The grimoires' power, a double-edged sword, Unleashes darkness, the unholy horde.

Beneath the moon's cold, spectral sheen, The necromancer's dance, a fearsome scene, Ghoulish grimoires, an unholy prize, In shadows and whispers, darkness lies.

These verses penned in shadows deep, In ghoulish grimoires, secrets to keep, A world of magic, both dark and dire, Where spells are cast in unholy fire.

DECLAN’S BIG DAY BENJAMIN BRADLEY YA | MYSTERY | VAMPIRE Declan stood and cracked his back. Cracked his neck. He stretched down to touch his toes as his cape fell and grazed the back of his calves. He rose straight and smiled. Declan had almost forgotten the feeling of excitement, but there it was, racing through his veins like a potion.

Tonight, after all, was the evening he had been waiting for, carefully, for the last hundred years.

Declan’s slumber had left his dark, jet-black hair askew. He licked his hand and realigned the stray strands to their proper place then felt around to ensure there were no other signs of his great slumber. He looked back at the coffin he had spent just over a century inside. It looked cramped now. Too small for one man. Or well, whatever he was. In that constricted space, he’d had brilliant dreams that fed his imagination and yearning for this night.

In each dream, it went flawlessly. Shouts of torment and terror filled the nighttime air. Humans curled into tiny, miserable balls as they struggled to shield themselves from Declan’s wrath. The best part was that they had no idea what was coming. These humans. So sad. So oblivious. After tonight, they’d know once and for all that Declan was very, very real.

As Declan slid back the lid of the oak coffin into place, he let his mind relive more of the fantasies he’d dreamt up. Humans rushing away from him, shrieks of horror and disgust

at his ghoulish figure emerging from the shadows. He giggled to himself. The delight sent a chill up his spine.

Moments later, Declan’s wobbly legs found their strength, and he ascended to the surface. Hinges creaked as he swung open the door. The grass that separated the markers and headstones in the cemetery sat unkempt and dewy. Declan licked the blades and let the moisture coat his dry mouth and lips. As he stood, he straightened his shirt and peered around. Not a soul in sight. Perfect.

Twenty feet from the cemetery exit, Declan recalled his father’s wisdom just before they sent him on this mission. Remember, they’re more scared of you than you are of them. They know you can hurt them! He wondered how his father was holding up in Brazil. They’d split the entire family by continent, and Declan was rather disappointed to end up in North America. Even more disappointed to end up in the United States. Their culture lacked the history. Their society lacked the creativity. They were bland; the loaf of bread at a feast of flavors.

Ten feet. Declan forgot how laborious walking could be when you hadn’t done it in a century.

Five feet. He knew he was moving slower than before, but his legs were heavy and weak. He figured the endurance he once maintained would return, eventually. Maybe by tomorrow. He’d perhaps have to do some exercises, too. Although those always made him sore. Soreness made him grumpy. He groaned as his mind spiraled again. ‘Think of the fear!’ he told himself to shepherd his mind.

An iron rusted gate marked the exit to the cemetery. As Declan gently slid it open, it screeched in agony. It swung shut behind him with a crash that echoed through the city block that surrounded the gravesites. An orange pumpkin rested at the base of the fence line, a natural sight in harvest season. He stared down the street to the right but saw

little activity. No humans to frighten.

He peered to the left and saw a group of humans running. They appeared youthful. Full of zest and vigor. “Perfect,” he whispered.

As he neared the humans, he stopped in his tracks. One young boy stood dressed nearly identical to Declan. His black cape was smaller but draped around his shoulders and fell just above the back of his knees, much like Declan in his youthful days. The child wore a crumpled white shirt with black slacks. Even the human’s hair resembled Declan’s, although slightly more disheveled, and it appeared to be bleeding black coloring down above and onto its ears.

These humans differed from those he had studied before his slumber. One wore a horse-like mask and even had a tail. A tail! Humans did not have tails when he was last on the streets. What an incredible surprise! Perhaps they would put up a fight after all.

As the horse-imposter approached Declan, he stood tall and put forth his chest. He stared into their eyes and prepared himself for their howls and screams. For their agony. For the fear that would coat their quivering voices. But nothing came. They simply smiled at Declan and walked forth into the night.

A SMILE? Rage pumped through his veins. What in the world had happened in the last hundred years that caused these feeble humans to SMILE at an all-mighty, all-powerful vampire?

Declan huffed and continued on down the street. He noticed a group of larger humans filing into a doorway. A perfect opportunity to spook them. Shake them to their cores. Remind them of their proximity to death.

He hurried to the door, but it shut before he mounted the three stairs. Through the

window, he saw shadows flicker and move about inside. Most held goblets in their hands, and the very sight made Declan thirsty. Thirstier than ever before.

Another pumpkin sat on the doorstep, and Declan wondered why the humans stored their harvest on stone steps. A pasty white skeleton hung from the wall beside the door, with enormous eyes that stared back into Declan’s, all-knowing.

More humans skittered past on the street, but none paid him mind. What purpose is there to life if not to be feared?

He had seen humans in years past use their fists to punch the door and have it open. Declan tried it. He held his fist up and pointed his knuckles towards the door. He slammed it forwards into the wooden barrier. No response. He reared his arm back to punch once more when the door swung open. Declan flashed his smile at the human. He waited for the scream. The howl. The shriek.

‘Sick costume, man!’ The door-holding human spoke with a smile. ‘Are you Georgia’s friend?’

