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Cover image “Noctis Silentii; Night of Silence” by Stephen Layton
Philomathean MMXXV
Secrets
Discovering Secrets: A Prologue
By Luis Gutiérrez Palacios
The Philomathean has been a strong advocate for student voices in the Bridgewater community since 1896, bringing people together through both triumphs and challenges. Created by Bridgewater College students, it has grown into a sanctuary for creative minds, featuring a wide range of artistic and academic work. Within its pages, unique perspectives and diverse voices spark the curiosity of readers This year’s theme, “Secrets,” explores the mysteries that lie behind artists and writers, brought to life through their compositions.
At first, the theme of “Secrets” inspired submissions filled with mystery and intrigue; however, as the number of entries grew, we discovered compositions that reached beyond furtive privacy. The secrets our submitters shared with us revealed stories of love lost, private passions, and unrecognized talents. As is often the case, our community captivated us with their depth and vulnerability. Each piece peeled back layers of human experience, offering glimpses into hidden emotions, long-forgotten memories, and bold imaginations The choice of our theme, selected for its openness and mystery, exceeded expectations, expanding beyond its original intent and inspiring creators to explore uncharted ideas and perspectives that both captivate and curiosity
We cordially invite you to dive into this year’s issue of the Philomathean. Look beyond the hidden and the untold, discover the stories of a fearless community, and explore the mysteries that shape us and the voices that make us who we are.
The Sister I Never Had
By Caroline Green
Caroline Green studies Digital Media Arts at Bridgewater College
Secrets Woven in Love’s Embrace
By Sydney Collins
In the dark corners of our hearts, secrets reside, Where tender words and buried fears silently collide
Love, a fragile echo, dances on the edge of night, Between whispered vows and hidden fright
What do we hide when we say, "I’m yours"?
What pain is buried behind closed doors?
In every kiss, a fear concealed
A past untold, a wound unhealed.
I fear the moment you look too deep, Where all my fears and failures sleep. Do you love me, or love the dream
The parts of me that seem pristine? What secrets lie in silent hearts?
What shadows pull love's seams apart?
Every “forever” has a crack, Every whispered “I love you ” turns back. Will you hold me when I’m undone, When all my secrets bleed and run?
Love cannot exist in perfect light
It rises from the depths of night. For love is more than hearts entwined; It's trusting you will still be mine, When all that's hidden comes to be shown, And we face our truths in the great unknown
So lay your secrets bare to me, And I will give you all of me
Let’s find the beauty in the scar
The truth of who we really are
In every break, in every bend, We find the strength to love again
A love that dares to show its face
That finds its grace in our embrace
Sydney Collins studies Criminology and Psychology at Bridgewater College.
The Garden
By Aspen DeWan
“Goddess of Secrets.”
Vasillia doesn’t need to turn around to know who has entered her sacred garden. She knows that voice too well. “How can I help you, Goddess of Truth?”
She doesn’t mean to spit the goddess’s name like poison, it just happens. Centuries of pent up anger and aggression can only remain stagnant for so long, it must boil over eventually, and Vasillia is done trying to keep it locked deep down inside of her. If she is not allowed to physically act against the goddess, she will let her words do the work for her.
“Quite a nice setup you have here.” The Goddess takes a seat down next to Vasillia, not even bothering to glance at her.
“Are you going to tiptoe around my question?” Vasillia asks.
The Goddess of Truth, Seraphyx, doesn’t answer at first. She sighs longingly, tilting her head back to glance at the sea of stars above. The vast expanse of heavens seems to stretch on forever. It somehow always finds a way to make Vasillia feel completely and utterly alone. Some might argue that being the Goddess of Secrets is a desolate life. And while Vasillia cannot deny that fact, there isn’t much she can do about it either.
Vasillia glances at Seraphyx. Silence comfortable? Uncomfortable? She can’t tell washes over them Seraphyx plays with her blonde hair, her spine as straight as a ruler no doubt in an attempt to keep her baby blue off-shoulder cocktail dress from touching the fountain’s water Vasillia hates how much the color fits in with the vibrant theme of her garden Nothing like her, so vicious underneath the surface, should touch her perfect rows of organized flowers She might poison them
“As much as it pains me, I need a favor ”
Vasillia’s eyebrows furrow She can’t help but stomp her black and red lace-up boots in an attempt to keep her fist from swinging “Why would I do anything for you? And what the hell do you need from me anyway–”
Everything clicked The only reason the Goddess of Truth would seek out the Goddess of Secrets would be to either figure out a secret being kept from her, or to turn in a secret herself It’s Vasillia’s job to keep all secrets safe no matter what and do so by transforming them into something other than their original form After spending an eternity surrounded by nothing but nature, it was only fitting that they spun into flowers
The thought almost makes her smile The Goddess of Truth is harboring a secret
Vasillia glances at the row of dark roses on her left The flowers with a meaning as daunting as their colors should not take up as much space as they do Vasillia does not know how often humans go about killing each other, but it’s clearly an unhealthy amount. Would Seraphyx’s secret fall there? Or would it be added to the rows of her purple hyacinths; a field of guilt so large nearly half her garden is nothing but a sea of deep purple.
If Seraphyx wants to turn in a secret, what could she have done that was so bad she can’t tell anyone? The thought heavily tempts Vasillia to take a look for herself, to dive deep through Seraphyx’s darkest, hidden thoughts, but something in her holds her back. No, she wants to hear Seraphyx say it herself.
“I made a mistake,” Seraphyx starts. “A bad one. I want to forget all about it and entrust it to you. Can you do that for me?”
The mention of a mistake causes Vasillia’s heart to clench, and she almost scoffs. After all, the first flower she placed down was her own. It started with just one, turning her secrets and pain into something beautiful; something bearable to look at Of course, it has expanded into so much more Millions of people have offered secrets of their own, and in doing so, it makes Vasillia feel less shame about her actions than she used to Now, cobblestone pathways edged with moss weave through perfectly organized groups of daisies, bluebells, and carnations; her beloved fountain at the center of all the color Unable to leave the garden, regardless of certain circumstances, she’s devoted the rest of her miserable, eternal existence to caring for these secrets, no matter how deadly they are
Vasillia hums, crossing her arms and pretending to think “You do understand the terms though, right?”
Seraphyx plays with the lace on her dress, tight-lipped, clearly avoiding the inevitable “I get to look at your secret before I turn it into the garden ”
When she only stares at Vasillia with deep blue eyes, Vasillia stands from her spot, pivoting on her heel to match Seraphyx’s gaze
“After this exchange, I want you gone For good ” Vasillia knows her words might sting the Goddess, but she doesn’t mind She hopes that they do Seraphyx had made mistakes before and never made a move to fix them, and now she’s taking the coward’s way out Not even Vasillia has had the nerve to try and transform one of her secrets without attempting to fix it The only ones she ever gives up are those that continue to haunt her, and she can’t have that
But that is only the beginning of the differences that pull the goddesses apart. Seraphyx dresses highly, wearing the newest clothes or the best cutting-edged fashion she can find to every occasion as if all eyes are on her. The star of the show. Vasillia, however, wears what her heart desires. Pants, free-flowing skirts, and blouses with billowing sleeves line her wardrobe; a type of style meant for freedom that she lacks in her everyday life. Vasillia’s heart, battered and bruised, fighting to keep its steady pulse amongst the thorns that hold it encapsulated, is nothing like Seraphyx’s; the vines that splinter and choke without consequence. The pure hair of Seraphyx, a staple for the Goddess of so-called Truth, mocks Vasillia’s cherry-red, which almost perfectly reflects the wounds that have never closed and bled out onto Vasillia for everyone to see.
Vasillia digs her nails into her palms in an attempt to clear her mind. Dwelling on the current Seraphyx only reminds her of how much the goddess has changed. Thinking about it too much is something she has to desperately tell herself not to do, especially in a life like this, where all she can do is sit and think about past mistakes to pass the time.
Yet, her body hums with power that coils under the surface; her ability ready to do its job. Once the secret transforms into a flower, the goddess will not remember it. Vasillia has the deepest urge to tell Seraphyx no; to let her wallow in her own regrets and pain so that it consumes her mind the same way it had with Vasillia’s But if making Seraphyx forget about something she's done is what it takes to get her to leave, then hell yeah Vasillia is going to do it
“I’m sorry,” Seraphyx mutters Vasillia clenches her teeth hard enough to crack She doesn’t want an apology Not from her Vasillia’s sharp eyes burn a hole into Seraphyx’s head Seraphyx’s shoulders sag slightly, and Vasillia watches her arms twitch, threatening to pull into herself
Coward! Vasillia wants to scream She forces herself to swallow the word down, a lump forming in her throat
Vasillia wants Seraphyx out of her garden If she has to keep looking at the goddess's face any longer, Vasillia doesn’t know how well she’ll be able to hold herself back
She extends her hand “Do we have a deal?”
Seraphyx drags her eyes from Vasillia’s hand up to her face Pushing herself off of the fountain, she
shakes Vasillia’s hand. “Yes,” she responds shallowly. “Deal.”
The air around them sucks in heavily. A smoke-like darkness creeps through the garden until it reaches them
Then it encases them
Vasillia stands alone, yet almost immediately she can tell this secret is something different than she has ever seen before Something about it is so familiar So personal She can’t place her finger on it, but the feeling sends something shivering down her spine like a snake
Only when she takes a step forward is she aware of the water beneath her It clings to her flared bell-bottom pants, stinging her skin like ice She tries her best to ignore it, even though water has never been the setting in anyone else's secrets
A beam of light shoots down like a spotlight, illuminating the group of figures in front of her
Oh gods Not this Her eyes widen Her stomach drops Her legs shake Her heart beats in tandem with the impending thoughts that flood her mind and try to take over
The scene unfolds, an unwelcome memory that she’d rather drown than remember
“What the hell did you do, Vasillia!?” the Goddess of Love, Amias, screeches, eyes blazing with rage
“I–I had no choice!” young Vasillia cries She intertwines her hands, a silent prayer for forgiveness Her tears trail the blood on her face downwards
As young Vasillia cries, the water current underneath Vasillia slowly rises She curses silently
“You killed a god! Do you understand the severity of what you have done?”
“P–please! I had no choice! Let me explain!” young Vasillia sobs, her words choppy. Amias scowls, disgust plastered on her face. She turns to look at the other person in the room.
Seraphyx.
“If this mortal hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have known of your crime!”
Young Vasillia’s eyes shoot open, and she can’t help the tsunami of tears that escape. Seraphyx, her friend, had betrayed Vasillia’s deepest secret.
“And you couldn’t stop at a god, you had to bring a human to the heavens! A human, Vasillia! Every new deity knows not to mess with mortals!” Amias lashes out again, sharp nails digging into Vasillia’s skin leaving massive, burning scratches. All Vasillia can do is scream, wild eyes finding Seraphyx’s amidst the chaos. Please, help me, she pleads. Seraphyx hugs herself with her arms, remaining silent.
“Ugh, how I wish I could strip you of that power of yours. ”
“Please, Goddess, he was trying to rid me of my home! I didn’t mean to kill him!”
“Your home? Girl, that sorry excuse of a garden is not a home.”
Amias throws young Vasillia to the ground and turns to Seraphyx, who is shaking like a leaf. Young Vasillia tries to stand, but her knees betray her, bruised and fractured like her heart
“Thank you for bringing this news to me Hopefully, we can stop her before she turns into a monster ” Amias strokes back Seraphyx’s hair in an attempt to soothe her Oh, how young Vasillia wishes she was being comforted Why wouldn’t anyone listen to her? She didn’t mean to kill him! It’s not her fault! Young Vasillia tries to call out again To explain herself The only noise that comes out of herself is a scattered croak of desperation
Young Seraphyx passes her eyes over Vasillia’s broken and bloodied body Only then does she start to cry
The water under Vasillia rises again
Four angels are called to the scene and arrive within seconds They have to pry Vasillia off the floor with their bare
hands to keep her grounded. Vasillia screams, cries, and kicks, just to try and justify herself. To get Seraphyx to talk to her one last time. To hear Seraphyx’s voice. In the end, Seraphyx turns her back on Vasillia. She didn’t even say a word, young Vasillia thinks Not one
The scene stops abruptly, but it doesn’t stop Vasillia from the overbearing feeling of choking She claws at her throat, trying to breathe air back into her lungs She has to lock her knees to keep herself from falling apart completely Her heart beats like a hammer in her chest, so intense that she believes for a split second that it will pop out
Even though she hasn’t recovered, the scene changes and starts up again This new one, Vasillia knows is new She isn’t quite sure if she wants to
Seraphyx stands surrounded by deities The God of Heaven looks at her with curious and sympathetic eyes
“What what will happen to Vasillia?” she asks with a shaky voice
The God of Gods smiles slightly “The Goddess of Secrets will be locked inside the place she calls home We won’t rid her of her powers, though I personally think they do her more harm than good ”
Seraphyx doesn’t respond at first Her eyes stay locked on the ground, staring at her shoes She knows what she did was wrong to Vasillia Vasillia had trusted her with everything Her, a mere mortal, had betrayed Vasillia in return
But Seraphyx is destined for more than the life of a mortal She is destined for more than a life of pain Living on Earth as only a human has given her nothing but dismay and utter misery Vasillia had her reasons for killing a god, and Seraphyx has her reasons for turning Vasillia in. Even if it hurt Seraphyx to her core.
“Now…us deities are so impressed by what you have done. You, a human, have been strong and brave, courageous and kind. You, Seraphyx, have been truthful. And the Goddess of Love asked me to do something for you. ”
Yes, this was what Seraphyx wanted. But why does it hurt so bad now that she finally has it in her grasp?
“What is it?” she queries.
“You have proven to be worthy of the afterlife. Proven yourself to be worthy of being an entity destined for greatness.”
Greatness, she thinks. But who will she share that greatness with?
“You, Seraphyx, I want to ascend to the heavens.”
This is what I wanted, she tries to remind herself.
“You will no longer be a mortal,” the God of Gods says. “You will now be known as Seraphyx, the Goddess of Truth.”
And the God of Gods gave her power then and there with the flick of his hand. The other deities in the room applaud her with smiles and cheers of happiness and triumph. They tell her she stopped a monster from forming. That she saved the heavens.
But it certainly doesn’t feel that way to her.
Vasillia can’t stop crying The tears flow out of her as if on autopilot, raising the water below higher and higher, until it covers her head Slowly, she runs out of oxygen The more she tries to swim to the top, she realizes she can’t She coughs, grasping her ribs
She starts to drown in an ocean of her own tears
SPLOOSH! The water breaks like a dam, and Vasillia drops down onto solid land once again Her hair whips around her like the stray fluff from a dandelion The familiar cobblestone path has her gasping in relief Her prison; her home A deep shiver runs through her body, covering her in goosebumps
When she looks around, Seraphyx is nowhere to be found
Seraphyx The one she trusted most, turned her in to become a goddess Betrayed her to gain power and a different life
Betrayed her to become the Goddess of Truth.
The reality of it all breaks her mind and sends her spiraling in ways she didn’t know even existed, threatening to break her apart
Is she even alive? Should she be alive? What reason even is there?
What the hell do I have left except for my Garden of Secrets!?
Light emits from her hands, and she pushes herself up to sit back on her heels with a sniffle Holding them out in front of her, a flower forms from Seraphyx’s secret, the roots trailing down her wrist and curling around her forearm as if in comfort The color shifts from pure, stark white to a dark purple as the secret settles in and takes its final form
A purple hyacinth drops into her hands
Vasillia holds it to her chest carefully, making sure not to crush any of the petals the same way that Seraphyx did to her heart
Who could have known?
Vasillia takes the flower in her hand and stands She will plant this one with extra care and choose its final home among the others: a constant reminder of everything that they had, and what they could have been
Aspen DeWan studies at Loudon County High School
Serpent Whispers
By Brand Hagerman
Brand Hagerman studies Art at Bridgewater College
How to Keep Your Lover Safe
By Safalta Shrestha I promise
No one will know how ethereal you looked under that moonlight or how soft your hands felt as is intertwined mine under the blankets the first night you stayed over.
Outside of this room there’s no evidence of my hands trailing along your bare back as I write my name. Or of the first gasp you took when my hands caressed you under your sweater.
My lips will never forget the sweet taste of you but will always be sealed shut when your name is mentioned among friends who don’t suspect anything, family who would never accept us, and people who would rather see us die than together
My hands that once ran through your hair, as you spoke about our future, will choke me to death before I ever utter a single word about the hope we once had
I will erase the picture of two girls going over a grocery list, sitting at their dinner table in a place they call their own I will no longer dream of us Of a future where two of us survive this world and make a home in it.
Safalta Shrestha studies Psychology at Bridgewater College
Forbidden Love
ByAshlynFoglemanandJonathanNorthrup
AshlynFogleman studies Music Performance at Bridgewater College
Jonathan Northrup studied Theater and Music Performance at Bridgewater College He graduated in 2024
Sometimes Love Can’t Be Enough
By Samantha Katlyn Herbst
Amity’s face grew pale as she put down the letter. It was such an uncommon thing, writing a letter, but the existence of such a letter did not trouble her as much as the contents itself. Taking a moment to compose herself, Amity glanced over at her roommate, who looked as frightened of the situation as she was distressed over the contents. The letter was as strange as it appeared.
Sighing, Amity handed the letter back. “Are you sure about this, Jaime? This letter may damage more than just your friendship.”
“I have to.” She took the letter back and folded into an envelope. “Besides, the chances of us ever meeting again are very slim. He deserves to know the truth before we graduate and never see one another again.”
“But what if you do see each other again?”
“Where would we meet again? A public park ten years from now?” Jaime sat at her desk and took out a pen.
