Misentity Horror Fall 2021

The Horror of Misentity

Revolution of the Money Tree Courtney Warns

Anatomy transforms lives into money. A seething bound placed on those who worship it.

A merciless metaphorical dictatorship compelling begetters to sacrifice their virgin offspring for war, disguised as love. And money with a value such as love, is evil.

But all is deserving of love. Not this kind.

This kind of love brings a temporary happiness destined to be ripped from our hearts, and left beating.

A handful of flesh pumping in your palm like the drum of a mother’s heartbeat, dripping blood on your brown leather boots, from a cow who also was stripped of its happiness from existence.

Children now motherless, lay weeping in the uncut grass field, under a growing sapling, in the hugging sun.

Or is the mother now begging in a gulf of her own sorrow, in remorse for her baby’s life.

Thinking as her child so she loses touch with her own reality?

And at that very moment the child will stroke her mother’s hair, hug her with the sun, blow her tears dry with the breeze, and shelter her from the rain with the leaves.

I, a grown child did not understand anatomy, but I knew only that anatomy made people kill their children.

Auctioned Lauren Smith

The eyes were the most desired part of the human body, and in our part of town, the one that received the highest bid. Every time, without fail.

My mother had told me that when I was ten. “Of course,” she said, “the other parts of the body were valuable too, but what they hunger for most are the eyes.”

Every year there was an auction, for parents would present the different parts of the human body to a group of wealthy bidders ready to spare no expense to get their hands on their newest meal.

This year, the screams of the children filled the cold, crisp, October air, but not a soul would drop by to help. They knew better.

At the age of twelve, I stood on a stage I could not see, in front of a crowd I could only hear, because this year, my mother had auctioned off my eyes.

My mother had never fully explained to me what anatomy meant, nor did I have the courage to ask really. All I knew was that anatomy made people kill their children.

Clare Cummings

Deep within the Wood of Night resides the man of bones He leans against a gnarled pine ribs bleached white and weathered With crawling vines in sunken eyes breath long stolen away by time And atop his head he wears a crown of thorns and brittle daisies

Charlotte Erisman

On Hallow's eve There was a big fright.

For there was a lamb Dead in the moonlight.

The scene was a horror Quite the sight to behold.

Even as we spoke The bones turned to mold.

The children screamed With terror in their eyes, Oh how joyful None of them recognize my lies.

I wipe the blood Precise off my knife, Oh how good it felt To end That poor little lamb's Life.

Bound Kimberly Edgar

Crying, screaming, begging

Rules are not made

For mercy or pain?

To be broken or changed,

Words begin pouring

Much like how guts

Through one another, fighting,

Should not be rearranged.

For some sort of gain.

It stopped crying now, I know what it really wants,

How could I betray this vow?

To lose this fight that cannot be won.

Words declare promises,

The red river only floods in response,

Risking its fate to one’s mind.

Denying the knot of life to be undone.

Till death do us part is my kryptonite.

Slashes and cuts so deep and divine,

Its lips poison like turpentine,

Staining her skin like red wine.

Mixing pleasure with pain.

Drain the blood of my lover,

Changing the rules

On this cold winter’s night.

Of this twisted game.

For the rope that was bound, Frays with each knife.

Found Courtney Warns The ghosts of strangler trees

while pulling a little philosophy shit.

slip their sheaths around the bodies of others and swallow them.

The almond table decays enough

Forming an empty cast around their decomposed hosts

to clack the steel balls

To them, humans are nothing but sculptures of immobile meat

While the redwood suffers more mishap than the pendulum toy

For the rest of our lives

To swim in promises

The poor stick boy hangs

The white monkey hangs on crimson bark

He loses himself in the logic of his will

To solve scarcity at last and cure hunger at the heart’s core

He stands lost in the universe’s weeds and has made himself invisible

Humming his son’s favorite song, he’ll raise decaying corpses and eat the soul of the young.

A plan that will take a thousand years to realize, Humans will goose-step around one-thousand-word memories And tell tales of seas, planets with many suns

Then fate of the human race lies in the hands of the welladjusted, social ones and the masters of emotion.

