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Solvang Library Ghost Story Challenge 2021 The Ghost Story Challenge: Write a story (500 words or less) that is scary or mysterious and involves the supernatural. Open to teens 6th grade through 12th grades and adults 18 years old and up. Submissions were due on October 22, winners were announced October 30. All entries submitted are included here. Some were not included in the judging process as they exceeded 500 words. Thanks to all the writers for taking the Challenge- you are all winners! Solvang Library 1745 Mission Drive Solvang, CA 93463 solvanglibrary@cityofgoleta.org

Adult Ghost Story Submissions I’m the Only One Still Awake by Carol Baker-Willey.............................................................................................1 Poor Herbert by Paul Gelles* ................................................................................................................................5 The Face in the Basement by Judythe Guarnera* ................................................................................................7 Lipstick by Coleen Hefley* .....................................................................................................................................9 Sally’s Revenge by Michael Patrick Jackson* ...................................................................................................... 11 The Lady of the Slough by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson* ....................................................................................... 13 The cat sat on the rat by Jeremy Moore ........................................................................................................... 15 The Ides of October by Lauren Napa* ............................................................................................................... 17 The Ballad by Darin Silverman* ......................................................................................................................... 19 Universal Me by Terry Willey ............................................................................................................................ 21

Teen Ghost Story Submissions A House is A…........................................................................................................................................ 25 The Hungry Household by Ashley Winifred* ...................................................................................................... 27 The Warden by Paige Halme .............................................................................................................................. 29 The Lonely Cabin by Steph Pedersen* ............................................................................................................... 31 My House by Mackenzie Peters ......................................................................................................................... 33 Shadows by Anna Solem..................................................................................................................................... 35 The Manor by Taylor Swing ................................................................................................................................ 37

Could it Happen? Ice Blue Eyed Girl by Jadyn Clark ........................................................................................................................ 41 Lifeless Mannequin by Kaden Jones ................................................................................................................... 43 Believe by Kelly Rose Kokotas ............................................................................................................................ 45 Movie Night by Nelli Peltonen ........................................................................................................................... 47

Don’t Go In There! Untitled by Ben Dellis ......................................................................................................................................... 51 Stairwell by Spencer Silverman .......................................................................................................................... 53 Don’t look Down by Ryleigh Thomas .................................................................................................................. 55 Immersive Seas by Roberto Torres ..................................................................................................................... 57 The Ghost of Boone by Winston Warren ........................................................................................................... 59

Evil Nature Into the Woods by Madison Gonzalez................................................................................................................ 63

Corn Stalk Farm by Aiden Jimenez..................................................................................................................... 65 Mysterious Spirit by Brooklyn Ricci .................................................................................................................... 67 The Dive by Corbin John Valla ............................................................................................................................ 69

Family Adventures Mother by Matthew Musson ............................................................................................................................. 73 Burn by Elias Palmer ........................................................................................................................................... 77 It’s Horrific by Mariah Simpson .......................................................................................................................... 79 The Mystery of Five Days by Devyn Hazard ....................................................................................................... 81

Fun With Friends Never mess with Ouija Boards by Luke Heald ..................................................................................................... 85 A Petrifying Experience in the Abandoned Cemetery by Lizbeth Ortiz ............................................................. 87 Another Normal Friday by Harper Tyng ............................................................................................................. 89

Ghosts In Verse The Spirit of Salem by Charley Hrehor ............................................................................................................... 93 Untitled by Margaret Watson............................................................................................................................ 95 Never by Merrick Wiessner ............................................................................................................................... 99

Halloween Night The Night of Vines by Lauren Chirgwin ............................................................................................................ 105 On Halloween by Evan Hecker.......................................................................................................................... 107 Untitled by Julia Rhodes ................................................................................................................................... 109 Untitled by Aileen Rico ..................................................................................................................................... 111

It’s All In Your Mind Untitled by Ava Ladinig ..................................................................................................................................... 115 Reflecting by Zlata Mitchell .............................................................................................................................. 117 Descent by Shannon Morehouse ..................................................................................................................... 119 The Voices by Janey Pakulski* .......................................................................................................................... 121

Jason’s Favorites Where’s Jen by Demory Frausto...................................................................................................................... 125 Killer Nurse by Tatum Kay................................................................................................................................. 127 The Man by Dylan Shomes* ............................................................................................................................. 129

Legends La Noche Negra by Oscar Aguayo..................................................................................................................... 133 iii

A Dance With Death by Sophia Elliott* ............................................................................................................ 135 Untitled by Sydney Holland ............................................................................................................................... 137 Bloody Red Rose by Lizbeth Jimenez ................................................................................................................ 141 Ghost Stories by Gavin Wang ........................................................................................................................... 143 The Girl From Salem by Maya Westcott ............................................................................................................ 145

Lovely Memories Haunted by the Past by Sam Birtwistle ............................................................................................................ 149 Us by Zachary James Horvath .......................................................................................................................... 151 Alone with Companionship by Ala Loper-Benson ............................................................................................ 153 A Walking Ghost by Jacob Metzger .................................................................................................................. 155 Happy Canyon by Michael Moreno .................................................................................................................. 157

Other Worlds Untitled by Riley Aiken* ................................................................................................................................... 161 635 Wilmont Drive by Ella Bishop .................................................................................................................... 163 Respite by Jaime Rhie ....................................................................................................................................... 165 The Quiet by Gabriel Silva ................................................................................................................................ 167 Untitled by Colija Diedrichs .............................................................................................................................. 169

School Days The Intruder by Grant Carson ........................................................................................................................... 173 The Ghost Writer by Alexander Grenier* ......................................................................................................... 175 People are the Scariest by Monica Lu* ............................................................................................................ 177 The Art Teacher by Emily Wirth........................................................................................................................ 179

Visitors (Knock, Knock…) Demons in the House by Victoria Bernard ....................................................................................................... 183 Lights Out by Samara Perez* ............................................................................................................................ 187 Untitled by Wylder Rheinschild ........................................................................................................................ 189 Untitled by Cash Whitney ................................................................................................................................. 193

Adult Ghost Story Submissions

I’m the Only One Still Awake by Carol Baker-Willey I’m the only one still awake. The others fell asleep while I was scouting—and I cannot wake them. The device must be within range. They are asleep forever. I am left to fight the enemy. They lurk in dark corners during the day and come out at night to hunt. Hunt us. I stow the ammo from Steve’s knapsack in my backpack. Steve is my husband’s cousin, my best friend, my ally. The first family member I met in the hills when I fled my home. He escaped his house on the coast when they landed on the beach. Their cruiser splashed down in the ocean and they swarmed the shore. Even without land transport, they advance steadily, installing their devices, moving forward. I take the canteen from Gary, my brother-in-law. He and Carla made it up the ridge to the canyon where Steve and I met them. We filled the canteens at the lake yesterday morning in preparation for the long hike inland. Inland where the 117 degree temperature makes the enemy slow and sluggish. Easier to kill. They’re hard to kill. I check again to verify Carla is asleep. I hate losing her logical mind and accurate aim. She was worried about her daughters in LA. The phones haven’t worked since first contact. 1

The bloody first contact. I can’t wake them. I can’t carry them. Maybe I can return before they’re discovered. Even if I do, there’s no way to revive them from the effects of the alpha wave projector. Once alpha waves begin in the brain during the sleep cycle, the device holds the person captive. They don’t wake up. Everywhere around the world are minds forever asleep, bodies in hibernation, awaiting an unknown fate. We’ve been trying to stay ahead of them until scientists construct a defense to the insidious device. How long does it take to formulate a countermeasure? A cure? We are helpless. Thus the death cults—people who choose to go to sleep in their own beds and end the chase. I will not succumb like that. I don’t have time to grieve. I hoist my gear and swallow my last amphetamine. Following 46 East is dangerous, but the road cuts through the pass to the valley. There are outposts along the way. I will loot the next pharmacy I see. I must push on to meet my husband and son at the rendezvous point. We set the location years ago, in case we had to evacuate due to natural disaster, a place to reunite if we were separated. It had seemed a remote prospect, bugging out on a moment’s notice. Until wildfires became an annual occurrence. We thought the fires were caused by climate change. We found out—far too late—the fires were initiated by them, to drive us out and clear the path for their invasion. 2

And now. . . We run. And, at all costs, we stay awake.

Poor Herbert by Paul Gelles* Couldn't believe it, but there it was, plain as day, the large headline in Solvang’s Nyheder Weekly, dated November 1st, 1921: “Horrific Accident in Flood Wagon Overturned On Alamo Pintado Creek. Several Injured, One Dead.” Pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming as I left the archive room of the Solvang Library. I’d found the grave four days earlier. Ever since moving onto the family farm a few years ago, Jezebel had started barking along the creek two hundred yards below where the accident had occurred a hundred years before. One night she kept yelping and yelping. Finally I went out and found her furiously digging away. That’s when I saw something gleaming in the moonlight. A smooth stone. I pushed the dirt to one side and with my handkerchief wiped away the remaining dirt. The inscription read. Herbert Triggsvassen November 30th 1917--October 31st, 1921 Here Would Lie Our Dear Boy Had He Been Found I imagined my great grandparents Otto and Freja, their two surviving children--my grandfather Magnus and his brother Alfred--standing around the gravesite, perhaps with some other members of the nascent Danish community, silent tears falling by the empty grave. I pulled out the faded black and white picture from my desk drawer, studying the faces of Otto, Karla, Magnus, Alfred, and little Herbert as they sat expressionless in front of the old Solvang Hotel.

It was true what some family said: I was the spitting image of Otto, my great grandfather and namesake. I had heard the story of the accident many times growing up, how the rains came on fast that day, how no one had seen Alamo Pintado swell, how the wagon was halfway across when the flash flood happened. Magnus and Alfred yelling and whipping the horses to no avail, the wagon flipping Magnus under the wagon, Freja trapped in overgrowth as the creek whipped them downstream. Her husband, Emil, hitting his head on a rock, little Herbie ripped away by the current never to be seen again. After finding the gravesite, I had researched the accident, found the 1921 newsclip and old family photograph, again marveling at the similarities between the face of Otto my great grandfather and my now 45 year old face. It could have been a picture of me staring out from that photograph a hundred years ago. Incredible that tonight, Halloween, it would be exactly 100 years since the accident. With that in mind, I went back to the gravesite. I was polishing the gravestone when Jezebel barked and then started growling. That’s when I saw it: a spector in the moonlight, the silvery shade of a small boy not five years old standing on the other side of the grave. “Father, father!” he whispered, his otherworldly voice coming as if from the grave, “you’ve come back for me.” I crossed myself. Voice wavering, I told him, “Oh Herbert, poor child, it’s not your father Otto. I’m Otto, your grandnephew.” (Winner, Most Original)

The Face in the Basement by Judythe Guarnera* Jose woke, sweat prickling under his arms. He couldn’t remember his dream, but his eyes widened when he noticed angry-looking blisters on his hands. *** After hastily departing their previous home, Jose and Lucilla had finally begun to hope. Perhaps they could build a new life together, put the past behind them. Until a ghoulish face appeared on their dingy-gray basement wall. Lucilla fled to her mother’s. She swore she wouldn’t set foot in the house until he’d dispatched the face back to wherever it had come from. That night Jose’s bed, empty of the woman he loved, denied him sleep. Each time his lids drooped, rustling, scraping sounds pulled him back. The next morning, determined to expedite Lucilla’s return, he descended to the basement, a pickaxe swinging by his side. Jose stood, mesmerized by the evil face. Behind contorted features, he caught a glimpse of something familiar. He grabbed the axe, swinging again and again, until it slid from his blistered hands, and flew across the floor. Every vestige of the face was gone. Jose’s heart lifted. He dragged a bag of cement to the wheelbarrow and prepared the concrete. Hopeful Lucilla could now forget the horror that had marred their happiness, he repaired the wall. An hour later, wiping sweat from his brow, he surveyed his work. Ah! The wall looked as smooth as his freshly-shaven face. He made the sign of the cross. Though anxious for his wife to return, he resisted calling her. Instinct told him to give the wall a day to set before he shared the news.

The next day he descended the stairs with a spring in his step. At the bottom, suddenly nervous, he hesitated. The angry, spite-filled face no longer marred the surface. Jose did a little happy dance—until the light suspended by a wire above his head, began to spin, faster and faster. An eerie wail intensified until it filled the room. The walls moved in on him. The same ghoulish face stared back at him from the wall. An eerie wail erupted from the gaping mouth. Suddenly cold, he gasped, and his breath seemed to catch in a freeze frame above his head. His knees shook; he grabbed his chest, as though to keep his heart from bursting. “Gotta-get-outta-here.” But his feet ignored him. Jose looked down to see fresh concrete swirling around his shoes. He must move before it hardened, but his fear immobilized him. A chiming doorbell snapped him from his imprisonment. The wail ceased; the face disappeared. A dream? Willing his feet to move, he stumbled up the stairs, and yanked the door open. A man, clad in shabby, stained clothing, stood, his back to the door. When he pivoted, Jose gasped and sank to his knees. The features of the once-slightly familiar face came into focus. The past he and Lucilla had fled, had followed them. The face contorted, the mouth opened, and emitted a primordial scream. (Winner, Scariest)

Lipstick by Coleen Hefley*

Applying lipstick to a corpse takes practice, he thought as he bent over her body. Maybeline was his favorite; it went on smoothly, but he was using Revlon because it makes her special shade. An accomplished artist at following the delicate contours of lips, he rarely left a smudge. But lately, his hands trembled, and he cussed under his breath. She was what – only the third one in the last four months? He was already looking forward to number four. Not so long ago he dreamed of becoming a Hollywood make-up artist. But after doors slammed in his face, he found himself prowling the streets of La La Land, just another disillusioned wannabe desperate for that one chance to make a name in Tinsel Town. Two months later there was still no number four. Time for a hunt. It was after midnight when he spotted her. Like a predictable scene from a B-movie, she was fumbling for her car keys when he nabbed his ivoryskinned beauty. In her drunken state she barely fought back. He was almost disappointed it was so easy. Duct tape and zip ties held her as he stopped by the funeral parlor to grab his kit. “Hope you like Maybeline,” he sneered. The secluded canyon he’d picked out earlier wasn’t far. Gently laying her at the bottom of his hideaway, he knelt beside her and smiled. This one he could keep. No hearses arriving to take her to some absurd funeral where mourners only go for the free food. Cradling her face, he’d decided beforehand that knives or strangulation were out. He coveted her unblemished form. Pulling the duct tape from her lips he grinned when he saw no tape residue. He reached for his funnel and a large bottle of vodka. Parting her lips, he poured slowly, intermittently, so 9

she wouldn’t gag. Satisfied, he reached in his pocket, then slipped a small capsule into her mouth, followed by one last round of vodka. Perfect. Her soul would be gone in seconds but her body would remain. The blood-red shade of Mabeline rolled on smoothly and matched perfectly with her crimson sweater. But it was just a tad too thick. He fumbled around in his makeup kit. Where’s my blotting paper? He’d have to use his own lips to blot hers. Fancying himself Prince Charming, he knelt to kiss Sleeping Beauty, parting his lips slightly as his met hers. As they pressed together, he suddenly felt her tongue push something into his mouth. Jumping back, he tried to spit it out. Too late. Cyanide works its magic in seconds. She stood up, pulled a paper from her bra and blotted her lips with it. Then she curled her tongue around each fang to check for smudges. Happy, she reached for his cellphone. “Got another one. In the ravine, just south of the Hollywood sign. I’ve got the vodka and blood for the Bloody Marys. Tell the ladies to bring the cheese and crackers.” (Winner, Writer’s Craft)

Sally’s Revenge by Michael Patrick Jackson* Adrian straddled the old man, avoiding the blood pooling around his head. Searching the body, he removed a wallet, stuffing it into his belt pack.

He scanned the parking

lot. No one. This guy parked isolated to avoid door dents; but the dummy got a dent in his head instead. Adrian chuckled. A gold ring wouldn’t move. Pulling harder, he removed it along with a strip of skin. Taking the watch last, it went into his pocket; he walked to where Larry was waiting. “Walk, don’t run,” he whispered to himself. They checked into a motel across the street. The two entered Room 225, locked the door, and checked all windows closed, blinds shut. Sitting down, Adrian tossed the wallet, ring and watch on the bed. “I saw the old man flash some serious money inside the sports store, so I bought a baseball bat and followed him outside. Next to his car, I showed him my wallet telling him I found it on the ground and thought it was his. While the sucker was checking to see if he still had his own wallet, I whipped the bat out of the bag and hit him good!” Larry was counting. “That’s $2,064 cash, maybe $100 for the ring and $20 for the watch. We can split this town now, maybe go to San Diego.” “Hey, what’s that smell? Adrian wrinkled his nose. “Smells like dog puke mixed with dead rat guts; it’s getting worse.” Larry pointed at the closet, “It’s coming from there.” Adrian opened the door, gasped and stumbled back. There was a woman hanging from an extension cord wrapped around her neck. Her face was bluish and engorged. The eyes open, staring, with brownish red flecks covering the whites of her eyes. Her tongue was sticking out, purple and bloated. The woman’s dress bottom had dark stains; fluid was dripping from the dress to a stinking puddle beneath her. 11

“What the hell!” said Larry. The red-flecked eyes moved, focusing on the men. The corners of her mouth lifted, forming an obscene smile. One word slipped around the distended tongue, “Revenge.” She raised her red-mottled hands. The room’s lights went out, and the two men felt their throats crushed by an unseen force. They coughed up blood. They felt cords wrapping around their necks before their awareness slipped into darkness. “You said you found the bodies in Room 225?” asked the detective. “Yes sir,” said the maid, shuddering, “Two men, hanging by extension cords from the bar in that closet there.” She pointed. “Wait a minute, isn’t this the room where we found that murdered woman one year ago? An unknown assailant hung her.” The maid nodded her head, squeezing her cleaning rag with both hands. “Her name was Sally,” he scratched his head. “I forget her last name. Her purse and body jewelry were missing; so, we closed the case as a robbery/homicide.” (Tied for Runner-up, Scariest)

The Lady of the Slough by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson* The Lady of the Slough. The Madrona. La Llorona. She had several names, but Audrey knew the ghost haunting the Black Lake wetlands was a mere myth. With a sigh, she shut the door of her car and pressed the locking mechanism, the flash of headlights illuminating the fog. It was past midnight and her cameraman was late. With Halloween right around the corner, the local news station had decided to send her out into the swamp in the middle of the night to report on recent sightings of the White Lady. Yet another ridiculous name. Audrey whipped out her phone, ready to send James another text. Where was he? The child’s cry was unexpected, drifting up from the belly of the mire like a startled bird. Audrey froze. The sound crept forth again, a mournful, broken song muffled slightly by the choking fog. Closing out her messenger app, Audrey instead flipped on the flashlight function of her phone and pointed it towards the swamp below. Nothing but tangled willow branches and that impervious mist. “Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone down there? Don’t be afraid.” This time a sob broke the stillness, followed by a faint, “Help.” Cursing her high heels, Audrey stepped off the road and pushed her way through the bushes. With the dark and the fog, it was nearly impossible to see anything, but she followed the child’s weak murmurings like a hound on the scent. After several minutes she paused, hoping to reorient herself. When a brush of icy air caressed her neck, she jerked around, only to catch sight of a large, compact shape creeping towards her. The light of her phone didn’t reveal much, but she knew what she gazed upon wasn’t human. When the thing closed the distance between them, Audrey got a clearer look. An eyeless face, a distended jaw, and a bloated throat pulsating with dozens of red gashes

engulfed her field of vision. The pallid monster drew in a rattling breath, then rose until it towered above her. Audrey gasped and fell to the ground. That swollen throat throbbed, the bloody gills vibrating as a variety of voices, male and female, young and old, filled the emptiness: Help … Oh, my God … No!!! Jaws, like the inner mouth of an eel, shot forth from a gaping mouth and latched onto Audrey’s neck. Her scream was cut short as her throat tore away. Bright blood ran free, joining the black water of the slough below. Its meal could be savored later, but for now the creature reached up with several long, spindly fingers and extracted the new set of vocal cords it had collected. With its free claws, the monster sliced a new slit in its swollen throat, then deftly wove the strips of flesh in like a spider spinning a web. It stood and tested out its latest acquisition. The new, bloodstained gill vibrated as Audrey’s voice broke the silence: Don’t be afraid… (Tied for Runner-up, Scariest)