“Our career paths will never change and I highly doubt we’ll ever work for the same company Besides, he’s much too interested in dating girls he has nothing in common with to ever reciprocate a thing” She sighed as she wrote his name on the front of the envelope and sealed it “I have never been of interest to him, in that way, anyhow”
Glancing up at the ceiling, Amity sighed “I’m sure they shared hobbies you are unaware of You are much too hard upon other girls, sometimes ”
“And why shouldn’t I be?” Jaime’s face heated up “When most other girls have always been hard upon me?! I never had much in common with girls in my classes, and I was ridiculed for it If they have no respect for me because of my differences, then why should I have any respect for them?”
Storming out of the room, Jaime’s roommate shook her head She stared at the letter left behind, and pondered Her roommate never gave her any issues and did her best to be a good roommate, but was often difficult to understand The girls were able to bond over common interests and shared experiences with past bullies, but Amity was unable to see eye to eye with Jaime on much else After all, most considered her roommate to be on the odd side. And though she could see why, she didn’t blame her for it. There was something she never talked about; something was just out of reach for Amity.
As she was thinking over Jaime’s personality and reasonings, she heard a knock on the door that forced her back into reality. Looking at the time, she realized at least ten minutes had passed since her roommate had left, and thinking she was knocking on the door after forgetting to grab her keys, Amity reached the door.
“Jaime, did you forget-?” She stopped short after opening the door to Lucas, who only looked nervous. He looked down at his feet, which seemed so out of character with what everyone else saw of him. She could see what other girls saw in him, and what his ex-girlfriend saw, in regards to his features, but that clearly was never what Jaime liked about him It was his nervousness combined with his nerdy, overly polite personality And unlike most girls who crushed on him, she felt nothing more than friendship for the first few months they knew each other, only to later be hit by them She still had difficulty understanding what feelings were, as she was extremely repressed compared to the other girls in her high school classes Amity knew it wasn’t her fault
Looking over his shoulder, Lucas sighed “Do you have any idea where Jaime is?”
She crossed her arms, “Not really She just left ” Pointing down the hall, she waited until he was looking that way before turning back to glance at her roommate’s letter “I wouldn’t go after her if I was you, ” she said point blank
“Why?”
Amity could feel herself frozen in place “I just have a feeling she won’t want to talk to you right now ” Lucas again looked over his shoulder Without thinking about it, she called out to his roommate: “What’s going on, Harrison?”
“Dude, I told you not to look over your shoulder!”
Lucas only shrugged and moved back so Amity and Harrison could see each other. He seemed to move his thoughts back into his head so they could talk. For a couple of seconds, they observed each other before she asked what was going on. Harrison looked at his roommate before deciding to finally answer.
“He’s so oblivious.” When she asked him what about, Harrison shook his head. “I mean Jaime. There’s no way you didn’t see it.”
Of course she knew, but Amity bit her cheek. “What about Jaime?”
“You know, about her liking him and him being too oblivious to even notice until I said something.” He glanced over at Lucas before continuing. “I had to convince him to at least have a talk with her about it, instead of just ignoring the situation like he wanted I have no idea how he wants to move forward, but it’s at least a start ”
“I think it’s a little too late for that ” Her face went white “She’s thinking about ending the friendship, so she doesn’t have to deal with it anymore ”
“Hey, Lucas!” Harrison shouted over When Lucas didn’t respond, he rushed over “Hey, dude! Listen to me ” Suddenly Lucas’ eyes came back into focus, and he blinked in surprise at his roommate “Do you still want to talk to her?”
He remained silent for a moment “I think so ”
“You two really deserve each other!” Harrison shook his head, recalling Jaime’s similarly undecisive nature when really necessary “I think you need to talk to her now ” Lucas looked at his feet awkwardly before nodding
Amity watched as her roommate’s fingers flew across the keyboard without once looking at the keys Outside of school, this was the only thing she cared about She had no other passion besides that instrument It took up the majority of her life once school hours were over, but she never spoke about it She made very few friends outside of the three of them, and instead used school as the majority of her socialization
Harrison snuck up behind Amity, making her yelp In response, she shoved him away from her and told him to keep quiet He looked at Jaime on the small stage, realizing that she had yet to even notice either of them sitting in the back of the secondary auditorium Laughing, he shook his head and couldn’t help but comment on how her and Lucas already made sense Yet Amity shivered There was no way her roommate would feel like she could go out with him, even if he asked After all, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Jaime that Lucas broke up with his girlfriend months ago If Jaime wouldn’t jump at dating him before he dated the girl, despite her feelings, Amity didn’t see the point in telling her anything else
“Hey, Amity.” He climbed over the seat to sit next to her. “I know you said no last month, but I was wondering-”
“No. I haven’t changed my mind.” But had she? She didn’t think dating friends was a promising idea, but she respected and liked Harrison. How she liked him, she wasn’t sure, after all she never gave it much thought. Breathing deeply, she looked back at her roommate. “If you give me three good reasons why we should go out, I’ll concede.” He burst into a smile at that, but she continued. “It doesn’t have to be right now though.” Knowing Jaime was nearing the end of the piece, she whispered: “I want to talk to her younger sister.” His eyes flashed with surprise. “But Kassandra hates her!”
“Most younger sisters hate their older sisters. Besides, if you had an overly-protective older sister like Jaime, I think you’d get where she was coming from.”
Suddenly the keys thudded at the finale and the lid slid shut causing both Amity and Harrison to jump in their seats Jaime stood up and stared at them for a moment “How long have you guys been there?”
Two hours later, Kassandra sat at the campus café She stared at the window looking into the café, before drinking her coffee As she waited for her guests, she lit her cigarette, trying to forget those days Despite being three years younger than her sister, she had used smoking as her escape as soon as she could Yet it was a habit she did everything she could to hide from Jaime and their parents
Amity and Harrison stood at the other side of the café, out of her sightline, watching her with hesitation Though they had arranged to talk to her, neither of them felt ready Was it a betrayal to go behind their friend’s back to find out the secrets she refused to discuss? Or was this the best choice to understand her decisions?
Looking over, Kassandra gestured for them to approach her. Slowly, they made their way to the table, glancing at each other every once and a while Kassandra broke the silence after they were seated “You asked to meet me I’m here, so why are you guys acting like sloths?” She smirked when Harrison grimaced “Does Jaime know you’re meeting me?”
Amity looked away “No”
“That’s for the better I think ” She put out her cigarette and turned to them “Why did you ask to meet me?”
For a moment or two, no one spoke After ordering another coffee from the server, Kassandra took out a picture and put it face down on the table Both Amity and Harrison glanced at each other, and Kassandra laughed “What, are you two a couple or something?”
Harrison blushed at that “Is it alright if we just focus on Jaime?” Kassandra smirked in response, but Amity decided it was time She took his hand and nodded Harrison grinned, but Kassandra only laughed At that, Amity had the courage to speak
When she had finished, Kassandra sighed and finally turned over the picture She pointed to the photograph and asked if they recognized anyone in it
Looking at the photo, Amity nodded. She pointed to the child in the middle. “That’s Jaime.” Her finger moved to the next child. “And that’s you. ” Kassandra nodded as Amity pointed to the baby. “Is that Ryan?” she asked, regarding their younger brother.
Kassandra nodded. “And do you know who the fourth figure is?” Both Amity and Harrison shook their heads. Kassandra sighed. “That was Morana. The oldest.”
Suddenly, Harrison looked up. “I thought Jaime was the oldest.”
“Well, she is now. ” She bit her lip as she tried to keep herself together. “This picture was taken three weeks before Jaime and Morana were kidnapped, and Morana’s been dead for almost fifteen years now. ” She turned away for a moment. “Jaime blames herself for it.” She put the picture back in her pocket, and accepted the coffee from the server. Meanwhile, both Amity and Harrison were in shock at the news. Neither could speak as Kassandra took a sip of her fresh coffee. “You know that Jaime has never been on a date before, but she will never allow herself to be happy, because she thinks that Morana would still be alive if she had seen through the stranger’s disguise But my sister was there with Morana until she was killed And I’m sure other things were done to her that Jaime will never speak about From what her psychiatrist said, Jaime has been reliving that pain over and over She has recovered enough to function in society, but not enough to truly live in society”
And that’s when Amity knew Jaime’s piano and her aversion to dating were her coping mechanisms, just as smoking was Kassandra’s Ryan wasn’t old enough to remember, but he was known for shutting down when things got bad In the end, Jaime was going to end up alone, by choice
Harrison jumped up in surprise. “We’ve got to tell Lucas before he says something to Jaime!” Amity nodded, but didn’t get up until Kassandra told them to go so she could deal with her own pain.
He remembered how, despite her sometimes timid nature, she would debate with him on subjects for fun Or how she would feel the pain of characters in their favorite films even more than what other people recognized She was gentle to those in need, and he appreciated that in her During their freshman year, she even allowed him to listen when she practiced; something she had difficulty allowing anyone else to do Back then, he believed the piano was her first love, but now that Harrison told him what he now realized he had been blind to, he knew she was just as human as everyone else It wasn’t just about music for her It was about true human emotions outside of that world
Lucas only wanted to discuss the situation He was unsure whether he felt one way or the other, but he knew Jaime needed a friend the most As he watched her from a dining hall table, he began to wonder which approach would work better Harrison said he and Amity were talking to Kassandra, so he had no idea what to say If it wasn’t for his roommate, Lucas wouldn’t have even known He was oblivious to Jaime’s feelings, and he knew she wasn’t good at expressing what she felt to begin with
Without a thought, he approached the table she sat at and asked to sit down. Her face changed color, but she still nodded. He sat down beside her, as they had done even after he started dating his ex, and sighed. This wasn’t going to be like their normal conversations. This was going to be what would break them or what would bring them closer. In her pocket, she traced the infamous letter, knowing deep within her soul, this conversation was going to break her heart. ...
Making it to Harrison’s room an hour later, Amity opened the door with him to find Lucas sitting under the bed, leaning against the wall. He looked up at the bottom of the mattress and looked hollow. Next to him was Jaime’s letter. Amity approached him, asking what had happened while Harrison picked up the letter and read aloud:
“My dear friend,
There is nothing I hate more than hurting a friend, but it must be done Out of the few friends I have made here, you have been the only one I grew close to Amity will forever be like a sister to me, but it is you I have the most regrets with Since our earliest days here, I have seen you as the friend I could rely on and spend endless time with We were friends who shared so much together and could understand each other However, you could never understand one thing that will forever haunt me
Now, I will never tell you, or anyone else, the details of my childhood, as the anguish is still fresh, despite the years that have passed But I can never have a relationship, no matter who it is You have been my true love for the past three years, and that pain only deepened after you started dating that girl I feared for you far more than I was jealous, but the feelings I had developed for you prior to the relationship never changed Due to my feelings, I have decided to end our friendship, so I no longer have to grieve for a love I myself had
forbidden. I am telling you of this so you understand why I could never be with you, even if you decided by some miracle I was worth dating, and why I am forever cutting off our friendship.
I wish you all the love in the world and hope you find your true love, but it will never be me Thank you for the wonderful times you have granted me just by being my friend
With love, Jaime”
Samantha Katlyn Herbst studies Professional Writing and General Music at Bridgewater College
Beyond the Four Numbers
By Elizabeth D’Aurora
0-2-8-9
I need to remember that number
0-2-8-9
Such a random number
0-2-8-9
That’s the code
0-2-8-9
What was it for again
0-2-8-9
Mother says I need to stay here
0-2-8-9
But where is here
0-2-8-9
I miss them
0-2-8-9
Maybe I can go see them
0-2-8-9
But Mother says to stay here
0-2-8-9
But I’m lonely without them
0-2-8-9
I’ll just poke my head out
0-2-8-9
There’s the door
0-2-8-9
It’s locked
0-2-8-9
A code
0-2-8-9
Maybe that’s what this is for 0-
But why would it be locked -2-
Mother says it’s to keep me safe -8-
Safe from what -9
*click*
0-2-8-9
Finally, I’ll get to see them
0-2-8-9
see them
No… Mother says to stay inside
0-2-8-9
Mother knows best…
0-2-8-9
Mother them I want to see them. I MUST go see them.
0-2-8-9 sunshine open
Oh, Mother will punish me for sure!
0-2-8-9… Safety… Closed…
But will she ever know if I leave right now ?
0-2-8-9… Mother… Freedom… It’ll only be for a second…
0-2-8-9 Open Door
… Door… Closed…
Mother them
… Sunlight… Safety…
*click*
0-2-8-9… 0-2-8-9…0-2-8-9… 0-2-8-9…0-2-8-9…
0-2-8-9 0-2-8-9 0-2-8-9 0-2-8-9 0-2-8-9
0-2-8-9… 0-2-8-9… 0-2-8-9… 0-2-8-9… 0-2-8-9…
0-2-8-9…. 0-2-8-9 0-2-8-9 0-2-8-9 0-2-8-9 0-2-8-9
0-2-8-9 I miss them I miss them I miss them… I miss them… I miss them… I miss you… I miss you…I miss you… I miss you… I miss you… I miss you… Mother… Wait what was I supposed to remember again?
Elizabeth D'Aurora studies Business Administration at Bridgewater College
Alibi
By Ewan Benjamin
I’ve got a secret
It’s the worst thing I’ve ever kept
If I crawled to you
And I told you the truth
Would you forgive me as the sun came up again?
Forty days and nights since you walked out of that door
The dust on the knob haunts me with the memories of before
You ask me where I’ve been
The extent of my sin
But I only act in love
You don’t know what you condemn
Your stare is a sickness
That plagues me in my dreams
But if I did it all again
I wouldn’t change a thing
For thirty-three days she slept like a corpse
With her shallow breathing we could only pray to the Lord
As the snow fell over the evergreens, I couldn’t watch her die
But you just sat by her side, looking up and asking why
So with cotton and cashmere I stole her into the night
The tree line melting softly into the daylight
I carried her eighteen miles in the search of health
But the snow claimed another flake to its wealth
You ask me where I’ve been
The extent of my sin
But I only act in love
You don’t know what you condemn
Your stare is a sickness
That plagues me in my dreams
But if I did it all again
I wouldn’t change a thing
I know that you hate me, but you don’t know it all
I couldn’t just wait for the acts of some higher call
So when your words cut like glass
And you can’t see right through me
Just believe the lies I say and let these tears be my alibi
You ask me where I’ve been The extent of my sin
But I only act in love
You don’t know what you condemn
Your stare is a sickness
That plagues me in my dreams
But if I did it all again
I wouldn’t change a thing
But if I did it all again
I wouldn’t change a thing
I wouldn’t change a thing
Ewan Benjamin studies Political Science at Bridgewater College.
Best Wishes I Have To Keep Hidden
By Emelyn Buttercup Koene
Always loved what was never mine; didn’t know it, love was blind. I’d fall apart every time. I was yours, but you weren’t mine.
So naive to not see what you were. Wish you loved me like you loved her. But was it really quite so pure? She looked at me like filth and dirt.
You gave her the respect I earned. Our trust you ravaged, bent, and burned. All my feelings, you recklessly scorned. Alone at night, I tossed and turned,
as I longed for your embrace
I wasn’t trying to take her place
So please old dear, show me some grace, and tell me when you see her face,
was I ever loved by you? Or did you see her in me too?
I’m sorry that I hurt you two–you two, a pair, if I ever knew
I hope now, not to make you suffer
So I’ll hide your love for another and emotional affairs with your lover So best wishes to you and your mother
Emelyn Buttercup Koene studies English and Strategic Communication at Bridgewater College.
we return
By Meredith Scheiner
to the desperate and the desolate meeting in a dark blue room. the sky has faded, the birches close in–snow suffocates the sound.
we were there. I can't imagine us being anywhere else. he calls, and like soldiers we come to the dark blue room, hoping for the stars to unveil, the snow to shimmer, and the voice of God to rebound off the rocks and the trees until it’s unintelligible and unutterable in the room you couldn’t have been anywhere else but he’s right there the tv is on– static the veiled star reigns we’re asked to stay would you do it all for him again, knowing what you know now? would you watch the stars fade and the snow melt and the star rise by his side?
The voice of the dark blue room asks. could you bear it one final time? and the dark blue room burns down, and the unborn flower dies. the trees fall in, and the moon distances herself from us. that’s where you are now. you still see him suffer. only now we don’t reach out to him. what more could be done?
I couldn’t have been anywhere else. is loyalty ever enough? or will the birches clasp us eventually, tearing and shredding their bark in an attempt for our confessions can a confession forgive you of who you are deep down? if you reveal your roots, can you be released from them? the birches will have us, but they won’t have him we couldn’t have been anywhere else
Meredith Scheiner studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
JORDAN: That was actually so much fun, I’m super glad that we got to do that.
ROBIN: Yes, definitely.
SAM: We’ll have to do it again sometime.
Telephone rings from inside of the telephone booth.
SAM: Holy crap, I didn’t know those things rang like that
ROBIN: Yeah, I thought you could only call one-way through them
JORDAN: I dare one of you to answer it
SAM: Not me
ROBIN: I’m actually kinda curious (goes inside the telephone booth and picks up the phone)
SAM: Oh my goodness, I’m so glad you suggested that Robin has not stopped talking the whole night
JORDAN: I know, right? It’s just “Riley this, and Riley that ” Like what even is the big deal about Riley?
SAM: I don’t know, Riley always kinda annoyed me too
ROBIN: (walks out of telephone booth)
JORDAN: What did you hear?
ROBIN: Wouldn’t you like to know.
SAM: Don’t be a tease, did you talk to someone?
Telephone rings from inside of the telephone booth.