Pulling the boy back to the mystery

Crunch Koal Hohman

Crunch.

The chip crunched in his mouth as he purposely taunts me in class, smirking confident. Believing I can’t retaliate, just as I hadn’t before.

Crunch.

The miserable sound repeats every day in my head, thrashing in my head, a horrible echo. It fuels the hatred a little less this time.

Crunch.

He sneered as he holds the two pieces of my glasses in his hands like a prize, the shards hit the ground, but I don’t let my tears fall with them.

Crunch.

I watch him ball up a piece of paper in his hands as he exits the school doors. He walks down the same steps he always does, and this time, I follow, hiding my excitement.

Crunch.

He carelessly steps on the trash, not caring that it was in his way as he entered alley. I make my move, grabbing his arm while he’s still naïve to what’s happening. I smile. Now it’s my turn.

Crunch.

Halloween Haunts (The Frantic Murder) Onix Joyner

It was a dark, dreary, foggy night. All alone on All Hallow’s Eve, two siblings, Destiny and Elliot. They were trick or treating when they approached this rigid, run-down house in some wooded surrounding. As they gradually make their way up the driveway, Destiny trips over this abnormally large tree root that had overgrown through the concrete, her glasses broke as her ankle twists. As she falls, Elliot sees an old man frantically running off in the distance. Elliot’s in shock, Destiny begins to arise from the fall and notices him in this state of fear. As the screams and scene, the elder was causing, Destiny was trying to see what was going on. She attempts to move in for a closer look. Elliot grabs her arm and pulls her back. She worries as Elliot has not said anything. Proceeding ahead about 5 minutes later, Elliot comes out of this trance and says to Destiny “Run, run home now, call the cops, tell them to come immediately, there has been a gruesome murder, The Jackhill Manor on West, 143 West Lane, go Destiny, now!!!” he would say fighting the urge to cry. Elliot has assumed that the old man was the killer but was not aware. Psychologically he was not there, it had almost been like, he went.... insane.... The police officers arrive at the scene. Destiny is trailing behind. They go on an investigation and were out searching for the elderly man. After 20 minutes of searching the premises, they found him curled in the fetal position in a bush. The elderly man was in a panic and was stuttering. The police officers had the right to believe that the man was mentally unstable. They called the mental authorities to get the elder man the proper help that he needed. The investigators found an I.D in the dead man’s wallet. It turns out that he was the owner of the Manor, “55-year-old, Jason Jackhill found dead on front porch Halloween night. What a great headline” one officer says sarcastically. Elliot and Destiny did not understand what was going on. Shortly after once again, the Chief came around and said, “Hey kiddos, that old man won’t be around for a while, so you don’t have to worry, but he did take a trophy.,” he bows his head. Elliot still in fear asks, “So officer, what exactly did you mean by ‘trophy’?!?!?.” The officer replies, talking through tears, “I have never seen something this elaborate, so......gruesome....” As she wipes her tears, Destiny asks, “What did he take officer” He responds as if he were a relative of the manor owner, “His face....” The siblings gasped coordinated in shock. Destiny begins to cry. Elliot wraps his arms around her to help calm her down. “Mr. Officer sir?? Why would someone do that?!?” Destiny asks. ‘Kid, there are some things that some understand, others learn and most that misunderstand, but this man is mentally unstable and didn’t comprehend. His emotions and anger got the best of him. Unfortunately, that is the way some people are, it is sad, but absolutely true...”

False Gods Lauren Smith

Humming his son’s favorite song,

Decomposed hosts

The child hears things that have always been

Lie in broken heaps It stays with him forever

Seek and destroy Change humans into other creatures

He cares for his creatures

The creatures begin to evolve

Freak experiments They fall apart

We could kill this fellow before he even comes to life

“It’s not the end of the world.”

More power than any human has ever had to himself

He promises

But

But there’s no reply

Patience is the maker of all good things

Then he understands

The world is a present for him

His body, gone forever

He’ll raise the decaying corpses and eat the souls of the young

He’s helpless to do anything

Recently sacrificed to silicon

“In another life, it’s perfect.”