The cat sat on the rat by Jeremy Moore so I had to close the door again after I saw them and I guess I was just lucky they weren’t right by the door when I opened it and I know it was reckless but it was almost the fifth day and I didn’t know what else to do so I had to shift over the pillows and sheets and luggage that made up the barricade and then even though the doors opened out I didn’t know what else to do but they were actually almost halfway across the room and he was sitting on him even though he’s at least twice his size and he looked so serene and patient but just sitting on top of that thing that shouldn’t have supported the weight and somehow still had his teeth and his tail and his horrible whiskers dripping with what looked like completely fresh blood but how because it was at least on the second day when he got me when I tried to open the door last time even though before that and before there were days in here at all that there had been so much of it everywhere so maybe that was it or maybe they found more since then but now they were just sitting stacked there like a totem pole that didn’t make any sense and even though they were there like that it still felt like they were moving so maybe vibrating is the right word because especially the bottom was like a contained vortex of teeth and fur and blood and oh god those whiskers and the top was like a picture of something familiar but now it had a sheen and there was even some blood on him too and it made me so dizzy not to recognize him anymore but to remember what had happened all at once and now he just sits there like that like nothing had happened and even like he used to sit but never on anything like that but he seemed perfectly happy and if not at peace than only because I could never say anything like this or that them or anything at all anymore is peaceful anymore and it just shimmers and vapors and dances to look at them even across the room and even when they don’t move but just sit it’s like that so I just closed the door again because even if I could leave or even leave the room or even leave the apartment I can’t leave them just sitting there and there’s no other way around them or how they look just sitting one on top of the other so I closed the door and put back the pillow and sheets and luggage. 15

The Ides of October by Lauren Napa* On the ides of October, while traveling through an unheard-of village in a remote part of Romania, Saraphina and her friend stopped at a curio shop aptly named “Abracadabra Obscura” to escape a bout of snow. A taxidermal owl silently greeted them from a shelf as they shook off the flakes. The darkly furnished shop smelled of old paper, leather, and faint cat urine. There were two over-sized yellow candles dripping hot wax unto saucers filled to the brim. While rummaging the back of the shop, Saraphina found a curious book laden with ancient dust. She blew off the silt. The book was the color of dry crushed leaves, its cover revealing what looked like the number two surrounded by tiny, dulled rubies. “The symbols are evil,” said Victoria, taking a step back. “This is exactly what’s needed for our research,” she replied, fingering her crucifix. “I don’t believe you can get any more folkloric than this!” Just then, the keeper stepped in, his bleak smile addressing the customers. He had a complexion of cherry-bark, a parrot nose and was hollow-cheeked. His shabby clothes hung on him, held up by rawboned shoulders. He lumbered over, one leg shorter than the other, looking annoyed. A bluster of frigid wind blew in, snapping the shop’s door open, sprinkling everyone with snowflakes which prickled their skin. “I see you found The Vyye,” he said edging closer. He didn’t bother to shut the door but stared hauntingly as a torrid galaxy swirled within each pupil. After a moment of dead quiet he said, “I will let you have it for cheap. It’s lived here way too long.” Against the hard-nosed warning of her schoolmate, Saraphina made the purchase. “It is late, there’s an inn at the corner that is open all night, you girls can stay there. It’s comfortable and safe from marauders. Leave your car here. Don’t read the book in 17

the hours of the dark when the moon puts down the red sun,” he said practically shoving them out the door. They heard his guffaws over the tinkling of bells while hanging the “Closed” sign, locking the door behind them. “Saraphina, are you mad? That guy’s a creep,” said Victoria. “What’s up with that red sun thingy he talked about?” “Who cares? I can’t wait to peruse this. Let’s get a room. I’m so hungry, I could eat my shoes.” *** In the hours of the darkened moon, while Victoria slept, Saraphina unbound The Vyye beside the flickering light of a bent candle. Mists of violet symbols rose from its pages, whirling bedevilments. A ghosted hand garroted her neck before she could scream and stole her breath. The Beast emerged amidst the sorcery and swallowed her soul, whisking her flesh to the hosts of hell. After the red sun defeated the moon, Victoria woke to the odor of burnt sulphur. On the desk was a scintillating Vyye, flashing sparks of violet. Aside it, a burnt hand with a singed crucifix. (Runner-up, Most Original)

The Ballad by Darin Silverman*

It was wet and cold in October. Seasons changing so fast, Melody thought, with her thirteenth birthday only a few weeks away. Thirteen; a bad luck number. But how else to become a teenager? To celebrate, she had ordered tickets to see Logan Richards. Her favorite singer. He had thick, dark, wavy hair that hung in his face when he sang. Melody knew everything about him, including the fact that that they shared the same eye color (gray), and they shared the same astrological sign (Scorpio), and that they even shared the same blood type (AB). Unlike Melody, Logan had tried to take his own life many times. He said, in interviews, that life was meant for spirits not flesh, because spirits live forever. He said he would one day marry the goddess of water in a ceremony under the harvest moon. Now here it was. Halloween around the corner. Logan’s show was going to be in a forest, on the edge of a lake. The media mused that he was setting the stage for his last goodbye. Melody didn’t know what to believe. Upon receiving her ticket, Melody came down with a sudden fever. Perspiring in her sleep, dreaming about Logan Richards singing her favorite song, a ballad called Drown With Me. When the day of the concert finally arrived, Melody snuck out her bedroom window and took a bus to the show. Though she could not stop shivering from fever. The orange moon was full above the spectral lake, forest trees edged with blush light, the stage hypnotic with flickering lamps. When Logan Richards stepped onto the stage, Melody already had tears of excitement in her eyes, tightening her scarf around her neck, fighting icy sweat and fluid in her lungs. The show began. Logan, wearing black leather pants and black sleeveless shirt, hair loose and wild round his sculpted face… looking fragile, skeletal and beautiful, telling the audience he would sing only one song. Black clouds drifted across the sky, and he sang, holding long otherworldly notes, as if wringing out his soul. Melody saw his gray eyes up close. Felt the loneliness in his song. When Logan reached the aching wail that 19

ended the ballad, the moon seemed to flash, making his skin translucent… as he stepped backward, dipping into the lake. Disappearing in moon-drenched rings of light, lowering into ripples, till his last wavy strand of hair slipped underneath. Everyone gasped. Cheering. It was exactly what they imagined. Until… Logan Richards did not rise up. There was a commotion. His crew came running and diving in after him. Melody hugged herself. Tightening her scarf like a noose of warmth. Liquid in her lungs. Sweat freezing. Moon blazing. Woods all around, enclosing, claustrophobic. Her throat bubbling. Calling Logan in an airless rasp, sharing his blood, his eyes, his sign, his wish, to drown. Singing and sinking. His hand seizing hers, taking her on her birthday to the bottom of the lake, forever. (Runner-up, Writer’s Craft)

Universal Me by Terry Willey My mother says I’m sickly. My friends say I’m a hypochondriac. My doctor suspects a Conversion Disorder. My psychiatrist believes I’m Somatic. I’m afraid I’m possessed. Not the way you think. There’s something in my body— something with intelligence that’s causing this. It started when I was nine. I woke up one morning with a high fever, sweating, and a red patch on my left thigh. Dr. Cohen said I had a bug bite that was infected. Something was inside of me. He treated me with antibiotics and everything went back to normal—except my leg felt funny. The adults told me, “It’ll be fine.” It wasn’t. My leg would hurt for no reason, turning red, then to normal. It wasn’t right. Sickness attacked the leg until the fine hair disappeared. Something’s inside. By high school the leg was bruising. That’s when the frequent doctor visits started. Exercise made the leg throb. Maybe I had a blood clot. Maybe I had cancer. There were tests and more tests, but no answers. What caused this bruising? Unless… “Chuck, do you ever hit yourself in the thigh?” I admitted I had done so, but only because hitting decreased the pain for a little while. My new psychiatrists gave me a new diagnosis and medications to relax and focus less on my leg. It didn’t help. I didn’t tell them there was some thinking thing, living under my skin. 21

I began scratching … a lot. When I started college, the problem manifested in my right leg as well. The dark hair on my right leg fell out. At least now they matched. I should have been an A student, but all I could think of was my legs. I drank to lessen the ache. It helped. At 23, there were hematomas—blood clotting under the skin. Something was trying to kill me. I shook my legs, thinking that would destroy the things inside of me. I jumped up and down, but the pain returned with vengeance. I thought about injecting bleach to kill them. One night at 3:42 am (or so my clock said) I awoke to a sharp agony in my left thigh. I couldn’t lift my leg. The scorching ignited in the other leg. Struggling past the mind numbing torment, I phoned an ambulance. Looking down, I saw on each leg a reddened and slightly brown burn. A radiation burn, I later learned. The doctors couldn’t explain it. How could I have gotten an internal radiation burn? But I knew. There wasn’t someone inside me trying to kill me, but billions of some ones, exploring their galaxy and ultimately trying to kill each other so thoroughly and effectively, they damaged their universe. My life began again with the self-annihilation of a far spanning race, split in two by the legs of their universe. Once the burns healed, the pain never came back. The doctors want me to stay on the meds. 22

Teen Ghost Story Submissions A House is A….

The Hungry Household by Ashley Winifred* Once my family was normal, just as theirs was. Mother and father went to work. I went to school. We watched television. We were normal. And we thought that house, that small black house third in on the left of Elm Street, was normal, just as they thought.

Nothing extra ordinary ever happened to me. The days rolled by. Mother and father must have been as bored as me, when our whole lives moved across the country. I remember the first day at my family’s forever home. I stepped onto that perfectly trimmed lawn with the dancing willow tree in the front. With the rope swing hanging off the biggest branch being pushed by a ghost in the wind. The green front door was propped open and seemed hungry to have my family.

When my mother told me to go and get firewood from the corner store, I could do nothing but oblige. Walking through the neighborhood with every house an exact replica of my own new home. But the homes I walked by had no life. I could see people inside, but they were all gray. They had all lost their will to live. When I got to the corner store my mother swore was open, no one was inside, and the lights were off. So, I went home.

I was exhausted, I remember how draining it was to walk down the street. I should not have been so tired; it was barely a quarter mile walk. But the gentle wind blowing through my window and the continually clicking coocoo clock was lulling me to sleep. Once asleep I had no dreams.

Being woken up by a scream was not something anybody liked. Jumping out of bed at the sound, I ran downstairs instinctively just to see the coocoo clock bird retreating into its home. Satisfied that I must have heard the crazy bird, 27

I went to look for my parents. It was only midnight, and my parents were always up late. I looked all through downstairs and all through upstairs, not finding a single trace of my parents. That’s when I first saw it, the broken floorboards right at the bottom of the stairs. Right where I walked over. How had I not seen it? How had I not fallen into the hole? At the bottom of the hole, I saw it. The rows and rows of broken teeth consuming my parents. Dead. My parents were dead. So easily the house took my parents. I could barely hear their struggles. Their goodbyes were lost to the belly of the beast.

I relived everything watching the new family moving their things in. Every house looked the same as it did when I moved in. I could hear the same cuckoo clock ticking. (Winner, Best Plot)

The Warden by Paige Halme My parents told me we were moving out of our hometown, and that I had 5 days to say goodbye to my friends, get one last jump on my trampoline, and pack up my stuff. “Well where is our new house even going to be Mom” I said in a sassy tone. “Jack honey, you will just have to wait and see” “Omg whatever” I responded rolling my eyes. The next morning, the U-Haul was all packed and we were on our way off to who knows where. We arrived at our new house on January 1st 1956. The date was purposeful, my dad wanted us to start our year off in a new place. So the house that we arrived at wasn't actually a house, it was an abandoned school that hadn’t been taught in for 500 years. You may be wondering why my parents bought this school, and I still have that question, never seemed to be answered. My family and I hopped out of the car to go meet the landlord, but in replace of the her was a note saying “sorry I couldn’t make it today so to show you around the property I made a scavenger hunt, here is your first clue, go to the place where the little kids swim, oh and one last note, this is a scavenger hunt for the kids..only” Mia and I were so excited to start. We knew right away that the pool was where we had to go to get our next clue. The wind smacked our faces as we ran and the clouds were angry. The pool was mossy and little tadpoles swam around in it. We found our next clue taped to the handle of the pool railing saying, “go to the place where the boys and girls wash up”. We ran to the outhouse, it was a small portable room that we walked into and looked as though our eyes were shut. “Come closer little ones” whispered a voice from what sounded like the back stall. “Closer” it said, “Closer”. Mia clenching my hand like a bird to its prey nudged me to keep walking. “Here” a hand poked out in the only spot of light beaming in the room, holding the key to the school. “Let me warn you little ones, you must not stay here long, the warden still lurks.” Mia and I thought this voice was just trying to scare us so we said thank you and ran out to unlock our new house. “I want this room” Mia cried, “I’ll take this one” I said rushing through the door. In the back of the room stood a desk with a name plate reading “Warden.” As I fell asleep that night in my new room, I felt 29

something on my neck, closer and closer it felt getting hotter and hotter, then all at once it stopped, “You were warned, now you must pay.”

The Lonely Cabin by Steph Pedersen* 31 days.

31 days since the snow began to fall.

31 days inside this cabin in the middle of nowhere, nobody to talk to but the ghosts of forgotten freedom.

It had been 312 days since I met Jay in the lobby of my office building, him going up to the highest floor in the building, me to the fourth. He approached me and said he wanted to have dinner. That night I learned he was not only one of the most successful businessmen in the city, but also shared my dream of escaping this life for one away from everything. After that night, we were inseparable.

It had been 50 days since Jay “disappeared” to the modest cabin where we’d live. We faked a crime for the tabloids to eat up, allowing us to throw out the stress of our lives. I would play the part of a frantic girlfriend, begging for his return. The public ate it up, giving us new titles: Kidnapped Jay and Poor Mallory. Little did they know, we were giving ourselves new names, ours immortalized in fake IDs and passports.

It had been 40 days since I left home for good, leaving behind my high stress Mallory and escaping with average Stacey.

It had been 38 days since I had set foot in our secluded cabin, Jay seeing me for the first time as Stacey, and me seeing him for the first time as Michael. 31

It had been 36 days since we knew we’d made a mistake. After seeing the red soaked figure of the bleeding girl on our floor, we knew we had to get out. We actually thought of calling the authorities at first, but the body had disappeared on a second glance. That was the beginning of hourly visions of murder victims of the past that terrified us, alone in the middle of nowhere.

It had been 31 days since the snow began to fall and Jay set out to find help. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was looking for, but he left me deserted.

It had been 20 days since I thought of going to find him. I walked out the door but the step off the porch brought me right back to the living room. After many attempts, I realized I was trapped here until something could save me.

I tried going out other doors and windows to the same result. I tried calling someone, but the snow blocked the signal. I tried anything and everything I could think of.

I almost gave up hope, but in a final act of desperation I walked up to one of the bodies and reached out to touch it. I was surprised that it didn’t disappear, and, my curiosity heightened, I brushed the hair back. I’d never felt a sense of dread stronger or the feeling that I was stuck forever with nobody looking for me than in the moment I saw it had my face. (Winner, Overall Best)

My House by Mackenzie Peters I lived in a house that was built in the 1800s. The house was still decorated as if it was still in the 1800s. I never cared to redecorate, I liked the way it looked. It was my home, and it was the only home I had ever known. The poorly lit hallway always stood accompanied by portraits on the walls. If I walked through the hall, the soft sounds of a scratchy record player would ring through the halls. The stairs creaked ever so slightly, and the living room contained an old dusty couch. The blinds were always shut, and the curtains were always pulled as they fought the sunlight. The kitchen was filled with defeated flowers sinking into their pots, giving up on life. The sink would drip every other second, which added to the orchestra of the house. This house was a part of me, and I would give my life to it. The neighbors said there was something wrong with the house, as if it was haunted. I had spent my whole life there and I had never seen a ghost. I used to live in the house with my mother and father. Sadly, there was a car crash and mother, and father didn’t survive. I was in the crash with them, but I didn’t even have a scratch. I decided to go into their room and I reached a covered mirror. I remembered that I hadn’t looked in a mirror since the car crash. I looked too much like my mother and decided if I looked in the mirror, I would be too sad. I had then decided that it was finally time to see myself and how I had aged. I was nervous but excited. As I pulled off the cloth, my body froze. Terror spread throughout my body. I wasn’t in the reflection. I had spent 10 years of my life, living a lie. A scream echoed from within me, “Ahhhhhhh”. I didn’t survive the crash.

Shadows by Anna Solem A house creaked as it sat amid the trees, it had always sat, on the hill which had existed years before it, unchanged. Its doors, pine, and splintering, closed tightly at the top of a long porch. The burgundy paint starting to chip near the hinges. Pictures in the hall hung crooked with their frames broken; faces frozen in time, forever plastered onto the floral wallpaper. Beams and planks weathered from decades of waiting. The creaking in the boards so loud the whole house moved. Yet it sat on the hill untouched, unused, and unmoved; the dust resting on shelves full of memories.

A flash leaped from the mantel onto an old clock. The entire house shifted for a moment, offset by the sudden difference. The figure moved along the hall, leaving a smoke-like trail revealing where it once had been; a small smudge of darkness amongst the dull background. The shadow bounced off the walls, it traveled through the air and stirred by each portrait. Its eyes, a bright unrecognizable color, stared widely at the faces, lighting them up as it moved. The pictures staying illuminated after it floated away. The house quickly darkened the glowing frames. And shook even more, unsettled by the visitor. But, what was it a shadow of? The house followed it into the different rooms. Was it an animal, a person, or was it something else? A shape of something perhaps, a place, a feeling, the familiar feeling of something that was, or never was.

The figure flew around the rooms, changing the house's interior as it went. The house, angered by the shadow’s changes, moved and swayed, knocking items off shelves and tables. It shook and shook, moving the walls and furniture. The window rattled as they burst one by one. Dust rose up from the floorboards, creating a fog of sorts. The darkness darted from room to room. The faucets poured waves and waves of dirt-colored water into the halls. Lights flickered and sparked. The rumbling never seemed to end. The 35

people in the halls fell from the spots they’d always been and neared the floor, the expressions of fear and sadness imprinted on their faces. They found the floor amidst the chaos. The reminiscents of the people who once were shattered onto the floor. But still, the house shook, it shook until the walls crumbled. It shook until the second story fell upon the first. It shook until all that was left was a pile of wood and glass sat upon the very hill it was built on.

The Manor by Taylor Swing The manor was a way back. Through the field of tall, yellow, brown-ish grass. The manor and fields were both behind a rusted, bent, and worndown fence that had a lock on the gate but there was a hole just into the thicket of bushes that was just big enough to slip through. The sky was gray and the weather gloomy. There weren’t individual clouds, just a very large, uniform sheet covering the sky. The manor behind the fence, through the field and far back into the property, was tall, ominous, faded, and decrepit. I heard from some of the town folk in my area that no one has lived there for hundreds years. That was peculiar because I remember seeing a figure by the windows and moving about. Due to my childish nature of curiosity, I felt the urge to explore the property and house, one big problem, I was afraid. I had told many people that I saw someone in the house but nobody, accept Mr. Hooke and his son, actually somewhat believed what I had saw. Mr. Hooke, said he had seen the very same thing in the house but that he saw it about thirty years ago and refused to believe whatever was in there was alive anymore. I swear I’m not insane. I decided to tell Mr. Hooke’s son, Thomas, to come with me to explore the manor, he had a thing for adventure, so he said “That certainly sounds fun.” I replied with “Oh, I’m sure it does, for you. Thomas and I began to gather supplies, water, snacks, flashlights, and a lighter, just in case. We met at the gate of the property, I led him through the little hole in the fence. When we reached the wooden porch of the manor, it eerily creaked below us. This sent chills up our spines but we pushed on. What we saw was a nice, cute living room and parlor from what it looked like, the 1800s, it had lights that were working. The charm didn’t last long because from above we thought we heard was a low grown and foot-steps, but it could just have been the house creaking from the door opening so we moved on, further into the manor. The stairs were just on the left of a hallway, Thomas and I gave each other the look, switched on out flashlights and headed up the stairs. Just we began slowly making our way up each 37

step, we heard the most blood-curdling, spine-chilling screech. After the scream a creepy, four-legged, boney, creature was at the top of the stairs. Thomas and I booked it, running as fast as our legs could carry us. The thing followed us until we were able to get out of the house. When we reached the porch, it, stopped snarled at us, then creepily returned into the manor. Thomas and continued to run, past the fence, ready to tell the town about our journey.