SAM: Ok, now I’m really curious, I’m gonna answer it this time
ROBIN: Be my guest
SAM: (goes inside the telephone booth and picks up the phone)
JORDAN: Gosh, Sam has just been too much tonight
ROBIN: You think so too? I was literally just thinking that
JORDAN: Like could you be more desperate?
ROBIN: I know And it’s not like Taylor was even paying any attention
JORDAN: Oh my gosh, don’t get me started on Taylor, talk about stuck up
SAM: (walks out of telephone booth)
JORDAN: Oh my goodness, what did you hear?
SAM: You’ll just have to listen for yourself.
ROBIN: Do you really think it’ll ring again?
SAM: I don’t know, it’s honestly kinda creepy.
Telephone rings from inside of the telephone booth.
JORDAN: Should I go in, this is honestly weirding me out a lot.
ROBIN: Of course you should, we both did and we’re fine.
JORDAN: Ok, fine (goes inside the telephone booth and picks up the phone)
ROBIN: Finally, Jordan is so obnoxious
SAM: I mean really Like why did we even do this again
ROBIN: Jordan always wants to go out, but is so not fun to be around
SAM: Yeah, thank God for Hunter, otherwise I don’t think anyone would like Jordan
JORDAN: (walks out of telephone booth) Well, that was weird
SAM: Definitely.
Telephone rings from inside of the telephone booth
ROBIN: Should we leave?
JORDAN: Yes
SAM: Same time next weekend?
ROBIN: I’d love to
JORDAN: Yeah, sounds fun
All three exit to the left
Emelyn Buttercup Koene studies English and Strategic Communication at Bridgewater College
The Mad Scientist
By Melissa Buckley
In a barren lab where the echoes creep, A mad scientist toils, lost in his deep
With wild, unkempt hair and eyes like a flame, He stirs his cauldron, driven by fame
Test tubes glisten with colors bizarre,
Each bubbling mixture a whispered memoir He jots down equations in frantic delight, Dreaming of chaos unleashed in the night
“Just one more ingredient,” he mutters with glee, “A touch of the moonlight, a splash from the sea ”
With laughter that dances on edges of dread, He plots to awaken the secrets long dead
The potion he brews, a dangerous game, Promising power, but not taking blame
With whispers of madness, it beckons the bold, A tincture of secrets too dark to behold
“Imagine the wonders! The worlds I could change! With this final elixir, nothing will seem strange!” But as shadows grow long, and the thunder rolls near, He pauses, sensing the weight of his fear.
For power unchained can devour the heart, And genius once praised can twist into art. Yet still he persists, his ambition a curse, In the flickering candlelight, he schemes to disperse.
In the depths of his madness, the line becomes blurred, Between science and sorcery, he’s lost in the word. A toast to the future! He raises his flask, But fate, ever watchful, waits for his task
Heed well this tale of the potion he’s made, A reminder that knowledge, unchecked, can invade. For in the heart of ambition, where secrets shine, Lies the danger of dreams that seek to design.
Melissa Buckley teaches Biology at Ni River Middle School
The Mistress of Harmoncroft House
By Elizabeth Burzumato
One dark and stormy night, because all stories of such bleak histrionics begin on dark and stormy nights, I was finally sitting down at my creaking, cracking desk in the hovel of an apartment that I rented above an old Irish pub in Boston
I’d only been back in America for a few weeks, having completed my degree at Oxford I had spent years as the poorest kid in my College, but the hit-and-run that killed my mother’s parents three years earlier had left me with a wad of cash that I had used to pretend to be just another one of the rich snobs. I had planned to show all of my old classmates that money meant nothing when I became the most successful writer of us all. Of course, after busting my ass in a program that I was barely qualified for, all I had to show for it was a pretentious line on an otherwise empty curriculum vitae.
So, I was back in America, fighting for the belief that I was a good journalist who was only thus unsuccessful because of his lack of a proper opportunity.
To combat this lack of inspiration, I decided that I would write a book: America’s Most Mysterious Murders. An anthology for the morbidly curious. So there I sat, with my steaming mug of the Queen Mum’s Earl Grey in hand, as the last landline in America began to ring.
I wish I could say there was some strange energy radiating from the device. That I could feel her through the ether and knew something was about to happen to me that would be written in the biography of my life. But, it was just a phone, and, like all phones do, it rang. So, I picked it up.
When she finally spoke, it was like fingers pressing through cashmere wool. Static and white noise, and then a hazy smoker's voice,
“Hector Velasquez.” Not a question or an affirmation of connection. It was very nearly a threat.
“Speaking.” No other words dared crawl out of my unshaven maw. The next second of silence wrapped around my skin like icy fingers and I held my breath
“This is Victoria Harmoncroft You contacted me last Thursday to inquire about my late husband ” I released my breath Her voice had a deep southern twang that did nothing to diminish the coldness I had always thought Southern women had a way of speaking that sounded like mixing sugar into your tea This scratchy haute was like a spider crawling up your neck
“Mrs Harmoncroft Yes,” I cleared my throat “I am glad to hear back from you I was hoping that I might ask you a few questions about ” I felt the words catch in my chest like a dry swallowed pill “About well ”
“Their deaths ” She finished for me Again, no question in her tenor There came the distinct crackling inhale of a cigarette and a long exhale I didn’t dare speak again, not until given permission to do so “Sunday,” she said at last “Eleven o ’clock Come to my home in Mystic I will tell you what it is that you seek to know” there was another hiss of a cigarette, a crackling of static, and then the buzz of the dial tone
I set the phone back into its cradle with shaky hands and attempted to blink away the cotton in my head The whole conversation had felt like a visit from a dark god Like a being from another realm had glided through my musty rooms and sucked the marrow out of my soul With every blink, I felt myself returning to my body Then, as any good reporter would, I opened a fresh document and began to write my questions, not yet realizing that I needn't even bother. This meeting would not be an interview, it would be a requiem.
Victoria Harmoncroft had not given me her address, but I knew where to go. Her home in Mystic, Connecticut was a legend Harmoncroft House had been her late husband’s family home Built by his ancestors upon their arrival in America 200 years ago I had secretly hoped in asking her for a meeting that I would be invited to the house, but now, as I drove through the massive rusted iron gate, I wondered if I had been a naive fool
The whole property looked like something out of an old penny dreadful The sky was nearly black with rain clouds that morning, and candles in the crumbling, arched windows rapidly blinked at me as if telling me to run in Morse code
I parked my rusty shit box in front of the worn stone staircase which pointed toward the front door in an almost threatening manner A chunk of the balustrade cracked off when I ran my curious fingers along the melting stone I rubbed the sandy debris between my fingers as if to stain my skin with the memory of this place Harmoncroft House felt like the kind of place one never leaves once they cross the threshold, and if I did manage to leave again, I would not do so as the same man I was when I entered
My fingertips had barely touched the ornate gargoyle knocker when the peeling wooden door swung inward A short, stout black woman in a long skirt and an apron perused me slowly from head to toe
“Good afternoon ” My voice came out thick from unuse during my long drive I removed my old knitted cap, knowing intrinsically that this left my choppy hair sticking up in all directions “My name is Hector Valasquez, I’m here to see… ” my throat suddenly went dry It was as if some specter of death had wrapped their fingers around my throat for daring to utter a name that I was unworthy to speak.
The little woman grunted and hobbled back a few steps to allow me in the door. She still eyed me with heavy suspicion. I stuffed my hat into my pocket and ran my fingers through my hair a few times. As I stepped over the threshold, I felt my real life begin.
The house was as stunning inside as it was haunting outside. It was surprisingly well-lit with shiny polished wood floors and winking crystal sconces. There was a grand staircase in the middle of the foyer and the ceiling felt miles above. A giant ornate chandelier hung above my head and end tables adorned with large bouquets littered the space. For such a large, old house with such a small, old maid, I was surprised that there was nary a cobweb or dull spot in sight. Even the air smelled like flowers and sunshine.
I imagined how different my life would have been if I had grown up with the kind of money this house boasted. I wouldn’t have had to work so hard to blend in with the rich pricks at Oxford, I would have truly been one of them. I sure as shit wouldn't be living in a dank apartment above a pub, but what other demons would I wrestle with if I had been raised in a museum like Harmoncfroft House?
The old maid shoved past me, breaking the spell that the house had me in, and hobbled towards a double doorway across the foyer. I followed, unsure what else to do.
The room we entered was cozy, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a roaring fireplace Like the rest of the house, there were bouquets of flowers on every table, matching the ornate couches and carpets And, in a high-backed red chair beside a vast window, with the sun shining deliciously across her features, sat Mrs Victoria Harmoncroft
She was striking in clean, pressed slacks with a black shawl wrapped around her shoulders Her solid white hair was thick and perfectly curled Even her makeup was flawless, dark lashes fluttered delicately, a cigarette hanging from painted red lips
She turned her head slowly and, when our eyes met, I held myself so still I dared not even breathe until she gave me permission to do so Her bony fingers, adorned with clean red nails, pulled the cigarette from her lips As she exhaled, a diplomatic smile twisted her face It looked like the kind of smile that she would have perfected as an heiress or a rich man’s wife A smile that entertains and invites A mask
“Mr. Velasquez.” Her voice had the husk of decades spent with a cigarette between her teeth, but it wasn’t the same as it had felt on the phone. It didn’t crackle through the air and freeze time. She wasn’t a name and a legend this time, she was just a woman A small, old woman, in a big, old house “Welcome to my home ”
“Mrs Harmoncroft, thank you ” I was cut off by the maid woman wrenching my coat off of my shoulders
“Mary Margret ” Mrs Harmoncroft’s voice turned sharp The maid stopped her wrenching and removed my coat with a gentler touch I mumbled a thank you and she shuffled away “Please sit,” Mrs Harmoncroft gestured to the matching high-backed chair facing her own
For ten minutes she smiled, poured tea, laughed demurely, and made polite conversation about the weather and my drive She asked me lots of questions about my family and my life
I watched her gaze out the window as a pair of cardinals landed on the bush below Her mask shone translucently for a moment, and I saw her face Eyes that had seen too much, lived too roughly A woman who had been more than just a wife and a widow
“Mrs Harmoncroft,” my voice caught in my throat and came out as a whisper She turned slowly, not bothering to set her mask again She knew what I had seen, that it was time
“You may ask me the question now ” She smiled sadly
“What question is that?” I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees
“You want to know if I killed my husband and my sister ” She was still smiling and she wrapped her shawl tighter around herself.
“Did you?” My heart beat so heavily in my ears that if she had spoken, I’m not sure I would have heard her. But she just wickedly smiled.
When Vicky Miller was seventeen she moved to Hartford with twenty-seven dollars and a newspaper ad for a secretarial job at Hollis and Harmoncroft Law Firm. Vicky worked for Mr. Charles Harmoncroft Jr. on the third floor of the tallest building in Hartford. The job consisted mostly of answering his phone and getting him coffee, it was easy to feel invisible, in fact, everyone in the office preferred her that way. She was expected to sit with her ankles tucked in the corner of his office and speak only when she was spoken to. And Vicky was good at her job. However, when Mr. Harmoncroft’s eldest son, Charlie, came to meet his father the afternoon of her third day at the firm, Vicky resented her invisibility for the first time.
Charlie was very tall with a loud laugh and a smile that always reached his sparkling blue eyes. When those eyes found hers, for just the smallest of moments, Vicky experienced the soft flutter in her stomach that she had quite seldom felt, and yet recognized immediately. And with a determination usually reserved for Generals and Missionaries, she knew what to do.
Vicky only had one skirt and three tops, but she styled her hair, her makeup, and her attitude so well that nobody had ever spoken a word about it At the end of the week, her paycheck read 32 dollars Vicky immediately split that paycheck in three She sent 10 dollars back to her family, six dollars went to the little motel she was living at, and 12 dollars went to a brand new dress It made her breathless to gaze upon It was cherry red with white polka dots, and a neckline more risque than anything she’d ever worn back home
She had bought the dress knowing that Charlie Harmoncroft would be in his father’s office again on Tuesday afternoon However, as Vicky stood in front of the cracked, stained mirror in her room, admiring her new dress, she thought only about her little sister Andy would turn 15 in a few days and it would be the first birthday they had ever spent apart Andy would have approved of the dress, and the motive behind it Vicky wrote her sister a letter, described the dress and the man as best she could, and enclosed one more dollar just for Andy Save up and come visit me soon, Vicky wrote as a tear slid down her face, I’ll even let you try on the dress
The following Tuesday, when Vicky peaked her head into Mr. Harmoncroft’s office, her new, lower neckline caught the attention of both Harmoncroft men.
“Excuse me, Mr Harmoncroft,” Vicky simpered “You have a meeting in an hour with Mr Delauder ” Mr Harmoncroft had only requested that she remind him twenty minutes prior, however, she was afraid she would miss the chance to speak in the presence of Charlie She needed him to see her, and as she brushed a stray curl of her soft blonde hair behind an ear, he did His dazzling eyes rendered her helpless to move
“Thank you, Vicky” Mr Harmoncroft’s voice broke the spell that Charlie’s presence had placed her under, she smiled her red lips as demurely as she could muster and stepped back out the doorway But before she shut it completely, she used one last trick that Andy had taught her from the magazine they’d found in their mother’s sewing basket years ago She angled her face down to the floor and slowly lifted her lashes, looking straight at Charlie’s handsome face through them His eyebrow quirked ever so slightly and she let out an exhale of relief that it had worked She’d practiced all night As she turned away, smiling to herself at her success, she made a mental note to tell Andy, she would be so proud
Sitting back behind her little desk, running a hand over the smooth skirt of her miracle dress, Vicky felt a twinge in her chest It was what some call female intuition or a survival instinct, but Vicky intrinsically knew that her life would never be the same
Four weeks later, in a letter to her sister, Vicky slid a clipping from the Hartford Herald into the envelope;
Charles Donovon Harmoncroft III to wed Victoria Ann Miller on March 15th in the year of our Lord 1956.
“You loved your sister.” Mrs. Harmoncroft had been staring at her hands, wrapped around her tea cup and shaking softly.
After a few breaths, she raised her head and gave me a watery smile. “With all my heart.” She stood and began to pace back and forth on the ornate Persian carpet. I stayed very still and simply observed. Mrs. Harmoncroft was like a captured peacock. Beautiful, strong, and graceful. And yet, I knew if I garnered her attention in any way, I could end up the subject of such wrath.
She stopped pacing and faced me, ice shot through my veins under her stare. A tear slid down her cheek and I felt a pull inside myself to go to her. I refrained, because somewhere inside of me I remembered that I was a professional, but my fingers pricked with the urge to hold her hand.
“I loved my sister,” she whispered again. “And I truly loved my husband too.”
I swallowed thickly before asking, “Then why…”
I couldn't finish the question. It wasn't the right question. Because despite all of the murmured stories and country club gossip, the woman standing before me with tears in her eyes did not seem like some black widow or vengeful devil she seemed like a woman who was lonely, heartbroken, and missing her family
“Mrs Harmoncroft, how did they die?”
Andy wasn’t even 16 yet when she showed up at the front door of her sister’s new home in Mystic Vicky had moved away from home, lived alone in a big city, married a man older and richer than she had planned, and was currently living in his enormous ancestral home with his entire family So, when she wrapped her arms around her little sister, it was one of those hugs that had the power to heal all that was broken
Vicky didn’t let go of Andy’s hand for a moment. Not as she showed her around the house, told her about married life, and introduced her to Mr. and Mrs. Harmoncroft Jr.. But, when Vicky’s striking new husband sauntered in wearing his riding boots, jacket gone, and sleeves rolled up, Andy Miller let go
“Alexandra Miller, it’s a pleasure to meet you my new brother ” Vicky would have snorted at her sister introducing herself as ‘Alexandra’ if not for the way she had rolled her shoulders back and lowered her lashes And Vicky could have taken her husband's arm if not for the way he offered it to her little sister, slowly dragging his eyes over the young woman’s body
Vicky even looked at her new parents-in-law, but they too were staring lovingly at the young girl in fresh curls and a simple dress before them Suddenly, Vicky felt something that she had worked very hard not to feel anymore which made her sick to her stomach She felt invisible And, when Charlie didn’t come to bed that night, Vicky knew why
There were three nights of waiting for Charlie to come to bed, only for him to slip in sweaty and stupid in the wee hours of the morning Vicky was starting to crack Andy had charmed her new family and spent all day dancing around her sister’s new house Three days without her husband touching her, not once Not a single night had passed since the wedding that Charlie hadn’t made love to his wife Even during her monthly courses, he made love to her in their wide, clawfoot, porcelain tub so they could clean right up after But Charlie had not so much as kissed her cheek in a sweet hello
On the fourth night, Vicky sat before her vanity mirror until a quarter past three in the morning when her husband slipped into their room Caught off guard by the lamps still lit and his beautiful wife clad in nothing but a sheer lace dressing gown, Charlie stopped short.
“You are still awake.” There was no question, simple confusion. Vicky locked eyes with her husband in the mirror and slowly, softly, slipped her fingers beneath the edge of her gown. And as it slid down her soft skin, she turned to face him. His eyes did not so much as darken as she stood, naked and perfect, and began to walk towards him. Charlie let his wife kiss him, let her drag her soft, slender fingers across his skin. But, as Vicky’s lips traveled across his jaw to the column of his throat, she made to place a soft, tantalizing kiss on the soft spot beneath his ear, when she noticed that the spot had already been claimed.
Her stomach dropped, her head went fuzzy, and her blood turned cold. Vicky had no idea what to do as her breaths began to quicken. She leaned closer again, thinking she could kiss him anyway. Nothing had changed in the last five seconds. She had known where he was spending his evenings, buried to the hilt inside her kid sister. But looking at the dark red love bite, already purpling in the middle, Vicky only thought about one hard, savage, hand-held piece that she wanted to wrap her fingers around…and it was in the bottom desk drawer in her husband’s study, not in his pants.