Humans are nothing but sculptures of immobile meat

Absurd.

We’re not even here

Gasoline Daydreams Lauren Smith

This dream haunts my mind, leaving scars that never quite fade.

I wake up, greeted by the smell of gasoline that stings the hairs of my nostrils, but I embrace it like a mother that embraces her child, because this is where the familiarity of my situation starts and ends.

I walk outside and the smell is amplified by the sweltering heat that has engulfed me for… well I’ve lost count of the days by now. I look around and notice that everything has changed again.

My grass is no longer a vibrant emerald green but now stained a velvet red. No doubt from the bodies that littered my once clean yard.

I take it in.

The sight of mangled bodies signifying broken promises and abandonment.

I breathe shallowly to avoid inhaling the rotten stench of decaying flesh before turning back into my house. I mark another tally on the wall. Today was no good either.

One of these days I’ll make it out… I hope.

I have the same dream every day, only, it isn’t a dream.

It’s one hellish nightmare.

Francesca Sauer “What the hell Brad? You think you’re funny, huh?” she asks with a nervous laugh.

When I don’t respond, she starts to struggle, trying to free her wrists from my firm grip to no avail. Strategically, without freeing her wrists, I slide my knife from my back pocket, and bring it within her sight. I feel her body tense, and she turns white. She begins to tremble; I can feel her fear.

In a shaky voice she says “Brad, please, what are you doing?” I smirk. “Brad, don’t do this, what’s wrong with you? You’re hurting me.”

It feels even better than I could have imagined. Being fully in control, with Kat begging me to stop.

“Kat, that’s the point, I want to hurt you.”

As I say this, I press the blade against her throat. I’ve never used it before, so it’s incredibly sharp and it gleams in the sunlight.

She begins to cry, her eyes shimmering and small, hot tears falling down her cheeks. I like how scared she is. I turn the blade so that its tip is pressing into the side of her neck, making a small indentation in her skin. I drag it across her throat, not deep enough to draw blood, yet. She whimpers as I do, and more tears fall.

“Brad please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything you want. I’ll give you anything you want. Just please, please let me go,” she begs, desperately.

“My love,” I say, running my hand gently through her hair once again, “it’s okay, I’m not upset with you. I don’t want anything from you.”

“Then why are you doing this?” she pleads.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kill you,” I tell her.

She begins to sob, unable to form words.

If I could stay in this moment forever, with her completely at my mercy I would but I can’t.

“I love you so much Baby,” I tell her. “I’m sorry that this is how it has to be.”

I run the blade across her throat once more, but this time, deep enough to cut.

The deep red blood runs down her neck, drenching my hands. I hold her in my arms, as she takes her last breath, and I watch the life drain from her eyes.

Her Favorite Color Lauren Smith

My favorite color was green, Like new grass or bright leaves on a tree.

It was the color of her eyes – the eyes of Irene Just once, I wish the one she loved were me, But she was in love with another, And my feelings for her remained unseen.

Irene loved another color, The rich lures me to her lips, The lips that I kiss as I hold her.

I think of her now as my fantasy slips, While we share a heated embrace, And a switch in me flips, Cause her empty eyes don’t see my face Rather, they seem dead.

I catch sight of a vase And soon it meets the back of her head.

What was her favorite color again?

Ah, that’s right, red.

Monster Within

Red. The color of rage. Uncontrollable aggression and anger. A feeling that knows no bounds. A burning passion that wants to be set free. Red. The only color I see now. My beast of anger takes full control. The little voice in the back of my head my own.

“Stop!! Please, look at the people you’re hurting.”

My voice drowned by the by the roar of my beast. I can’t be heard. Nobody hears my screams for help and agony. My beasts rage strong bed like a metal beam. Blocking my will to regain control. I hide. Far away from the beast that is my own rage. I wait. Losing all hope that I will regain control. I curl into a ball and shrink back further into my conner.

My beast drowned my thoughts. I can’t think without rage burning my thoughts.

Red. The color of rage. The color of blood. Rage drowns my body. Much like blood drowns my pain.