Declan stood, paralyzed by confusion. The human’s tongue crafted words in an unfamiliar accent, the words taking long moments to register in Declan’s brain. He moved his head up and down, looking for some sort of understanding as to why this mortal was happy to see a blood-thirsty vampire at his door. This was not the reaction that Declan had waited a century for, but he needed the invitation. That was the beginning. That was how it began.

‘Come on in, then! I’m Trevor. This is my house. I don’t think Georgia is here yet, but I’ll introduce you to the crowd. They’re going to love this outfit, man. Is this homemade?’

‘Yes,’ Declan spoke, attempting to say whatever necessary to enter the domain full of

pitiful humans.

‘Right on. We actually have another vampire here, too! Happy Halloween, bud!’ As Trevor spoke, he held the door open further and gestured for Declan to enter. He stepped into the house.

Declan followed Trevor down a narrow hallway that had orange paper strewn across it. A witch hung from the ceiling below their passage. Declan dove to the ground to escape the witch’s wrath, knowing all too well that a witch could curse him for eternity. Trevor looked on ahead instead of noticing Declan’s tumble to the ground. Declan stood and walked behind Trevor into a big, wide room full of humans. His stomach growled.

‘Hey y’all. This is my sister Georgia’s friend.’ Trevor spoke, then looked back at Declan. ‘What’s your name again?’

Declan spoke in a hushed tone, just loud enough for Trevor to hear. ‘Declan.’

He turned back to the onlooking humans. ‘This is Declan, and he’s a vampire.’ The entire room erupted with laughter. Declan felt his pale skin turn red with anger and confusion. Trevor turned back to him and patted him on the back. ‘Enjoy the party, Declan!’

Declan stood still as Trevor walked away from him, gesturing towards a human who was wearing a black gown with a ghoulish, melted face. Declan could tell that it was a human posing as a demon; it wasn’t even close. He wondered if this was what had happened while he slept. Had humans turned to mocking the very creatures they once feared?

A figure approached in the shadows to Declan’s right and when he turned, he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a fellow vampire. The figure moved closer and eyed Declan from head to toe. Finally, the figure stopped and met Declan’s eyes. ‘Just wake up?’

Declan met the approaching figure’s eyes and spoke, ‘Yes. Who are you?’–his English slowly coming back to him as his waking haze passed.

‘Luna. Do you have any idea what is going on here?’ She looked around as she spoke.

Declan surveyed the room again. ‘No.’

Luna inched closer and pointed towards the table. ‘Okay, so see that little white ball in his hand?’

‘Which hand?’

‘The scarecrow,’ she said.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, he’s going to take it and throw it across the table. If it lands in one of those six cups, the cat and the dog are going to drink.’

‘The cat and the…’

‘Man, you’ve really been living under a rock. How have you never heard of this?’

‘I… I…’

‘You don’t get out much. I forgot, you are a vampire, after all.’

‘Yes. And you, Luna? You are… is this your territory?’

Luna smiled, pristine white teeth appeared behind her ruby-red lips. ‘Sure. That’s one

way to put it. I live two blocks over. I work with Georgia. What about you?’

‘The graveyard,’ Declan said.

‘Oh, is that the name of the new high-rise condos by Fishtown? I remember it being something spooky. I bet their Halloween party is legit.’

‘Hallow’s eve?’ Declan asked. ‘That’s tonight.’

Luna nudged her hip into Declan’s. ‘You’re too much.’

She was so close that he could taste the blood that raced through her porcelain skin and pumped through her heart. ‘Want to play with me?’ she asked.

Declan shook his head, but Luna rolled her eyes and shouted towards the scarecrow. ‘Vampires are up next!’

‘Vampires suck,’ the scarecrow said.

‘Yes,’ Declan said. ‘Suck blood.’

The room filled with laughter. Something prickled in Declan’s chest, an unfamiliar feeling, something similar to joy. Perhaps a sibling emotion. One dormant in him during his years underground. Without another word, Luna snagged his hand and led him around the room. ‘Your hand is ice cold, bro.’

‘I…’

‘Don’t be weird,’ Luna said. ‘My hands get cold and sweaty when I’m in a group of new people. It’s pretty brave of you to come here alone. Let me make some introductions.’

In a rapid-fire series of conversations, Declan met a man made of tin, three blind mice, a cheetah, a police officer, and a wizard. His head struggled to follow the blur of faces, the confusing mix of species and evolutionary changes that brought such hybrid creatures into existence. He thought of his father and wondered if they had wizards and vampires co-existing in Brazil.

The scarecrow shouted and Luna pushed through the crowd until they stood at the end of the table, face to face with the cat and dog team with human-like qualities. They each also had tails. For a moment, he glanced back to make sure Luna did not also have one, but she seemed pure. Pure vampire, or some vampire human hybrid. Luna helped angle his arm and although the first throw nearly hit the window, his second throw landing in the center of a red cup. Liquid splashed onto the table. The dog growled. Luna cheered.

The night continued. A series of minor victories followed by rich celebration amongst his newfound friends. Luna even once pulled his hand upwards and slapped hers against it. The hours flew by, Declan lost in a hurricane of Luna’s charm and exuberance. She had so much life, so much energy. Although Declan had slept for so long, although he had waited for so long, he felt his thirst quench in a different way. One he’d never felt before.