He didn’t stop her when she pulled away from him and redonned her gown. He had probably suspected that he sported a fresh love bite on his neck. However, what he didn’t consider was that he had not married one of the genteel ladies from the country club Charlie Harmoncroft had chosen Vicky Miller, a farm girl from the sticks who knew what to do when her fella did her wrong
“Vic ” Charlie looked at his wife with pleading eyes Her answering gaze was hard as stone In the span of a minute, she had become a gorgon of myth And she would not be invisible again
Striding from the room, still wearing nothing but her sheer lace gown, she floated down the grand halls like an avenging angel Charlie chased after her, calling her name, if only because she was nearly naked and he couldn’t risk his parents seeing his wife so unhinged She made quick steps down the staircase, across the entryway, and into the study
“Victoria ” Charlie spat harshly as he beheld his nearly nude wife cocking the small pistol from his desk “Put that down Now” At this, Vicky finally smiled
She slowly raised her eyes, and then she raised the pistol. Charlie stilled, smart enough not to plead. Vicky wanted to scream at him. She wanted to throw things and scream and hit him and scream again. She wanted to unload the little gun right between his eyes But she said nothing, she did nothing She just stood there, holding her husband's fate in her hand, feeling power she had never had before And then, “Charlie?”
Andy’s sweet, lilting voice made Vicky’s grip on the pistol tighten “Baby, what’s ” Andy stopped cold as she beheld the tableau in her lover’s study “Vicky ” It came out as more of a breath than a word
“You had to bite him ” Tears blurred Vicky’s vision and she blinked them free of her eyes “You couldn’t have just let me wonder, suspect You had to prove it ”
Andy took another step into the room “Vic, I’m ”
“No!” Vicky finally let out a piece of that scream she had been holding in “You don’t get to apologize to me ”
Andy started again “It’s not what ”
“I love her,” Charlie said, and the rest of the scream ripped from Vicky’s body Sobbing, uncontrollably now, Vicky fell to her knees She wrapped her arms around her barely covered body and, finally, uncocked the pistol
When she finally looked up, Charlie and Andy were wrapped around each other, and Vicky’s heart finished breaking She took three more steadying breaths before her voice came out in a tight whisper “Here’s what’s going to happen ” She stood, dragging the pistol with her to make sure the two traitors in front of her paid attention “You ” She pointed the pistol at her husband “Are going to leave, I don’t care where you go or what bullshit you have to spin, but I will never see your face, hear of your life, or see your name on my bank ledgers again.” He started to shake his head, but Vicky pointed the pistol at the trembling girl in his arms, and he stilled. “And you, are going home, and I never want to see you again.”
“No,” Charlie spoke. Vicky let out a hoarse laugh and cocked the pistol again. “I don’t recall mentioning that I was amenable to feedback on this.”
“Vicky, please ” Andy started before Charlie said again,
“I love her.” Vicky took a step closer and aimed the pistol right between her husband's eyes.
“I don’t care. She is a child, you fucking pervert!”
“I’m not!” Andy broke from his embrace and ran to her sister. To Vicky’s absolute bewilderment, Andy wrapped her arms around her waist and held on like her big sister was a buoy in a hurricane.
Finally…finally, Vicky uncocked the pistol and let it drop to the floor. She wrapped her arms around the shaking frame of her baby sister and held her.
“I’m sorry, Vic, I’m so sorry.” Andy chanted her apologies over and over until Vicky had soothed all of the panic from her. Leaning her head against her sister’s she whispered into her kid sister’s ear, “I forgive you. ”
Vicky released her sister abruptly and turned away She couldn’t look at them when she said what she had made up her mind to say
“Go, both of you I don’t care where, just leave Abandon me, but don’t divorce me I am keeping the money, the house, and your name You will not leave me penniless and damaged on the street I will not be the victim of this affair Run before I kill you both and let me live in peace ”
“Vic , ” Andy started to speak but Vicky was not finished
“I will take care of your parents and the firm, I will never speak of what occurred here and I will protect this family name, but I will never see or hear from either of you again Am I understood?”
There was a beat of silence before she heard a soft, breathy, “Thank you, ” from Charlie’s lips Vicky began to sob again, placing her face in her hands and not turning around to see them go But a few seconds later, she heard the front door close, and when she finally turned around, she was truly alone
“You let them go. ” I gazed in awe at the woman before me, clutching the shawl to her shoulders with aged fingers “They ruined your life, and you let them go ”
“No” She breathed “They didn’t ruin my life If I had let them turn me into a murderer, that would have ruined my life ”
“But the world thinks you killed them anyway ” I stood and walked to the small, old woman “They left everything they owned, they didn’t pack a thing They just disappeared in the middle of the night Everyone thinks you killed them ”
“The police didn’t, and that was all that mattered I lived my life I took care of my family, took care of my house, and I never had to see them again I couldn’t protect my baby sister from the real world, but I know that they had a good life together ”
“How can you know that? You said you never heard from them again ”
“I knew the same way I knew it was time to tell the story” Mrs Harmoncroft walked over to the desk and lifted a small, antique pistol, sliding out the newspaper beneath it “I saw this ”
With a slightly trembling hand, she held it out to me It was an article from three years ago, and as I realized what it was, my stomach bottomed out
James Harmon (89) and Andrea (Mills) Harmon (72) died after a hit-and-run last Thursday, October 23. The couple is survived by their son, James Harmon Jr., their daughter, Julia (Harmon) Velasquez, their son-in-law, Salvatore Velasquez, and their grandson, Hector Velasquez
Elizabeth Burzumatoo studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
Amalgamations
By Kobe Owens
Kobe Owens studies Digital Media Arts at Bridgewater College.
Voice of Magic
By Kiya Whitaker
I’ve been called many names for my practices–witch, sorceress, the devil’s mistress–none of which come close to defining me I work with sap, seeds, ground-up petals or leaves, boiled stems, syrups, powders, smoked wood, clay, and whatever else I find growing from the earth In my younger, more naive years, the pride I had for my work led me to boast loudly and make grand showcases Instead of receiving praise and applause to fuel me, I faced pitchforks, torches, and ropes Even switching course, doing pure good, and evoking the names of saints, wasn’t enough In my frustration, I considered the alternative path–demanding fear–but I knew that wouldn’t last me long There is much more power in devotion I spent most of my life on the roads until I found a home deep in the woods, undisturbed and disturbing no one However, this exile did not last long I couldn’t help it I’d throw on a cloak and visit the small village about a day’s walk away To dispel any suspicion, I’d call myself a traveling merchant, bringing whatever I had sewn, baked, or painted in exchange for milk, fine grain, feathers, parchment, and other oddities Sometimes I’d hand off goods to the children, and after a while, they stopped hiding behind their mothers or running away whenever I looked at them Instead, they approached with crafts of their own; a beaded necklace, a hat weaved with straw, and my favorite, a new shawl of many colored patches. I wore them all with pride of course.
I came to be known as Lady Kraven, the wandering wise woman of the west, telling stories of my travels across the valley. Of course, I omitted any fantastical details and only described the various spectacles I witnessed; a glistening silver kingdom, a smoky mineshaft in the mountains, a den full of trolls, and many more. All my tales and crafts earned wide eyes and pleas for more. Little did they know, their praise and admiration fed my power–power which I fed back into the woods that protected me. No matter how fond they became of me, I still knew better than to reveal my true practices. So, when I heard murmurs of “ a witch in the woods” one afternoon, my heart stopped.
“Lady Kraven,” the baker’s wife said, beckoning me towards a small group. I hesitantly approached. “Have you heard?”
I shook my head. “Do tell.”
“There’s a witch out in those woods using black magic. She’s marked her domain with symbols on trees painted with blood ” I knew every inch of those woods and never sensed other energies except for what occurred naturally. Perhaps this woman was using a spell to mask her territory. The baker’s wife continued, “At night, she’ll come into town singing songs, and in the morning we’ll find our livestock dead and covered in boils ”
“Impossible!”
But they showed me Inside a wooden shed just outside the village lay dozens of cows, sheep, goats, and pigs, all slumped over each other and covered in layers of rot and stench I turned away the moment the doors opened, trying to find untainted air One of the farmers led me away and informed me that this was the group from last night I couldn’t believe it The animals were decomposing so quickly What power does this witch have, and why was she using it to terrorize these people? Or, did she want their fear?
A crowd slowly formed around me, and a child tugged on my shawl
“Have you encountered any witches on the road?” she asked I thought for a moment about what to tell them
“I’ve only heard stories,” I said. “Perhaps I can ask around for any remedies to combat whatever disease this woman is bringing. In the meantime, do not go out at night, bring the animals inside, and keep your lights off and your children quiet Do not attempt to attack her This could just be a taste of what she’s capable of ”
There were nods around the crowd, but I saw the fear and uncertainty in their faces I could feel it in the air I had to stop myself from tasting it I left quickly, covering my tracks and keeping my eyes alert for anything strange in the woods Once home, I began assembling ingredients for a remedy to keep the animals immune to any poisons this witch could be using I made the mistake of not taking any samples from the village, but I felt that what I conjured was sufficient
It was not
I returned to the village two days later to discover more problems A swarm of locusts ran through the streets, devouring a season ’ s worth of crops in a night The children fell into a deep slumber and nothing could wake them Blood markings appeared on walls that couldn’t be washed clean, not even with blessed water Again, the townsfolk said they heard the witch’s song first, and the terrors followed Their tension grew stronger There were murmurs of gathering weapons and storming the woods–burning it all to the ground if necessary
“Please, don’t,” I urged them “Leave the woods out of this I will deal with her ”
The blacksmith scowled “What can you do that we can’t? You’re just one woman ”
“My travels have taught me many things Stay here and care for your children ”
There were whispers as I left, containing doubts and suspicions, but I kept moving. My mind was focused on one thing: facing this new competition. I didn’t care for who she was or her motivations. These people weren’t hers to feed on. However, I’d have to do more than simply fight her. I needed to steal her magic. Those born with the ability to wield the arcane can’t simply know recipes for spells or potions. They have to speak its power, or, in this woman’s case, sing it. Mystics also required fuel to maintain their power… and their youth.
I wasn’t exactly sure how I was going to steal this witch’s magic, but I needed to act before she caught onto me and tried the same. I returned home and filled my satchel with my strongest mixtures and even a jar for when the deed was done. As I traversed the woods, searching for her arcane presence, I stumbled upon one of her blood markings. I covered it with a mixture of mud and honey and whispered runes of protection. As I continued, more markings surrounded me, and I did my best to suppress their power. It was strange how easily I found her hut, given that it had been hidden from me for so long. Before I could knock, the door to her hut opened, and she welcomed me.
“I was wondering when you’d make an appearance,” she said in a husky voice. Much of her figure was shadowed, so I could only make out the bottom of a red dress she wore. “You're quite the disappointing witch ”
“I am no witch,” I retorted
“You're right ” She moved around the darkness, dragging a thick stench of copper throughout the room “You waste your potential gardening and mingling with the mundane instead of feasting Since you wouldn’t, I took the opportunity You needed to see what true power looked like ”
I scoffed “You’re a fool What you feed on will barely last you a century”
“I’m the fool? You get close to one town and lose your way ” She stopped moving “You and I know what people can do–ignorant, fearful, selfish, greedy people The spirits gave us the power to fight back ”
“These people have done nothing to you–”
“And it’s only a matter of time before they turn on you Do you think they’ll like being lied to? Do you think they’ll like having their love for you devoured?”
“That’s That’s not something that hurts them.”
“Well, while you deal in secrets, I deal in true power. I’m taking back this world, and you can join me and my coven Haven’t you been alone long enough?”
I gripped the strap of my satchel Has she been watching me? Or, is it simply that common for those like us to live in isolation? I shook my head “Enough of your games I’m giving you the chance to walk away, unscathed ”
She cackled “Are you threatening me!?”
“Lift your curses on the village and leave–”
“Or else what? You’ll throw some dirt on me?” Her laughter grew, echoing around me, before sharply cutting into silence She sighed “You could’ve been so much more but I see you ’ ve chosen to join the mundane Very well ”
I braced myself as she broke into song, singing words I didn’t understand Stacks of candles quickly illuminated the room, and I took in my surroundings Behind the woman, lay piles of bones, flesh, and swarming gnats Near them was a jagged wooden table carrying blades of varying sizes Her dress was not red from dye but stained from her work The broken corpses reanimated themselves and, after finding a weapon, lumbered towards me I reached for my satchel but felt the blood harden around my bones, grow heavier, and immobilize me However, even as the walking corpses attempted to strike me, they could not pierce my skin
The woman’s eyes widened, and in that moment of bewilderment, she made the briefest pause
It was all I needed
I let out a whisper to the gnats who circled her body and dove into her throat. She choked and my attackers crumpled to pieces. Regaining control, I pulled the glass jar from my satchel and held it for the gnats to fill. Once it was closed, they dissolved into her cries of despair. Her mouth gaped open to mimic them, but not a sound left her throat. She fell to the floor, digging her nails into my shawl and curling her lips into curses that had no power.
“It is people like you who have made my life so difficult,” I told her. “Rot here with the corpses you adore so much.”
Since that day, her hut and blood markings have disappeared from the woods. I was happier to learn that the townsfolk were free of her dark spells. I still get questions about what I did and have noticed more suspicious looks as I pass. The one thing that woman and I can agree on, is the truth to humanity: they’re fickle. One moment they adore you and the next, they throw torches through your window. Perhaps it’s best if I find a new place to call home. As for the jar containing the woman’s voice, I don’t enjoy the taste of despair, so fortunately, I’ve finally found a spell to make it stop screaming.
Kiya Whitaker studies Digital Media Arts at Bridgewater College
Voile de Lin
by Stella Hale
Stella Hale studies Digital Media Arts and Leadership & Community Engagement at Bridgewater College
Eternal Darkness
By Samantha Katlyn Herbst
I watched the flickering of the candle. It was a beautiful light; one of many colors I had rarely seen in my first seven years. Darkness was all my mind fed on, and it was blinding. At least I couldn’t see who was speaking so close to me. I knew the sound of my mother long before I knew her face. The male was unknown to me. Even now, I can remember his harsh words and his violence. My mother’s sound was filled with softness and beauty; I never heard that with the man who seemed to terrify my mother so much. I never even saw his face.
Looking back all those years ago, I wish I had known. I recognized my mother’s tongue by sound, though I had no idea what was going on. My childhood before my mother pulled me out of the darkness of the cellar was bleak. The man I later learned was my father would often take a lantern to my prison. He only went after me to torment my mother.
As my hand reached out to the light, I felt a rapid pain run through me. Withdrawing, I crawled back. Why would such beauty be so deadly?
My sister stared at me as I backed away from the light. Her face, which I had never seen before, looked funny. Her sound, which I rarely heard when I had been locked in the darkness, was no longer as sweet as my mother’s.
“When is he going to speak? That boy can’t even make a sound ” She stared at me I had no idea who she was talking about, and I only understood bits and pieces “He’s mute! For goodness sake, he can’t even look at a light much brighter than a single candle, Mere ”
I could feel her hating eyes trace me, the way I felt the insects and spiders crawl on the cold floor until only a short while before She was right though; though I was born able to cry as any infant would, I willingly became mute after the years I spent in fear and near isolation
My sister continued: “We can’t just waltz with him right into the sunlight: he might go blind! How are we going to care for him in his condition?”
My mother came to my side with what looked like a cold rag Though she wouldn’t touch my hand with anything but the rag, I smiled at her face It was the first time I had ever fully seen her face, and it was radiant in the candlelight The skin around her one eye was a funny color that didn’t match the rest of her face though She still wouldn’t look at me, however Once she finished, she left my side and approached my sister by the front door “It isn’t as though he was born in darkness His eyes will adjust soon enough, but for now, we’ll wait for dark ” Then she turned to me with love and kindness within her voice “We’ll cover your eyes for the time being Your sister will go into town to buy you clothing, and I will be here for you, alright?”
Secretly, I wondered about those spoken words Where did they come from? How did my mother and sister manage to produce noise? With no reason to speak in my first few years, I saw no point in mimicking it. I had no memory of what light was, or what most of my mother’s sounds were. All I knew was that my mother’s sound was the kind one that I could hear in my seemingly eternal darkness. My sister’s was the only new one I could hear. Yet, their sounds were beautiful to my ears. I had known the language since I was young, but I was unwilling to speak it. Yet, the sounds I associated with goodness and care were the sounds that would lead me down the path I took. It became an obsession; all I wanted was to find the most beautiful sound I could from the moment my mother unlocked my cage. The beauty of the voice was my only real care as I grew up.
“What if Pere returns early?” My sister asked.
Though I could hear her all those years ago when I was no more than seven, what she said didn’t matter to me My mother was the only thing that mattered to me Her face didn’t matter, since I rarely saw it in my years of darkness, but her beautiful voice did
My mother’s usually pleasant sound snapped “Then you take your brother and run!”
Shrugging her shoulders, my sister opened the door A stream of bright light filled the room, and I cringed My eyes burned and filled with water as I buried my face into my mother’s dress The light burned and blinded me The idea of going out there frightened me Why did they have to go into that horrifying pain? Why did they want to take me out there? This floor of the house seemed safe and painless In my early years, I associated most light, especially the brightest of light, with those of my father The pain was from both the lantern in my eyes and the harsh memories I tried to forget
Wishing that I could ask her so many questions, I looked up at my mother She stood upright as she spoke softly to me She wanted me to believe it was alright Soon after, she left the room After a few moments, I began to cry silently, believing she would never return, and I was on my own to face the man who hated me Then, she re-entered the room and dried my tears with a rag Her bare hands never touched me
Her eyes looked concerned, but frightened “What is wrong, son? Why are you crying?”
