The piece of driftwood engraved with the words "Hemlock Cottage" rocked back and forth with the gentle push of the sea's breeze. It was a lime-white, thatched-roofed, squat house, its borders filled with pansies, boasting a wooden swing in the garden by the entrance. It was the kind of place I imagined a sweet old lady living, like a fairy godmother or a good witch. Gravel crunched beneath my feet as I trekked to the door at the side of the cottage. The driftwood revealed a second side, upon which was emblazoned its Welsh translation: "Bwthyn Cegid."
Hemlock Cottage was the perfect place to get my head straight. It was close enough to the sea to hear flocks of seagulls baying and for sand to sweep the sidewalk, yet far away enough from the chaos of the world to be alone with my thoughts. Not that I particularly wanted to be, but after the insistence of both my family and therapist, I settled on getting some time away.
I never met the cottage owner, a man called Bevan, who I envisioned to be short and plump, sporting a white beard and a tweed cap, yet never got the interaction I needed to confirm my suspicions. Bevan told me that I would find the key under the doormat and read the rules' book. After I paid my deposit, that was all the contact I managed to squeeze out of him. I shifted the fading "Welcome" mat, revealing the house key and several dead flies. The rust on the key stained my fingers so much that I was shocked it did not snap into two when I pushed it into the keyhole.
Indoors, it was modest, yet well furnished. Support beams ran through the low ceilings. Floral couches, tea sets, woolen bed sheets, everything you would expect to find in such a house was there. Amy would have loved it. I pictured her knitting away in the armchair, pushing her dark hair behind her ear, fixing me with a benevolent gaze. She'd look me up and down with those big blue eyes and…
BANG
My trance snapped as I whipped around. The sound came from right behind me—the window. The breeze jostled the curtains mockingly as I felt a cooling relief dissipate across my face. "Bevan must've forgotten to shut it when he dropped the keys off," I supposed, slamming the window shut to prevent another shock later in my stay.
The evening had fallen when I came across the leather-bound rules book. It was handwritten, in scrawly, barely-decipherable calligraphy. In most places that I had stayed with Amy, guestbooks typically contained regulations such as "no pets" or "please wipe your feet." Bevan's rules were different.
Don't stare out of the window at night. They stare back.
Don't leave the lights on past 10pm. They will be able to see you.
Don't open the door to anybody, even if you think that you know them.
Don't touch the plants. They hate it when you do that.
The clocks should never chime. Cover your ears if they do.
AND MOST IMPORTANTLY____________
The words stopped. Bevan was obviously superstitious, into the local folklore as all traditional old men were. I closed the book and rested my head on the sofa, staring at the ceiling until sleep overpowered me.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
I woke with a start. Someone was at the door. They were knocking, scraping, trying to get in. I was paralyzed with fear. Suddenly, the banging stopped. Whoever it was, had given up.
Then I heard successive crunches. They were running around the side of the house to the window. I averted my eyes from it, desperately sobbing. I caught a glimpse of the clock. 11pm. What had I summoned?
"Peter!" My blood froze. "Peter, please, it's me! It's your wife, Amy!" True, it was her voice, screaming just like she did before her demise. "Peter, please, let me in!"
"No, this is my imagination," I whispered to myself. "This isn't real."
"Peter, please look at me! I love you, Peter!"
This was all a dream. My mind was playing tricks on me. If I turned around, Amy wouldn't be standing at that window. And if she was, I'd just wake up. I slowly turned my head to look.
She was already in the house. Just how I last saw her. White blouse and corduroy skirt stained with her own blood, unkempt hair stuck to her face, pale as alabaster. "But...Amy, you're dead." She said nothing, did nothing. Blood dripped onto the carpet. The knife was still in her chest. "I thought I did a good job of it, too."
All Hallow's Eve For Two.
By Angelina Hu
Nyx is not a Halloween person, never has been. That is one of the first things Lark learns about her.
Today truly is a perfect October dawn; the glittering sun casts golden bars across the porcelain classroom, faded dapples of daylight’s butterflies fluttering atop the plastic tables. Lark is leaning over a certain black-haired girl’s desk by the window, watching her jot seemingly complete nonsense in a notebook as white curtains billow like silk tails in the breeze. Lark cannot help but smile; even Nyx’s natural handwriting is pretty, looped and calligraphic, as if the ink is twirling across the lines.
“What knowledge is it that you desire?” Nyx suddenly says, in that misty voice of hers, without even looking up. Her dark hair, held back by a grey headband that matches her turtleneck, cascades down her shoulders. A few streaks of silver ripple through the midnight plumes, like falling pieces of the moon shining down her back. The highlights seem to glow in the waking fragments of golden light. Lark grins, resting her chin on her palm and delightfully peering down her cat-eyed glasses at the other. “I don’t want anything from you, y’know? It’s just really interesting, watching you write,” she says. Nyx still spares her not a glimpse, although Lark can tell she is listening by how her writing speed slows. A sudden gust filters into the classroom, intertwining with the curtains in a fluttering waltz. The half-baked, autumnal chill meets Lark’s nose, promising pie and apples and the eventual head of winter. The smile on her face grows wider. “Although, there is one thing…” “...yes?” Again, she continues to write. “It’s already October, so what are you going to be doing for Halloween this year?” At this, Nyx finally turns to meet her gaze. Silver, tourmaline lanterns glaze over Lark’s bright-eyed expression. “All Hallow’s Eve? I am not partaking in it. Why would I bear the need to scare away my own ghosts?” “Eh?! You don’t celebrate Halloween?!” At this, Lark is practically livid, wide-eyed as she leans over the seated girl, who remains impassive. “Do you know how much you’re missing out on?!” “...no.” In the dying breeze, Nyx’s hair slides over her shoulder and drips onto the desktop, like a snow-streaked stream dyed shades of blue in the half-light. “What is there to miss out on? I do not enjoy children’s candy, and the point of donning a costume is lost on me.” “But you’re missing out on all the festivities! You don’t even have to dress up, it’s just-- Y’know what, that’s it.” “Hm?” Nyx’s blank gaze passively slips up as Lark straightens, grinning a grin more radiant than even the waxing sun and the stars’ radiance reflecting off her glasses. She seems to be a great hero taking on a mission, Nyx decides. Might as well permit her pupil, the overactive dog, to do as she pleases. “This year, I’m going to show you just how Halloween should be celebrated!” Lark declares, daybreak’s rays striking her in their blinding, monarch spotlight. “We’ll go out and have fun together! It’ll be great!” Nyx blinks, sighs, and closes her eyes in submission, thus cutting Lark’s brilliant figure out of her sight. “Alright. I will allow you to demonstrate and play with your rituals, if only to humor me.” “Hooray!” Lark beams, and thus begins her quest to show Nyx just how much fun she can have.