Something tingled in Declan’s skin, and he glanced outside. ‘The sun will rise soon,’ he said.

‘Yeah, it’s always weird how fast that happens.’

‘We should go.’

‘Go’ Luna asked.

‘Before the sun comes.’

Luna chuckled. ‘Look, bud. I had fun. But I’m not following you home.’

‘I have to go.’

Luna nudged his shoulder. ‘Let me walk you out, okay?’

Declan moved towards the door and Luna floated by his side, smiling at the straggling few others that remained inside. On the stairs, Luna put her hands on Declan’s shoulders and looked into his eyes. ‘You shouldn’t be afraid of people, Declan. We’re not all that bad.’

‘My parents… we…’

‘I get it,’ she said. ‘But Halloween is supposed to be a day you put on a mask and let loose. If not now, then when?’

‘Hallow’s eve.’

‘Tonight was fun. Get yourself home, okay?’

Luna pulled Declan’s body into a grip and enveloped him with her arms. He fought at first, but gave in. Her warmth seeped into his skin and expelled the chill from his bones. His heart thumped in a new rhythm. She let him go and smiled. ‘Same time next year?’

He nodded. ‘Okay.’

She laughed and retreated inside.

Declan lingered on the doorstep for a moment before shuffling back towards the cemetery. The night had not been all that bad. He had expected a feast, a night of

horror, and blood-soaked streets. But somehow, this felt better.

As he settled back into his coffin, he made a mental note to make his next nap much shorter. One year, he thought. Because Luna would be waiting next Hallow’s Eve.

DEVOUR AYU SEKARLANGIT MOKOGINTA YA | SPIRIT | DECEIVE Three times someone chanted my name. A mark of my summoning.

After the third time, the gate to the waking world opens. My stomach growls in hunger. My visit to the waking world has been sparse the past few years. The hunger only grows more and more persistent every time. As I crawl through the gate, I smell the intense scent of fear thick in the air. I slip into the vessel that’s been displayed for me. I merge myself with the flimsy straw doll. Curious human eyes watch over me with wariness. My limbs bound by the vessel remain still.

A group of children before you tremble in fear. One of them asks, ‘How many times are we supposed to ask the spirit questions?’

A girl with long, black hair that frames her face replies, ‘I heard we are only supposed to ask three times. If we ask any more questions before we close the gates, something bad will happen.’

‘Yeah, right.’ A young boy hidden in the corner of the room rolls his eyes. But even under his supposedly firm stance, I can taste simmering fear.

‘Shush!’

They all keep their eyes glued onto me, hoping I’d make my move. But I wait until the first question is asked by the one who summons. A cursed spirit does not speak until

spoken to. The one who summons sits on their knees with their knuckles visibly trembling. A girl who seems visibly older than the rest, perhaps because of how she carries herself with seeming ease.

Still, delicious fear radiated by the others fills the air. If only I could drink it, I’d have my fill enough to survive the night.

‘Spirit, I’m seeking to know the truth.’

Speak. My voice echoes through the room. The room temperature falls to a spinechilling drop. The silence cutting.

The girl lets out a deep breath. ‘Our village has been struggling to grow food. A lot of us are starving. Some might not even survive through winter. Spirit, is there anything we can do?’

I answer. Human child, I sense a curse has taken place, actively poisoning the soil, the air, and the water. It is impossible for anything to grow.

One of them exclaimed, ‘I knew it! The elders lied, they said there was no curse!’

‘They also warned us about the spiri-’

‘Shush! Ana, ask them about the curse.’ says another girl whose face is framed by her long dark hair.

The girl in front of me, Ana, looks at me with a bit more conviction.

‘What curse?’

A curse from a time long ago inflicted by a hungry spirit who’d been cheated on by a human from your village. Long before you were born.

The children shared a look with one another. Terrified but determined.

Ana then asks, ‘Is there something that we can do to end this curse?’

A personal conflict. I can easily pull the strings here. It’s atrocious how easily I could lure these poor souls. I can barely keep my stomach from growling, as if it can taste a feast about to occur.

Once a curse is placed, it is difficult to break it. It is true. It is almost impossible for a spirit to break a curse inflicted by another spirit. But the child doesn’t know that. She doesn’t need to.

But... I pause, savoring the tension in the air. There is one way.

‘Ana, don’t! You can’t ask more than three times! It’s a trap!’

Pesky child, but it’s too late. Looking at the look on Ana’s face, she’s determined. All hope is lost for them. It is far too simple, too easy that it hurts.

‘Tell us, Spirit. What is this forbidden thing?’ Ana desperately demanded. A rule has been broken. Oh, how I wanted to laugh. I laugh, and laugh, and laugh. The inhumane pitch of my laughter pierces through the air.

‘You shouldn’t have done that!’ Someone cries.

The children scramble to find an escape, only to find they’re trapped. Ana’s face pales. My body contorts into my full form, relieving myself from the confinement of my

puppet vessel. I come out salivating. No longer containing my growling hunger. Their screams sound like a delightful sound in my ears. I can feel myself revived. Alive.

I’ll be satiated for years to come. I’ll no longer go hungry, not until next time. Those feet scrambling desperately for an escape, but it’s too late. I open my mouth.

QUAKE MARISCA PICHETTE YA | HORROR | LOSS When the earth abandoned me, I was unsure how to cope— depthless, solid ground all gone below leaving me without a rope.

I’m sinking into endless space, gasping asking pleading where I must have wronged.