My hand reached out to touch her face and she pulled away It was strange For some reason, she didn’t seem to care like I thought she did
Darkness covered the sky. Wrapped in several layers, I held on to my mother as I shivered from the wind, despite my curiosity of wanting to know what it was that I was seeing and hearing around me. Beneath us, something I later learned was a horse, carried us. On one side, my sister rode with us. Its center moved up and down and its feet pounded on the ground as it moved forward. It was fascinating. Though I wanted to know, I didn’t know how to ask them.
They fed me only little bits as the morning sun was drawing nearer. Unlike them, my hunger was satisfied easily. I was weaker, it seemed. They told me I lived for seven years, but it didn’t feel that long. My life before light first entered my eyes was a thought I refused to entertain anymore. The dark, though the only thing I knew, was still terrifying, yet familiar.
When they believed I was asleep, they huddled closer to the fire for warmth. My sister’s words seemed foreign to me, but I knew there was a layer of emotions mixed in them similar to the man’s distant voice. “What Pere did to his only son was cruel. I’ll never forgive him.” Her voice died for a few moments. “Yet, I cannot bear to look at the boy. He looks like a nachtzehre1!”
My mother replied, “Your father changed once your brother was born. According to your grandfather, most heirs were born looking terribly similar to how your brother looks. It happens rarely to the daughters, but it occurred frequently with the sons It was believed that a faerie had cursed the family, and those sons were changelings ”
“But isn’t that just folklore?”
“Either way, your father feared your brother, believing he was a changeling as well Remember when we tried to hide your brother for five months? Your father was horrified when he found out ”
I must have dozed off soon after because I was awoken suddenly in the bright sun; I closed my eyes to stop the burning, but they were forced open My sister knelt above me She was quiet, and she glanced over at my mother, who was fast asleep Her hands were covered by fabric as she held me down
1 German for vampire
She smirked. “Aren’t I lucky you can’t speak?” Her sound was rough and strange. “Mere will mourn you for a time, but we’ll be able to move on and be accepted. You are nothing but a burden and always have been Now I need to put you out of your misery It was shocking that you lived past your first birthday, and now Mere doubts you’ll even make it past your tenth anyway We might as well make something of ourselves instead of trying to save you ” At that, her hands clutched my neck My air vanished; my hands desperately clawed at her, but it was no use As I kicked the ground, I was beginning to see spots everywhere in my vision My tears washed my face as I tried making as much noise as I could with my hands and feet She struggled to get me to be still
“Annie!” My mother shrieked as my sister was thrown off of me with such force that I was reminded of what my father did to me Though I don’t know what was spoken between them, I do remember the evil emotions stirred behind their words It was no use for me All I could see was beautiful colors that were rich, and welcoming compared to what I had remembered My hands grabbed my throat as I wheezed and gagged Once my vision cleared, I slowly dragged myself away My mother was still arguing with my sister as I made it to the water My eyes were watery as I touched its reflection with my fingers
Yet I looked at the face before me It was nothing like what my mother and sister had; it was a monstrosity The thing before me in the water was sickly yellow, with bruises all over its skin, and the piercing eyes looked sunken in It was a nightmare before me, and it didn’t stop there Taking off what I now know are gloves, I saw it covered the hands as well Then I took off my shoes to see it reached my feet as well I lived in a skeleton Maybe my sister was right all along
Suddenly, my mind flashed back to my father opening the cellar door. A stream of light made its way down the stairs. On the one side of the stairs, I cringed in terror and hid my face in my arms. Tears streaked down my face as the man’s voice taunted me, telling me to come out of hiding. In a moment, my mother’s voice begged him to stop, but I heard screaming and a pounding as the door closed again. An eternity later, the door opened again, and I could make out my sister’s skirt coming down the stairs as she put a tray of bread and broth on the bottom stairs. She left immediately and locked the cellar door, leaving me once more in my darkness. My only company being the creatures that crawled around in the dark.
I didn’t know the difference between a day and an hour. For all I knew, it was weeks before I heard anyone else. But it must have been night when the door unlocked, and I saw a small candle make its way down the darkened stairs. When it finally made its way around the corner, I hid myself as best as I could. But then, I saw a gloved hand reach out to me, and my mother’s voice told me it was alright.
…
Tears blurred the image, and I slapped the water. After a few moments, it resurfaced. It copied my movements as I touched my face with both hands. As I fell back, a shrill and horrifying sound coursed throughout me. It hurt my throat as well as the air, but it didn’t last long. Just as the light in the sky slowly faded away, the terrifying sound I finally had found died
Samantha Katlyn Herbst studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
Whispers in the Wounds
By Tony Lucy
Tony Lucy studies Art at Bridgewater College.
Dysfunction
by Dawn Patterson
From the outside, the house is happy; from the inside, the house is tense
From the outside, the house is strong: from the inside, the house is weak and falling apart
From the outside, the house is perfect: from the inside, the house is heavily flawed.
Families can always put on a show if they want to hide from everyone.
Families drift apart from each other if no one is happy with each other.
Families will fall apart easily if no one communicates.
Parents and kids can cut contact if the parents treated the kids wrong.
Parents and kids lose touch when the kids become adults and live
Parents and kids fall out if neither of them is happy
Dawn Patterson studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
Cat Naming
By Stan Galloway
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter:* one kitten survived in the shed house demolished no humans remaining –we took it from straw casings scree to the trenches where Mykola said it could be called Kulya Bullet for having escaped one Petro said Kelmu because it would be Trowel forever digging with us
Shchaslyvyy said Bohdan Lucky for having survived.
Nicoly Ne Spyt’ said Ivan –
Never Sleeping It could be our eyes when we must sleep Then Kateryna stopped us: Are we Russians that we impose our words on others? The cat knows its secret and will let us know when we get it right.
*TS Eliot, “The Naming of Cats”
Stan Galloway teaches Writing and Literature at Bridgewater College.
Conceived to be the carrier of my ancestral burden and to never birth children of my own I wish to dig mercilessly through my mothers skin and hide once more beneath her ribs
Cage me away, suffocate me until I repent I have become unrecognizable to my filthy altar
She watches as I painfully mature
For shame is all my soul was sold to be
I still kneel and blister, begging to be found
Her rosary has nurtured its thorns into my skin
Hands placed delicately over my neck, I turn to the sky
The agony she bears must seep out of her eyes
Only her sorrow I can inhale
Her leather fascinates me
She hates me, and I despise her too
Her teeth bound with acid
Reduced to speak through flame
She mercilessly aims down her entire world
Worn down to a nerve
She constrains me to tears
To water the flowers growing on my skin
She caresses my wounds
I scar but I can finally breathe
Gracy Bustillo studies Business at Bridgewater College.
By Abigail Ferguson
Photos of Her
Abigail Ferguson studies Music Education at Bridgewater College
Blue
By Julia Garber
I’m blue like you but you remind me of green
It’s new but so small is it anything real at all
If this song was a color you couldn’t hear it anyway
If only you knew what I know then my pain would go away
This song is blue but it should be red
These feelings inside, should be with us instead
I shouldn’t bare this alone
I should spread all the love
But alas the rules are made it up, and my time has come
How can I help you understand when I barely know myself?
I can’t hide behind the fact I see you everyday and it’s detrimental to my health
I know I’m not the wisest and I don’t have all the answers but I’m stuck in glue
Do I tell you the truth to open your eyes or should you stay like you never knew
This song is blue but it should be red
These feelings inside, should be with us instead
I shouldn’t bare this alone
I should spread all the love
But alas the rules are made it up, and my time has come
Oh oh
I know I can’t tell you
Oh oh
But I want to
Julia Garber studies Psychology at Bridgewater College.
Clandestine
By Emelyn Buttercup Koene
The clandestine coast upon which they meet is hidden away from the outside world
One hundred steps away from kindled streets, the girl clings to a parcel tightly furled
With frantic eyes the boy looks side to side as he reaches out for her quivering hand They walk; their pace quickening with each stride They traverse the jagged dark rocks and sand
The rocks hug tighter, creating a maze
Inside the labyrinth, they hear soft whispers from an unknown source, concealed by moon rays Far ahead some lighted object glisters
She breaks off, running to luminescence
Her feet leave the ground, her skin peeling back. She turns to flames of hot incandescence. The object she carried rose from her sack.
The boy, petrified, averts crying eyes. He sees no way out from his rocky jail. The girl’s parcel shrieks as it sheds its guise to show an eerie beauty beneath the veil.
Held at bay only by quivering hands, released now into the misty night sky, two evils colliding above the sands. There’s no one to hear the pair’s final cries
The boy looks on as his figure distorts and his skin melts off of his bony frame. Like the girl, he burns and body contorts
Both degraded to ashes, much the same
By morning light, no evidence remains of the boy and girl and evil released
The fatal fire had left no cremains
Their souls are trapped there with other deceased
The girl and the boy, now possessed in ghosts, can tell no one of the clandestine coast
Emelyn Buttercup Koene studies English and Strategic Communication at Bridgewater College
Sour Coins
By Willow Allen
At ten years old, Amelia swallowed her first penny. Small and coppery, it tasted like the sour blood that oozed from her knees after her brother, Leo, had pushed her onto the pavement days before. He laughed when she had started crying, shakily drawing her knees close to her chest and peering at the deep red, touching her tongue to the blood before she could stop herself. She knew not to tell anyone that he had pushed her that day or that she had swallowed that penny because of him days later.
She knew that she would get in trouble for swallowing the coin if her mom ever found out. But she also knew that her brother snuck downstairs late at night, as everyone else lay in their beds, and watched MTV, the channel their mother detested for its inappropriate language. She knew that her mother still smoked cigarettes, Marlboro Reds, hidden from the girl’s father behind the dark green garden that had recently become overgrown. She also knew that her father did not work as much as he said and was much too friendly with one of his coworkers. Amelia knew a lot of things that had to be kept secret.
When she compared her own secret to that of her family, Amelia didn’t think swallowing a penny was that bad. It was better than staying up past bedtime watching bad shows or smoking cigarettes or kissing women who were not your wife Perhaps, in swallowing this first penny, and feeling it slowly travel down her throat and into her belly, she was more a part of her family than she had ever been
At thirteen years old, she swallowed three dimes in quick succession They were shiny and silver, as dimes usually are The coins did not taste of much but were warm from her small fists squeezing them while she thought about what she was going to do This was after Leo told his young sister that their mother didn’t like her; that she hated her He told Amelia that was why she had left them Their mother could not stand to look at her, so she had to go far away
The girl knew that her brother did not know what he was talking about And yet, she found herself staring blankly into her bathroom mirror late into the night wondering if maybe he was right Her father had begun looking at Amelia less and less, and when he did, she could feel his contempt Maybe nobody could stand to look at her She sat once she had that thought, laughing to herself on her bathroom floor, heavy with sadness After a few months alone with her thoughts, the girl rose from her crumpled position on the dirty, tiled floor She unlocked the bathroom door and walked quietly to her living room
She sat on the opposite side of the couch as her brother, and they silently watched MTV while the deep dark of the night sky slowly turned to daylight. They stopped only to go outside and take small pulls of their mother’s old Marlboro Reds, adding their coughs to the cacophony of bird song.
“I didn’t mean what I said,” Leo mumbled quietly. “I just want her to come back.”
As the gray smoke swirled and soured the thick air between them, she wondered how long life would be like this. Together, they waited for their father –and their mother– to come home. The girl kept several coins in
her pocket, allowing her hands to trail over their ridges, knowing that, unlike others, some decisions were still her own.
At fifteen years old, the girl’s father hesitantly took her to the hospital after noticing that she hadn’t eaten in several days Leo, whom Amelia had grown close with since the year that their mother left, had gone to college Without her brother at home with her, she had felt more alone than ever before She watched MTV and smoked cigarettes at all hours of the day, hoping that these secrets would bring someone, anyone, back into her home She had swallowed several coins throughout the year, and she wondered if, maybe, it had finally caught up to her
Despite the attention from not being able to eat, Amelia noticed her father’s annoyed expression that rested on the thin line of his lips and the crease between his brows She knew that he did not care She wanted him to care She swallowed a final penny on the car ride there, careful to use the gray sleeve of her jacket to hide what she was doing He didn’t look over at her
The doctors removed at least fifteen coins from her intestines After a week at the hospital, Amelia was tired of the stilted conversations with her father and concerned questions from nurses and Child Protective Services Her father didn’t hit her and there was always enough food in their kitchen, so she was sent home with six stitches and a prescription for antidepressants
As per the doctor’s orders, the girl switched from coins to pills. She told herself that they were the same, each providing her a secret, sour comfort. And after a few months of taking her medicine, she didn’t care either way.
Willow Allen studies Digital Media Arts, Strategic Communications, and Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
Concrete Cracks
By Valeria Laverde Martinez
I kept a secret, not out of confusion, but because I understood the weight of it, knew the storm it would bring. I wasn’t ready for the aftermath, but I knew, deep down, the day would come when the sky would break and I’d have to tell you.
I feared losing you not in the way people fear shadows, but in the way we fear losing the ground beneath us. The sudden, suffocating fall. You were supposed to be concrete, the one constant, the one who would love me through it all
But I was wrong
When I finally gathered the strength to tell you the truth, a truth everyone else already knew, you didn't hold me like I thought you would You didn’t say, "It’s alright, my love for you won’t ever change "
Instead, you turned cold, Your words sharp and cutting, said you didn’t deserve the hurt I brought, said I had betrayed you, said it was my fault, like the weight of the secret was yours to bear alone
But what about me?
I had carried it for so long, protected you from it, hoped for the day I could trust you with who I am. In the end, it wasn’t your trust I broke
it was my heart.
You left,
As if I was the villain in a story you were too good to be part of But wasn’t it supposed to be different? Weren’t you the one who said you would always be there, that nothing could shake our bond?
Yet here I am, alone in a dark hollow room, Where the air is heavy and silent, while the one person who promised forever walked away when I needed them most You called it betrayal, but I call it abandonment
Because the truth isn’t what broke us It was the cracks in your promise, the lie that your love had no limits
She was startled and blinded by the sudden gleam under the noon-day sun, spots flittered across her vision as she squinted to see it there, a massive palace, like those in the deserts. It shone silver, the pounding cascade of sand and water beating down on the building keeping it in pristine polish. It was almost deafening, even at this distance. She stuffed her ears with cotton and trampled forwards through the remaining jungle.
Within her remaining approach, the many walls and crevices flickered with warped and horrid reflections of herself: her glaive merging into fang, horn and tooth. No ordinary mirror would make such monstrous visages. She leapt back as one of the many mirrored claws swept towards her, reaching outside the shining walls to tear a small chunk off of her sabatons. It writhed angrily at its failed attempt, flailing back and forth hoping for her to come back within range. She brought her glaive to bear, bringing it down upon the limb, but it cracked on the cobble below instead. Swinging it back up, it cut through, leading her into a stumble as it passed through. The limb wavered and vanished without a trace.
As if on cue, a monstrous, crude facsimile of a boar charged out the mirror and trampled through her, leaving her gasping for breath. She swiveled, turning to face it, and what stood there was a creature of twisted features, something so unreal she simply couldn’t believe it. The beast charged again, she stepped to the side and swung, but yet again it cut through the air as it crashed into stone. She whipped the butt of the glaive around to hit the creature It made no sound as it contacted, the boar rippling as it disappeared just like the last She whirled about as twisted beasts burst forth from the walls, but they were different You could almost call them animals, bears, moose, boars, if not for their pale blue glow and somehow a lack of depth To her, they were clearly illusory, so she charged forth, holding her glaive across and closed her eyes She felt nothing, save a slight coldness, until she crashed through the door She twirled, dropping her glaive and slamming the doors shut It was as dark as pitch and no sliver of light broke into the temple
She struggled to find the torch and tinder in the rucksack, and knocked the torch’s handle as it clattered to the floor She sighed as she lit the torch on the floor and hefting it skywards The flickering torchlight revealed corridors and doorways, with strange architecture unlike any she had seen It looked alive almost, the pale marble walls and floors having no corners at all There were no scones for torches nor for candles, everything was smooth as if hewn from a single stone The floor was slick and strange shadows played in the reflections as the water slid down the corridor to unlit depths She walked carefully to the first of the two rooms she could see It was drowned with flasks filled with unnatural colors, and presumably the paraphernalia to make them She moved to the only other room in sight, broken frames hung on the walls and shattered mirrors littered the floor, small flickers of creatures danced along with the torch’s light The mirrors’ shards rattled fiercely as she slammed the door and turned away
She crept along the corridor, finding next a massive marble door sealing the end of the corridor. As of the rest of the construction, it appeared to be of one continuous piece. She shoved and struggled against the door, but not one inch was gained. She jammed her glaive against it, attempting to pry when the door flashed, sending her reeling back in a blinded daze. Pools of shadow gathered at her feet, slowly clawing at the soles. She tumbled as they stuck to her shoes like tar, and she felt that they were real, not illusions like the beasts. They shied from the light as she flailed the torch, breaking the shadows apart. She struggled, tearing her right foot away from the shadows, realizing in that moment she had made a mistake. As the torch dropped, its flaming tip slammed into the pool of dark, the shadows hissed and burned but the light was soon
enfolded in darkness. The shadows swarmed, creeping upwards over her when a loud thud crashed from behind the marble door. Something had changed, she knew if she didn’t try in this moment it would all be over She blindly leapt forth with all her might, slamming into the door, peeling away from the sickly shadows The door finally gave way, her shoulder cracking loudly as she landed on the cold stone floor As the shadows slithered after her, she rolled on her back, lighting her tinder and throwing out at them and beyond the door They backed off as the lit tinder crossed the threshold, and the door slammed shut behind it and a massive stone bar slid out, holding it shut
She laid there for a while, catching her breath as pain emanated from her shoulder She scanned the room as her rest continued, it was large and dark like the rest Two rows of pillars pushed into the darkness, and out of her vision Every surface, save the pillars, was inlaid with mirrors, even the floor was glossy with non-existent light; The entire room was palely lit from no source she could see, her shadowy figure reflected in the countless mirrors If not for the pillars she surely would have been lost, but her head was spinning as her eyes darted between the cacophony of her own images, the endless reflections following her as she tried to march forwards Her only sense of stability, the pillars, were off too The sharp edges and straight lines felt stark and unnatural compared to everything else she had seen She started to topple forward, hand outward to catch herself on one, but passed through, the pillar wavered as she slammed against the floor Her own images taunted her as they danced around her vision The world was fading, the faint silver of mirrors darkening to black
Her eyes snapped to focus as pain erupted from her cheek and blood wept to the floor The glaive she carried as she used it to combat her vertigo had come down on her face, cutting deep, almost piercing her cheek entirely. She tore the buckles off her bag, yanking out a cloth coated in a green paste. She ripped a long piece off the cloth, applied some of it, and tied it tight against the fresh wound. The length of makeshift bandage stretched across her face, she winced as she pulled it taut, hoping for an end to the bleeding. She trudged forward, grunting as the pain kept her vision sharp. She could feel her heart pulse as blood trickled and bled through down her face. But it left a trail, something to focus on, as it became the only stain upon the polished floors. Then she saw the end, capped by a door coated in mirrors like the rest of the room. With as much strength as she could muster she heaved, though the door opened little, it was enough for her to squeeze through. She slipped inside and the door shut itself quickly.