Tongues Lauren Smith I laid in a grave for hours after my close encounter with death, the smell of freshly dug soil invading my nostrils and probing my brain.

Playing with the hem of my tattered shirt I mumbled to my friends in the ground, wondering if they could hear me.

Eyes straining and mouths gaping opening, I could tell they were enraptured by every word that slid off my tongue, my tongue, and I knew my voice had reached their ears.

I earned a shuffle, a glare, a gasp with each statement that left my lips, and only then would I feel the gentle tongue pf joy dance across my face.

They never complained about my ramblings. Never made fun of how I spoke. They were excellent listeners.

They were my friends.

But, as most things do, our talks had come to an end. No more wide eyes or fresh dirt.

I got up, I brushed myself off, and began my search for another friend.

Anatomy Annika Peterson

Pale red juice spilled across the counter as Miss Nelly’s knife sunk down, crunching down on tendon and bone. A cold bell tone – supper was ready. The other children hurried around the table, arranging sets of silverware across identical placemats. I wasn’t hungry. I seemed to be the only one who noticed the growing number of empty seats. A “very nice family” had stolen them all away. It couldn’t be true – why would they leave me here to rot?

The smell of burnt meat and singed skin licked my nose, peeling me from my thoughts. “Eat up, dear. Health is important to couples looking to adopt, you know. Healthy anatomy.” I pushed my plate further away. I knew only that anatomy made people kill their children.

The Monster Damien Thomas

I feel your hot breath seeping down my neck I can’t escape Once again, I start to cry You get closer There’s nothing I can do As you clasp around my neck Trying to drown me in the coldest water You put me through the fires of hell I can’t scream for help I’m gone

It Should Be on Your Phone Bella Silvestri “It should be on your phone.” she shouted in a whisper. His eyes dilate. “It should be on your phone.” they stare at each other horrified. Who had the“It shouldn’t be on either of your phones.” announces a voice and emerges another figure- the individual whom this ‘it’ is about. “you two are so naïve. It was never on a phone.”

Der Jäger Andrew Hartlove

In the beginning there was only the woods. The door to hell, or Höllentür as it was called by the locals. Expeditions to the woods started but every time there were no survivors. The stories told in taverns by ones that ‘almost’ left, claimed that there were creatures who called the woods home, creatures that looked human but were not of this world, and if provoked will destroy everything. “Pfft” the man excerpts drinking more of his favorite ale “what a bunch of rubbish”. Erwin Müller was a regular at this tavern where travelers would tell the stories of the woods. He was the owner of a butcher shop with the finest meat in Trostberg. He hunted his own game with his own bow and sold them for a good price. Today was no different from any other, in the morning he got a tankard of his favorite mountain ale from an old friend from behind the bar, getting his drinks for free. Then he went home got his bow, quiver, horse, and a kiss from the wife then left to get the days load. He rode into the meadow near the woods where deer, hare, wild boar, and the occasional pheasant roamed. Later in the evening the load of animals hung off the horse, a great profit would become of it and there was more than enough for supper! Erwin then laid his eyes on an abnormally sized stag. It was huge! Larger than any stag he had ever seen. The antlers were towering, a perfect trophy to add to the collection. He knew he had to go back, but if he brought home this stag, all would be forgiven. He drew his bow from his back and one arrow and fired, it missed short. The sound of the arrow hitting the ground startled the stag and it ran into the woods. “Damn it!” He mumbled to himself; he knew he couldn’t go in the woods because of the stories from the tavern. “But they’re just stories, right?” He thought to himself “if they are just stories, I should be ok if I go in quickly and get out, right?” He pondered. Moments of back and forth in his mind passed, then he decided to go into the forest. He rode his horse to the edge of the woods and hitched the reigns to a tall tree. Grabbing his quiver swiftly then venturing into the woods. Hunting the stag. The forest was dark, it wasn’t surprising due to the trees being that tall and full, little to no sunlight penetrated the trees, leaving the darkness of night below. More time passed but then, there it was. The stag eating a patch of grass. Slowly, Erwin pulled out an arrow and knocked it on his bow. He pulled the arrow back and slowed his breathing. Taking the time to assure a landed shot. He felt the tension in his fingers, his arms shaking, he was nervous, but he knew he could land this shot.