The solid world has disappeared and the name I once knew as mine is gone.

GARDEN OF DARKNESS, DREAM OF SPRING ARDA MORI YA | GOTHIC | HOME Most people in the town of Whitglade, Lincolnshire, had seen Nella Mantel wandering about in the gardens of her family manor, but dared not speak of her or her family name, out of fear that their destinies, too, would be bloodied and cursed. If Nella could pass the manor’s cross-speckled iron gates, and hear the tales whispered of her and her three sisters, she would’ve smiled and graciously told them that the Mantels’ curse could not be inherited by anyone outside of their bloodline.

But that wasn’t possible; beneath her eyebrows, where her eyes should’ve been, a pair of daisies bloomed — full, milky, and constantly as fresh as spring rivers, no matter the season, or how much time passed. Nella could only guess how the flowers looked by touch, but as she grew older, she quickly sensed the disgust from her sisters and caretakers. It was unmistakable in their tone; their shifting of hands. Even her oldest sister, Susanna, had told her that a missing limb would’ve been less frightening.

So when Nella turned fifteen, and was told that she was to be married in a matter of weeks, it came as a shock to her.

‘You should be pleased,’ said her second sister, Ethel, ‘Edgar Clairmont is from a good family, and a doctor as well! I wish I were you.’

‘Maybe he can restore your sight,’ her third sister, Edith, chimed in.

That evening, Nella had traipsed into her bedroom early, and fell asleep with tears trickling down her cheeks. She usually tried not to cry too much, out of fear that her daisies would rot and decay her eye sockets.

As a little girl, she remembered proclaiming loudly to her caretakers, or anyone that would listen, that she wanted to be a doctor to cure her own eyes.

But perhaps, it was too late.

In the weeks leading to her wedding date, Nella spent most of her days in her late parents’ library or her bedroom, poring over moth-chewed pages, feeling each yellowing word as if it would be the last book she would ever read. Since her childhood, while her sisters were out hunting, she had grown accustomed to navigating the intricacies of the manor with just her hands and feet.

Ever since she’d found the library, the thought of potentially finding a cure within those shelves enthralled her. Her father and mother, and their ancestors before them, were hunters of strange creatures, after all — maybe they knew something?

They must’ve anticipated this curse, for half the library’s books and documents had been written in, or had traces of Braille script.

It was on a sultry night when, after much tossing and turning in her bed, Nella descended to her parents’ library. Like a shadow she crept across the floorboards and passages. Her sisters were out that night, but still her ears were pricked, her nostrils sharpened for any hint of them. She did not want to be on the receiving end of their temper, especially Susanna’s; there was a rumor that, in her anger, she had struck a maidservant so hard that the poor woman had lost her front teeth.

Nella pushed the library doors open, letting cool air rush over her skin. She ran her fingers across the wooden shelves, tracing the spines of books, for their thickness told her where she was, and what she was looking for.

She stopped. The hairs inside her ears were upright, rigid. She wasn’t alone.

‘Who’s there? Come out.’

The air around her seemed to stir awake, and she heard a swishing noise, as if a blanket had been thrown towards the ceiling. The room fell into quietness once more, but Nella could feel something, tall and weighted, inches away from where she stood.

‘W-who are you?’ she asked, trembling.

‘I’m Rowan,’ the reply came in clear, husky tones. It sounded close to her age. ‘I’ve been working here as a record keeper. You must be a daughter of the late Sir Mantel.’

‘I’m Nella. I didn’t know we had record keepers,’ Nella said. ‘How come I’ve never met you?’

‘I was passing through town, and heard that the Mantels were looking for a servant to look after their archives. I was told that the previous one passed some time ago; it seems they had trouble finding someone new.’ She spoke calmly, with the smallest hint of a foreign accent. ‘Is there anything in particular that you’re looking for? Perhaps I can help.’

Nella could not help but feel a small twinge of annoyance — after all, she had known the library far longer than this girl did.

‘Well, since you ask, I’m looking for a cure for this,’ she said, gesturing to her eye-

flowers. ‘My great-grandfather made enemies with an evil, powerful warlock named Temesvar, and in one of their battles, he’d destroyed his family castle, killing everyone within. In his dying breath, Temesvar cursed my great-grandfather’s future children — that some would bear the seeds of his lost garden.’

Rowan listened, as still as a rock.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly, after a pause. ‘I don’t think such a cure exists in this library, nor in this town.’

Nella slid onto the floor, holding her knees to her chest.

‘It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m to be married in a few weeks. My sisters say I should be happy, but I think they’re glad to be rid of me,’ she said. ‘I’ve never met my husband, but I hope he likes looking at daisies.’

‘If it helps, I like daisies,’ Rowan said.

‘Uh...t-thank you,’ Nella stammered. What a strange one! ‘You don’t seem too shocked at how I look.’

There was the sound of cloth rustling against wood as Rowan sat next to her.

‘I’ve seen scarier things,’ she said. As Nella’s mouth rounded in surprise, she added, ‘People like me usually aren’t welcome. I’ve seen my family members getting hurt, chased away. We were always running away.’

‘That’s horrible.’

‘It really was. But I don’t wish to have a contest of suffering.’ Rowan’s eyes darted

around Nella’s face like a butterfly. ‘Can you even sleep? Do you need to water them? Do they need sunlight?’