Could it Happen?

Ice Blue Eyed Girl by Jadyn Clark As I walked into the house, Sarah and Dave gave the usual rundown of what to do; the boys need to be asleep by 8:30, no later, the remaining leftovers in the fridge, and where the money was left - in case I wanted to order some pizza. After saying my goodbyes to them, I walked down to the basement where the boys, Aaron and Leo, were playing with their toys. I then made my way back up the stairs and ordered cheese pizza with olives, the boys’ favorite, which would take about 20 minutes to get to the house. I decided to go down to the basement and turn a movie on for me and the boys to watch. After about 15 minutes I heard the doorbell ring, I placed Leo on the couch and made my way upstairs. I opened the door, paid the delivery guy, and grabbed some plates before heading back to the basement. As I headed down, something in the window caught my eye. There was my reflection, but behind me stood a blond, little girl with ice blue eyes. My brown hair fell over my face, and when I looked back she was gone. I shook it off as a trick of the eye and continued my way up to deliver the pizza to the boys.

Once the boys finished their dinner, I sent them to get ready for bed. As I followed the boys up the stairs, there was the girl in that same window, but closer this time. Almost as if she was standing next to me. I blinked my eyes and the girl once again disappeared into thin air. I turned and continued my way down the stairs to help the boys get ready for bed.

After the boys were asleep, I headed back down to the basement to clean up the toys, and in the corner of my eye, I caught something in the window. There stood the girl, once again, except this time she was almost pressed against the window. I walked closer to try and scare her off when the boys’ parents walked in. I turned to find Sarah standing at the top of the stairs, calling down to me, “Rose, what are you doing so close to the mirror?” I

looked back at the mirror where the little girl once stood, and she was gone. There I was with my chestnut brown hair and green eyes in the reflection.

Lifeless Mannequin by Kaden Jones Choosing to be a night security guard isn’t necessarily the best profession for someone scared of the dark. Of course, I didn’t want to work as one, but it was one of the few jobs available that could put food on the table, and a ceiling above my head. I’ve lived alone for a while now, due to my mom kicking me out, and my dad left because he realized he had more of an attraction to men — compared to his own wife. Every night, I would pace around the mall with a cheap flashlight, guarding the countless mannequins that stared at me as I walked by. I hated them: their lack of facial features, yet being the same size as me with realistic arms and legs. Sometimes, I would punch them because I imagined them giving me a nasty face, but I stopped once I got complaints from the store owners. I would count them as I walked by, and try to memorize their poses to make sure that none of them were moving. Because there were so many, I would tend to forget the poses or mix them up and have a small panic attack when they weren’t the way I thought they were. Today, however, I decided to mark them down on a piece of paper to confirm I wasn’t just imagining things. I walked through the mall, writing down the poses and which store they were in. One with its arm up, one with its arm on its hips, and one with its arms crossed, almost as if it was disappointed in me. Some were in crude poses, due to middle schoolers thinking they are funny. I walked across the store I hated most. The ones I swore to have heard noises from, and the ones with the weirdest mannequins. The mannequins consisted of different heights, sizes, and some had faint facial features. They had no joints, so kids couldn't mess with them, and all of them were in awkward poses. There were multiple of them, and the population kept on growing.

Today, however, the store owner put a new one near the door. This one was the oddest looking of them all. This one, unlike the common mannequin, was sitting down, yet it had no joints like the rest in the store. Who would make one sitting down? It was just sitting on the floor, and its head was around the height of my knee. A mannequin, with the head level around kicking level. I paced back, intending to see how far I could punt the head, and ran forward at full speed. I hit it, expecting to send the head flying, but instead, I sent the head, still connected to the rest of the body, sliding a couple of feet forward. My foot still throbbing, I walked towards the mannequin, planning to put it back. However, the neck was snapped back, and through the now cracked plastic, I saw a corpse.

Believe by Kelly Rose Kokotas It had only been three weeks since Penny and Lynn left their respective lives and moved in together; two oddly fated roommates. Penny was a redhead, and Lynn had almost black hair. Penny was outgoing, and Lynn was reserved. Penny believed in the paranormal; Lynn was a skeptic. The first day they moved in, the two girls had been stopped in the apartment elevator by a lifeless-looking woman. She spoke in a breaking voice and warning tone when she said, “don’t let the light out; with darkness comes the unknown.” This was enough to make both Penny and Lynn uncomfortable, but they shook the feeling.

The girls spent the next week settling into their new place. As each night passed, Penny became more uneasy; she noticed low tapping noises on her bedroom walls and shadows that crept across the room in the dark. Lynn attempted to give her peace of mind by blaming the phenomena on faulty plumbing and visual illusions. Penny wouldn’t accept these explanations because she trusted her intuitions; Lynn thought she was irrational.

The following week, Penny became increasingly distressed as she experienced more phenomena. The tapping was louder, and the shadowy figure became more defined. In one instance, Penny awoke in the depth of the night to a swift breeze passing her body; she was left with chills until the morning light. Lynn was frustrated by Penny’s belief in the paranormal and refusal to accept her justifications. Penny scarcely slept at night, and she kept her eyes clenched tightly to escape the shadow that loitered in the dark and hid under covers so she couldn’t feel the breezes on her skin. The low tapping had, by then, turned into knocking, and it became incessant.

By the third week, Penny was a wreck. Bags under her eyes formed and grew darker each day, and gray hairs could be seen contrasting all redness on her 45

head. Lynn could not, for the life of her, understand the things she considered to be Penny’s delusions. The one thing Lynn observed and could not rationalize was the life she saw fading out of Penny’s eyes. Penny’s evergrowing fear of the dark and the lifeless look on her face reminded Lynn of the woman the two girls had encountered on their first day in their apartment.

On the last night of their third week in the apartment, Lynn sprung awake to her bedroom door creaking open; She ignored it and closed her eyes once more. Shortly after, she felt a swift breeze run across her body. She closed her eyes tighter. Then began the tapping. It was soft at first but intensified until she couldn’t hear her thoughts over the pounding. Lynn laid in her bed the whole night, trembling. After what felt like an eternity, light peaked through her curtains. Lynn hurried to check on her roommate. Upon entering Penny’s bedroom, she realized, though far too late, that her redheaded roommate had been right all along.

Movie Night by Nelli Peltonen Movies are the epitome of entertainment, I mean who doesn't love a movie and popcorn on a Saturday night. This one lady named Charlotte who really loves movies ran out of movies to watch. She was scrolling through every platform possible: Netflix, Amazon, Hulu, Disney+... She decided to explore an unfamiliar platform called “AlwaysThere”, a new website she had never heard of, even better everything was free! As she slowly scrolled deeper and deeper into the website, passing hundreds of movies, deciding became harder and harder. Every movie seemed so interesting and new. Finally she saw a movie and gasped “Horror movie!” It was called “She Doesn't Know”. Her favorite movie genre was horror movies, which made the discovery even better. She automatically pressed play and a new film production company popped up, one that she had never heard of, which was weird considering the amount of movies she watches.

The movie is about a girl who was a bit of a loner, didn't really love socializing and would rather stay at home with a cup of tea in her hand and television keeping her company.

In the first part of the movie the girl gets a knock on the door and she goes to open the door, only to find a single flower on the doorstep. Charlotte immediately got intrigued by the movie and how much she can relate to the girl's life. She thought that she had found the perfect movie. About 30 minutes of the movie has passed and the story gets darker. The main character starts to hear noises from her basement, banging and glass breaking. The girl so afraid hides in the closet only to feel a tap on her shoulder. At this point the movie starts getting too scary for Charlotte and it is almost midnight. She decides to go to sleep and end the movie early. While trying to close the window Charlotte yells “what is this?” The website wouldn’t close. The computer would not shut down and the volume got louder, almost as if it was trying to get her to watch the whole movie. 47

Charlotte decides to let the movie play as she gets ready to sleep, but the shrieking and ominous noises that came from the computer scared her. Almost at the end of the movie Charlotte sees the ending where the main character is dying, brutally killed by the intruder in the house.

Charlotte felt very uncomfortable, as she laid in her bed she couldn’t stop thinking about how much she related to the main character's life, even her house looked creepily similar to the house in the movie. She started listing all the similarities: “Same carpet, same toothbrush, same curtains even the closet where she was hiding was organized the same way as mine.” she said, confused. Charlotte was just about to fall asleep when she heard knocking on the front door. She was confused about who would knock on her door in the middle of the night. She went to open the door to find no one there. “Wait a minute,” she said and looked down on the doorstep, a single flower. “Oh no” she gasped, “I am the girl from the movie.”

Don’t Go In There!

Untitled by Ben Dellis Our Story takes place in a bagel shop. This bagel shop has been run by the same family for six decades, but during covid, the owners couldn't afford to keep it open. They had to sell it, and I was the person who bought it. I guess I'm supposed to feel bad for being the person who took this family business away, but I don't. It's the circle of life, and it's mine now. You Might be wondering what I am going to put in the space, well drum roll, please. A sock shop!! It's the perfect business plan, and I'll be rolling in money and socks. The only problem is I need to renovate the place badly. I need to get rid of the kitchen, the counter, and the dining room. I'm trying to save money on the renovation by doing it all myself. First, I ripped out everything from the kitchen, stoves, ovens, mixers, sinks, and, hardest of all, the flooring. Then I started to take out the wall that divided the kitchen and dining room. I knowest something. The wall was hollow, it had no studs, and at the very end, there were paintings, old canvases, Mabey seven paintings. They were images of families and houses and horses, but one was of a man dressed in all black. The man didn't have color in his eyes, just black and white. His hair was white, not from age, and he was young. I flipped the painting over to try to find a date, and I did. This painting was dated December 1667. How is this happening? I opened my phone and looked for someone to call, ok there was an art historian. I called the number, and he picked up on the 3rd ring. "Hello," I said. Nothing, "Hello," a man said, "Hey, hello," I said. But no response, couldn't hear me. It must be the signal, so I hung up. I walked outside to try and get a better signal, but then my phone died. I walked up to a stranger and said, "Hey can I use your phone to make a phone call." They didn't respond if they couldn't hear me. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he spun around to look right through me. He couldn't see me, "maybe he was blind". I ran up to someone else, same thing. No one can see me. No one can hear me. This is my worst nightmare. I ran inside the shop and looked at a mirror, and 51

my eyes were just like the ones in the painting. That must be what happened, I looked at it, and now people can't see me. This happened 30 years ago now. I've been living my entire life alone. I watch them think I went missing, but now I'm still here. They sold my house and thing I couldn't stop them. Now I sit and watch from outside the shop. I trying to prevent people from opening that wall.

Stairwell by Spencer Silverman The man hit me twice more before I blacked out. I woke in the hospital, my friends around me, and memories of the loan sharks looming over my head. The lump the man’s fists had stopped swelling, and almost all the pain had gone away. After waking up, my friends, (Arthur and Tom) checked me out, stopping at Ron’s to grab a quick drink. One turned into two, two into three, and soon we were blundering around the street, laughing and tripping over the sidewalk. Not the best decision, considering I had an insurmountable amount of debt to pay, and only a few days to pay it, but it helped me forget, at least for a little while. The dares began, beginning with Arthur throwing his watch into the river, and leading its way up to Tom jumping on a car’s mirror, taking it off completely. Then it was my turn; Tom and Arthur spun around wildly, looking for some hilarious trouble I could get into. Tom’s eyes landed on the apartment building, covered in dust and surrounded by a chain-link fence that had warning signs posted all around its perimeter. People had been disappearing there for months, and the police could find no reasonable cause, so the case was left unsolved. The more religious of the town believed it to be haunted, even going so far as to say Satan resided in that building. I felt myself sober up and shook my head. It was at least one in the morning, and the sky was clouded. They insisted I climb the stairs, make it to the roof, but I held my position. That was when Arthur pulled out a crisp hundred dollar bill and offered it to me if I conceded to the dare. Just reach the top floor, the 20th floor, shout from the window that I had made it. The elevator was old and broken, so that meant hiking up the stairs. So up I went. As I reached each platform, I noted the old brass plaques displaying the floor numbers. 6, 7, 8, 9. I felt a little tired as I crept higher, but so far, no ghosts, no cannibals, no demons. Piece of cake. I can't tell you how happy I was as I entered that last stretch of numbers. I joyfully counted them aloud at each platform. 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 19. I stopped and looked back down the stairs. I must have miscounted, so I continued up. 19. One more flight. 19. And then down ten flights. 19. Fifteen flights. 19. And so it's been for as long as I can remember. Over time, I began to understand the true meaning of 53

insanity. It's knowing that the results will never change; that each door leads to the same staircase, to the same number. It’s realizing you no longer fall asleep. It's not knowing whether you've been running for days or weeks or years. It's when the sobbing slowly turns into laughter.

Don’t look Down by Ryleigh Thomas The auburn leaves crackled under their heavy hiking boots, the air was crisp and cold. The breeze added to the coldness they could feel it through their jackets. The colorful, orange, and yellow trees swayed in the wind sort of mocking them. Traci and Ryan, a handsome young couple who loved the outdoors had decided to camp at the famous George Buckly campground on that lovely fall weekend in 1987. The campgrounds had long winding trails that went into the mountains. The dry stone well was decaying because of old age. The well had a cold metal plaque that was engraved with small letters reading words like haunted, death and, pain. The plaque displayed the campground used to be an old lumber mill where George Buckly lived until one windy night as he was fetching water at the well, he stumbled and fell in, plummeting to his painful death. George Buckly now haunts the campground, and many say they can hear his wailing screams coming from the well on cold windy nights. George was tall, big, with a long grey beard, and a thundering deep voice. As Traci and Ryan entered the campground, they found themselves reading the disturbing story of this place. Traci a quite gullible person and believer in the supernatural believed it whole heartedly. She said to Ryan, “That is really creepy I don’t want to be anywhere near that well” and Ryan a jokester and non-believer responded saying, “Are you serious? You really believe that’s true? Nothing is haunted here.” The couple brushed it off and headed to their camping spot. They set up their tent and cooked dinner when Ryan decided it would be funny to play a little prank on Traci. Traci and Ryan went on a walk to find firewood and kindling. They strolled along picking up branches and sticks as they went along. The sun was starting to set, and the breeze was starting to pick up. Ryan brough up the subject of the ghost haunting the grounds again. “Maybe you are right about the ghost.” Traci Responded boldly “I know! You can't convince me otherwise.” They both came to an agreement, but Ryan was just bluffing to 55

prank Traci. Then as they walked closer to the well Ryan acted like he could hear screams coming from the well. “Do you hear that?” he said. Traci said, “Hear what?” Ryan ran to the well and peered over the edge looking down into the vast oblivion beneath. As Ryan ran, Traci screamed “Don't go over there! Come back!” but before Traci could catch up a wrinkled grey hand grabbled Ryan and drug him down. Traci could hear his shrieks as he fell. Traci then ran over to try to save Ryan but as she investigated the well, she too was drug down by that wrinkled grey hand. Now the screams of all three people in the well can be heard on cold windy nights.

Immersive Seas by Roberto Torres As I woke up there was a strange smell. I heard the waves rushing, crashing, and rumbling. Although the smell had different scents, it had strong scents of spices and fish. Which then made me think “Am I nearby?” As I started to walk to the front of the boat with scents roaming around me, I thought about how signs of life might be present as to where I am going. But then all of a sudden as the setting is pitch black, I hear a loud bang which then stops my boat. It allows me to get down the boat and explore what I have hit. After exploring the boat to see if I had damaged it anywhere, I saw something like a sea animal, it was laying down as if it had been beaten up before I hit it. I then look up and see a lighthouse shining in the bright breeze that's hovering through me, as I see the door creek open with the winds howling and blowing, I pick up “Elena” and take her inside the lighthouse, then as I lie her down on the couch pushed against the wall, the floor creaks and makes crying noises. I examined the two-story lighthouse where the kitchen was on the bottom and the living room on top. I first saw what the kitchen had to offer, I then felt a deep breath over my shoulder which gave me goosebumps head-to-toe. I see the kitchen has many goods like seafood, meats, and spices. The aroma of the house then reminded me of the scent I had smelled at sea. As I am done exploring the kitchen I go up the creaking stairs making me nervous as to what I am about to experience next. As I was finished walking up the stairs I saw two bedrooms with a TV on. I see what the TV is playing when suddenly I see a shadow lurking around the corner of the TV. As it goes in the other bedroom I tend to follow it, I then see something lying on the bed with covers covering what's there. While trying to look for the lurking ghost around the bedrooms I go back to the second bedroom to find the ghost as I then realize that the smell wasn't coming from the kitchen, it was coming from the bed. I uncover the sheets and there is nothing there. The bed had strong scents of fish. I then flash the light to the bed when I see something mysteriously covered hovering above me. I was then in shock...

The Ghost of Boone by Winston Warren It was a cold and windy night in October. It was almost Halloween. The Boone boys, Paul, Conrade, Wynn, Tri, were staying up late in the lounge. Paul thought it would be a fun idea to get out his Ouija board to try to contact the supposed spirits Mr. Gates had told them lived in Boone. Of course, no one believed the stories, but they thought it would be a funny idea. As the strong wind shook the glass of the lounge windows, the boys put their hands on the board piece. Almost immediately, the piece began to move. Everyone froze. The spirit moving their hands spelled out, “Im still bored.” Paul was the one that moved their hands. The boys let out a sigh of relief and relaxed. They continued to talk in the lounge for another hour. Then, the Wigi board piece moved. Everyone stopped talking. No one was touching it. The piece began to spell out a message on the Wigi board. It spelled out, “Go to office.” Cautiously, Paul, Conrad, Tri, and Wynn, walked to the OD office next to the lounge. They noticed the cabinet had been moved. Behind it was a large, round hole. The edges of the hole looked smooth, so someone had intended to make it. Conrad crouched down and looked inside, but it was completely dark. Not wanting to explore the hole, the boys walked back outside to the lounge. They continued to talk; still a little shaken up by the recent events. A bit later, Tri went to the bathroom outside the lounge. Time passed, and he didn’t come back. Starting to worry, Conrad, Paul, and Wynn knocked on the door to the bathroom. There was no response. The light inside was off. Truly scared now, the boys knocked on Mr. Gate’s door. There was no response. The lights suddenly flickered and turned off. In the distance, they began to hear loud footsteps coming down the hall. They were in the office with nowhere to go. The footsteps got louder and louder. Panicking, the boys hurried into the tunnel. It was small, so they had to crawl on their hands and knees. The minute they entered the hole, the footsteps stopped. They continued crawling until they saw a light up ahead. It felt like they had been crawling for hours. They reached the other side of the tunnel. They had entered into a large cave, far below the dorm. They saw Tri tied up in a chair at the far end of the cave. They hurried over to untie 59

him. He was unconscious. Once again, they heard the ominous footsteps. They were very loud this time. They stopped but heard a loud bang. The boys turned and saw a ghost so horrible that it could not be described in human words. The spirit had rolled a boulder over the entrance to the tunnel. The opening was blocked, and the boys would never escape that cave again.