With one last exhale he let the arrow go. He saw the arrow fly. It was over in an instant, but it felt like an eternity. The arrow hit the stag sending it to the ground almost instantly. It was dead before it even hit the ground. “Gotcha!” He exclaimed, pumping his fist.

Erwin approached the stag, truly appreciating the beauty of this animal. As he got closer, he noticed more and more fine details about this stag. The hide was as white as snow. The eyes were blue as the sky above. The lifeless stag laid before him at his feet. Erwin kneeled at the side of the creature and brought out his hunting knife, and he skinned the stag, removing the pelt, venison, and antlers from the carcass and loading it into a sack that he usually transports the goods in. But just as he got up and left, he felt a cool shiver

run up his back, leaves rusted from behind him, and the wind picked up for a moment. Erwin quickly looked back at where he came from, and the carcass was gone. All of it. The scraps. The blood. Everything, it was gone. “What the hell?” Erwin said in a panic. He searched his person, his game was still there, but where did the rest go? He searched the area and found no clues. Until he saw a shadow of a man in the distance. Just standing there, as if it was curious. He stepped closer to the figure; its shining white skin drew him closer. More and more details showed up as he got closer, it was human, or at least at one time. It looked incredibly malnourished, as if it hasn’t SEEN food in months. It’s clothing were falling apart. And it’s skin was purely white. Before Erwin could get too close to the thing, it ran off. Completely terrified, Erwin ran, stumbling over roots and fallen branches, he heard the monstrosities howling as he ran, the sounds were close to him, but he couldn’t see them. He ran, faster and faster, he felt as if they were right behind him.

They were galloping on the ground rustling leaves and snapping twigs as they ran. Erwin sprinted back towards the edge of the woods, within view now. Getting to the meadow and seeing his horse he felt something grip his foot, he tripped and fell to the ground on his stomach, immediately rolling to his back to see what tripped him in the first place. But nothing was there. He heard nothing but the panting of his lungs, the beat of his heart, and the silence of the woods. Slowly calming down Erwin got up and checked his sack to see if the meat was still there, it was good, but he lost the antlers in the chase. He didn’t care as long as he was out of there. A sigh of relief exited his body as he got up, a little chuckle left him as he mumbled “those stories really got to me huh?” justifying the chase was his imagination playing tricks on him. Erwin mounted his horse and began to ride back to the village. He brought out his journal and began to write as he trotted back “I had the most mysterious thing happen to me this afternoon. The stag I killed disappeared. And these imaginary beings chased me out of the forest. It was extraordinary the realism of my hallucination, it must be those stories I heard about in the tavern. Thinking about it now, I wasn’t in any real danger because it was just my imagination, it’s stupid really but I thought it was worth documenting” he closed his journal and stowed it away, when he looked up and saw his village. In ruins. In a state of shock, he mushed his horse into the city center. Bodies littered the city square; blood stained the collapsed buildings. No block was spared. Every house was pillaged and destroyed. All except one he found. His house. He rushed in to find his family slaughtered on the floor and pools of blood leaked out of their still warm bodies. He felt dizzy, his mind was in disbelief and shock at the same time. He fell to his knees trying to comprehend what happened. The room was spinning around him, and he couldn’t find a away too stop it, and he swore to of heard whispering in his ears. In a panic he turned his head around the room. Before laying them on his trophy wall. It was barren. For all except one stag’s antlers hanging neatly on the wall with a note skewered on a low hanging antler.

He got up slowly and removed the note. It read. “You dropped this.”

With the unprecedented creative freedom that accompanies our new digital format, Misentity is now expanding beyond the literary and visual arts!

To reflect the diverse and beautiful creative talents of our student body, we are now open to submissions of music, film, and the dramatic arts.

Email all submissions to misentitymagazine@gmail.com Anonymous submissions are welcome!

Silvia Guevara-Martinez