‘I can sleep, I can cry,’ Nella said. ‘It’s like having something else in place of eyeballs. But I’ve to be careful not to rip it. My oldest sister picked out a petal once and it hurt badly, though it grew back.’

‘How awful,’ Rowan said, in disbelief. ‘There must be a way to break the curse.’

Nella shook her head. She told Rowan about the many cities she and her sisters had visited while she was a young girl, waiting on the doorsteps of doctors, scientists, alchemists, and witches, before her sisters found that they preferred slaying ghastly beasts, and decided that Nella should learn to live the way she was.

Some time later, Rowan spoke, ‘Are you sure I can’t help you find anything? It’s past one.’

Nella leapt to her feet; her sisters should be back soon. ‘I should go.’

‘...Take this.’

Rowan had pushed a book into her palm. ‘Bring this book the next time you come, as if you’re returning it,’ she said. ‘I’m here anytime after sunset. It’s not long until your wedding, but I thought we could be friends. Could we?’ She let out a sigh. ‘I mean — there isn’t really anyone else my age here…’

It dawned upon Nella that, she too, had rarely ever met anyone her age, as she’d largely been confined to the manor. She blushed, embarrassed. ‘I’ll come back.’

‘Let me show you out.’

Rowan’s hand landed gently on her back like a wing, and Nella felt a jolt course down her spine. When she had stepped over the border of the library, Rowan leaned towards her, so that her hair trailed over Nella’s chest, and spoke:

‘We shouldn’t let anyone else know that we’ve met. I imagine your sisters wouldn’t be too glad.’

Thinking it a reasonable request, Nella bade her goodnight, and returned to her room. It was when she put the book at her bedside table that she remembered Rowan’s touch — long, thin, and cold; marble in winter.

The days that followed them were as fleeting as a bubble. Nella kept her promise to Rowan, visiting her almost every night, when the servants would be asleep. They talked into the early hours of the morning, taking care to not wake anyone; sometimes, at Nella’s request, Rowan would read out passages from books she couldn’t read, or lines from her favorite books.

Once, Nella asked Rowan to describe herself. ‘We’re friends, right?’ she said. ‘I want to know what you look like.’

She sensed Rowan’s hesitance, but Rowan obliged, if not, a bit awkwardly:

‘I’m two inches taller than you. I have red hair that goes down to my waist. My eyes are brown; people have told me I’m rather white. I can’t be in the sun for too long, else I’ll feel faint.’

‘You must have a lot of suitors,’ Nella remarked.

Rowan laughed; a high, throaty laugh.

They also exchanged their family histories; Nella learned that Rowan descended from an old tribe of Hungarian warriors, but conflict after conflict drained them of their wealth and influence. Her grandparents fled their enemies across Europe, finally settling in England where they tended to a farm in the Highlands.

In turn, Rowan grew increasingly interested in tales of the Mantels’ hunts. Nella had never been on a hunt, but she retold stories she’d heard of her family members fighting dangerous creatures across the country — werewolves, vampires, wraiths, and whatnot — and how her parents and sisters sometimes came home reeking of blood and dirt. The record keeper would listen intently, occasionally posing questions about the hunters’ backgrounds, and how the creatures were found and killed.

Nella also realized that Rowan rarely ate, as she often stowed sweets and biscuits into the library, but Rowan would turn down her offer.

‘I’m allergic to many things,’ she once said, later adding that the servants’ meals usually left her full. She, however, welcomed offerings of blankets and coats.

‘You’re always so cold,’ Nella once said.

‘It’s my illness. My parents had it, and so did their parents, and so on.’ Rowan answered, in an equally glacial manner. Nella did not press the matter further.

While the girls tried to preserve the remaining normalcy in their lives, outside, a dark disease was combing the summer-awaited streets of Whitglade; the first dozen that were infected grew white, weary, and eventually languished in their homes. Upon

finding bite marks on their bodies, doctors theorized that it was a strain borne by an insect, rodent, or bat, while being ultimately bewildered.

It was not long until the news reached the Mantel household, spilling a terseness into its atmosphere that Nella had never known. She began to see less of her sisters as they ventured out into town during the evenings; they hung crucifixes in every room and anointed themselves and the servants with holy water.

Nella hoped that her marriage would be postponed, but Susanna scoffed at the idea.

‘We won’t have the full ceremony — nevertheless, you’ll be out of here and wedded,’ she replied. ‘Edgar has agreed to take you to his home in Norfolk this Friday until this plague subsides. Truly, it couldn’t have come at a better time for you.’

‘That’s only three days away,’ Nella cried. ‘Have I no say in the matter? Not even for my own wedding?’

Susanna’s hand cracked across her cheek.

‘Ungrateful wench!’ she snapped back. ‘Your sisters and I painstakingly worked to find someone willing to care for you. Don’t you see,’ she shook Nella by the shoulders, ‘you’ll live a quiet life in the countryside, picking roses, away from all this mess.’

Still, the manor is my home, Nella thought, but dared not say aloud.

Her sister’s words still stung her skin as she retreated into the library that night. From the shadows, a pair of hands cradled her face, their iciness soothing against red. Nella folded into the record keeper’s arms; her frock smelled of lilies, earth, and metal.

The other girl patted her golden head. ‘Poor Nell, you needn’t be sad.’

‘I don’t know what’s out there, Rowan,’ Nella said. ‘Must I simply embrace the fate my sisters have carved out for me?’

‘Is it so terrible?’