A raised dais lay in the center of the room, which was domelike in shape. She could see only the outline of whatever lay upon it, until she spotted a lantern cast aside. It looked mostly intact, only minor chips and scratches as the scent of oil wafted in her nose. Tinder heated oil, and a burst of flames leapt out, settling on the wick. Lifting the light, it shone on the dais, a massive gold-framed mirror towered over her. Gold and precious jewels shimmered in unison with the mirror. The lamplight shone through the mirror, not landing upon a reflection, but someplace else, an even stranger place then where she was now. It wildly flickered between a place of total brightness and one of grayness Among the whiteness appeared only to be mirrors, suspended as though set in stone, the other void felt empty, yet full, something swallowed in the depths She reached out and the mirror rippled at her touch, its image stopping on the blinding emptiness filled with mirrors
The mirror felt almost damp on her fingers, and there was a gentle tug as though she could dive through it It felt strange, her arm was repelled, yet her hand was being pulled in It was already beginning to be painful, she felt like her hand would be severed, a human crossing a boundary no human should cross She pushed through the pain and shoved herself the rest of the way through She left behind only a strand of rope tied to the foot of the grand mirror She instinctively held her breath, but it now seemed irrelevant, floating in this nothingness Her hunger had all but vanished as well, all of the aches and pains gone, but the wounds remained The blinding white was vast and disorienting, the immobile and endless array of mirrors so close
yet so far. She glanced back from where she came for a moment of solidity and clarity but saw only the last breath of the oil lamp before it died, leaving reality dark. The oil of the lamp seemed plentiful enough for several hours yet it went out in an instant She turned back, and was astounded by the obelisk of mirrors collected before her
Then, it hit her, this place was no temple nor tomb, but a place of containment, a trap to keep something in, not out A massive crack echoed behind her and she yanked on the rope to whip back towards the entrance Masses of shadows had begun slamming on the mirror outside, leaving a thin line running across its span She knew being stuck here would be far worse than fending off these things She tugged hard on the rope, barreling towards the mirror, as she had floated quite a distance away from it More sinuous cracks echoed outwards from the original break With a last heave, her rope snapped, the frayed end on the other side looking ancient With the rope’s disappearance she had begun to spin, speeding forwards until she slammed sideways into the mirror It was hard as a rock, yet she felt nothing She scrambled to right herself, but it was too late, it felt as though her entire existence screamed in pain as the mirror shattered completely, blowing her backwards into the abyss She felt as though all of herself had been shattered into infinitesimal pieces as everything went dark
As the shades dispersed from the broken mirror, they revealed a small wooden puppet Etched from head to toe with glyphs, it moved without strings, and it left quietly It had sat there for hundreds of years yet now it moved It walked without rest for months, eventually reaching the foot of a mountain, entering a grand wooden cabin nestled within the rocks As it reached inside, it was scooped into the arms of a youthful woman. Thin, strand-like scars roamed across her body, clashing with the light tan of her skin and auburn hair. The puppet hung limply as she looked into all the things it had seen. “Lirana,” She spoke softly, “Oh my dear what you ’ ve been through.”
Sam Krieger studies Psychology at Bridgewater College
—baroque—
By Summer Grace Garcia Forbidden Silver
Cutting through Night
You destined and I In some sense familiar
I was wading with the tide
Baiting biding time
Until I saw such Sylvan Temple Cutting over Glass made water
Until you reached over planks of wood The Riddler
And I was beautiful The image of a Secret Something created to be solved Refined and antiquated
And I allowed my fins to leave Floor boards twisting feet Just for me to see you And I you me
And I your devotee Your fished out little Rarity Thought it but angelity
But warm eyes bring colder seas And forever declares no Indelibility
And there were so many on the table I failed to realize it
That I was only a delicacy
Like honey newly salted meats.
So I entered in pretty poised me As the Decorum I did not quite See I thought me unique Some Juliet I thought me an Artist whilst you held the Pen
And I entered in silence for I could not quite speak
With the tongue which you asked me begged me to sing
I could not help it Twas much to take in
All of the strangeness did in full force Commence
And the crew was seated I with the Captain
Passing glances sweet hidden romances
But a Chill took over came heightened
In an evening a lifetime left I all slighted
And it was always a Question I never voiced Far too lost In the freefalling force
The way it was said too decored to be meant
Holding me holding me
Holding me I Your Pet
For there I was all filled to floating
Felt so long since words unspoken
Thought them of but overread
Spun into what wasn’t said
And in a state of melatonin
My mind played our hearts too open
Showed me what I’ve been denying
Hurts a bit but I’m not dying
For there you were and there I was standing
Saw through the dim light and brine from the manning
Some waistline you were holding
Some delicacy gilding golding
‘twas no nightmare though I was crying
You unaware in Cruelty sighing
The letter of me slowly folding
Into some pocket of ship
Doomed for erosion
All of me sealed I left for the ocean
Left for the bow to drown all the motion
Timidity heightening in Wayward emotion
I shut the door and drank my Potion
And braced against its wooden beams
My back to what I could not be
We stood a breaking memory
You for You and I for We
And stilled on ships bare icy feet
I’ve tried to stand your eyes to meet
But they’re a shifting-switching sea
Imbalancing my sails sure-swing
So there I gripped Mahogany
Grasping tight as the salt whipped sting
Sickening the water careening
Crashed upon my body
Salted Me
And through the blazing haze of rain
I watched candles in repeated sway
Blurring pendulum turned panes
A prettily gay feast was lain
And everything so sickly safe
All of it I wish was fate
But I have no key for any lock
And I know the Risk it is to knock.
Breathless Water slighting my frame
Chill soaking through every weave of my cape
I imagined me turning but then I turned away
With the water’s enveloping shattered refrains
Then all the Recedes–The blurred saline seeing
Then the utterly freezing wind frosting my being
The marines in runs ceaselessly churning
All of me numb in this Boreal Burning
The sea my Match such a festering flame
This ship my Love my Love and my Stake
And like the flooding at my feet from my Summer from my heat will you become much more meek? will you go feverish? will you get cold? tell me Darling are you Prone?
My mind a swirl of memories
I’m sinking into your blaring marines
amidst all your blues you ’ re almost unseen amidst all the mist and the salt and the swim I see you I see you a trench in endless spin
Fragmentations you would never read nay but I do ever sink just as disheartened and still the more deep just as shipwrecked as the sailings I’ve torn for mine own illusive mirages morn
Crashing over Crushing me and my dress is made of paperweights fragmented and small but they take up space and it’s all silver with no lining and my heart’s in slivers in all its lying
Breaking over senselessly and the door of feather painted oak the one we struggled to unbolt has now been left cleared and open but it’s not summer anymore the dutch is wide and the air is Cold
Pelting Cold Cold Colding and that is why I am so Broken broken as a Bee can be after Sting Protection Poison stilled to Nothing To ever breathe and Thought I in my all-knowing that I knew the Sky I Wrote It out in Gracious growing but there’s more behind a simple Eye
A sail has torn I cannot see and that is why I am so Broken Broken as the Hickory the one still aching wooden flaking we walked over 1843 and it is why I am so Poisoned walking hand in hand with thee as old lovers I’m sure have done from its birth we in Memory
In this storm I stand to be after All the best loves cannot be sustained
are ones left for always to never be played until the notes leave you pining for times when they rang when we danced in pretty dresses same in all their Wrong ways
Ready for the waiting on a ship Tossing Twirling you to my Right our satin’s soaking wrapping slick at our sides all of it Haunting your hair a sail of the sky all of it stopping in senseless strung time
And if I truly am to leave but you are one for unknown places newfound shifting sacred spaces always finding some Replacement to give your life some new enchantment and I am no magician In my mediums there is no mesmerism I cannot hold the tide from Rippling I cannot capture Air and Spin It
I’ll stand on deck and I don’t want to hear it the Bell of your voice when it is last over when we no longer have choice when our voices no longer are trailing ‘I misses’ our fingers no longer in their usual laces
Watching as the waters head but sometimes In the dark falls of the night all the corners of myself I hide come charged with new daylight and fall open on my bed little wisps of moon craters Demanding to be read I stand by windows gazing up holding Close the lasting Sun wishing on dripping stars elixirs for my dropping heart
Comes Cryospheric Crest but was it to hypnotize a deliberate disguise when your aurora startled the night? masking it all to be within sight? and how in this world can one truly tell a trick from a love and a love from a Spell?
or see through the veil when the veil’s woven thin? how does one know where the tulle starts to begin?
A Raid on Warmth my Skin once kept and with everything you’d say how could I truly know? know unreal from all the things I just passed as Baroque? and all the pretty secrets you helped Craft you Disposed you don’t have to like them Go On prefer to Cold but my heart is an Elysium of which slightingly you Sold
but was I too far willed a Wisp? was it a broken Enchantment? or was it enticing convincing enlightening christening I without making it Known? but were you too far wild with the wind? was it a stretch for Happiness? or was it conniving though curious confining blossoming by without picking a Rose?
And slowly all my fills of floating foamed away –My heart an ocean
Summer Grace Garcia studies Spanish and History at Bridgewater College
Screams in the Woods: Friendship and Forbidden Secrets
By Jade Bauer
In a small town called Peatsland, known for its quiet scenery and where nothing bad ever happens, a group of high school friends were walking down the street. Calling themselves The Double A’s and E’s, Eris, Asher, Egmont, and Aurora. Egmont was known for his sarcasm and nonchalant nature, being the oldest by a couple of months felt a sense of leadership with everything the group did. Given most of the decisions were mischievous and resulted in running away before they got in trouble, he enjoyed giving The Double A’s and E’s a story to tell years from now. He had multiple piercings from his ears, nose, eyebrow, and lip, trying to look older than he was. He had dark, auburn hair that slicked back to show his unique ocean-blue eyes. He had a palish skin tone with a strong build after years of football and wrestling. Aurora was the bubbly girl with an addiction to pink. She walked around with a bright, charming smile on her face wherever she was to cover up the dark secrets people would tell her. She had long platinum blonde hair in a slick ponytail with an obnoxious, Barbie pink bow keeping it together. She had amber doe-like eyes that matched her athletic tone and tan complexion. Asher was the golden retriever of the group; captain of the soccer team, vice president of the student council, and popular in school. To match his popular persona, he had short sandy blonde hair, emerald green eyes, and a tan, lanky, yet athletic, build after hours in the sun from soccer. Finally, there was Eris; the ice queen of their school. She walked around with no shame in who she was and no fucks to give. She was president of the student council and book club, on the honor roll, youngest in her class since she skipped a grade, and popular but didn’t know or care She was the shortest of the group with her dark black hair, turning almost purple with the sun, chocolate brown eyes, and a pale complexion Together, they were The Double A’s and E’s
Once again, they were bored of their cliché routine of bouncing to and from each other’s houses, creating mischief wherever they were “I mean, it’s a nice day so why don’t we go to the river? There’s nothing else to do since my dad’s home right now so we can’t go in the basement ” Egmont suggested with a bored expression Eris sighs and shrugs, “I mean, you’re not wrong How about we meet back here in fifteen minutes with our bathing suits and towels ” They all nodded and went their separate ways, dreading their time at home even for a couple of minutes Eris ran into her house, keeping her head high while running up the stairs of her mansion, trying to tune out the screaming and assault she walked in on from her parents Egmont slid open his window and crawled in, making as little noise as possible, not wanting to wake up his father who was beneath him yelling and throwing bottles at a football game Aurora kept her head down, her smile disappearing, as she walked in to see her older sister, Lizzie, in her room, destroying Aurora’s belongings finding something to wear to see her boyfriend, reminding her to get a new lock on her door Asher walked into his house, feeling like a stranger in his own home with his adoptive parents prancing around, acting like his biological parents.
They met on the sidewalk under the oak tree and started walking to the river, leaving the thoughts of their families behind. Discuss the new drama galivanting around the school between a senior and a sophomore. When they reached their destination, they looked down and saw multiple families together at the river. Toddlers with their floaties on, and parents watching their children kick mud at each other, immediate disgust filled their souls as they walked away. Aurora pipped up with her usual bright smile, “Lizzie once brought me to this spot when we were younger. I think I can find it again if you guys give me some time. It’s very secluded by the trees and the forest on the other end. What do you think?” Aurora, Asher, and Eris
looked at Egmont, waiting for a reply. With Egmont’s simple nod and shrug, they followed Aurora through the trees, away from the noise of laughter and happiness. After ten minutes of walking through trees, shrubs, and poison ivy, Aurora screeched and clapped her hands together. “Here it is! I knew I would find it!”
There was a large sycamore tree that had a long branch that could be used as a towel holder, a large rock in the middle of the river before it dropped into the water, creating a small waterfall, and a wall that was covered in vines on the other side of the river Privacy Seclusion Tranquility Perfect “The last one in the water is the rotten egg!” exclaimed Asher and he ran to the river throwing off his shirt and slides Eris chased after him, tossing her shirt, shoes, and pants off Aurora and Egmont stared at the unusual couple and smiled, walking together while getting ready to walk into the water Laughter filled the air while they were playing in the water, jumping from the small edge into a deep area of the water, and sunbathing on a flat rock that was in the middle of the river They felt like they were kids again, forgetting their family problems, drama at school, pressure of college, they felt free An unbearable, bloodcurdling scream from the woods on their left stopped everyone in their tracks
“What in the hell was that?” Eris whispered, curling herself up in a ball on the rock Asher jumped onto the rock, soaking wet, getting closer to Eris for comfort Aurora stopped splashing the water and stared past the wall, confusion and fear covering her once happy expression Egmont decided to be the brave soul to get out of the water, grab his slides and phone from the rock, and walk to the other side of the river He started slowly, looking around for twigs and dead, crunchy leaves to avoid Egmont turned around to see the others follow suit and continued to venture through the forest They all held hands going in a single file line, waiting to hear another scream again. Asher whispered, “Maybe it was just another couple of kids goofing off.” Almost on cue, another scream echoed through the forest, “HELP!” That was it. Egmont ran past the trees, getting cuts on his arms and legs from the branches, trying to find out where the sound of distress was coming from. There he found it.
He saw a trail of candles on a small dirt path and a large rock that was illuminating slightly. Egmont covered himself in a bush and turned around, finding himself alone. After catching his breath, he heard a group of people chanting. He couldn’t understand what he was hearing, perhaps because it was in a different language or because he felt exhausted after the adrenaline pushed itself down. Before he could understand what he was about to witness, he felt a cold hand touch his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. Another cold hand was pushed against his mouth, making him unable to scream. It was Eris. “I told them to wait at the river. They wouldn’t be able to handle what we might see. What did you see so far?” Egmont pushed Eris’ hand away, “I saw the same shit you’re seeing now. Do you hear that though? It sounds like a chant-” Before Egmont could finish, Eris crawled away, finding a new bush right next to the corner of the rock. Egmont followed close behind and could hear the chanting more clearly. They peeked their heads out of the bush and almost passed out.