Evil Nature

Into the Woods by Madison Gonzalez

I’m not sure how I got here. The last thing I remember before being here is staring at that dock. Now I’m here in this seemingly endless woods. The weirdest part is most of the trees I see around here I don’t even remember seeing before; and I’ve seen a lot of different trees. After realizing that I would’ve just pulled out my phone and looked at a map if it wasn’t for the fact that I didn’t have it. It must’ve been in my hoodie that I left at home. I wish I still had my hoodie. The cold breeze here could be enough to freeze me to my bones. I walked in utter silence through the trees for so long that my feet ached. “Hey, are you lost?” a girl stood in front of me that looked about my age. Her short dark brown hair bounced as she jumped in front of me. “Um… yeah I guess I am,” I looked away from her as I spoke. It was hard for me to admit it at the time but I was indeed lost. I looked back at her and she offered me a reassuring smile. The way she smiled could’ve put almost anyone at ease. “My name’s Addy. You're not from here, are you?” I just stared at her as she spoke. It’s true, I’m not from here, but I couldn’t help but feel hesitant to answer her. “Yeah, I’m not from here. I-I’m Alex,” I tried to smile at her but I’m sure I just ended up looking dorky. She let out a small giggle then stared at me. “Let’s see how long you last here, Alex. Oh that reminds me,” She stopped and leaned closer to my ear, “Beware of the beast, kid.” The next thing I knew, she had left. I looked around the area for quite a while but I never did find her. At that point I wasn’t sure if I had just been 63

hallucinating or not. I decided to move on without her; after all, it’s not like I needed anyone to guide me through the woods. It was then that I heard a twig snap behind me. “You are lost. I might be able to help you,” a deep voice rang out from behind me. I took a deep breath then turned around. I was met by the creature’s glowing eyes. I felt something wrap around my right leg. Then my left leg. Before I knew it, I had been pulled down to my knees. When I tried struggling, its grip only became tighter. I now realize what had been grabbing me, dark oak-like branches. At this point the branches have grown up to my shoulders. My eyelids grow heavier the higher the branches get; almost like it's draining my energy slowly. I hear footsteps come closer but I’m too tired to look up. “You didn’t even last a day,” Addy’s familiar voice rings in my head as my thoughts slowly fade.

Corn Stalk Farm by Aiden Jimenez As Halloween nears, the corn stalks of the farm rise into the darkness. As the wolves howl into a vast nothingness, glowing eyes appear through the corn. The blank eyes stared at the old two-story decaying house lying in the middle of a giant mountain range. The old farmer is rocking in his chair by the fireplace gripping his rifle. He rocks back and forth whistling a tune as the lights flicker. The lights finally give and he no longer sees the glowing eyes hiding in the corn. The farmer gets startled by a large bang on the side of the house. The farmer grips his rifle tighter and focuses on any little sound. He recoils after hearing the eerie screeches of the floorboards above. The farmer fixates his attention on the stairs. There he sees a shadowy figure with large glowing eyes. The farmer becomes petrified as the figure begins to hover in front of him. The temperature inside the house cools and the farmer feels an icy wind flow across his body. The farmer breaks free from the state of shock and fires two rounds into the figure. The shots of the rifle echo through the mountains. The farmer looks back and sees that his bullets pierced the head of the figure. The blood of the figure began squirting on the ground and the figure hisses at the farmer. The unknown creature lunges at the farmer and digs its claws into the eyes of the farmer. The farmer’s piercing yells echo like thunder through the night. The next day the family of the farmer arrives at the lonely house. They then find the sliced body of the farmer on the floor. The family contacted authorities and ordered an investigation. They find nothing suspicious but unrecognizable blood near the farmer and a pair of glowing eyes that appear behind the corn every night.

Mysterious Spirit by Brooklyn Ricci Brandon and Ashley were the popular senior couple at their high school. One day, October 12th, they wanted to go down to the river to hang out with their friends. They would meet them at their house and make a day out of it. They wanted to leave around two so they would get there before dark because of the stories they were told. Brandon and Ashley put the boat in the water and started paddling. Brandon decides to take a different way that he thinks will get them there faster, but Ashley doesn’t recognize the path they were taking. It slowly got darker and darker, and they were coming into a marsh. The dark murky water sat still; anything could be lurking beneath. Ashley took a break to eat her lunch and left Brandon rowing. They were getting deeper into the marsh, and it started to frighten them. They didn’t like the way it felt, and Ashley knew they were lost. It started to hit 6 o’clock and they didn’t know where they were, so Brandon took out his phone to call his friend but there was no service. They were stranded in the middle of the river, the only living things near them were the tiny fish skimming the water. They could hear screeching noises coming from the bushes in the water, and thin moving logs flowing down aside with the boat. Brandon reached his hand out into the water to grab a stick he saw next to him, and it bit his arm. It tried to pull him into the black waters, with no luck. They paddled faster and faster to get away and their boat got caught onto many sticks and moss that made it so they couldn’t move. So, Brandon jumped out quickly and pushed the boat as Ashely paddled. It was now almost 7 o’clock. Ashely from behind heard quiet whispers around her and the tension kept increasing. She then saw something dash past her as if it was a gust of dust, but it was white. Soon enough it was getting harder for Brandon to paddle, and he looked back at Ashely to see her sitting there and almost see through. He started screaming and his cries were screeching loud. He didn’t know what happened and all of a sudden, a flash of white water darted under their boat. The wind was getting louder and louder, and the trees were leaning towards the water. Ashley was swaying with the wind. Brandon thought it was some sort of spirit that took her soul. He rowed the boat to the closest land area 67

and tried grabbing Ashley, but nothing happened. His hand reached through her, she was still there though, he could feel her. But then the spirit took her soul and slowly she drifted into the water, leaving Brandon all alone in the deep, dark, waters.

The Dive by Corbin John Valla Halifax Hill, a world renowned free diver, is getting ready to hop off the Blue Decent diving boat. Her previous diving record was 698 feet and she hardly made it back to the surface afterward. Now, months of training later, she is ready to break this record. She looks down, and sees her feet hanging, nearly touching the water as it splashes onto the side of the boat. Other boats create a circle around her, ready to watch and record this feat of human strength. In her head she thinks, “I can do this. This is what I've been training for my entire life.” Then, she jumps off the boat and begins her descent. While diving she looks around and sees something she had never seen before. The water was perfectly calm. Not a single fish in sight. She ignores this and blames it on all the boats in the water, saying they startled the fish. She continues down into the water. She checks her dive computer situated on her wrist. It reads 500 Feet. She tells herself she is doing well and will break her record. A little while later she checks her watch and it reads 702 Feet. This shocks her, she didn't realize she was so deep. Then she decides to head back up. On her way back up she begins hearing a humming noise so loud she felt like her eardrums would burst. She begins nervously looking around in lots of pain and sees nothing. Then she turns back around and sees a white object in the distance. She was scared by this and began to surface quicker. Then all of a sudden the white object disappeared and so did the humming. Relieved, she slowed her pace and was no longer nervous. Then the humming began again, this time not nearly as loud. She looked around and the white object was rushing towards her at a rate she had never seen before. Then it hit her and everything went black. She awoke to the white object pulling her down. She begins to freak out and try to escape the grasp of the object with no success. Then, in shock, she decides to scream. Hoping everyone on the surface would hear. Despite her hopes, everyone on the surface continued to wait and cheer her on. All unaware of what is happening. 45 seconds later, Halifax begins to black out due to the lack of air. “Help… Help…”. She then looked at her watch, 1,211 Feet and she thought to herself, “well, I guess I set the record…”. 5 minutes later at the 69

surface, everyone is nervous. Then one boat starts to celebrate. They believe they see her rising. Instead, when it gets to the surface they realize it is only a wetsuit.

Family Adventures

Mother by Matthew Musson The detective arrived at the interrogation room, coffee in hand he greeted his partner and opened the door. His job this morning was sitting there, hunched over, muttering the same thing over and over again. Mother always loved me. Mother always loved me most. The detective pulled out his chair, sat down, and asked, “So kid, what happened”? The sky was black, it was raining, I was in my room like normal. And then I heard the thumps. I knew I had to do something. You see, detective, mother always loved me but we could never be together. Why? Because of him. He was always there. He was there from the beginning, always with her. Always standing between us. I could hear them you know, some nights from my bed, her piercing screams, his grunts, it was horrifying. And when I would burst through the door, bravely trying to save mother from her captor, he would yell. Naked he yelled, screamed, shouted, and shoved me out of the room and into the hall. And later came the belt. Always the belt, piercing sting after piercing sting. On my back, my arms, my legs. And when he finished he would put his hand around my neck and squeeze. Squeezing until my eyes became cloudy and I couldn’t swallow. And then he would let go . . . Tell me, detective, why? Why would I - a child - be punished so severely for simply trying to protect mother from her pain? Why should I be punished only for wanting to be with her? Did your father . . . 73

Don’t YOU dare say that word! Did he deserve to be punished then, like he punished you? Yes. Yes indeed he did detective, but I never meant to hurt mother. I can not convey the devastation I felt that night. Finally, after all that time we were free, but she was gone before we could be together. We found 20 stab wounds on the corpse, you really call that freedom? I did what had to be done to protect mother. And so after you killed your fath . . . him, you hid in the attic yes? Yes. I hid. But she was gone. My only love in the world was gone and I knew it was my fault. So I hid, and then I ran so you couldn’t find me. But I couldn’t run forever. Alright then, that’s all I need to know The detective got up from his seat, pushed his chair back in, and walked out of the interrogation room. How’d it go in there? He confirmed what we already knew. I should tell you, the physical we gave the kid, it came back, and well his tests, the kid shouldn’t be alive. We’re going to take him in for. . . Suddenly the detective looked back through the double-sided mirror, the kid was slumped over, eyes rolled into the back of his head, muttering the same thing he had been all night. 74

Mother always loved me. Mother always loved me most

Burn by Elias Palmer The Sharp family was all inside their home for dinner. There were four of them, Dan, Ben, John, and Mary. Mary was a mother who was constantly timid and almost bowed down to her children. John, the father, was that type of father who was kind, gentle, but also fearful of many things. Dan and Ben were the two twins. The two most special kids. They have been in many accidents, but never got hurt. They always seem to be in situations that look like if it was anyone else, they would have died. They have been in car accidents, fires, earthquakes, but always seem to come out of it without a scratch. Disaster seems to follow them wherever they go. They never left each other's side. They were inseparable. At dinner, this strange family was talking about the incredible storm that has been in their little town, Nettle, for a week straight. It has made everything miserable, the power is out all around town. They have had to do everything by candlelight the past three days. This has made for some extremely difficult days because they were constantly living in darkness. Dan and Ben asked to go outside for a second. The two twins stalked outside and just as they left the doorway, lightning strikes, creating two black silhouettes against the brightened sky. When the flash was gone, so were the boys. John and Mary started to worry. Their boys had never disappeared so suddenly before and they didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t call anybody because the power was out and even if they could get through to someone, there would be no way for the help to come. The lights flickered on for a second. John and Mary sat, staring at the light, until it turned off again. The lights would flicker every 3-5 minutes. Every time, Mary and John just stared at it. During one of the times that the lights were on, for the light started to stay on longer and longer, now staying on for about 30 seconds, they got a knock on the door. John hurried over to see who it was, hoping it was their boys, finally home. They had been gone for 2 hours. When John opened the door, the lights inside turned off and all he saw was a hand. 77

Mary was sitting in darkness because when the door opened the wind blew out the candles. The light didn’t turn on again for a few minutes and when it did Mary saw them. It was her boys, standing over her husband's dead body, and staring at him. He was laying there with no signs of harm whatsoever, except for a burn on the side of his neck. Mary called to her boys, “What happened!?” They didn’t answer. They turned their heads. They started running at her. The lights turned off. The next morning all was found in the house were two bodies with burns on their necks.

It’s Horrific by Mariah Simpson On a warm sunny day, the Spooker family spontaneously decides to go camping in the woods, an undocumented burial ground. Dad, Mom, Daniela, Jacob, and the youngest sister, Lucy, all pack up and go camping. The family sets up camp by a small lake. At night the wind is howling louder than a pack of wolves. The siblings are all in one tent. Suddenly they hear the zipper of their tent slowly opening. Something starts pulling the kids out one by one. The kids are terrified. They realize it is their dad. There is a storm that night, so they all sleep in the car. They decide to go home the next day. As they are driving away, it is windy and cold. All of a sudden, flames are rising on both sides of them. The smell of smoke is overwhelming. The smoke is black and heavy. The family can not go anywhere because there are bright orange flames on both sides of them. Along with the fire, ghosts and demonlike creatures with sharp horns began to rise from the ground. As the car is stopped trying to figure out what to do, BAM!!! A creature lands on the windshield. Ear piercing screams come from everyone. Quickly dad locks the car, and suddenly the door handles are being pulled at. Dad tries to drive away rapidly, but they discover they are low on gas. They have to go very slow, but they are still an hour away from home. All of a sudden, bugs are crawling into their car from everywhere. This causes everyone to jump out. They are running. They hear footsteps following, but they are too afraid to look back. They find an abandoned barn, and they decide to take shelter in the barn. Dad ordered his family to barricade the door with any objects they could find. The barn was filled with spiderwebs and lit up by dim lanterns that flickered every time someone talked. They managed to come across a rusty ladder and a couple of dirty tables. Once the family finished barricading the door, they turned their attention to exploring the barn. As they were walking around, the boards on the floor were creaking and shifting. CLASH! Lucy, 79

the five-year-old, falls underneath. There was a hole in the floorboard. Then all of a sudden, the board fixes itself, and the girl is trapped underneath. The family is terrified, so they all start attempting to pry open the panels. The floors won’t come up, and the little girl is banging on from underneath, screaming and crying. The hole in the floor must be where all of the creatures escaped from. The dad finds an old bloody ax and begins to hit the ground as hard as he can. He breaks the floor, and everyone falls through. Instead of landing on the ground, they continue to fall. When they land, they realize they had died and landed in the alternate universe of the dead.

The Mystery of Five Days by Devyn Hazard

Family of five, three girls and two parents. One day, the dad goes missing. The family just thinks that he left. Next day, the mom goes missing. Third day, oldest sister goes missing. The middle and youngest are scared and have no idea what’s going on. Fourth day, middle girl goes missing. Youngest is terrified and has no idea what to do. Finally on day five, the youngest looks for all of them and finds them hanging full of blood in the attic.

Fun With Friends

Never mess with Ouija Boards by Luke Heald 2 years ago today, my grandpa passed away.. I missed him so much; all I wanted to do was talk to him. My cousin George put his hand on my shoulder and startled me. The rest of our family was already back at the car, and I had been standing alone at his grave for 2 minutes. George whispers to my ear as we walk back to the car, "you know there's still a way that we can talk to grandpa." I stop in my tracks and look him dead in the eyes. Without me saying anything, he continues, "Have you ever used an ouija board?" he says. My heart dropped. Ouija Boards are the number one way to contact the dead. Everyone knows not to mess with ouija boards. Even I knew that. Part of me wanted to slap George for such a dumb idea. But I would be lying if I said part of me wasn't tempted by what he said. "Let's do it," I say to him. We tell our family that we will bike to the grocery store to grab a few sweets, and we set off. We went back to grandpa’s old house to play. As we enter the old house, I feel cold again. I hadn't been there in 2 years, and the place is untouched but different. Everything is where it should be, but the vibe is off. We rotate the planchette in circles for 10 seconds. Every second that ticked by, I suddenly started to feel happy and excited. Finally, we stop. "Hey Grandpa, are you there?" I ask with a shake in my voice. There was a pause. And then the planchette slowly started moving to "Yes." I couldn't believe it! I looked at George, and he was just as shocked as I was. I took a deep breath and got ready for my second question. "Are you alright, Grandpa?" George says to the excitement building up in his tone. The answer was a bit faster, but it was a simple "yes." But then, 85

something was off. I suddenly started to feel such a weird, paranoid feeling. My body had chills, almost as if there was a presence creeping up my spine. It felt like someone was tickling my neck, and I jolted. My hands fell off the planchette, and my breath was cut short. I took 4 seconds to calm down and gather my thoughts. George was silent. I put my hands back on the planchette and decided to ask, "Am I talking to my Grandfather right now?" The planchette -immediately- darted to "no!" I look up at George, and his nose is bleeding. 2 of the candles we lit suddenly blew out, and we immediately closed the session and sprinted out of the house. I tripped on my way out of the yard on a pipe that I could've sworn was never there.

A Petrifying Experience in the Abandoned Cemetery by Lizbeth Ortiz In the year 1952, a group of six teenage girls were walking to the haunted house near their neighborhood. On the way to the haunted house, they had to pass through an abandoned cemetery. They were not afraid of the dark, however they were afraid of the stepping over someone’s burial place. The wind was whipping, causing the trees to creak and groan like an old rocking chair. As they set foot on the marshy grounds of the cemetery, the lingering mist cleared, and they heard the flapping of bat’s wings coming from the trees that lacked foliage. They were startled and quickly formed into a huddled cluster, together they commenced toward the grimy tombstones and read the engraved text embedded on the tombstone: “Here lies Alfred Barnabas”. The group paused for a moment, and one of the girls in the group of six remembered, “Wait, is there a legend behind that person? Another girl responded with, “are you sure, I have never heard of it before.” The girl before responded with, “I am pretty sure there is a legend behind that name. It starts out with Alfred Barnabas constantly being abused by his own father. After a while the wounds began to be excruciatingly painful, and he was constantly fatigued by them. So, he grew the courage to fight back against his father and attempted to murder him. His attempt was successful, and after that day he was a complete psychopath, that would linger around his father’s cemetery murdering anyone who entered. It has been told that every Halloween night, he creeps up from behind to anybody looking at his father’s tombstone.” All the girls were completely terrified, but some thought it was it all just a made-up joke, while others believed some parts of it. After hearing the legend, a girl said, “Well, now we will just have to go to his tombstone to see if it actually is true, come on!” They all gathered into a small cluster once again and slowly moseyed towards Alfred Barnabas’s tombstone. Within the first second, one of the girls said, “Well, nothing is happening, let’s just go.” They pulled the girl back in and they heard a loud, blaring thump. Nothing could be seen coming out from the tombstone, but one of the girls noticed that behind the group there was a dark figure that approached them. As he got closer, they were able to distinguish him as a 87

man with no face who had a sharp knife in his right hand lifted above his head. They all screamed bloody murder. The shadowy figure grabbed one of the girls and dragged her around the ancient cemetery. They fell back screaming, not knowing that they had landed on somebody else’ grave. Their minds began to get filled up with disembodied voices. All they could hear from afar was their friend’s last shriek. Sobbing now, they ran as fast as they could out of the cemetery.

Another Normal Friday by Harper Tyng It’s another normal Friday. My apartment is a mess, but there’s not much I can do about it. I’ll have to get a repairman to help fix the hole in the wall, but for now, I don’t care. I have plenty of time to get that done. I swing open my closet and pull out the dress I picked out for tonight. It’s black with a high waist and short skirt, laces running down the back. I haven’t been out of the house in a while, so slipping into the silky garment brings a smile to my face. “Hey! Lula? Where are you? The girls and I are waiting outside!” The voice is husky and low, but also warm and familiar. As I turn towards the bedroom door, Alisa comes gliding down the hall in front of me. “I’m almost done, just give me a second.” “Okay, but don’t take as long as you did last time.” She slips out the apartment door, and I watch her go down the stairs and get into her beat-up Jeep. I finish lacing up the dress, throw on my heels, and race out the door. Alisa sits in the driver's seat of the jeep, and our friends Sophie and Hazel both are slouched in the back. I go around to the passenger side, only to find a smaller girl in the seat already. Alisa turns to look at me. “This is Em. She’s new to my complex and I thought I’d invite her along for our movie date?”

“Yeah, that’s totally fine!” I look at Em closer. Her hair is raven black, and her eyes a milk white. “Hey, I’m Lula. Wait, Alisa, if Em’s sitting here then where do I…” “You’re small enough, squeeze in!” Alisa unlocks the door and I hop into the car, smoothing out the wrinkles in my dress. ~~~ “And here we are, girls! Em, not sure if you’ve been here yet but it’s amazing!” We stand in front of the cinema. The marque gleams with the film names, and movie posters line the hallway leading up to the theater doors. As we step inside, the plush walls engulf us as we walk towards our screen. “Hey, watch this.” Sophie wanders up to a girl standing in front of the concession stand. She’s holding a bag of popcorn, and Sophie reaches in to grab a handful. As Sophie pulls her hand out, the girl looks at the popcorn in Sophie’s hand and screams before chucking the bag across the lobby. Everyone but Em laughs, and Sophie glides back over. As we continue through the hall, Sophie steals more popcorn and Hazel dumps a soda on someone’s head. Everyone’s seemingly evacuated the hallway, and as we sit in front of the screen Sophie throws a piece of popcorn at Em’s head. It passes right through and for the first time she laughs. “Shhh, it’s starting.” “Wow,” I say, “We have the whole theater to ourselves. Nice work girls!”