There was something different in Rowan’s voice — an uncharacteristic slowness, weariness. Nella put her ear closer to Rowan, and heard her breaths, drawn out and uneven.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

‘No, nothing — I had to move some furniture today,’ Rowan replied. ‘I forgot that I tire easily.’

She sighed, ‘Nella, I have something to tell you. I’ll be leaving soon.’

Nella felt her heart plummet. ‘What? But why?’

‘I’m heading North. It seems Whitglade is no longer safe,’ said Rowan. ‘There are rumors that my relatives are in the Summer Isles up North. Once I meet them, we’ll move somewhere further, prettier — Tibet, perhaps?’ she added lightly, ‘I’ve always wondered if Shambala existed.’

Still reeling from the news, Nella inadvertently pulled herself away from the other girl.

‘I’ll be in Norfolk. Oh, we’ll be so far apart, won’t we?’

Like snow enveloping a flame, Rowan took Nella’s hand in hers.

‘What if — you come with me?’ she asked. ‘It’s a long way ahead, but you needn’t

have to marry a stranger, nor suffer your sisters’ torment. Just imagine: you can sail across the widest seas, and taste the air of the most beautiful mountains. And I’ll be with you all the way, by your side.’

This proposal tempted Nella deeply; her words dripped honey on her heartstrings. ‘You know no matter where I go, I’ll be an outcast.’

‘Then, I’ll be your blade.’ Rowan coiled the golds in Nella’s hair with her nails. ‘We’re not so different. I told you — my kind is often unwelcomed. Just say yes, and I’ll protect you, while I have all my senses and limbs.’

At her touch, Nella felt as if her body was a metal rod, receiving lightning at its tip.

‘Promise you’ll protect me,’ she whispered.

She could not see it, but the other girl’s eyes gleamed brighter than the wizened lamp above them.

‘It’s a promise. Let’s leave on the day of your wedding.’

Nella frowned. ‘My sisters. How would we...?’

‘At six o’ clock in the morning, meet me in the backyard. They won’t suspect a thing, not until the end,’ Rowan said, ‘but first, I’ll need your help.’

Rowan had two requests: to hide away all holy items from all rooms in the house, and to borrow the gown she would wear to meet Edgar. The night before her wedding, Nella waited for the servants to sleep and for her sisters’ footsteps to fade, before scuttling

across each room, plucking off crucifixes, Bibles, and silver daggers as if they were ripe fruit.

Before crawling into bed, she left her door slightly ajar for Rowan, whose dress for the next day’s journey was laid out on her chair. With a maidservant’s help, she had picked a silk gown of burgundy and scarlet, thinking it would match Rowan’s hair. For herself, she had picked one of her mother’s old dresses — the cleanest, whitest one the maidservant could find. In the dark, while lying curled between her sheets, Nella’s heart thumped rapidly in anticipation. She drifted in and out of sleep. There was the slightest creaking of wood; a strange-smelling breeze nestled in her sleeves; and a humming, tender yet sorrowful, pulsed against her throat. She yearned to return the song, kiss each ancient word, but the lull of Morpheus weighed upon her, and then, darkness, soundless.

Nella rose early, at a time when her windows still reflected black. The night left her restless, but the thought of the nearing sunrise brought her peace. She dressed herself carefully, then tread downstairs and towards the backyard. The scent of dew and grass greeted her nostrils, and from the distance, came the neighs of her family horses, and crowing of chickens.

‘Rowan?’ she echoed. No answer.

‘...Nella, what are you doing here?’

It was one of the maidservants. Nella felt her mouth turn dry. ‘I-I woke up early. I thought I might go for a stroll,’ she said.

‘Oh, but…’ The maidservant seemed at a loss for words, ‘how odd! I could’ve sworn I saw

you in the sitting room, with your sisters.’

A chill ran down Nella’s spine, and she scampered back into the manor, her hands grasping at each corner until she arrived at the sitting room. There was a stagnant foulness in the air — the smell of open flesh.

Then, a voice emerged, weak and constricted:

‘No...run, run!’

It was Susanna’s. Nella trembled, her feet rooted to the floor. There was someone else with them; she caught the scent of lilies.

‘Why, Nella,’ said Rowan, her tone surprised, ‘I told you to wait in the backyard.’

‘What’s going on?’ asked Nella.

Susanna seized the hem of Nella’s skirt; her nails sank into her ankles, causing her to cry out. Her grip was wet and tremorous, her breathing ragged.

‘You did this? You removed...the protection...?’

‘Leave her alone. Your protection is useless against me, anyway,’ Rowan interjected coldly. ‘For a century-old family of hunters, you’ve been painfully sloppy. I mean, none of you knew I was hiding here all along! To think your ancestor actually killed my dear brother.’

Nella whimpered. ‘Your brother?’

‘Yes, my brother, Rohar de Temesvar. And he was no mere sorcerer. Rohar might’ve

left you his curse, but as long as you Mantels live, we Vampirs will never know peace.’ Rowan touched Nella’s cheek, the way a mother would to her child, while fury distorted her face. ‘It’s a shame. I really did like talking to you.’

At their feet, Susanna clung to her waking life.

‘Blasphemous traitor...you’ve doomed us all,’ she spat. ‘W-we should’ve gotten rid of you long ago...!’