There stood four men, all in black cloaks, oversized sleeves to cover their arms and hands, and to the ground, contracting twigs and mud They were in a semicircle while another man, younger than the rest, in a grey cloak was in the middle, holding an old, wooden axe It was dripping dark blood, signifying it was recent, and had a pool of blood underneath the axe In front of the man, was another flat-surfaced rock, surrounded by melted candles, covered in blood It was oozing out of the sides, making it look like there was a massacre They eased a little further to see what was on the rock, finding Lizzie’s head off the rest of her body Egmont was the first to turn away and started to gag silently Eris couldn’t move, she was stuck in a trance of shock and horror “Eris, we need to leave Now” Egmont whispered, grabbing her hand and making her turn away from the scene She said nothing, her mind was going a thousand miles a second She knew the extent of Aurora’s relationship with Lizzie, but how was she going to tell her this? Would Aurora even believe me? Aurora wouldn’t even be able to cope with this How can I even tell her I saw her dead sister? Eris slowly stood up
following Egmont; a large twig snapped from under her. They stood where they were, wondering if the men heard them. “Did you hear that?” a deep voice echoed. Egmont stared at Eris, holding her hand tightly, scared of the future ahead of them. Not a minute goes by until they hear twigs and leaves crunching underneath a pair of shoes Their feet were stiff, they couldn’t move Eris put her hand over her mouth, covering her heavy breathing A hand appeared in the bush and grabbed Eris’ hair, making her scream and releasing Egmont’s hand, so he wouldn’t be spotted as well
She was forced to turn and see the guy with the grey cloak on His forehead and cheeks had lines of blood still trickling down, his eyes were different colors blue and green He put his other hand around her mouth, forcing her to shut up “Eris?” Eris stopped struggling and just stared at him Elijah? Elijah was a couple of years older than The Double A’s and E’s, but he used to be one of them, The Double A’s and Triple E’s He was until he decided to become Lizzie’s boyfriend and upset Aurora, forcing everyone to evict him Eris pushed his hand away and looked at him with utter disgust “What the fuck did you do? Why are you doing this? What did Lizzie ever do to you?” Elijah does a deep, heavy sigh “I-I don’t know how to explain it I’ve been wanting a way to get out of this shitty town and this is the only way They contacted me while I was looking for a place to learn more about the world and find some form of independence He said this was the only way to get out of here Hurt someone I loved the most I just didn’t know that ‘hurt’ meant kill ” Too shocked to speak, Eris just stares at him, scoffing in disbelief That makes no fucking sense Why would he even believe that shit? This is cliche cult 101 Why is he so stupid? Does he even realize the repercussions of his actions? Elijah stares at Eris “You-you can’t tell anyone about this shit You owe me this…” he points at her stomach, “I’m still keeping your secret. Did you tell Asher about what you did? Did he even know that it would’ve been his?” Eris slapped him, leaving blood on her hand. “You don’t get to loom that shit over my head-” “I won’t anymore. You won’t even see me anymore…If you do me this one solid.” Eris looked at the bush, knowing Egmont could hear this conversation. She wipes her hand on her clothing, leaving no trace of evidence. “You get 10 minutes before I call the cops.” Less than a second goes by before Elijah runs away, looking for the others. Egmont pops out of the bush immediately grabs her hand and pulls her with him, leading her to the A’s. Egmont pulls out his phone and calls the police, making a quick discussion to get to the elephant in the room. He sighs and stares at the sky, holding back tears. “They said it’s a regular occurrence to have rituals there but not that extreme. I kept your promise and didn’t mention Elijah’s name…only Lizzie’s. I think we shouldn’t stay around so we don’t get caught in the crossfire…or get the A’s involved.” Eris nodded her head vigorously, “Yeah. Yeah. That’s a good idea ” “What the fuck was Elijah talking about? What fucking secret? Scratch that, what the fuck do we tell Aurora?” “I don’t know Egmont. Maybe we should say it was just a couple of kids joking around but we’re still a little spooked so we could leave. Aurora will want us to show her that and she won’t be able to stomach that. Who knows if they’ll take Lizzie’s body away before the cops get there? Also ” Eris turns and pushes Egmont back, “You know the secret you’re just choosing to forget it ” Eris walks away first, leaving Egmont in his thoughts The clinic How does Elijah know about it? Wait it was Asher’s? They find the wall just a couple of feet ahead of them Eris whispers, “You always get to call the shots It’s my turn this time I know Aurora better than you do so just follow my lead unless you want to lose everything and everyone ” Egmont looks down, anger flowing through his body Who the fuck does Eris think she is? She doesn’t know shit about leading She just knows how to keep everyone isolated from her Besides the thoughts rushing through his body, he follows Eris to find the A’s sitting on the rock, fully dry and talking to each other Asher and Aurora jump up, running towards them “What the hell happened?! Egmont, you just ran away and Eris told us to stay here What happened?!” Asher said while holding Eris, seeing her shake like a leaf Eris and Egmont stared at each other before Eris spoke up “It was just a couple of kids goofing off
We’re still pretty spooked though. Can we just leave?” Aurora came over and hugged Eris, walking her toward the other side of the river where all their belongings were.
The walk back to their homes was silent, the tension could be cut with a knife. They first passed Aurora’s house, she gave Eris a hug and the boys a wave and walked home Second was Egmont, he gave Eris a nod and a handshake to Asher He was walking away silently with his hands in his pockets Asher scared of silence, spoke to Eris while shaking her shoulders “Okay Eri, what happened? You’ve been staring at the ground the whole time and it’s killing me knowing you’re in distress Tell me, what’s going on?” Eris stared at Asher, wanting to tell him what happened He deserved to know, he’s been with her since the beginning, was with her panic attacks, and let her sleep over at his house when she needed to run away from her parents; yet she was covered in sins that would wound him inside and out She started to cry with a faint smile on her face She never smiled Only for Asher “Nothing happened Ash, just what Egmont and I told you ” Asher scoffed and looked around in disbelief Eris always told Asher everything until now “Alright, whatever Eri, I’ll see you tomorrow I guess ”
The next day Aurora called everyone in distress, wailing that Lizzie was nowhere to be found They all stayed at Aurora’s house while she cried in Eris’ lap, unaware of the horrors Eris kept Elijah was reported as a suspect since he was the last one seen with Lizzie; no one has seen him since the disappearance Egmont stopped talking to Eris after the forest incident, leaving her on delivered and her questions unanswered Aurora became secluded and stopped talking to Egmont and Asher, only speaking to Eris on occasion Her once bubbly personality crashed as she only walked around with a grim look Aurora’s once vibrant wardrobe shifted within a week to dark colors, Lizzie’s clothes, trying to find some way to keep her close. Even though Aurora and Lizzie had a horrible sister relationship, Aurora still loved her and missed her. Eris felt nothing but guilt whenever she was with Aurora but still stuck around with her, knowing this was the only way she could make up for her transgressions. Eris became more secluded than before, only occasionally talking to Asher. She truly loved him but was so engulfed with guilt about what she’d done that she believed now more than ever that she doesn’t deserve him. Asher stopped talking to Egmont after seeing the angry and disapproving faces towards Eris, Aurora wouldn’t talk to him anymore and he understood and stepped back, leaving him with Eris. Granted, their relationship was strained afterward; however, with the amount of time they had to spend together on the student council and their long history together, they stuck by each other. Eris would wake up after night terrors and come to Asher’s house and sleep over without explanation. Asher was fine with it, he cared for Eris, more than anyone else. He loves her and only wants the best for her. If that meant being her shoulder to cry on and not knowing why, he would do it with no questions asked. They never found Lizzie’s body and Elijah has been a wanted man since.
Jade Bauer studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
Lavender Fields
By Jadon Goldsmith
The Husband:
I woke up in the middle of the night to escape my worst fear
A fear that will shift how you see me as a man, your intuition as a woman, how you’ll remember us, and the men you will meet after me.
I went to the kitchen to grab a drink and looked at the clock to see how much time we had left together before you awake.
I tucked myself back in the sheets and closed my eyes to go back to sleep.
But guilt pries my eyes open.
I looked around the room and counted sheep. Then, I focused on my painting of him in a lavender field on the wall. I am a painter who has painted many pictures, but you were never my muse. I stared at the painting, and my reminiscence of him and I together returned The vision of my disloyalty to you, my wife
I put up a front so you would think everything was okay; I prayed to God and my ancestors that you would believe me
And you did
Before I leave you, I petition to them that they allow you to forget me as I want to forget us
I pray that they take me to the lavender fields where I can be myself and untie myself from our knot
The Wife:
I stayed up all night because I lived my worst fear. The fear that has shifted the way I see you as a man, my intuition as a woman, how I’ll remember us, and the men I’ll meet after you.
I heard you go downstairs to the kitchen, and then I looked out the window to see how much time we had left together before you left me. You came back in the bedroom to tuck yourself in the sheets and I remember all of those times that you wouldn’t let me
I hope guilt will pry your eyes open
I looked around the room and counted sheep Then, I focused on your painting of that man on the wall You are a painter who has painted many pictures, but why was I never your muse?
I stared at the painting, and my resentfulness against you returned The vision of your disloyalty to me, your wife I put up a front so you would think everything was okay; I prayed to God and my ancestors that you would believe me
And you did
Before you leave me, I petition to them that they will allow me to forget you as I want to forget us.
I pray that they will set you free to the lavender fields with him and untie me from our knot.
Jadon Goldsmith studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
No one to tell
By Anonymous
“She’s magnificent," Ilene thought. Ilene thought all her friends were magnificent, but there was something different about this one. Max was different. She thought Max was probably short for Maxine or something; she was too afraid to ask. Max was smart – smarter than her at least, and strong; she was really strong. Ilene had known strong people before, but this girl could deadlift her on a bad day and chuck her across the room on a good one. Ilene then started to think about Max picking her up to throw across the room. She shook her head to remove that thought.
Max wasn’t pretty, at least not in the traditional sense. She was tall and muscular, with very average facial features. But her eyes – Ilene loved her eyes. They weren’t green, and they weren’t blue; they were somewhere in between. She had big, beautiful eyes. Ilene loved staring into people’s eyes. She thought it showed the kindness in people’s hearts; however, she also thought that was stupid and cliché. Max was kind and incredibly sincere, but also intimidating. Like you wouldn’t wanna be in a fist fight with her, but you definitely want to get a hug from her. “I bet she gives good hugs,” Ilene thought. Max was about 8 inches taller than Ilene so giving her a hug would be a little awkward. Now all Ilene could think about was being pulled tight into a hug with her face smushed into Max’s chest. She couldn’t help but blush at her own thoughts.
Ilene was confounded at her own brain She never liked a girl before, definitely not like this She liked guys – maybe a bit too much according to some of her friends She had dated nearly half a dozen within the past year and never heard the end of it from some people Max never brought it up when Ilene broke it off with some new guy She seemed to be the only person that didn’t judge She thought Max was the most sincere person she knew But that’s a dumb word–sincere–it’s hardly a compliment Imagine telling someone that they were sincere It’s like saying “ you’re great at not lying” She thought all this as she stared off into space
Ilene couldn’t get Max off her mind; still, she couldn’t tell anyone about it I mean, who would she tell? Not her friends Certainly not Max Max wouldn’t understand It wasn’t even like she was into Max, right? They had been friends since they met over a year ago Ilene wasn’t sure when the title for someone changes from casual acquaintances to friends She assumed it was when she felt comfortable around them, so with Max, it was as soon as they met
Max didn’t have a great relationship with her family; Ilene knew that She just imagined if Max came home with a girlfriend; her parents would disown her Max rarely talked about her parents, but Ilene figured they weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy Max told her once that she came from a small rural town where everyone talked about everyone Ilene knew what would happen if she told anyone about what she was feeling. She knew that people would talk.
And for all she knew, Max didn’t even like girls. She couldn’t remember Max ever expressing interest in anyone. Ilene always thought that Max was quiet and stoic; she never really expressed feelings. Ilene so deeply admired Max. She didn’t want to think about it anymore; her chest felt tight whenever she thought about it. She knew there was no way it would work out and she knew that she just had to be ok with it The author
The Box
By Andrew Lam
The Box is my duty to guard.
It is under my protection to never let it open.
What am I protecting?
No one has opened The Box. What is it?
It gnaws at my mind.
I must fulfill my duty but my mind wanders on what is inside.
I must maintain my duty and protect it at all costs including from myself.
I must protect it despite its very essence digging into my skin.
Yet what if I knew what was inside The Box?
Maybe I could better protect what is inside?
It would be easier to keep it safe if I knew what it was.
It would put my mind, nay everyone’s mind at ease
It also might be a great evil.
So I must continue protecting it.
I must protect everyone
Yet what if I can defeat this evil
I am considered to be strong, and that is why I was assigned to The Box. Yes it must be something sinister inside The Box.
It must be this evil which tempts me and hurts me so much
This could be a greater protection than just guarding The Box
But what if I’m not strong enough and I let out this great evil?
I must protect this box and not let it open
It is for everyone’s safety
I do not need to know to complete this duty
This is my duty
YET I MUST KNOW
Andrew Lam studies Digital Media Arts at Bridgewater College.
Tiempo
By John Bustillo
Era una tarde cualquiera, el sol se ocultaba más allá del horizonte visible, las hojas de los árboles caían cual otoño tocando la ventana. A lo lejos se observaba una pequeña ciudad, los árboles imponían su voluntad, pues ellos reinaban, lo demás solo era un accesorio…
Se dice que en el lugar había un pequeño lago, lleno de vegetación, y solo unas cuantas cabañas rodeaban ese viejo cuerpo de agua, y como era de esperarse, el tiempo se hizo notar, allí mismo, sobre salía una sola escena…
Era este joven, que todas las tardes admirador del lago era. Se dice que se sentaba a la orilla, una taza de café, su única compañía. Muchos podían ver esa escena diaria, pero nadie se acercaba…
Ojalá alguien se hubiera acercado, pues en realidad se sentaba con su taza de café a observar ese paisaje que la naturaleza escondía. Muchos lugareños lo observaban con cierto desdén, no podían entender tal escena
Era este joven el cual diariamente sus pensamientos ganaban la batalla, el lago era solo un intento de eludir. Pues en su mirada escondía gritos de auxilio solo opacados por su silencio rotundo Él era un alma rota llena de vida, con deseos de comerse al mundo, soñando algún día poder volar
Muchos lo llamarían tener mala suerte, mientras otros incluso lo llamarían cobardía, Lo cierto es, que solo aquella alma rota, sabía las razones del porque se sentía anclado al lugar
El tiempo pasó, aquel joven se llenó de atardeceres, y como era de esperarse, los lugareños siguieron su destino, algunos en busca de nuevos horizontes y llegó el momento, en que el vio su último atardecer quedando sus deseos en solo eso, deseos
John Bustillo estudia Psicología en la Universidad Católica de Honduras.
Odesa Steps*
By Stan Galloway
How many Russian syllables have poured down your terraces (eight steps lost to silt boot tracks overlaid by sunmoonshine) into harbor markets?
How many leathered souls molded plastic treads in 180 years have kissed your stones?
Despite decades independence funicular spirits rise and fall like a carnival’s high striker echoing nightmare memories calling into question: what falls what rises now?
*The Potemkin Stairs were built 1837-1841, originally 200 terraced steps leading from the city to the shoreline of the Black Sea Today 192 steps remain usable above erosion and sand deposits
Stan Galloway teaches Writing and Literature at Bridgewater College.
Forward She’ll Go
By Olivia DeWan
Essie screeches with frustration, bringing the point of her dagger down onto the metal surface of the coffin lid. When sparks fly, but not a dent appears, she chucks her weapon to the floor.
“Gods forbid something be easy in this wretched, miserable life,” she seethes, unclasping the latch of her navy cloak. “I have not come this far to be stopped by something as trivial as a lid.”
She rolls the sleeves of her dress to her elbows, ignoring the bruises that decorate the insides of her wrists like some macabre bracelet. She slaps her hands to the ledge and shoves with all her might. The coffin doesn't budge. Fine. She’ll kick it off instead. Essie gathers the hem of her dress, fully preparing to shed the clothing for more range of motion, when the lid jolts.
Her stomach plummets like she took a dive off a cliff. A sharp clang vibrates through the air as muffled curses echo from inside the coffin, accompanied by another bang. Essie swallows hard and takes a good ten steps back. This is certainly the most terrible, horrible idea she’s ever had in her entire life, and she’s had many of them
Her gaze locks on the dagger at the other end of the room If she moves fast enough, perhaps she can-
The lid explodes back in a swirl of dust, swinging on the hinges with a shriek Essie yelps, taking in a mouthful of dust that induces a coughing fit This is exactly how she wanted this to go Picture perfect, really The only thing that would make it better would be a deep groan cuts through the silence Essie locks her legs to prevent them from trembling Fear has no place here She is surely above fear and not delusional at all Gods, she should have listened to the stories Essie shuts her eyes so tightly that black spots dance in the darkness Why does she have to be so stupid? Life at the manor wasn’t that terrible Sure, her mother sought to control her every move; what dresses she wore, who she spoke with, when she got up and went to bed Sure, she was going to be given away like a prized cow to the slaughter without a second thought, but at least she was alive Now, she’ll be facing down one of the most fearsome creatures in all of her people’s history and-
“What madness has taken hold of you, girl?” a very annoyed, very exhausted voice demands Essie, against her better judgment, dares to look Her mouth opens in shock, then clamps shut again A woman with a head of wild, black curls lounges in the coffin like it’s the most luxurious bathtub to have ever graced the earth One hand casually slung over the side, glittering with ruby and emerald rings, gestures to Essie with a lazy wave.
“Hello? Child? Are you deaf?”
It was at that moment that Essie realized she’d been staring at the woman without answering her question.
“Are you the Collector?” she asks, her words shaking only slightly. The woman groans. “Not this again.”
Essie brightens immediately and nearly trips over herself to get closer. “Oh Great Divine One, The Silent Collector, The Tapestry Weaver, The Guardian Of-”
“That is more than enough, good gods,” the woman says, effectively cutting her off. “Come here and help me up.”
“Certainly!”
Essie dashes to the woman’s side. The mysterious lady’s elegant fingers wrap around Essie’s worn ones; a stark contrast to the rough calluses on her palms and raw skin from the elements.
“May I ask how long you have been trapped here, my Lady?” Essie questions as she helps the woman climb out of the coffin
“Trapped?” the woman scoffs “Hardly I put myself here It’s terribly tedious work, you know Answering questions and dealing out prophecies like I am some kind of sorceress is not for the faint of heart ”
“Um, well aren’t you a sorceress?”