Ghosts In Verse

The Spirit of Salem by Charley Hrehor A witch. I was not one. Though the town swears I was. On my headstone Its written, A witch. A woman. Not weak. No children. So I must have a deal with the devil. They did not like my curious nature, Or that I would dare to try to speak, So they painted me with witchcraft. The only reasonable answer For a woman Like me. They tried to drown my words, Which I would not stand for.

I tried to save myself, but No use. I remember swinging In front of the whole town, Just before my life slipped away. I am still here. I have not gone away. As if my first punishments Were not enough, I am now forced to stay And see other women Meet my same fate.

Untitled by Margaret Watson Click clack click clack Whoose, whose Every night Dusk till dawn When the sky is Petal pink to when it's black as night click clack click clack clack every night after you go to sleep click clack click clack ............... Whoosh He scares the monsters from your bed Scared of what's ahead by the end of the day, all the mice scatter away click clack click clack whoosh whoosh slowly coming closer but nothing out of place you won't hear anything you are unaware just like the others 300 years all you hear is the wind Soft, calm that's what he wants you to here 95

He He is nameless Just a whose of the wind So calm so peaceful He makes you drowsy Click clack click clack Whoose Every night No days Watching Waiting For the day For the minute the exact m o m e n t When he is SEEN FINALLY, he is seen No more click clack No more whose He is NOT nameless He is not just a whose in the wind Once a year He comes together Limb by limb Feet Arms 96

Legs A head A chest A brain But not a heart Not a soul But strength He has strength For one night He blends in You can’t tell If he is real or fake He looks just like a costume He could follow you for miles around all the other kids The paleness of his skin The hollowness of his eyes It’s obvious Every other day of the year IT’S OBVIOUS Yet 300 years 1 day a year 1 day in October To hundreds of kids it's not obvious Hundreds of kids missing So will you 97

You will too 1-day flesh 1-day skin 1-day power 1-day revenge Revenge Hundreds of kids missing REvenge Hundreds more REVenge And you You too All of us No matter who you are he will catch you To satisfy his REVENGE

Never by Merrick Wiessner The rain grasped on to everything in sight. The crows once loud and proud have retired from their flight. Along the edge of the forest a man gets ready and prepares. Wet knifes of grass glisten from the cold moon in the nippy air. Among these daggers, stands a frosted and miserable Ivan Lye, Who dawns a raincoat, and begins to go past what's seen beyond the eye. Who has no friends, no family to accompany him in this show. Who through the creeping forest, following a winding path he will go. The forest, is a place were no rhyme or rhythm can flow, But while Lye walks he is for once not on his own. As in pursuit comes the content of a murky black fog which's constant in owe, Owe to the thicket of trees that smother the moon so nothing is shown. Three quarts the way through his midnight conquest; The night he intrudes on is ever vicious and in unrest. Crack! Thunders the shock of a branch in the foreground, he walks on.

Silent whispers of wind stir into loud shouts, he walks on. The rain slashes at his face and pounds on his chest, The impassible fog grows ever more into a putrid mess. Is it just his head, or does the mist carry with it a heavy breath? At this point you may be asking why he walks so close to death. A question which has an answer clouded in the prowling fog, And hopefully the solution will come to you in this near wordless duologue. Reaching the lake, he sits across a weathered rock. The swells of the lake crash and form a murmured talk, And sound as if they’re pleading for the eternity to stop. Lye peers across water and let falls a teardrop. He pays his condolences for such an unfortunate time, A time plagued by regret for the ending of a friend, nothing but benign. He can see the place where his trusting, late friend would trust no more. Sound smothered by rain; he feels a presence he chooses to ignore. Rear of him from the row of trees, the mist turns in treachery. Out from it steps the figure of a late memory. 100

It approaches, with each step it etches “never, never” across its lips. Lye can’t move, can’t feel, he can only hear his heart having a fit. His mouth began to move involuntarily, as the figure behind is hushed. Out of his voice came the weak, ending words of “never, never trust.”

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Halloween Night

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The Night of Vines by Lauren Chirgwin

The night was long, and the black cats ran along paths, cursing anyone in their way. The moon was high, for the wolves howled, to let the sleepy town of Longwood know it was time to wake up, for it was Halloween night. The one night a year where ghosts would come out. For they would jump for glee on this one night of the year when they are free. A little boy, by the name of Bellamy, was not an average boy. He had a disease that never let him see the sun, for he would get sick and contract hives as big golf balls would swarm his body and settle there for days on end. Halloween was the one night of the year that he could enjoy himself, for there was no sun on HAlloween night. He was 16 years old, and his costume was a vampire. That was the nickname he received from his best friend Jack, some time ago when life wasn’t complicated. They ran through the neighborhood as fast as their feet would allow them. For they had to get to the cemetery to complete the high school tradition. The tradition was that everyone go through the cemetery and come out to the other side of the neighborhood. As the fog rolled in, so did the crowd of ghosts ready to scare the children, and possibly more. The first person ran in and he was tripped and his costume ripped when he finally emerged from the fog, breathless as if he just saw a ghost. The next child ran in………. And when the fog disappeared, so did the child. Bellamy was so frightened he called the police with his other friends because they knew something bad had just occurred. The ghosts were shocked because they had no idea where the child went either. The police came and searched the entire night. When Jack and Bellamy left the cemetery, Bellamy had a good idea, “let's conduct our investigation, no one knows this cemetery as we do.” Jack replied, “I don't know if this is such a good idea, but you have to promise me my parents won't find out.” “I promise,” Bellamy said. They started by circling the entire perimeter of the area but found nothing. They soon decided to call it quits, when all of a sudden jack tripped and fell over something. It was dark so they couldn't see much, but they decided to investigate. But what they didn't know was the ghosts were following them, 105

lurking in their shadow. Just as intrigued as they were. There was a tarp over something, they slowly removed the cameo tarp. Underneath it was the kid that went missing, he had fallen into the tarp and couldn't get up because vines had wrapped all around him. They called over the police and saved him, for the ghost and local people rejoiced. For they were now named heroes.

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On Halloween by Evan Hecker 10/30/23 7:31 AM It’s a Monday, the day before Halloween and Lonnie is eating breakfast and is still scared to go trick or treating. His older brother Ian tells him that he’s a scaredy-cat and nothing is going to happen. Although Ian has the right idea, his rude tone doesn’t sit right with Lonnie. Lonnie finally finishes his thirty-minute eating session and walks out the door to go to school.

3:36 PM Lonnie just finished his History class and is walking back to his house on Chestnut street. Everything is normal.. but he feels strange.. he feels like someone is there. He instantly brushes it off as the wind but then he hears something “don’t... out… on … oween..” He quickly turns to the dense forest beside him. He squints his eyes to see into the forest. He doesn’t have any time to see anything because of a mail truck that rushes by. He shakes it off and continues to walk.

5:12 PM Lonnie feels relieved because he just finished his homework. He gets up from his desk and walks to his kitchen to grab himself a couple of fortune cookies that his mom has left over from a volunteer program. He opens up one and it just has one word “Don’t” He says “ah real nice fortune” sarcastically and then opens another one “go” Lonnie is very confused but intrigued. He opens another one “out” he opens another one “on” he opens one last one and gasps… “Halloween”

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10/31/23 9:24 AM Lonnie is now even more scared to go trick or treating. His brother still doesn’t think anything of the event and thinks it was just dumb luck and a printing error. But Lonnie won’t believe that, he knows something is out to get him.

6:46 PM Lonnie texted some of his friends hoping they would be on board to just sit inside but his friends really want to go out. One of his friends, Chris, finally got Lonnie to go with them. As they were walking out Lonnie grabbed himself a Ghostface mask that was sitting on the table.

9:21 PM Lonnie has been very worried the whole time he has been trick or treating. Chris tells the squad that there is a shortcut to the rich people's houses. They all follow him down a long alleyway. They get halfway through it but suddenly everything goes black as if something has covered the moon. Lonnie reaches his hand out to maybe touch the back of one of his friends but nothing is there. He turns around in fear and reaches his hand out again. This time, he feels something, something cold. Then he sees what he is feeling. An enormous, gross, human-like creature stands up and states a fact “I told you not to go out”

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Untitled by Julia Rhodes

“Why are we even going out? You know that trick-or-treating is for babies,” said Ben. Ben is fifteen with brown hair “You’re just acting like one,” said Jason. “Tonight’s the best night to score candy. Plus, if we scare some actual babies, we’ll get even more.“I guess. Let’s just get going because I wanna watch that new ghost movie tonight with Annabelle,” Ben said as he finished putting on his costume. The boys set out in the neighborhood of Maple Creek. It was well-known that trick-or-treaters hit the jackpot there with king-size Reese’s and Snickers. All the houses were decorated with orange and black lights, jack-o-lanterns, and cobwebs. There was only one house at the end of the street with no lights. The boys became intrigued by this house. “Wow, guess somebody isn’t into Halloween,” said Ben. “The houses that are least decorated always have the best candy, dude. The people living there just don’t want to give it all away,” said Jason. They walked towards the dark, dim house. It felt colder the closer the boys walked near. What was happening there? All of the windows were too dark to see in. The boys approached the tall door. Jason knocked three times and held up his candy bag. To their surprise, the door creaked open. A hand holding a king-sized Snickers slowly reached out. “Trick-or-treat…” Jason said. He was confused when all he could see was this hand. It was wrinkly with veins popping out. The person was holding onto

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the Snickers waiting for someone to grab it. He wondered who was behind the door, and why they wouldn’t show their face. Just as Jason went in for the candy, the hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside. The door quickly shut behind him. Ben’s eyes widened as his heart skipped a beat. He began banging on the door, shouting “Let me in!” He began to hyperventilate, nervous about what could happen to Jason in that creepy house. He started to look around outside and found a slightlyopened window in the side yard. He pried the window open and crawled inside. While he was expecting a dirty room, he found himself in a stairwell leading to a basement. After a few seconds of standing in shock, Ben knew he had to make a decision. I have to do this for Jason, he thought. He quietly crept down the staircase trembling. At the bottom, he found a short wooden door. He heard a muffled scream… someone saying “Help me!” “Was that Jason?!” Ben said to himself. He couldn’t be sure, but he wasn’t willing to risk leaving his friend in this stranger’s basement. He turned the knob, and was shocked to see it unlocked. He entered a dimly lit room, with Jason tied and his mouth duct-taped shut. “Jason!” Ben screamed. He ran toward his friend to help remove the duct tape. The door quickly shut behind Ben. The two boys looked at each other with fear. Then, the lights suddenly flickered off.

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Untitled by Aileen Rico It was a cold Halloween night in 1984. Tyler starting 7th grade at a very small private school in Mooredale. On the first day of school, he noticed that a boy he had never seen before was walking through the hallway. He did not think anything of it and was excited to meet this boy. When the bell rang and class began, the young boy introduced himself. “My name is uh a-a-Adam. I am from Victorville a few hours away.” He chose to sit next to Tyler for the remainder of the class period. Tyler wanted to get to know him better, but he got the chills every time Adam glanced at him. They both sat quietly without speaking to each other until the bell rang again. Tyler decided to introduce himself considering Adam would not be familiar with anyone in the community. Trying to be warming and kind, Tyler invited him over dinner and a movie night at his house. After school, Adam left with Tyler and was eating an apple. Tyler was looking aimlessly when he noticed fang-like teeth marks in the apple. This is when he really felt weird about this new boy. When they arrived at Tyler’s house, both boys walked upstairs into the bedroom to watch a movie. They decided to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas. About halfway through the movie, Tyler’s mother brought them dinner that she had prepared. It was a white Alfredo pasta with a side of warm garlic bread. Out of nowhere, Adam seemed to be having an allergic reaction. The only thing he had eaten was a bite of the bread. “Allergic to garlic?” Tyler thought to himself. Was he a vampire!?

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It’s All In Your Mind

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Untitled by Ava Ladinig My lungs filled with the exhaust from my car. The taste of gasoline on my tonged was engraved after the short few minutes had gone by. Sweat dripping from my hairline, down into my eyes, burned like teargas, but all I could do was hope that it would pass. The fog had only thickened around me until the point where I could not see the car in front of me. Headlights had faded away and the smoky air had taken over the atmosphere. Bumper to bumper traffic on the 206, I frantically texted my friends at home wondering what the hell was going on. As I went to press send, there it was again; the faint figure that I had seen earlier pass by my window. I had thought my head was creating it in this time of stress, but seeing it again, my heart sunk into my stomach. “No service” beeped my phone. There it was again, only this time, the static on the radio came along with it. A message seemed to make its way throughout the static; news of an arrest made for a triple homicide of a family was reported. My heart couldn’t sink any farther, but it did. Matthew, Matthew, Matthew, was the only thing ringing around my head. A few months back, my friend came to me for a favor. He had been in debt for the past two years, lost his wife and family, and he drank himself away. His presence in my life was no good for me; my wife having a baby on the way. But because of my job, he knew I could help him. He knew I could cover any tracks he left behind. He knew I would let him fall any deeper into the ditch he had created. He knew I would never tell anyone his secret. For months, this had been building up, I knew something was left behind, but I didn’t know what it was. Suddenly, the air around me seemed to vanish and I was gasping for a breath. My lungs, now empty from air but full of exhaust, felt as if they were pumping out of my chest. There… it was. The figure, the figure torturing me; but this time, there were two more alongside of it. Three of it, three of them, purging on me, watching me suffer. Slowly, faces appeared, the faces of the family, the family Matthew had murder. Then again, my heart sunk to the point where it left my body. My head started throbbing with an indescribable pain and all I could wish for was this to end. All my emotions went away, and I accepted I needed to let go. The figures 115

surrounded my car as the light went out and nothing was visible. My body began to seize as the car shook, but I let go. I let go until I opened my eyes; I opened my eyes to Matthew, sitting in the passenger seat.

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Reflecting by Zlata Mitchell

Looking, staring, talking to yourself. Those can be regular behavior aspects of many people, as everyone is crazy just not everyone gets caught… right? Jennifer grew up moving all around the world, daughter of the diplomats, always had to keep her face straight, smile, stay in the spotlight. Everytime she would move, she would tell a new story about the place she just came from. Jennifer would repeatedly recall the legend of Mavka, a Carpathian female spirit who would haunt young men. She swore she saw her once. However, the stories were the only unusual part about her. Every day; same schedule, routine, best school in town. Guinea, Ukraine, Italy wherever her family would be sent next. Nevertheless, that feeling of someone always watching her didn’t leave her with a new location, it’s like there was a spotlight shining from above and she was constantly on stage. Online therapy she paid 5$ for, didn’t help, of course, but what exactly did her behaviour mean? Jennifer grew up and the stories would haunt and haunt her, but in a higher society she would just call them “cultural experiences”. The beige and grey life aesthetic didn’t really fit her lucid, neon dreams. Whatever was going on in her head didn’t matter, what mattered were the perceptions; she would catch every reflection of her in every of the megapolis’s mirrors. Sometimes, friends would notice her constant head movements or quick look-arounds, but whatever that was - didn’t have an explanation; just like the “Cultural Experiences”. She was raised knowing, if you can make it sound and look logical - “it” doesn’t exist. The idea of her living alone always excited her, that’s why she tried to run away from the world, from “it”, from the eyes of the world. It was decided; Jennifer moves into a penthouse, close enough to NYU but just in the center of New York. The mirror and glass were now officially a part of her lifestyle in a sense. It was becoming harder and harder to skip the reflections or bottle down the feeling of someone staring. But wait.. Where are we? Can you hear them coming? 117

… “Hey, she is up!” “What do you mean she is up? “Mom?...Why are you all watching me? Was it you? I can see the blinding white light.” Looking around, she could see the broken mirror glass inside of her grave and the hundreds of staring eyes that never gave her the right to rest peacefully.

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Descent by Shannon Morehouse Stepping into the car once more, for what seemed to be the thousandth time, the last thing Logan expected was for a lightning bolt to seemingly strike the ground not too far in front of her. The sound of thunder filled the air and drowned out the sound of Logan’s car on her daily drive home. The white leather in the pastel pink car truly contrasted with one another. Logan felt that this day was different...the dark day...the lightning… and maybe, just maybe, this would be her day to break free. “Let this be the day...” Logan repeated over and over as she gripped the steering wheel. Logan started the ascent up the dangerous mountain pass that was her daily drive. With apprehension and exhilaration coursing through her body, she pressed her foot father down on the gas pedal and shouted, “Let this be the day!!” Rain began to fall shortly after the first turn. As Logan neared faster speeds in the car, foot pressing closer to the floor, the rain fell with increased ferocity, thunder closely following, as she continued to pray “Let this be the day!” with every lightning strike. Logan neared the top of the steep mountain pass, finally slowing down. As the steep descent started, the turns and tricks of this mountain pass were going to make Logan’s already treacherous night worse. The turns appeared sharply and seemingly without warning, forcing Logan to stay ever vigilant. Logan had made this drive plenty of times before but not with the howling winds that shoved the car every which way. The wind causing the twisty turns to become the most dangerous she’d experience. But what startled a scream out of Logan, were bright headlights reflecting in the shiny black asphalt as a car approached. Logan tried to soothe her rattled nerves, but lowering her voice and quietly repeating, almost reverently, “Let this be the day…” Logan approached the bright lights, and as she did, she decided to slow even further...her voice dropping even lower 119

as she whispered, “Let this be the day…” As Logan’s foot pressed on the brake pedal nothing happened! They didn’t work. “No!” screamed Logan as she realized her brakes were gone. And her last thought was “Today is not the day for me to be released from this nightly terror…” Logan jolted at the blare of her alarm. Heart beating frantically she leaned over and turned it off, deciding to be proactive and get up to get ready. Logan went to work, and at the end of the day, she got into her car and watched a lightning bolt be tossed from the dark and stormy clouds to the gray skies in front of her.

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The Voices by Janey Pakulski* Ever since I was little I would get these weird voices in my head telling me to do something or else I would die. I knew it was just my mind tricking myself but I always followed what they told me to do as it was never anything bad. “Turn the light off and on four times or else you're dead.” The voices repeated in my head when I left the bathroom. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. I’m safe. It was not until I got older when the voices started to concern me. I got punished every time I didn't do something they commanded. Either a bad grade on a test or my alarm not going off but something always happened. I didn't care much about the punishment because I already wasn't doing well in school and more sleep was always needed. The commands got worse and so did the punishments. An angry, young girl's voice yelled violently into my ear that I cut off before I heard her command. “Lalalala” I blocked out her with the sound of my tongue hitting the roof of my mouth. That night, there was no way I would sleep, I was shivering profusely and didn't have anything but negative thoughts going through my brain. The clock claimed to be 4:00 am when I finally gained a little bit of sleep but I was shortly woken up when I saw a shadow pass by my door. Paranoid, I wouldn't take my eyes off the door. I saw it widen followed by a little girl walking into my room. She turned my light Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. She's safe. But I wasn't. Sleep deprived, scared and nauseous I screamed for help but it was silent. I tried to move but I couldn't. I was helpless and the voices wouldn't shut up, screaming in one ear and whispering in the other, I was going insane. The light turned Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. She came closer, the door opened and suddenly three more people surrounded her. One boy who looked around 5’1, a taller man with classes and a girl that looked like the twin of the first one. “The voices” I thought, they had come to life.