There was a swishing movement, and Susanna thudded to the floor, joining her two other sisters in eternal, violent slumber. Her mission fulfilled, the Vampir strode towards the door, but Nella grabbed her arm and held tight. Rowan tried to shake herself free; the sun would rise soon. ‘Do you wish to join your sisters?’

‘If you truly wanted to kill me, you’d have done so in the library,’ Nella said. ‘Excruciating, wasn’t it? Trying to hide who you really were?’

The Vampir froze. ‘You knew?’

A bitter hint of a smile played across Nella's lips.

‘I knew what you were the moment you touched me,’ she said softly. ‘When I heard about the disease in Whitglade, the way those people died...I knew I was right. Yet, here I am, alive.’

Rowan’s eyes flickered with pity. ‘No matter how kind and beautiful one is, a curse scars her life forever. It’s a life worse than death.’

‘Then, take me with you,’ Nella said. ‘See, I have nothing else. You, of all people, know how that feels — I’ll be alone, eternally relying on the gentleness of strangers, yet

shunned by their hearts.’

Rowan was hesitant, but she took the girl’s hands to her chest in a prayer-clasp.

‘Not mine,’ she whispered.

She led her to the backyard in quick strides. The tiniest first rays of the day bolted across her face, searing her skin, and she let out a high-pitched howl. Nella threw her cloak over her, pulling its hood over her eyes, praying that no one had heard or seen them. At the border of the garden, Rowan hoisted her onto her back and scaled the walls.

A horse-pulled carriage awaited them by the road outside the yard. Unknown to Nella, the body of Edgar Clairmont lay in the passenger coach, drained of blood. Still reeling from her brush with sunlight, Rowan pushed him onto the road, and cracked her whip once Nella was seated. The horses galloped over Edgar into the distance, and Rowan threw back her head, her hair unravelling and trailing victorious scarlet against the rising sky.

As the girls rode on, gradually, Nella felt the sky over them swirl and give way into a crisp, light vastness, smelling of flowers and grass, and she knew that they had left Whitglade far behind. Every now and then, Rowan stopped the carriage at a quiet spot, napping in short bursts. When she had her fill of sleep, she would disappear for minutes, and return with an armful of bread or fruit, which Nella ate greedily.

Along the way, Rowan explained that they would ride to London, then take a train towards the North, as the journey by road would be too lengthy and strenuous for the both of them. Nella mumbled nervously, conscious of her eye-daisies, at which Rowan

laughed and told her that they had no choice but to be stowaways.

For Nella, it was a stark reminder of their afflictions. She tried to suppress such thoughts, knowing that their peace now was a short one.

‘What happens if I am turned?’ she asked, ‘into a Vampir, I mean.’

Rowan stifled a yawn.

‘Well, you’d sleep for a short bit, and when you wake, you’ll have skin of ice, and the strength of a beast; you’ll hear and smell other living beings hundreds of yards away. Ah, you’ll keep craving blood — most of all, human blood. You will despise the sun. As the centuries pass, you’ll grow faster and stronger, but the years will go so quickly,’ she sighed. ‘Even I barely remember my early hunting days.’

‘Do you mean, as a Vampir — I might be able to move about on my own? Would you turn me into one, Rowan?’

‘I might have to. My relatives might drink from you, otherwise,’ Rowan said. ‘But you’d no longer be human. You’d be doubly cursed.’

‘Is it so terrible?’ Nella asked. ‘If it brings me closer to being normal, then why not?’

Rowan smiled to herself beneath her hood, a sad smile.

‘Of course, I can turn you. I’d be delighted to welcome another to the family. However, the moment you wake, you’ll be bound to the night, to your hunger — forever loathed and persecuted by oh-so superior humanity. My brother was a great Vampir, yet even he was slain. It’s only time before I meet the same end. Ah, is it so sinful to live as nature willed us?’

She loosened her grip on the reins as she gazed upon the scenery, her fangs scraping the passing breeze. In the distance, the sun dipped below the horizon, spilling soft gold into the shadows of the valley ahead, and she silently wished she could paint her future home in its light, where the two of them would live out wintry days and sow daisies in spring. They would look like Nella’s eyes, soft and milky.

‘If only you could see the grandeur of those mountains,’ she said. ‘If Shambala truly exists, I hope they let us in.’

AUTHOR & ARTIST BIOS MARYANA SIMPSON Cover Artist - Sheet Ghost & His Cat Enjoying a Book Arapaima Illustrations is a Maltese digital illustrator with a love for the strange and mysterious. Her work mostly focuses on sci-fi and alien life, with some supernaturalthemed pieces sprinkled in here and there. She takes inspiration from nature, folklore, and her love of adventures. You can find more of her work on Instagram at @arapaima_illustrations!

KATHRYN REILLY The Thirteenth Year By day, Kathryn helps students investigate words’ power; by night, she resurrects goddesses and ghosts, spinning new speculative tales. Sometimes, she even writes the truth. Enjoy poetry in Shadow Atlas, A Flight of Dragons, Last Girls Club, Willow Tree Swing, Paris Morning and fiction in Tree and Stone, Seaside Gothic, Diet Milk, Blink Ink, and Fish Gather to Listen. Her rescue mutts, Savvie and Roxy Razzamatazz, hear all the stories first. Find her on Twitter/X @Katecanwrite or visit katecanwrite.com.