“They wish ” With a toss of her hair, she adjusts her velvet dress “You know me as the Collector, yes? That means you hail from the north ”
“That’s correct ”
“What is your name?”
“My family calls me Esther, but friends call me Essie ”
“Well, Esther, it’s a damn miracle you made it here alive ”
Essie bristles “I am more resilient than I look ”
“There must be something special about you if you ’ ve traveled through the Wraithwood and over the Deadwaters ” She studies Essie with piercing blue eyes, seeming to look through every part of her “I do not want to be impressed, but you are surprising”
“I would hope so ” Essie raises her chin “I came here for help I am prepared to beg, if I must ”
“Hm. Alright. You may call me Sable.”
“Thank you, Sable.”
Sable plucks a piece of fuzz off her flowing sleeve. “What is it you seek, Esther?”
“Information, of course.”
“Naturally,” Sable deadpans. “Information about what?”
“My marriage.” Essie spits the words like poison.
Sable gasps, clasping her hands under her chin. “Oh, a wedding? I love weddings! It’s been a century since I’ve been to one! Do I get an invitation, dear Esther?”
“There will be no invitation because there will be no wedding,” Essie replies firmly. “It is against my wishes. My mother is desperate for money and the man is nearly as old as he is rich.”
Sable’s mouth curls into a snarl. “How horrendous.”
“I know.”
“What is it you wish for then? Information on the most creative way to kill him? For a journal of the most vicious toxins that will render him useless in five seconds or less?”
“No.”
“Pitty”
“I was hoping for something more along the lines of-”
“Stop right there,” Sable snaps “You will get what I deem worthy to give you ”
Essie swallows her retort “Of course ”
The Collector, or Sable, is infamous across the realm for her talents in securing information She knows quite literally everything there is to possibly know: everything from the past, and everything in the future Her name is written in books and myths that are centuries old, and then one day, she disappeared off the face of the earth
Essie only sought her out when she grew truly desperate She prayed her months of researching old poems and books would pay off to finding the Collector’s location, and thank the gods it has She wasn’t even sure if the Collector was real or just a figment of her people's overactive imaginations Yet, here she stands;
regal in a dress the color of plums and decked out in jewels a king would salivate over, locked in a metal coffin covered in dirt.
“Your thoughts are very loud, Essie,” Sable says.
Her jaw drops “Can you read my mind?”
“No, I can read your face ”
“So, will you help me?”
“I have been rather bored Eternal sleep is wonderful until your dreams start repeating themselves,”
Sable muses “Here is the deal: I will tell you the most advantageous path for you to take in exchange for your darkest secret ”
Essie’s breath catches in her chest “You can’t be serious ”
“I most certainly am ”
“But-”
“One secret for your future happiness Is it not a fair price?”
There’s a gleam in the Collector’s eyes that makes Essie shift on her feet, her boots scuffing the wooden floor Essie really is out of options She knows exactly what the Collector is fishing for, too It’s the thing she’s been too terrified to say out loud; to even admit fully to herself But for her future, she must
“Alright, you have yourself a deal,” Essie agrees
Sable’s teeth flash “Wonderful ”
With a snap of her fingers, Essie’s dagger flies across the room and into the Collector’s waiting hand
A sharp, metallic scent floats through the air, nearly choking Essie who fights to breathe through it. The Collector grabs the hilt of the weapon and slices a clean gash across her palm.
“Your turn, girl,” she demands.
Essie’s eyes widen in horror, locked on the abnormally dark blood that pools from the wound. “I-”
“Oh, for gods’ sake.” Sable grabs Essies wrist, yanking her closer, and slashes the dagger over her hand.
“Hey!” Essie shouts, a sharp sting seeping through her veins as she struggles against the Collector’s grip.
“Don’t be such a child, it won’t hurt that bad.”
“What won’t hurt-”
Her palm burns with all of the fires of hell as she gasps for breath, clutching her hand to her chest. She desperately bites back the whimpers of pain that want to escape her lips.
“Stand up,” Sable hisses. “You are no coward. The deal is done. Now, speak.”
“I’d rather cut my tongue off and eat it,” Essie snaps with bitter rage.
“I highly doubt that,” Sable chuckles. “We have a deal, girl. Do you want to know what happens if you break it?”
“Not particularly”
“Too bad My blood runs in your veins now Should you break our accord, it will pollute your entire system, turn your bones to ash, and explode you from the inside out ”
Essie gulps “How lovely”
“I won’t tell you again Speak ”
Essie bows her head, her blonde hair pouring off her shoulders in a waterfall of defeat, before she rises She smooths down her dress as she secretly hopes for any kind of distraction She finds none, and she knows there won’t be any She has one choice: face her truth or die
She might as well do it with her shoulders pulled back and her weapon raised She snatches her dagger from Sable’s hand, running her fingers over the leather hilt for comfort Part of her relishes in the
outrage that would cross over her mother’s face if she knew Essie held a weapon. So she takes strength in that while Sable practically vibrates with excitement, a wild energy skating around her.
“I hate where I am right now, ” Essie admits.
Sable raises a brow “Here, in this room?”
“No In my life ” Essie’s voice breaks “I hate waking up every morning just to do the same thing over, and over, and over again I hate not knowing what to do, or where to go, so I just end up feeling stuck I hate the intense longing for love, knowing that what I want is unrealistic, and yet wanting it all the same But more than anything, I hate being alone; so completely alone that even in a room full of people, I’m nothing”
She doesn’t know what she expects: maybe for Sable to laugh in her face, or tell her that she’s ridiculous and unstable But she doesn’t expect Sabel to give her a soft smile full of understanding
“Well done, Essie,” the Collector says
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Essie whispers
Sable laughs “My dear, once secrets are told they are no longer secrets They are only truths or lies ”
That’s
“Now! Your path, as promised ” The Collector claps her hands “Take that noble steed of yours and ride south Your family will be fine without the money Your mother has been lying to you ”
“She’s been what?”
“That’s unimportant ”
“I disagree!”
“Fine, fine.” Sable waves her hand like she’s chasing off flies. “The dowry she’s seeking would be but a drop in the vast ocean that is your family's wealth. She is not hurting for money.”
“That can’t be possible,” Essie sputters with disbelief. “I’ve heard for months how we’ll have to start begging in the streets! She tried to sell my horse. ”
“I assure you, it is the truth. The rich always want more. It’s a status thing with the upper class, I’m sure you know. ”
Essie’s brow furrows as the pieces start to click together. “That must be why she’s desperate to buy one of those absurd gowns the kind stitched from the finest silk shipped from across the seas. Gods know why she needs another dress when she already has thousands. But Lady Rabirth has one, and she never misses a chance to remind everyone. Father, too preoccupied with his mistress to notice, doesn’t care, but Mother seethes every time Lady Rabirth flaunts her wealth. She’s determined to own a gown just as grand, if only to see the look of outrage on that woman’s face.”
“There you go. Greed is her master, and as her only child, you are her reckoning. Your mother is a wicked, wicked woman. I am not ignorant to what she has put you through. I notice the bruises blooming on your wrists, stark reminders of your necessary defiance, left by the sharp crack of her cane. I see the slump of your shoulder from cruel words, beating down upon you like unforgiving fists ”
“Oh,” Essie whispers Then, as if remembering who she is, she straightens her posture “It was nothing I couldn’t handle ”
“I know that as well, but you should not have to bear it You are meant for so much more You can be so much more if only you have the strength to take your fate by the reins ”
Images flash behind Essie’s eyes, unwelcome reminders of the past: her feet aching in impossibly high heels as she twirls for hours on a dance floor, suitors circling who see her as nothing more than a trophy; her father’s angry tirades when yet another betrothal fell through; her mother’s disapproving glare as she dismounts after a forbidden ride through the gardens, because a lady should never sit astride a horse; the heavy thunk of the door locking her in for days, the key dangling just out of reach unless she bows to their demands to smile and wave, existent in their view, but absent from their ears
Essie nods, her resolve firmly established. “What do you recommend?”
“Ride south and don’t look back. Your new beginning comes at the price of your former self.” Sable winks. “But I think you’re more than ready for that. Especially when you find everything you ’ ve been searching for, and more ”
“Thank you, Sable ”
“Don’t mention it ” The Collector stretches her arms over her head “I think it was high time I woke up anyways The world could do with a bit of chaos ”
“I think it would be better with less, actually”
“Better off, maybe, but it definitely wouldn't be more fun,” Sable says, her tone far too mischievous for Essie’s liking
“That’s one way to look at it ”
“Now, run along I have things to do”
“Can I ask just one more question before I go?”
“If you must ”
“Why were you in a coffin?”
Sable smirks “Nobody bothers you when you’re dead, and metal is much more difficult to break open than wood ”
From outside the cottage, her loyal draft horse whinnies with impatience as if he can sense the impending adventure
Adventure.
That’s exactly what she wants; to find something that impassions her; to find something that matters. With a grin, Essie sheaths her dagger and shoves her way out of the cottage, away from the gleaming eyes of the Collector. The only way to go is forward, so forward she’ll go.
Olivia DeWan studies Professional Writing and Communication at Bridgewater College.
Secret Mission
By Sam Hamilton
lead principled lives of purpose and consequence
l i e s
d o n on e pr o u d lead lives of principle l es s in consequence and n o purpose
d e pose princ es pr o pose
d an ce
le n d p r ose and ve r se
lea p in p i l es of lea ves
l i ves an s purpose
d i e s an s consequence
Sam Hamilton teaches Professional Writing at Bridgewater College.
Noctis Silentii; Night of Silence
By Stephen Layton
Stephen Layton studies Digital Media Arts and Computer Science at Bridgewater College
Deadly Nights
By Tracy Inskip
Under the dark new moon, Jessie followed the path she has traced each and every night. Black shadows clung to the trees at every turn, painting the world in shades of blues, blacks, and grays. The world was never comforting at night. Yet, she continued all the same. While she journeyed during the night, her friends rested back at home. She winced knowing they were left unaware of where she was nor why she had to leave so late at night. But she couldn’t tell them. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t.
Years ago, she had encountered a strange man in the mountains. He seemed to pose no harm, he even aided her down the snowy cliffs. At the time, she saw it as nothing more than a chance meeting. But then she saw him again in the following village. Then again, in the forests, and so on. After his fourth unexplained appearance, she began to question him. How did he find her? Why did he appear so often? And finally, what were his motives? The man didn’t give many clear answers, only answering with his name and the possibility of mere coincidence. As time passed, she grew accustomed to his odd behavior. For a moment, she almost considered him a friend. Unfortunately, this could not have been further from the truth. Behind his calculated movements and practiced answers, was an inhuman creature. Jagged teeth hiding behind a silent mask, short and sharp claws curled against his palms, and glassy eyes that watched but never changed. Along with these features, he enjoyed the gift of immortality second only to the gods that ruled them. A perfect predator Jessie was only his recent target, but not to kill He had taken a curious interest in her ambition Unlike those who were content to contain magic in small bursts, she sought to advance the practice She created potions that were stronger, lasting longer, and imbued the art into the very weapons she used to defend herself To him, she was merely a subject to study
Years passed before Jessie learned the truth But when she did, she wasn’t sure what to do On one hand, she was powerless against him His sheer strength and speed alone gave him more than enough advantage over her On the other hand she had too much to protect Her mom, her friends, she had to at least try for their sake In a desperate attempt to save her world, she struck a deal with him Unlike the other monsters in the night, he had kept his identity a secret, content to be a nightmare kept alive with rumors Therefore, she vowed to keep his identity a secret He could walk among humans, hunt them, and continue his observations of her as much as he wished, and she would stay silent But in return, she asked for safety A promise of exclusion for herself, her family, and her closest friends There was nothing a girl like her could do against him, but she could at least make the arrangement formal in a sense So far, both sides had been delivered He had kept his word The man never attacked them, and on the odd occasion aided them against other threats People that sought to capture Jessie and her friends for speaking out against their rules Jessie even got the chance to learn a bit from him, ways to advance the spells her mother had passed down to her For this, Jessie had kept hers as well. She never told a soul about who he was, or what he was. Not even her closest friends. It pained her to keep such a secret from them, but she had no choice. As their dynamic stood, she was trapped.
Kept like a pet on a tight leash with no room for error. For all she knew, the smallest mistake, if she showed even a fraction of the wrong move or said the wrong word, her life and the lives of her friends would be brought to an early end.
She knew her friends had noticed the change. They weren’t clueless. They saw the way her eyes, once joyful and calm, now scanned every shadow. They begged for her to speak, to share her burden. Their
questions had grown more frequent as her paranoia worsened, yet she remained in pained silence. She hated seeing them so worried. These were the people that had chosen to stick by her side during their far travels. They had given her consistency in a life that lacked it. The home she shared with them was the only security she had come to know after leaving her childhood home Would they hate her for not telling them? Would they leave her? Would she be alone, fighting and moving to survive each day again? How much longer could this last? How much longer before they got fed up with her silence? She prayed, one day, she could finally answer their burning questions Maybe one day, a day when the man relinquished his control over her A day where she could be free from the deal and live the rest of her life without fearing his sudden appearance Maybe then, she could tell them and pray they forgive her
Tracy Inskip studies Wildlife Biology at Bridgewater College
Secrets With Wings
By Andrew L Pearson
When I was little, when I was young, My world was big and secrets were fun, Hiding books from my teacher and toys from my sibs, Little white lies and one or two fibs
Honing this power, I discovered in me, More and more secrets I could now see Conniving thoughts grew in thought, word, and deed, Control was my pride - my day-to-day creed
I played like a king and lived like a pawn Enslaved by my secrets, my friends were all gone Secrets have weight; secrets entice Secrets hurt, steal, and carry a price
I packed my secrets into a burlap sack I tied it down so it ne ’er to come back. But early next morning, I opened my door, To face their taunt more than ever before.
No stars to see and no dogs to bark, In a boat on a lake in the darkest dark, I tossed my secrets overboard in a sack, Weighted with hate, yelling, “Do Not Come Back!”
Down into that deep sank all my fear. Rowing and rowing, I reached my pier. Tired and happy, I then returned home, My secrets there waiting for me to atone.
Pressed by a whispering spirit’s dare, I opened my window in tears of despair Each secret by name I then called out, Each sprouting wings on the air of each shout
Soaring out of my window like a gaggle of geese, Secrets’ spell is broken, leaving me peace.
As the sun rises - my secrets are gone. I now live free - as free as the dawn
Andrew L. Pearson directs the Forrer Learning Commons at Bridgewater College.
Nightfall
By Grayson Preece
Grayson Preece studies Art and Music at Bridgewater College
Winter Morning
By Christian Sheridan
Hair tousled and half-asleep she rests her head against the window pane, a plush bear dangling by one chewed ear. As I’m about to ask what she is looking at, she turns, declares: “The sky. It’s red just over there” and points her bear for emphasis. But nuance counts at both an early age and early hour, so I say “Pink. It’s more like pink.” She cocks her head and considers. “Yes, pink” she confirms, and as if sure she always knew the difference, returns to contemplate the view. One needn’t be just turned three to wonder at the dawn in January, but it helps. It must help see the sunrise as potential, not mere pattern. Looking past her light-outlined curls I see how roofs and branches coalesce from shadows to lines sharpening against a brightening sky As each detail resolves to higher definition, morning brings such clarity that I can only hope will last throughout the day But soon the sun will finish its ascent, and we must start as well: for her to daycare, for me some work on lines that can distinguish pink from red but can’t quite capture mornings like this one which seem more numbered now than yesterday
Christian Sheridan teaches literature at Bridgewater College.
Whispers on the Stairs
By Rosie Clark
Rosie Clark studies Art at Bridgewater College
On Thoreau’s “Walking”
By Meredith Scheiner
I was two when my father began holding my hand through the forest. Wading creeks, climbing trees, crunching leaves: through two decades it became routine.
We don’t look West anymore. Westward Progress– Divine Rights– Manifest Destiny: we know the murmur of their falsehoods fed to our forefathers at the expense of those who lived unrespected. Eastward, some gaze to the Himalaya–to the distant dusty-capped peaks. The South is cracked in sunbaked unrepentance–the North’s gray eyes are stoic; They scrub the surface of it all.
My grandfather can see the veil now We all say that if he dies picking berries, or disoriented in the trees, it would be favorable, and yet, the Morphine revives him
The people rage and shake like the grass of the plains Solar powers the surveillance state Where is the comfort that has been promised? The Civil War flexes its tendons under the dirt of laborers
Is that it?
My friends chuckle when I prepare to go on “one of my walks.” I like to disappear. Hours shade into days and I still sit on that bench in the trees.
Wildness, wilderness, any sense of adventure
ebbs and flows like the sun and its spots. Go to grass, he says–touch it? How things bend and twist in time’s shift But it matters not, for we saunter towards the Holy Land, golden as a bankside in autumn
Meredith Scheiner studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
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Editor-in-Chief
2024 Editorial Board
Sam Hamilton teaches Professional Writing at Bridgewater College.
Managing Editor
Luis Gutierrez Palacios studies Professional Writing and Business Administration at Bridgewater College
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Mackenzie A Buckley studies Health & Exercise Science at Bridgewater College
Elizabeth Burzumato studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
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Emily Fuentes studies Digital Media Arts at Bridgewater College.
Zach Guthrie-Pimpinella studies Sociology at Bridgewater College.
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Gontse Motsheko studies Digital Media Arts at Bridgewater College.
Abby Nester studies Music and Professional Writing at Bridgewater College.
Olivia Ohleger studies Digital Media Arts at Bridgewater College
Amari J Presley studies Professional Writing at Bridgewater College
Tyler W Ramos studies Digital Media Arts at Bridgewater College
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