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“You didn't follow what we told '' the first girl spoke with her scratchy voice. “I-i didn't think it was that big of a deal” I said shivering. The boys looked at each other in a way where they were talking without speaking. It was a look of disappointment. The first twin explained with nails on a chalkboard, “We are here to help you”. I didn't believe her for one second. “Kill your mom,”the nails said. “Or it's you who dies.” My shivering became still, I looked at my body from what I guess was life after death. Dead. I was On then Off. It wasn't me who killed myself but it was the voices. (Winner, Scariest)

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Jason’s Favorites

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Where’s Jen by Demory Frausto Leaving home without being accompanied by her sister Jen was always one of Lillian’s biggest fears. Wherever she was she would ask “where’s Jen” knowing that the presence of her older sister would make her feel safe again. Lillian was in the sixth grade when she joined the volleyball team unaware that she would have to travel to tournaments later in the season. The news of the first tournament left Lillian anxious for weeks. On October 22, 1982, her team traveled three hours out of their hometown of Austin, Texas. The day her volleyball team departed from Austin, Lillian felt sick to her stomach the entire day, and no words could formulate from her lips. Everything about the atmosphere of the bus the were on made Lillian’s fears exponentially worse. From the rickety seats to the noise of the windows going “click clack click clack” Lillian’s nausea continued to grow, waiting for the moment they returned home. They had been on the bus for an hour when the roads began to get windy, and a thick layer of fog rolled over the ground. Hour two rolled around and members on her team who had gone to the same tournament the previous year realized that they were moving at an exceeding rate, in the opposite direction from the city they were supposed to arrive to. One of the girls asked the bus driver if he was sure he was going in the right direction and he told the girl that he was taking them where they were meant to go. He announced they would be arriving shortly when they began to hear a shrieking sound coming from the luggage carrier of underneath the bus. The team became instantaneously frightened and had the sudden urge that something wasn’t right. Lillian felt that she could not breathe, that her entire body was numb, and that she all the words that she wanted to say the entire day were stuck inside the bottom of her stomach like the last drop of honey at the bottom of the jar. Her mind was blank except for the constant thought of “where’s Jen... where’s Jen… where’s Jen” repeatedly running through her mind, though she could not vocalize this thought. There was a sudden rising in her stomach. Not of the words that she wanted to speak, but of all the fluid and the realization that she was sick and needed the bus to pull over. She went up to the driver flailing her arms, trying to express her need to 125

have the bus stopped as he pulled right up to the edge of a cliff, leaving only a half of the bus remaining on the land and the other half hovering over the air. The team began to scream and yet the bus driver seemed almost emotionless, only saying three words. Looking Lillian in the eyes as she screamed, he asked her “Lillian, where’s Jen?”

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Killer Nurse by Tatum Kay One night, as the clouds cried, there was a panic at the local hospital, a white building with chipping paint. One girl named Sarah was sitting patiently waiting for the doctor to call her. When she got to the room there was a woman waiting. Sarah walked in the gray, bland room with checkup tools and a table to sit on. “Hello, I'm Jennifer, I will be your nurse. What has been the matter?” “I haven't been able to sleep, and every time I eat, I barf it up” Sarah stuttered. “Well, I'll see what we can do.” Jennifer acted calm, even though she was worried. No one had gotten this far in the sickness. Jennifer walks down a long hallway to enter a room. “Dr. John, I have another patient with the sickness, but she's further along.” They walk down the hall in silence. When they get there, he says to Sarah, “Hello, my name's Dr. John. Can you tell me what has been bothering you?” After they finish their conversation, John says to Jennifer, “We'll go into brain surgery. There's probably something in Sara’s brain that stops her from sleeping and now can't eat.” They give Sarah Propofol and she starts to sleep, but Jenifer feels wosie. As she starts to hand the blade to John, she blacks out and it slices her right across her nose. It turns out Jennifer had the virus, but the symptoms were different. She had been getting headaches and dizziness, but she hadn't actually taken it seriously. When Jennifer didn't wake up, they thought she was dead. Before they could do anything about it, there was an emergency in another room; a kid was having a seizure. Dr. John finished the brain surgery, but found nothing. He rushed to the little boy as Jennifer woke up. She was very dizzy, her vision was blurry and her face was numb. She could only think of one thing: her falling in the middle of surgery. She didn't know the whole truth. She thought John killed her. Something came over her and wanted revenge.

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After she wrapped her face, she saw the blade on the ground. She grabbed it and once she got her balance, she went to the closest room. She couldn't remember Dr. John. Her last memory was a person standing over her doing nothing to help. With her memory fading, what was on her mind was REVENGE. She began walking into a room where there were two people she did not recognize. She thought it might be Dr. John, so she killed both of them and dragged them to the shed. She stacked them up, ignoring the pool of blood forming. Someone saw the blood trails and called the cops before Jennifer killed again, but she saw the flashing lights, got scared and ran. Some say the virus is slowly spreading and Jennifer’s still looking for revenge while killing anyone in her path. You'll never know how close she is…

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The Man by Dylan Shomes* I pull my bedsheets closer to my face trying to hide, but I know it’s pointless. My bedroom door creaks open and The Man enters my room. He wears the same battered suit and tie every night. He has dark empty holes where his eyes should be. His mouth is crudely sewn shut, forever silenced. My heart races as he creeps over to my bedside. He reaches out his bony fist and places a crumpled piece of paper in my shaky hand. The Man turns and disappears. No matter what I do or where I go he always appears at 2:30 am. Trembling, I slowly open my hand to reveal the piece of paper. Smoothing it out, I read the scribbled words, “Tomorrow we work, sleep well, friend.” The next day my thoughts drifted to the note. Friend? Work? — What work? My old friend, John, came over to my house for dinner and we talked about old times. We hadn’t seen each other in ten years, since I moved out of our hometown. After dinner John turns to me and says, “Well, I’d better get going, early flight.” Out the front window I notice The Man standing in the street next to John’s car. My heart races again. Why is he there? I ask myself. I turn to John, “I’ll walk you out.” As we approach the car, John doesn’t seem to notice The Man crouched down by the driver’s door. Feeling helpless I scream. The Man lunges at John and drives a knife into his chest. The Man stands there emotionless and stretches his bony fist out to me again. Another crumpled piece of paper. It says, “One friend.” I bend over John as he lay dead on the ground and pull the knife from his chest. In a fit of blind rage, I plunge the knife through The Man’s battered suit. The Man stands there and 129

begins to fade away. His dead eyes and gross mouth disappeared in the dark. I hear blaring sirens. Confused, I sit down next to John and drop the bloody knife. Police pull into my driveway. They rush towards me, guns out. My hands go up. “I have video evidence, it wasn’t me!” I yell. They cuff me and take my phone to see my security camera videos. 2:30 AM, I am alone and awake in my room reaching out in the darkness. 6:00 PM John arrives at my house. 8:30 PM, John and I walk to his car. 8:31 PM, I stab John in the chest. The Man isn’t in any of the videos. “Is this some sort of joke?” The cops ask. “No! The man has no eyes, a battered suit, and his mouth is sewn shut.” I said. “How long have you been living here?” One officer asks. “About 10 years.” I say. “A man was murdered in this house in 1972. His eyes were gouged out and his mouth sewn shut.” (Runner-up, Scariest)

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La Noche Negra by Oscar Aguayo La Noche Negra had come, the stone roads withered away with the rain. The sorrows of the lost souls flooded the pueblo, creating rivers where churches once stood. The young boy (Hugo) had just finished corraling his family’s cattle in the barn which took him longer than usual due to the darkness that had overcome the pueblo, the only thing keeping him from complete blindness was the dim flashlight his mother had given him before he left the house. As he locked the barn he heard a gut-wrenching scream. He treaded through the muddy field in the direction of the screams. When he finally arrived at the scene, he found a blood-stained calf intertwined in barbed wire, the wire compressed its body with every movement. Hugo watched in fear, shocked at the atrocity happening in front of him. When he finally mustered up the courage to intervene it had been too late, and with a final scream, the calf became nothing more than a carcass. At that moment, a lightning bolt crashed down into a nearby tree. Hugo had become even more unsettled as he remembered what his grandmother had once told him, “lightning bolts are unholy angels falling from the heavens.” His grandmother strangely knew so much about spirits, but it had never occurred to him that she was a bruja. In absolute fear Hugo began running towards his house, in doing so he slipped throwing the flashlight out of his sight. The darkness surrounded him strangling all the air out of his body, only getting a breath of air with every lightning strike. The lightning became brighter, louder, closer. Finally finding his consciousness, Hugo burst into a sprint towards his house. He jumped over the fence and ran into the pueblo. The pueblo appeared as an alter with dimly lit houses scattered throughout the streets. The streets were vacant, the only sign of life being the lost dogs that roamed the streets. He found himself lost in the lonely streets as one of the dogs. The storm overtook the town, the only source of light being the flicking street lamps. As he finally approached his house he heard weeping behind him. The eerie whimpers grasped his skin leaving behind welts. The fear paralyzed him, no matter how hard he tried to move, his feet seemed to be stuck in the mud. The whimpering crept up behind him and as it got closer 133

he began to hear the words “mis hijos.” The voice got so close that he could feel the cold lifeless breath crawl down his neck. Hugo could hear his grandmother's worried voice in the distance, the voice seemed to snap him out of the trance. He began running towards his house looking back only to find darkness, but as he turned his head back towards his house he saw a pale, thin woman with long black hair dripping wet, her white gown dragging through the dirt, she raised her hands as if she was reciting a prayer. He could not tell if he was being dragged towards her or if she was coming towards him. But as he got closer he could see the stream of black tears on her barren face. As cold traveled through his body, his grandmother began chanting his name. Hugo suddenly fell to the ground gasping for air as his grandmother ran towards him.

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A Dance With Death by Sophia Elliott* He looked around the ballroom, smiling. It wasn't often he got to throw such grand parties, but it was quite the cause for celebration. Deciding it was time to start the festivities, he snapped his fingers. The entire ballroom seemed to spring to life. He moved through the scattered tables dotting the edges of the room, adorned with bouquets of lilies. The partygoers smiled at him, laughing at his jokes, waiting for the music to start. He walked to the corner of the room, to the empty stage, and clapped. The band began to play. Couples began to move to the dance floor, and the others clapped their hands in time to the music, a symphony of sounds unheard before. Then, the party started. He noticed a woman walk through the door and look around, frowning. She wore a flowy, jet-black dress that fell to her shoes. She must be looking for someone, he presumed, and walked towards her. "What-" she began to ask, but he interrupted before she could say another word. "Welcome to the party!" He said, bowing. A partygoer came up to give her a glass of champagne. She looked at the glass in her hand, then thanked him cautiously and moved to a table nearby, sitting down and staring at her drink. She looked lonely. Maybe she didn't have a date? He didn't want anyone to be alone this fine evening. He walked over to her, careful to wind around the partygoers. "May I have this dance?" He asked her, smiling. She nodded, standing up and moving to the dance floor. He reached for her arm, and when they began a slow waltz, he finally realized why she was there. He expected her presence but shrugged off his worry. There wasn't anything he could do. All the partygoers were the last of "surviving" humanity he had "taken care of." He was a necromancer, a wizard of sorts, and the bodies around him were those he controlled. She had come to collect all their souls at his party. A bony hand brushed his shoulder, a skeleton thanking him for the ball. He saw her 135

look at it sadly. As they moved throughout the room, he tried to chat with her to distract her from the half-charred bodies in fancy dresses. After all, it wasn't often you had the chance to dance with Death. (Runner-up, Overall Best)

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Untitled by Sydney Holland Skagway, Alaska. 1898. It had been a long day at the bar, and all Frank Reid wanted to do was sip his beer and sleep away his problems. His day, however, was not yet over. He had been put on watch duty at the Juneau Wharf for the night. Recently, the town’s crime boss had been conning citizens of Skagway, Canada. Tonight, Soapy Smith was expected to con a gold miner. As Reid walked stiffly out the doors of the bar and made his way across town to the wharf, he noticed a dark figure appear, then vanish, in the distance. Must’ve been a dog, or maybe a cat, he thought as he arrived at the wharf and situated himself at his post. The night was settling–winds started whistling, the feeling of the unknown krept in. Reid stood, feet planted, keeping a watchful eye on the darkness in front of him. Then, out of nowhere, the same shadow krept out of the darkness;the shadow revealed itself to be none other than Soapy Smith. Frantically, Reid grabbed his gun, he froze when he saw Smith doing the same. He was stuck in place, as his skin dripped sweat, his fingers melted and fell from his gun:he was defenseless. BOOM! BOOM! A gun fired, but it wasn’t Reid’s. He looked around, his eyes trailed to Smith, who was now on the ground. Behind a now dead Soapy Smith, stood Jesse Murphy the other man on night watch, pointing his gun at the body with terrified eyes. They had killed the crime boss.

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Reid’s first reaction, and only reaction, was to run. Run as far as he could get. Smith’s gang would be after him as soon as they heard the news, so his only option was to flee. And he knew exactly how to do it. The new train route for the gold miners had just been finished, and it was his ticket out of Alaska. He would leave on the next train to Whitehorse, Canada, and never return. The night was cold, a blizzard was stirring, and Reid felt exhausted as he trudged to the train station. The ground was speckled with white snowflakes, Reid held his hands in front of his eyes to block the harsh weather. It was nearly impossible to see where he was walking, but eventually he found himself standing in front of the train that would take him to Canada. As he walked up the steps into the passenger train, he felt a strange presence following him, but when he turned around, nothing was there. Ried finally made it to his seat, but something still felt off. Sweat dripped from his forehead and his flesh turned white. His eyes darted, desperately searching for another person on the train, but there was no one, the train was empty. He squeezed his eyes shut, this can’t be real, he thought. Reid felt a sudden acute pain in his abdomen. He pushed down on the pain, not knowing where it came from, but the pain was so excruciating he quickly brought his fingers up to his face. “B-blood? But… I don’t understand.” His eyes darted around the room looking for any sign of people. But the only person he saw, was Soapy Smith. “Reid. It's me. Did you miss me? I know it's only been a couple of days but uh, I thought I would come see you one last time to say goodbye. Poor Reid.” “S-smith… You're supposed to be dead.” 138

Smith grinned as he sat in the seat across from Reid. He looked even paler than Reid, almost–ghostly. “Oh Reid, this man is the funniest. Am I right, everyone?” Ghost Smith hollered in the empty train. He chuckled, “That’s right, nobody’s here! This isn’t real!” “What do you mean this isn’t real. I’m fleeing. I can’t return to Skagway. Because of you… But, you're here now.” Reid’s head was spinning, and the pain in his side worsened. “I mean, Reid, that you are not on this train. No one is! Well, it was chatting with you, pal, but it’s time for you to say goodbye. See you on the other side!” And with that, Ghost Smith had vanished. Reid looked down at his abdomen. His coat was stained red. Then, a low, rumbling sound started in the distance. Reid looked out his window. All he could see were the white mountains towering above the tracks. But the sound grew louder, and louder. The sound was familiar, snow was fast approaching. “This is it,” whispered Reid, and the snow encased the train until it was buried. At least six feet of snow lay on top.

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Bloody Red Rose by Lizbeth Jimenez 19th century, a kingdom of gold, but a town of scraps, corruption scents the air. The king of France, Christopher XV. A man with no heart who takes with envy and cruelty and never gives, for nobody deserves his gifts. He has everything he could ever desire. One night as the sky cried, he ventured through the village. He realized he had anything and everything a mortal could possess, except a woman to love him. He wanted a bride. For months he went from door to door of the homes of his subjects, looking for the loveliest lady. Breaking in doors, one by one, but with no luck. He could not find any girl who wanted or deserved his love. A night as cold as his heart, on the stroke of midnight, an old hag was selling red roses in front of the stately home of the king. The king was pestered, and went himself to the hag to advise her to leave. When he arrived, he told her, “What do you think a woman should be doing at this hour.” She ignored him. He asked her once more, in a louder, more aggressive tone, “What do you think a woman should be doing at this hour.” Her face then came into the light. It was the face of a monster, her hands that of a devil, and her smile was nothing of beauty. Her eyes were a captivating red. The only thing that she possessed that could be beautiful would be the roses she was selling. The king looked upon her with disgust. The woman leaned closer to him and whispered in his ear, “I have what you want.” He was intrigued by this and listened to her. 141

“Follow me.” The woman then led him to her home, and he followed her, oblivious to what was to come. The man saw her garden, beautifully planted, but he noticed that she only had white roses, not red. How did she get those flowers? The moment he stepped in her home; he saw that her whole house was red. Various shades of garish red. It was the most eerie of scenes. Red all around, even her eyes glowed red. Nobody knew what happened after he stepped in. Nobody knew what occurred that night with the hag and the King. Nobody could tell if he survived or not. All I knew after that was that I never saw him again. At the blink of an eye, the king died. Why? To this day nobody knows why. He may have died that very night, or he may have died days later. All I can say is that the remains of the king, my uncle, were given to me, eventually. To this day I still hold his remains. The only thing she gave me was his blood, the reddest rose in the world.

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Ghost Stories by Gavin Wang

The children who appeared were different each year. The joy of the children fueled her, they were the only ones who didn’t detest her, as they knew not what she was. “Read us more, read us more!” they chanted after Loralie had finished telling another story. “Ok,” said Loralie serenely. She put down the book she was reading and paused— she grabbed a different book, an ancient book which she had not read in many moons, and chuckled softly. She began, “There was once a woman, frail and always exhausted, with pale skin and dark hair, who was very lonely.” With this opening line, all of the children started paying attention, already as gripped as they had been by the last one. “Why was she so lonely?” Asked one boy who had come to listen to Loralie’s stories every Halloween since age seven. Loralie smiled, “Because all of man must meet this woman, so they rejected her and buried her away.” Loralie continued, “This woman was a simple person; her only intent was to carry out her work, which she could never escape,”— “Loralie what did she do,” asked one child, so curiously. “She did what she had to, and nothing else,” said Loralie, annoyed at the consecutive interruptions. Loralie proceeded once more, “Because of her work, nobody dared to befriend her or talk to her, she wanted companionship and to abandon this lonely feeling more than anything.” “But all things must come to an end, and that includes their evasion of the pale woman,” said Loralie. The children started to show confusion in their faces, but Loralie proceeded, “And when they could evade her no longer, they begged for the pearl of great price, to go up rather than down.” “This filled the woman with… anger? No, it filled her with sadness above all,” articulated Loralie. “The woman endured this pain for more time than you can imagine.” One child started to cry, as they had a foreign feeling of fear, unlike any form of fear they had felt before. Loralie maintained her smile, and continued, “But everyone has a breaking point, so this woman took a blade and split herself in two.” “So she would forever have a friend?” asked one child who was usually silent, “So she would forever have a friend,” repeated Loralie. Loralie’s nose started to bleed, and the children 143

screamed and ran out of the house, but more would come back next year, just like every year. She took a step into the next room of her house. “I see,” said Loralie’s pale twin sister, sitting in the rocking chair, who had been listening through the wall. “Come, Mara, we must go back to work tomorrow, we had our day off,” said Loralie, as she walked down a dark chamber which she revealed from behind a shelf, unleashing the cries of lost souls from below into the world, but as they had lived, their voices were the same in death. Unheard, and suppressed.

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The Girl From Salem by Maya Westcott It is 1692 and a little girl named Frances is living in Massachusetts . She was kind to everyone she met. She was loved by all. Frances’ parents loved her and spoiled her yet Frances was still as kind as can be. Frances was very popular on their street and all the kids wanted to play with her. Her house was nice and clean and her parents were fortunate. She had pretty clothes and toys to play with. Until one day everything changed. It was the 26th of September and Frances was taking a walk with her nannie, Elle. Elle was a very kind person and she had been working for her parents for eighteen years. The next day Elle didn't show up for work and Frances started to get worried and scared for Elle. Then for the next couple weeks word spread that Elle had been accused of witchcraft. What? That was absurd thought Frances but they had nothing else to believe. A night or two later Frances sat at her piano by candlelight when she heard a knock on the door. She crossed the luminous hall. Thunder shook the house and lightning crackled outside. As Frances reached the door she saw a shadow in the window, she shuddered and took a breath. She opened the door. And standing there was a tall man dressed in black and white with curly brown hair. Then after a few long pauses he spoke in a rumbling voice, “are you Frances Evergarden?” The man asked. Frances stammered “yes...yes I am’’ her voice wavering. “Alright then come with us” “Where are you taking me?” asked Frances. The man didn’t answer her wrapped ropes around her wrists and pulled her across the road, water dowsing her and mud squelching beneath her boots. They walked and walked and walked for miles. Until they came upon a tree with a rope hanging from it. It was a nuse. “NO, NO” cried Frances “stop please” she got down on her knees and begged for mercy. “Stop, please what did I do?!” “I want to go home, let me go HOME.” They dragged her to the stool and put the rope around her neck and that is when Frances Evergarden said her very last words. “Please have mercy.” They pushed her off and with a satisfying crack Frances’ neck broke

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and she hung there limp as a doll. And Frances’ parents never found out but they never stopped telling her story. And her memory lives on forever.