JACOBY CRANE Little Ghost on the Stairs Jacoby is an eccentric writer and artist living in Derbyshire. Currently he's working on Japanese poetry and writing a macabre children's fantasy novel. His inspiration mostly comes from vivid dreams and life experiences, but his muse comes in the forms of Chris Riddell and Neil Gaiman. You can find him on Twitter/X @FukurouSan_

ARIADNE ZHOU What Comes Up From the World Below Ariadne Zhou is a programmer who enjoys reading, cooking, translating webnovels, and writing short stories in her free time. She has also been previously published in OFIC Magazine, Trembling With Fear, and the gothic romance anthology Crimson Bones. She can be found on Twitter and Bluesky @juurensha.

KELLER AGRE Hide and Seek Keller Agre is a new horror fiction writer and financial analyst originally from Overland Park, Kansas. He is a member of the Atlanta Writers Club and the Spooky Book Club of Atlanta, Georgia where he lives and works. He enjoys hiking, playing folk music on his guitar, and exploring the city. He graduated from Truman State University with a degree in accounting. You can find him on Twitter/X @KellerAgre.

DOODLESLICE The Thranklemeindr Doodleslice is an Atlanta-based poet and visual artist who has been active in the arts for over 30 years. Despite his whimsical nature, he believes that in the corners of the best fairy tales reside the darkest shadows. Yet, he also asserts that chocolate chip cookies are proof that humans are, ever so slightly, more good than evil. He is the author and illustrator of Color Me With Hugs, a poetry and coloring book. You can find him on Twitter/X and Instagram @doodleslice, and on his website https://doodleslice.com/.

AMY R. WETHINGTON Baba Yaga and the Water of Life Amy R. Wethington is a retired biology professor and Physidae snail expert. She lives in the house she helped build as a teenager in Pauline, SC with her husband and four cats. She enjoys writing science fiction, speculative fiction, and fantasy and is a member of several writing groups: in person and online. She has another short story coming out soon in April 2024 with Androids and Dragons. She can be found on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/amy.wethington.5/ and is the Contest Coordinator and former President of the Southeastern Writers Association. She will be looking into designing an author website soon.

AZHLEE AVRO Amphibious Summoning Azhlee Avro (she/her) is a Cornish short story and illustration hobbyist of fiction and fantasy. She enjoys fantastical works of magic, worlds, and mythical characters, creating one-shot D&D campaigns and designing and drawing characters. She loves animated films and her two cats Cloud and Luna. You can find her illustrated works on Instagram @Sprite_Mouse.

JACELYN Long Gone Jacelyn (she/her) recently started focusing on her art proper, having persevered through an engineering major and a short stint as a civil servant. Her artworks have appeared in adda, Chestnut Review, The Lumiere Review, and more. She can be found at https://jacelyn.myportfolio.com/ and on Instagram at @jacelyn.makes.stuff.

N.A. KIMBER To Drown and Burn N.A. Kimber (she/her) is a writer from Caledon, Ontario. She has been writing since she was twelve years old and has always been moved by the power of storytelling across all mediums and genres. She is the co-founder of the online publication Forget Me Not Press which she runs with her twin sister and artist, K.E. Donoghue-Stanford. She can usually be found with a cup of tea in hand and either knitting, reading, or (obviously) writing. You can find her on Instagram @nahydekimber and on her website https://www.nakimber.org/.

OGBEWU GOODLUCK IDAA Midnight Incantations Ogbewu Goodluck Idea, is a prolific poet who hails from Nigeria. His creative experience is well rooted on 3 years of consistent writing. He has won numerous awards in the writing industry, ranging from winning the gold award in Heritage of poems weekly contests 2023, 4th winner of the philosophical African writing contest 2022 and 1st runner-up in thresposs learn on-spot writing challenge 2021among others. He goes by the pseudonym; Luckscribe.

BENJAMIN BRADLEY Declan’s Big Day Benjamin Bradley is a graduate of the Gotham Writers Workshop Fiction I & II and the Red Bud Writing Project’s Advanced Fiction courses and an active member of the Mystery Writers of America. He's the author of the Shepard & Kelly Mystery series through Indies United Publishing House. By day, Benjamin coaches homelessness organizations nationally on embedding healthcare for our country's most vulnerable populations from his home in Raleigh, North Carolina. You can find him on Twitter/X @bbradleywrites. Declan’s Big Day was originally published in The Serulian Issue Two.

AYU SERKALANGIT MOKOGINTA Devour Ayu (preferably known as Anja) is an Indonesian writer, creator, and independent game developer. They graduated with a bachelor’s degree in Communication (Media) and have a background in media production (primarily for film and TV). They're fond of all things horror, grotesque, and obscure. When they’re not creating monstrous things, you’ll find them spending their spare time crocheting, reading books, and being a cat parent. You can find them on Twitter/X @/hauntshill or their website: haunthill.carrd.co.

MARISCA PICHETTE Quake Marisca Pichette assembles jewelry from playing cards and bones. Her work has appeared in Strange Horizons, Enchanted Living, and Plenitude Magazine, among others. Her debut poetry collection, Rivers in Your Skin, Sirens in Your Hair, is out now from Android Press. Find her on Twitter as @MariscaPichette and Instagram as @marisca_write.

ARDA MORI Garden of Darkness, Dream of Spring Arda Mori writes from Malaysia. Her prose/poetry appear in Eye To The Telescope, Strange Horizons, Spellbinder Literary Magazine, and elsewhere. Find her on Twitter/X at @armori_ or ardamori.wordpress.com.

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