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Lovely Memories

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Haunted by the Past by Sam Birtwistle “Chris Holsbard, 77 confirmed kills, retired Navy Seal. After retiring from service, he bought a small island off the coast of northeast Maine and lived there by himself. His interactions with the outside world have been minimal, but last fall he was seen at a supermarket arguing with himself. Bystanders observed him as disgruntled as he got a large quantity of food and supplies, then lumbered out of the local market, heading to his boat and off into the fog. That’s the last we’ve seen of him, and that was 5 months ago.” “So you want me to play therapist?” Jenae “Jenny” Ali said. Jenny, an orphan immigrant who became a talented young psychologist, decided she wanted to do more than profit off of civilians struggling, and wanted to work with Veterans. 10 days prior, Mark Lyton, the Vice President of Chief Human Capital Office had contacted her to work on a case that no one would take. A week of briefing later, and she was on a boat with two armed police officers, heading into the sinister mist surrounding his island. A cool breeze floated through the air and spoke to Jenny, hissing get closer. She must have been hallucinating since everything she learned to get that shiny degree of hers told her that reality was real, and supernatural activity was in her head. They entered the house and found Chris looking down and muttering something. He sounded scared and was begging for his life. He wasn’t startled by Jenny’s voice nor the guns of the two abnormally large men standing behind her. With no apprehension at all, he began spilling his mind to her. The house felt eerie, like a time capsule of a 2006 war base. Jenny couldn’t exactly figure out how she knew what a 2006 war base felt like, but it was a present and lingering thought in her mind that she couldn’t dismiss. On the third day talked about his 5 years of deployment in Iraq and how it scarred him. He delved into the horrors of all he’d seen; hurting and killing people for what felt like no change. Every person he looked at, he could see 149

one of his victims in their eyes. Chris stared deep into Jenny’s eyes, and almost at once broke out into tears. He bent his old, yet very muscular body down into the fetal position and started apologizing over and over again. While confused, Jenny couldn’t judge, as her role of therapist didn’t allow her to do so. On the fourth day, Chris wasn’t greeting her at the dock. Unnerved, she wandered down the dock horrified to see the bloody atrocity in front of her. There lay Chris’ dead body, covered in blood. She squealed and ran over to check his pulse, but upon getting closer, saw an even more horrifying sight. Written in his blood: the Orphaner has been slain, signed, Baba.

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Us by Zachary James Horvath You, with your soft blonde hair, and large blue eyes, like a child's, when awaking on their birthday. The mysterious smell of your oud perfume coming from everywhere around me, haunting me. Regrets circle my head with the bittersweet feeling of happiness. When I saw you the last time - the picnic on the river bank - how your fingers felt when they brushed my hand. The way they fell. Side by side. You! You did not suspect that this day was your last. Never to know what could come. Best of friends never apart, always glued together. Tangled by an invisible string. Somehow tethered for all our life. All of our childhood. Everyone knew us as who we were together not who we were on our own. Our Obsession with one another as we grew closer and closer, always finishing each other's thoughts, sharing ideas, and completing specific tasks. Ones we may have known before to be trademarked to our imaginations. Over time we developed an obsession with the possibility of an everlasting friendship, one greater than all the rest because ours was eternal. The faster a flame grows, the faster it burns out. Soon our bond broke, expectable as the foundation we were built on didn't have integrity. We crumbled like a statue under the impact and we broke apart. Now two people lay on the floor, their bodies bleeding away the sorrows of bondage. The knife was so sharp it didn't hurt a bit. The adrenaline numbed our ribs and shoulders as we cut ourselves apart. We were so connected and longed desperately to be rid of each other. Even our last act was performed together. 151

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Alone with Companionship by Ala Loper-Benson

And whilst talking to each lady in a separate time and place, their euphonious voices speaking, I knew I could never let them leave me. I have always been isolated. Alone in solitude, away from society. My parents left me home unattended daily to pursue their own pleasures in either traveling elsewhere from me, or spending solo time together. The memories of being friendless while traveling from one place to the next still come back to besiege me in my dreams. My family owned many houses spread around the world each with acres of green land and colossal gardens. Five to be exact; one in Naples, one in Madrid, one in Solvang, one in Quito, and one in Copenhagen. All the houses' grip disclosed information. I imprison the same secrets myself. When counting, exactly five confidentialities. And not just silly secrets like the time I broke a window trying to flip a pancake while my parents were gone. No, these secrets are capacious. So big that if anyone were to already know, I myself would not be here. The houses have been passed on to me now that my parents have departed. Where they went rests unknown. Once I turned eighteen, legally an adult, they left. For good that time. Without warning, with no goodbyes. And there I found myself again. Alone. I have invented different hobbies to take my mind off the voices that chirp like baby birds awaiting their croaked mother inside my head. Now I live my life every day in the same routine: rising from my mattress, gardening until the air gets too sultry, having a friendly conversation with one of my five companions, watching the news, and then going to bed all over again. 153

Until one day, an aberration of a story occurred on the news. A map popped up on the television with a big red x in central Spain. Then another in southern Italy. Then another in northern Ecuador. Then another in southern California. Until finally the last one was placed on the eastern coast of Denmark. Five girls were then claimed to be missing persons. Now this dear reader is where I let you know the big secret I incarcerate, making this kind of like my confession letter. The truth is I know who each of the five girls are. Each girl I spend almost two months with every year, talking to them every day. Flowers. How they blossom from a tiny seedling, stand tall, and then slowly perish back into the terrain. Starting all over again. I take a great interest in flowers. Thus, when I meet somebody with the name of a perennial, I love to talk with them. This is why I keep Iris, Rose, Lily, Violet, and Jasmine buried, one girl in each of my five gardens. For they are the only ones I can talk to without them leaving me as everyone else did. Unable to move, unable to escape.

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A Walking Ghost by Jacob Metzger Like a stallion in an endless meadow of grass, she would walk. She would walk with no beginning, nor an end. Blank faced– with little to no detail. What was on her mind? Was she real? August wondered as he looked through his little casement window in his little house. Life was too short... “Who knew little things could get the best of us?” Every night, he would peer through his window. Again and again; it was the only thing that brought him joy. The woman, so-blank, never acknowledged him. She only continued her walk. *

To August, the funeral felt like it was only yesterday. His aunt, uncle, and grandparents had already boarded their plane back home weeks ago. Life was starting to become normal again— except it wasn't. August felt lonelier than ever. He was afraid of his father, who never took good care of him. His only friends were the characters in his mind. When August's father leaves, they dance and play in his room, laughing, while playing tricks on him. August could name a couple: "Joey, Spark, —and Daisy too!" he said. "Those were my favorite!" With them, he would jump on the bed and dance around. Some days, August would pretend he was the king of his bed, while Joey, Spark, and Daisy would try to find a way up. Other days, he would play tag with them. "Tag, you're it!" Joey said. It was August's turn to run. Running around the room and bouncing off the walls, August was managing to stay away 155

from Joey. He would run up and down the length of the room—at first slowly, and later with all his energy until his room was not big enough. He opened his door and bolted out. He ran down the hall, past his father's room, and outside. August came to an abrupt halt. All of his energy came to a sharp stop. Standing outside, August saw the woman. This time, closer than ever. Her long black hair and blank face brought a tear to his eye. The woman began running away. With an immediate panic, August began chasing her. Jumping off the rocks and trees (just like he would play in his room), August managed to keep up with her. Making his way through a gloomy forest, August chased her for quite some time. After a while, the woman began to slow down. August then is caught off guard, not only by a sudden putrid smell but by a view that he would never be able to forget. The woman had stopped by a body. August did not believe what he saw in front of him. His mother, who had a funeral a few weeks ago, was laying dead right in front of him. The blank-faced woman turned around— but this time, was no longer blank-faced. August smiled. His mother smiled back. He will always miss her...

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Happy Canyon by Michael Moreno My name is Adam. I’ve lived in Santa Ynez my whole life and I’ve never left. Sometimes, it feels like I can’t leave. I currently live on Happy Canyon Ranch. I spend pretty much all of my time in the motel. There is a large dining hall where people would host parties up until midnight. They were so loud and played noisy music. The dining room would be decorated with silky white banners and Mexican flags. If you were to open two doors, you could walk into a separate room. It was even grander than the dining area. This room had pool tables, board games, and even a bar with such a large amount of win. There was a set of rooms next to the bar. The motel. I slept here and where I stayed most of the time. There were 8 rooms with worn-out beds and old television sets. I was okay staying here and then one night I could hear the floor creaking outside my room. I turned and suddenly a blinding white pain shot up my back. I screamed in pain for hours. The creaking stopped. I opened the door and peered towards the bar. I saw nothing but a black void staring back at me. I’ve had back pains for two whole decades now, around the same time I moved into the motel. I ignored it and went to bed. I had been falling asleep peacefully. I heard the maids cleaning. They were speaking Spanish to each other. I had no idea as to what they were saying. They ignored me whenever I talked to them and always pretended as if I was invisible. A pain shot up my back again. This time it felt as if a knife stabbed my back. I told myself that I had to leave, but I knew I couldn’t. I had nowhere else to go. I thought about all the things that I saw and heard at night. Last night I heard somebody talking about another party. I could not handle another obnoxious party. My back has been getting worse. I don’t know why this is happening.

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The night came, so did the band of people with their loud music. I shut myself off and stayed in my room. I understand why my wife left me. I didn't go outside, so she took all of my money and left. It felt like a stab in the back. “ Why did she do that?” I heard. It came from outside my door. I was tired of the voices. I opened the door. There I saw it, a little child staring right at me. The child froze. “What are you doing here?” I asked. A voice boomed out, “Michael, let’s go!”. The child bolted away. I remembered that my back pains began when my wife left. I woke up drenched in wine. That’s when I realized. My name is Adam. I’ve lived in Santa Ynez my whole life. I can’t leave.

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Untitled by Riley Aiken* We had lived here for about five years now—my mom, sister, and me—since 2091. We were assigned the job of growing trees—ones that were genetically engineered to withstand the toxic mars environment—part of the efforts to make this planet more sustainable to human life. We had moved into a pod in a valley surrounded by impossibly tall, dark mountains. Now, this valley was nothing like Earth; It constantly reminded settlers that they were millions of miles from home. No one ever wanted to go anywhere near those bloodred mountains, especially after the incident that happened near them a month back; when my sister had disappeared. I walked past the adamant trees, looking up at the land towering to the very top of the atmosphere through the fog that filtered between them. I noticed a red cloud not beyond the mountains. Deciding to warn her about the incoming dust storm, I turned on my heel to head back to the pod where I had last seen her. “Mom?” I called, slicing through the deafening silence. No answer. “Mom!” Louder this time, my voice rang through the deserted orchard. Again, the only response was my own echo bouncing off the trees. I groaned, starting to wander through the valley, snaking between the trees, searching for her. Minutes slowly passed, fog seeping from the mountains, creeping into the atmosphere around me. Glancing back at the blood-stained cliffs, I saw the dust cloud much closer, and quickened my pace. I called out for my mom a few more times, becoming slowly more frantic. My footsteps echoed as I weaved through the orchard. I had hoped to avoid the ominous cave on the north side of the valley—where my sister is said to have disappeared—but after a while it was the only place left to search. I sighed, turning around and creeping toward the dark hole.

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I entered the cave, slowly making my way through the darkness. Just as the blackness was too thick to navigate through, the jagged walls produced a tiny, green crystal with a soft glow. I could feel a presence shifting around me—a frigid, sinister feeling that I was being watched. I shook it off as more crystals appeared, luminating the room until I was surrounded by a ghostly, blinding green light. There were two unconscious figures, one I recognized as my mom, the other... familiar... but I couldn’t pinpoint from where. I rushed over to wake her up, noticing a ghostly, transparent glow about her, and, glancing over, I saw the other figure had a much more distinct fluorescence. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and before I could turn around, I felt that icy presence right behind me. Aghast, I turned around. The figure was in front of me—a giant shadow looming over me, ready to pounce. Before I knew it, everything went black but not before I realized... That other figure was my sister. (Winner, Writer’s Craft)

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635 Wilmont Drive by Ella Bishop

[Tape #64, length: 2:04 minutes; Case: Redmond Missing Persons] “Meet Harold, a young boy of little wit and even less intuition. Let him tell you- vividly- how we met,” Harold stared, picked at the pen, and wrote as followed: The mist enveloped me. The frigid air condensed on the windows, on the metal, on anything and everything that showed my reflection. A silver kettle embedded in the forest floor stared back at me, my face was dramatically out of proportion; my nose too far down, my eyes too far left or right- or bothand above that my complexion was off. Whether it was the silver of the pot or the fog I could not tell you. I shuffled away from the warped impression and continued a few paces towards the gated house. The ground grasped my foot with every step, my shoes beginning to be beyond repair (“they were new, too,” He mumbled). I continued to inch closer to the house that stared, the expression outlined in wood and stone took a deep sigh at me. One step further my foot lay on the grass, green as candy and plump as a peach. The blades squealed and grunted as if this was the first time they had been stepped on in ages. It began to grow dark. The silent cries echoed and enveloped me. The mist grew heavier and higher, the house changed its expression, it now straightened and stared directly at me. The grass grew taller, and looking back, the face in the kettle stared with eyes now too close and a smile far too big, the gate with off-white streaks grasped its hinges and swung and creaked with the wind, seemingly pushing me out. But that would be stupid. Why would grass scream and why would a house have a face? Why would a gate meant to be opened not want me to enter?

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I inched forward one more step. Then it appeared. At first, I didn’t see it, but then it was right in front of me. Its horridly ugly form appeared- no- pulsated, out of the woody frontage lined with stone. It- he was tinted green, or blue, or red- shifting from green to blue to red- and it stared, and it swayed, and it came closer and closer. He had- has- his face covered in moss and dirt, hands covered in pasted blood, not fresh enough to be just fallen, to drip over and its nails, but not old enough to be dried, to crust like plaster, and he stared with such intent as to kill. Then he did. This dimwitted waffle over here killed me, that’s how we met, you see? I’m dead and it’s his fault, lord help me. Harold dropped the pen, “done.” “Joyous, put it with the others,” he pointed at a lined shelf. “There are others?” “There are always others, darling,” now turning towards the camera, a grin widening “the question is where.” [Tape clicks off]

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Respite by Jaime Rhie White pillars of slate loomed upon a vast expanse of lush green, neatlytrimmed and thoroughly moistened by the early morning's mist. They lay in symmetrical rows and columns, evenly-spaced apart in a perpetual arrangement that stretched as far as the eye could see. There were people that populated this land, dressed in muted layers of olivegreen and round bowls that loosely fit across the circumference of their heads. They appeared to be guarding these pillars, each individually assigned to their own stone posts. These figures stood with straightened backs, arms between their sides, clasped fists, and blank gazes that stared endlessly into the distance. They all had the same chiseled body physique and features, akin to an assembly line of uniform mannequins. A woman and a small child, who could assuredly be assumed to be the woman’s daughter) entered this property of silent statues and monuments. They held expressions of a somber monotony across their faces, presenting themselves as two anguished souls in an unknown land. Their quiet breaths left a smoky-white trail of smog behind their wake, hidden in them whispers of solitude that were carried away by the sustained gusts of wind that drifted across the stretch of land. The young girl clutched a bouquet of red roses that pressed tight against her jacket, nearly creasing the beautiful flowers with her elementary grievances. The mother and her daughter continued their journey for a short period of time, before arriving at a gradual stop at a particular point in infinity. The mother instructed the child to gently set down the bundle of roses at the base of the stone. The guard assigned to this stone broke his proper posture to more closely inspect the object that was set down at his feet. His fingers softly ran through the interstices of the thorned stems, using the physical sense of touch as a 165

medium to inspect this foreign object. Passing the receptacle of the roses, he let the velveteen surfaces of the petals grace his fingers in their cold embrace. As his fingers left the flowers, they picked a singular petal off the roses. The guard held this singular petal in his calloused palms, between dark streaks of gunpowder and ashes. A moment of silence passed. A drop of saltwater moistened the petal, then two, then four, then an endless stream of liquid that trickled down dirty cheeks and tired eyes as the soldier silently wept in his incoherent sorrows. “Momma, it’s raining,” the child said quietly. “Yes, yes it is, honey… let us return,” the mother responded. A gust of wind carried a rose petal to the daughter’s side as they had just begun to leave. The child picked it up and tucked it within her pocket, disappearing into the fog with her mother. The man was no longer at his post. . . . “Daddy is always watching us, isn’t he?” “Yes… yes, he is.”

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The Quiet by Gabriel Silva Hi my name is Harold, my family and I were doing our own things around the house. We heard on the news that monsters have been released into the world from a secret facility. There were a lot of them. We panicked, so we started packing our stuff to leave. We won't be safe at our house forever. So we went with other groups of people so we could have a better chance of survival. We walked for ages, and got really far. It started getting dark, but luckily we found a mini market. We all slept there hoping to get a good night's sleep. In the morning we heard some noises from outside, and someone looked outside to check what the noise was, and there was nothing there. I took some stuff like a camera to take pictures of the creatures and study them, and some extra batteries for the camera, snacks, and a laptop with a charger. As I was getting all my stuff ready to continue traveling, we got attacked! Many of the people in our group were killed by the monsters. I took a picture so I could see and understand some of the extra parts on their body and what they do. Me and my family ran as fast as we could after we got attacked and found an old secret military base that was nearby, and hid in it. We were not found ever again. After a while of hiding we would get out to find food and supplies. We were careful about the monsters and eventually found their weakness when getting one of the supplies we needed. They really don't like water and won't dare to go in it. We used the water to our advantage to keep the monsters away from us. The monsters wouldn't come near us anymore after we found out their weakness. We never got attacked again and lived happily ever after. Or so, we thought we would.

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Untitled by Colija Diedrichs Sam Connor is a 14-year-old boy from Boston, he may not be very popular at school and has few friends, but he has two wonderful parents. What no one knows, however, is that the boy has been hearing a certain voice all his life, which he cannot assign to anyone he knows. For this reason, the teenager constantly has problems falling asleep, but he has not talked to anyone about it so far. In a cold, roaring wind, Sam suddenly hears that his door is opening and it pulls him out of his sleep. With his curiosity, he follows the whispering voice down the squeaky stairs into the gloomy cellar. His heart beats faster and faster the deeper he goes. The boy sees a shadow of a creepy figure, but he can't quite recognize her, Sam takes a knife and goes closer. But what he sees afterward makes him freeze. A portal from which a small creature with pointed teeth, a head resembling that of a wolf, and two horns rise. It has razor-sharp claws as well as a completely mutilated body with scars and wounds. The creature looks like it is just celebrating its entry into the Real World as it has just escaped from a parallel one. What Sam doesn't know yet, however, is that the so-called Tombwraith is now hungry and wants to take revenge on the people who put him on a flight a long time ago. For those are none other than the Connor family, to be more precise, Sam's grandfather Erwin. The very scared boy sneaks up the stairs as fast as he can, hoping not to be noticed by the Tombwraith. At the top, he locks the door quietly and runs to his parents to tell them the story, who think he's crazy and don´t take him seriously, which was probably because young Connor is seeing a therapist. He tells his parents it's real this time and they have to believe him. His parents replied that he had just had a bad dream and should go back to sleep. But with the thought of having a creepy figure in the basement that he was afraid of, he would never have been able to fall asleep. Suddenly everyone hears a banging and cracking because the parents thought it was a burglar, whereupon the father takes his gun and they rush down together. But the only thing they found downstairs was a broken cellar door covered with scratch marks. Now that everyone saw the door, they believed their son and no longer thought he was crazy. Knowing that the creature 169

must still be somewhere in the house, the family runs upstairs as fast as they can and lock the door behind them. At first, they feel safe, but they have forgotten one thing... the air shafts, which are just big enough for the Tombwraith to get through. They hear a rumbling everywhere shortly after. Pumped full of adrenaline, everyone hides in different rooms. Sam's mother Nancy hides in her closet hoping not to be found, but unfortunately, this was not the case... She feels a soft, cold breath on the back of her neck, which sends a shiver down her spine and makes her whole body twitch. Before Nancy could run away, it was already done... All that could be heard was a bestial scream. Her husband Ted aimed the rifle in front of him, as he hides under his desk. Ted hears in the darkness only the squeak of his door and almost pees his pants. He jumps up and passes out for a short time because he bumped his head on the desk. When he regains consciousness, he opens his eyes, but all he saw were two sinister red eyes. He was able to fire a shot, but in the end, it did not save him from his death.

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School Days

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The Intruder by Grant Carson I live in the heart of a massive forest. There is one road to access my town. The school I attend has 500 students in total, enough for everyone to know everyone’s name. Today, our school went on lockdown. That familiar yet eerie chime of our principal’s voice saying to remain in our class until further notice rang through the building over the intercoms. His voice was surprisingly calm considering he didn’t say it was a drill. Despite our little town, crime isn’t unheard of, as we’ve had our fair share of reported break-ins, robberies, and even some gang activity. “I bet it’s a robber down at Chase Bank” my friend Kyle joked. I laughed and we started talking about what we thought the whole lockdown was for. Kyle’s voice got louder only interrupted by our teacher shushing him. 10 minutes of complete silence followed. We were now talking softly to whomever we were sitting next to. Just then we all heard it, footsteps, not just one pair but a few walking down the hall. We all went quiet knowing that something was wrong. Drills would be one pair of footsteps from the principal checking the classrooms. Even Kyle, who had previously been talking, grew silent. The heaviness in the air became suffocating. The footsteps moved onto another part of the hallway. A girl across the room let out a muffled sob of fear. I focused my attention on the door, I was leaning out from behind a table to peer through the window. The hallway was empty and completely dark as it tends to be during a lockdown. The lights were all automated in my school, but just then I noticed some of them turn on. A wave of yellow light instantly filled the room as we huddled in, casting shadows against the rows of desks. Someone tried to calm the crying girl, but I could hear their voice waver. I was still looking through the window when someone walked up to it and scanned the room. I ducked behind the table where the class was hiding. My 173

heartbeat wildly as the doorknob turned. My vision grew static, I held my breath. The door shook as the intruder banged on it. The door hinges gave way and the intruder walked in. We went silent, praying that the stranger wouldn’t discover us behind the table. About a minute passed of this guy just standing still and we could hear someone else running to the door followed by the words “Dude we gotta go, the cops are already here.” Then I heard the guys start running out of the room and down the hall. The intruders who entered the school were never caught and apparently, they were armed with guns. One of the kids at my school tweeted to a gang, making fun of them. The gang took it seriously and planned on raiding the school and killing the kid responsible. Luckily, they weren’t successful.

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The Ghost Writer by Alexander Grenier*

My English teacher Mr. Sawton gave our class a challenge, “In 500 words or less, write a ghost story. You will be submitting your stories to the Tolega Valley Ghost Story Competition.” “Excuse me, Mr. Sawton,” interjected a student, Cimona, “your challenge is easy!” “What was that?” questioned Mr. Sawton as he cupped his hand to his ear and leaned towards Cimona. “I can’t hear you. I swear there’s something in my ear.” We all thought Mr. Sawton was a nutter. The challenge wasn’t easy for me. I spent the rest of the class seeking solace in an article about the Algerian War on Wikipedia. My efforts to write a ghost story over the following days were also not successful. It eventually came down to the last day, yet still, I procrastinated. At 9:03 PM, I glanced at my watch. “Scheiβe!” I cursed, “less than an hour.” Opening my computer, I tried in vain to resist the urge to open Wikipedia. One article on the Cuban Revolution later I stopped myself and began work on my ghost story. No story ideas came so I began to rage. I sprung up from my chair and grabbed my sword. Thrusting my sword forward into the open air in front of me, I thought I heard an “ouch.” “You can’t kill a ghost, jackass,” grumbled the voice. “Who’s there? I can’t see anyone.” “Of course you can’t. Ghosts are invisible.” “A ghost!? Hey, why don’t you ghostwrite my story for me.” 175

“You aren’t funny.” “Please, I need a good story for Mr. Sawton’s English class.” “Mr. Sawton?” asked the ghost, dumbfounded. “I was a student of his. I died after he pelted me with a dictionary.” “I guess I’m lucky, Mr. Sawton only throws small books at me.” “I will help you with the story. We victims of Mr. Sawton need to stick together.” My ghost began a story about an infamous ghost, the Phantom Toe. “The Phantom Toe used to be a friend of mine actually,” explained the ghost. “I would have him help too except he’s been ghosting me.” The story began years ago when Mr. Sawton was himself a student. Mr. Sawton had decided to check out Norton’s Anthology of English Literature from the library. As he walked towards the checkout counter, he glanced at the future Mrs. Sawton. Gawking, he slipped and dropped the colossus of a book on his little toe, completely severing the toe. The toe died that day and became a ghost… with a vengeance. The Phantom Toe blamed Mr. Sawton for the unfortunate accident and swore he would do all he could to torment him. So when Mr. Sawton became an English teacher, the Phantom Toe saw it as an opportunity to avenge himself by torturing him as he taught his class. “What did the Phantom Toe do to torment Mr. Sawton?” I asked the ghost. “Mr. Sawton isn’t really hard of hearing. That’s just the Phantom Toe lodging himself in Mr. Sawton’s ear.” (Winner, Most Original) 176

People are the Scariest by Monica Lu* I never had many friends growing up. I was always more or less an outcast. Shy, reserved, and clumsy with my words. Until I moved to a new school. It was my second year of high school. I went to a boarding school. Naturally, people tend to get closer when they live together. I figured since nobody knew me, it could be a fresh start for my social life. I zipped up my grey jacket, hoping it can conceal my worry. I felt the pit of my stomach churn as the library came into view. Slowly, pushing open the door, cautiously peering around the noisy scene. People, people, people. All in their separate groups, in their separate worlds, laughing, chattering, chattering. I wished I could be like them. But, I chose to sit on a chair behind a bookshelf, taking out my computer to check my email. My fingers trembled as I started to pity myself, tears forming in my eyes. I covered my face with my palms and gasped in the air. I have never felt lonelier in my life. The hollow of my chest throbbing. I slowly removed my hands from my face. Then it happened. A friendlylooking girl smiled at me. I could barely make her out through my tears. Maybe she cares about how I feel? In an instant, her face contorted into a monster. Her expression was almost inhumanly cruel. It was like spring came, but then in an instant, winter covered the landscape entirely. "So you are the one?" She asked. "W-what?" I replied. "The one that was a b*tch to my friends?" She sneered. I could smell her floral perfume, her cheerful outfit, but I knew this was not her. "I-I never did anything to you!" I mumbled. 177

"And you are denying it?" She smirked. "I don't even know who you are!" I said. "Well, listen to this. Because I have what you did on video." She held her phone two inches away from my face. The video was of me, saying something I never said before. I, or rather, the person that looked identical to me was speaking in a prideful way, criticizing and cursing about a girl named "Charlotte" with another girl, in all ways imaginable. This was not me. "This is not me!" I exclaimed, "I did not do this!" "And now you are denying it? This is you, you idiot. Are you blind! Now, I will show you the consequences." The girl's forehead opened up, a snake with the miniature face of a human woman opened its mouth, salivating. It opened its mouth, so wide that its jaw muscles broke, revealing bone. It advanced towards me. I screamed for help, but the people suddenly all froze in their place and transformed into human-sized puppets. Was I going mad? I did not know. I grabbed my bag, pushed my way through the shelves and the girl, and dashed out of the building as fast as I could. (Winner, Best Dialogue)

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The Art Teacher by Emily Wirth

The sky was dismal, painted with greys and blacks. The strokes from the paint brush added texture to the blanketed sky. The air was bleak and the weather was overcast. The dark grey clouds glared down and sulked with black ominous frowns and the weak wind barely lifted the leaves, and yet the trees still seemed to move. Their hands cast grim, inky black shadows on the rotting art room as if their fingers were trying to grab what was inside. Not even the moon could shine through the dense, carefully crafted clouds. Though he tried, the clouds were too heavy for him to be seen. What there was of the wind, groaned and caused a slight whistling when it sighed. The brown sticks on the damp, velvet green grass and fallen autumn leaves crunched, though no one seemed to be walking; there was rhythm to the night though no one was humming. The trees swayed with the soft cadence of the wind in a rhythmic dance, though the wind was barely blowing. The night was alive, though nights can’t be living, and yet the night was moving, but the art room stayed still. The dark grey clouds, deep in thought, began to absorb into the blackened sky, opening a path for the moon to stare through. His luminous eyes peered into the sad and dreary window of the art room, shining on a man’s ghostly figure inside. The man had a gauzy, sheer face that seemed to resemble hand crafted fabric and his movements were uncanny as he slowly waltzed around the room to the night’s melody. His lifeless eyes were hollow and yet satisfied, and his hair was the color of dirt and had the gritty texture of dirt once it’s become wet. His lips were thin and narrow, but showed a cracked wide grin drawn across his maroon splattered face. His hands and arms, also completely stained from blood, were clobbered and tired from their hard work of creating and destroying. And his body stood lean and tall, casting no shadow on the moldy, wooden floor of the art room. He was the art teacher, surrounded by forgotten sculptures and paintings that were left forlorn to suffocate abandoned in dust. He had always been a lover of art since childhood, and later a suitor of one, but now a widower who couldn’t bear seeing the love of his life, herself a work of art, 179

so alluring and perfectly crafted by God, continue living in such a dreadful and hideous place. “My love, the world was not worthy of your beauty.” As his shimmering soul gently danced around her corpse, he felt pleasure in the act he had committed as he was the one to release her beauty from this wretched world, taking himself with her so that she would be his work of art until the end of time.

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Visitors (Knock, Knock…)

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Demons in the House by Victoria Bernard In a dark house, where an old lady lives, a school lives nearby. A school, where sounds of echoing laughter float down the halls. No children are in sight but their sins are written on the walls. The old lady hears a knock on the door. “Surely no one can be up at this hour. Maybe they need help,” her rocking chair squeaks as her weight is lifted from it. With an indent of her behind, the chair looks so broken and dry without her. Almost dead. Slowly making her way to the door, she reaches out turning on the porch light, then slowly and methodically turns the door knob. “Hello, are you in need of the phone?” she calls. She is treated with silence. Confused she turns to go back in but feels a tap on her shoulder. Turning she only sees shadow. The night sky is pitch black, down the road the blackness swallows everything whole, almost as if she fell into eternal dark. Her porch light is the only illuminating thing in sight. As fast as she can, she walks up to her door. Steps in, and right as she is about to lock herself in for the night, she hears a creak. Turning her head frantically she sees a shadow, of an evil youth, one she has not seen in years, one she has not seen since she was a girl. Then it is gone. Her whole body shakes and she turns to run. Racing down the dirt drive, kicking up debris, she goes to the school.

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The girl wanders through the school halls. Oh, how foolish the lady was to run here, she thought. Knowing that there would be hell to pay, she got moving. Slowly and methodically moving down the halls, she called out. “Oh, come out, come out to have some fun. You wouldn’t run from me.” she said in a mock tone. She could feel the fear pulsating from around the next corner. Playing with her victims was always the most fun. Everything stopped. There was utter silence. The fear stopped pulsating, as if the old lady was already dead. No, but that can’t be, I haven’t killed her yet! Yet there was not denying the silence. Now the girl was shaking, and a single tear slipped from her face. As if in slow motion, she watched with dread as it slowly descended to the ground; feeling in her borrowed body that that would be a mistake she regretted. Then, “Splash!” Footsteps, as if on all fours turned in her direction, if only in sound, but she knew to be true. A horrified sound released from her throat, and she turned to sprint down the hall, but now it was a dead end. Turning back to face the demon, the old lady stood. “I told you not to come back,” the wrinkles spoke with ease now. “But . . . you . . . how?” A deep sounding voice, that was not human came from those horrid lips, “She made a deal withme, don’t you see,” Then blood splayed the walls of that dark hall, leaving only the old lady in her demonic form. A dark figure starts to slip from her body and she lays 184

crumpled on the floor. One mangled, the other untouched for what the eyes can see. Then the moonlight from outside starts to flicker and with that it’s out. Within thirty seconds it comes back on again. The hall, empty once more.

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Lights Out by Samara Perez* The gloomy sky and the intensifying sound of the thunder came roaring down. The moon hid in fright, and the clouds seemed to devour the sky. The empty streets and broken streetlamps gave the little house on the second street a different look. It was darker, gloomier, and angrier. Lightning struck down every building in the neighborhood and brought a moment of fright to the people. The silence that followed was eerie and the seemingly empty streets now had a visitor. The wind laughed with excitement as the little girl approached the stairs. She knocked on the door and a lovely young lady greeted her. She was surprised to see a little girl at her doorstep so late at night. The cute yellow jacket and red boots fooled the young lady into believing that the little girl was harmless and in desperate need of help. Without thinking twice, the young lady asked the little girl to come in and seek shelter from the storm. She quickly reached for blankets and tried to comfort the little girl. “How are you my dear, where are your parents...”, said the young lady, “I don’t have parents, only my doll and I to make you company. My parents are dead, and I have no one to take care of me,” cried the little girl. “Well, how did you end up here? I’ve never seen you in this neighborhood”, replied the young lady. The little girl looked at her and replied with a sinister smile, “I’ve seen you before…”. In that instant, the lights in the room started to flicker. The wind began to howl louder as the little girl continued to stare at the young lady. The young lady laughed nervously and asked “Oh, where?”. The little girl whispered, “at the cemetery.” “Oh, were you there visiting your parents?” said the young lady.

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“No, but I was standing right next to you, while you were visiting yours.” replied the little girl as she was patting her doll. She looked at the child in confusion. She didn’t recall seeing anyone at the cemetery the last time she had visited. Suddenly, the young lady remembered seeing that little doll. It had been laid on top of a small grave, not far from where her family rested. A moment later, the room got colder, the young lady shivered, and the doll began to morph into something menacing. Its eyes enlarged and the mouth got wider. With pure hunger the doll continued to stare. The young lady gasped, and with a quivering voice asked the little girl, “where did you get that doll?”. The little girl stood silently staring at the young lady. Before the young lady could exit the house, the doll and the little girl viciously attacked her. A couple days went by and multiple flyers all around town affirmed the disappearance of the young lady. With the loss of the lady and the nights getting darker, both assassinators still lurk the town with hunger. (Runner-up, Writers Craft)

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Untitled by Wylder Rheinschild One night, after a long road trip, I needed a place to stay. Since I was on a budget at the time, hotels were something that I could not afford. As usual, I open AirBNB on my phone in hopes of finding a cheap, yet secure, place to spend the night. After a bit of scrolling through countless posts, I stumbled upon a listing at a fair price. Better yet, it was only an hour away from where I was. Also, the owner of the house is away for the week so I will have the house to myself. Once I arrived, the home did not seem to be the one that I remembered in the post on Airbnb. Since it was already close to midnight, I was much too tired to care. I stepped up to the door and gave it a knock. Seconds later, the blinds peer open, and then an old woman approaches the door. "Can I help you?" she asks in a tired voice. "Uhh.. I just messaged you. I believe that you have a post on Airbnb. " I said, Sure enough, she opens the door and invites me in. The whole vibe of the home felt off. The lady invited me to take a seat while she went to prepare us something to drink. As I looked around, I noticed that this home seemed to be over a hundred years old. There was antique furniture caked in dust, and the carpet had no footprints except for my own. No noise came from the kitchen. As minutes passed, I decided to go take a look. As I peeked into the kitchen, I saw no signs of this strange woman. As I creep back to the couch, I sit down in the dead-quite house. At this point, I was getting creeped out from the whole experience. "This place hasn't been touched in years," I thought to myself. As I went to leave, I noticed the lady moving at an abnormal pace down the hall. In shock, I stood and stared down the hall, confused at what I had just witnessed. I slowly followed down the hall trying to get this lady's attention since I was not sure where I was sleeping. As I turn the corner, I see an open door with a bed and piles of clothes all over the floor. Assuming this is where I was sleeping, I lay down. Instantly, I passed out, asleep. I wake up to flashes in the middle of the night. "There must be thunder," I think to myself. I blinked my eyes open, exhausted. Right in front of me, on the frame of the bed, I see an animated 189

smile and a camera pointed directly at me. As I open my eyes wider, I see complete horror. A tall, human-like figure, with a mask of a human head, is staring directly at me. This thing had a camera and was taking photos of me sleeping. In shock, I stutter, "h-hello?" Me and this random creature stare each other down for a few seconds. "Go back to sleep, you're dreaming" whispers an eerie voice. I shut my eyes and hope this never happened. As I hear the door shut, I immediately get up and check the window. It is bolted shut with nails and I see bloody fingerprints on the latch. Too afraid to open the door, I stood frozen in the middle of the floor. Minutes pass. With a rush of adrenaline, I run as fast I can out the door and down the hall. I dive for the front door. I turned and twisted the lock-in in every direction and nothing was working. The front door was jammed. Panicked, I raced for the kitchen. I search drawers and cabinets trying to find something for defense. Next to the fridge, I noticed a bulletin board with little polaroid photos of people sleeping in the bed I was in. Underneath these photos, there was an image of their dead body with what looked to be a ritual performed around them. Stunned, I slowly backed away and cried for help. I collapsed on the kitchen floor. Down the hall, I hear a door shut and multiple footsteps approaching the kitchen. In terror, I look around for my last hopes of surviving. Above me, there happened to be a drop-down attic. I climb onto the counter. Right as the footsteps got to the end of the hall, I pushed open the attic door and leaped in. As I pulled myself up, I could hear her running and shouting. I crawl as fast as my legs can across broken glass and boxes. As I felt around, I found a wooden box and put it above my head. I stand up and with force, slam a hole through the roof. As I climb through this small hole covered in splinters, I realize that it is all up to this moment. I take a deep breath and step back. In full sprint, I leaped off the room into the neighbor's bushes and rushed to my car. I slam the car shut and quickly lock the doors. Shouting, the lady I just saw was running to my car with a psycho look on her face. Banging on my window, she lets out an awful scream. I slammed on the gas and maneuvered my way out of the neighborhood. The entire drive, I was shivering with fear and could barely even think. Pulling into a parking lot, I dial for the police. I 190

tell them everything. After a short conversation, they told me that they would go and investigate the situation and that I needed to stay put for evidence. I turned around and drove over to the house where the police were already there and at the door. The police knocked and wait for several minutes. As fifteen minutes pass, they walk back to their car and tell me that they will look up the address in their system. A few minutes later, an officer approached my car. He tells me, "this house has been abandoned for over seven years."

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Untitled by Cash Whitney Kathrine was clicking away on a typewriter. The power had apparently shriveled to the point of no return, so a candle smoldered on her desk; a mess of papers, the light wood branded with dark brown circles, and several drained mugs which appeared to be the culprit. A record winded with sound of her favorite record, the recurring ambience to the log cabin. Kathrine didn’t bother decorating for Halloween, as no one would come to the middle of nowhere in the woods of Montana for the hope of a piece of candy. She hated Halloween anyway; as a child it was her favorite holiday, but it gave a bad name to her genre. It made it seem like horror was something excluded for the 31st of October. Kathrine’s clicking finally stopped. She took the page off the typewriter, took one glance, crumpled it and threw it on the ground where it met its fate. She knew it wasn’t her best work, but she kept on writing because there was nothing else to do. Other than taking out the trash which she dreaded doing; autumn in Montana meant no snow, but it still bit, and as much as she hated to admit it the dark scared her. She spent her day reading and writing about monsters and the supernatural and as little as she believed in it the fear still thrived. The last few nights she had procrastinated, and she had forgotten the last five days and now the trash began to smell horrid. She grabbed a coat and began the stretch to the other side of the cabin; an abnormally long walk due to her great grandfather being a failure at architecture. About halfway there the flashlight died, leaving her nothing, but silence. She hesitated then took a step forward, it seemed as if the temperature lowered by ten degrees; she took a deep breath. It felt like she was breathing pure mint, it burned and stung her taste buds. Despite her best judgement, she took another step, it got colder still. She kept going. Further and colder. It felt like the saliva in her mouth was frozen. That's when she looked up from the ground. There was the appearance of a tall skinny man without a flashlight. However, with the power out she could only make out the silhouette.

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She hated herself for what she did next; she called out with the loudest voice she could muster, “Hello? Hello?” She croaked, “sir are you lost?” The man turned with the finesse of a creaky door hinge. That's when he started to run towards her. What she thought was a couple yards away was an optical illusion: the man was actually about 13 feet tall and not a man at all. She stooped there in awe, and froze in terror. Her mind caught up to her and she started to run the cold thumping in every step, but then… well her screams could tell you the rest of the tale.

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