Lark finds her task less difficult than expected. “A witch.” Lark watches as Nyx quietly identifies what the large Halloween decoration standing over her is, prods the “Try me” button on the floor, and steps back to stare at the moving prop with an expression of captivated, ever-so-serious interest. “See, this is an integral part of Halloween! Going to the holiday store and trying all of the moving things!” Lark exclaims, grinning as she watches Nyx move on to a vampire prop. They have been in the store for five minutes now and are trapped in the entry aisle, which is covered from shelf to shelf to ceiling to floor with a variety of decorations of every size. Purple and orange lights, plastic ghosts, blow-up balloons, and (of course) moving ghouls and spiders and mages surround them in a delightful maze of tricks, black cloaks and candlelit stars of pumpkins. “This is fun, right, Nyx?” “...” Nyx, having moved on once more, is seemingly occupied by a crooked, colorless ghost, rocking from side to side and swinging its silky arms. Eyes wide, she is perfectly enraptured by it as she stares, albeit with an unsmiling expression. Grey irises, like fog in a graveyard on Halloween night, are wide and frozen upon the prop. “...Nyx?” “I want to buy this one.” “Really?! Oh, yes, yes, yes!” Lark practically combusts on the spot, as overjoyed as a child in the chocolate aisle despite the fact it’s Nyx, and not her, who has unearthed a hidden treat. She likes it! She likes the Halloween props! I’ve succeeded in making her join the cult of Halloween enthusiasts! Too soon, too soon, she quickly chides herself, returning to earth to inspect Nyx’s ghost. “But I think you’ll have to ask an employee to help you buy it. I’m sure that thing’s box is huge… and it’s a hundred dollars-?!” “Do not worry over such a trivial matter. Something as simple as human dollar numbers would hardly faze me.” Despite her dismissive words and uncaring tone, Nyx seems discouraged by the money problem, a hefty price to pay for her nonexistent purse. Lark, on the other hand, has more than enough money for the both of them, due to her part-time job. “I can pay for you,” she offers. “Lovely. As a pupil should.” A pause. Nyx seems to hesitate, her voice softening as she looks away. “And… thank you.” Lark smiles, her expression softening. Despite her cold shell and dark words, the girl could be adorably sweet if she saw it necessary. “Don’t worry about it.” I’d do anything for you, she wants to add, but doesn’t. “Come on, let’s get to the good part-- the costumes!” “...alright.” The pair finally make it to the costume selection. Two walls framing the aisle are covered in colorful, wonderland images of various outfits, from cartoon food to regal witches to peppy, inflatable balloon suits. Lark cranes her neck to gaze up at the sky’s worth of holiday-themed garb. “Oh, I can imagine kids and teens alike walking around the neighborhood in these already… Nyx, isn’t it exciting? Just being in this store makes everything feel like Halloween, huh?” “...” Again, Nyx seems to be more interested in staring silently at the costume selection than Lark’s question. Lark merely laughs and goes to hunt for an outfit of her own liking instead. Ten minutes must have passed before Nyx returns to ask for her advice on actually purchasing the costume. “I like this one,” she explains, pointing up at a stylized masquerade dress, “but this must be some elaborate trick, for I cannot find any clear place to actually purchase it.” “I’ll show you how,” Lark says, grinning. She internally breathes a sigh of ecstatic relief. If she had to be honest, she fully expected Nyx to decide none of the costumes “would fit one of such stature as my own,” to quote what the girl usually said when offered favors or gifts. Should I call it a miracle she found one she liked..? “Just memorize that number next to the picture of the dress, and we’ll give it to the employee over there who’ll get the costume for you.” “Alright.” Nyx does as instructed (alongside Lark, who decides on the dress that matches Nyx’s better) and the two change into their new costumes in the dressing rooms. Staring at herself in the mirror, in the brilliant, uncolored lighting of the stall, Lark decides she doesn’t look bad, wearing the green-grey maid dress with a stylized, white apron. A headband with white frills and a little bat wing sticking out from the side adorns her dirty-blonde bird’s nest of hair. “Nyx? You done?” Lark asks through the stall wall as she twirls in a circle before the mirror. I don’t look bad. Ooh, I wonder what Nyx looks like… She never wears anything but a sweater and jeans at school. “Yes.” There’s a rustling of curtains, and suddenly Nyx is standing in Lark’s stall in her new outfit. She is donning a white frock with a dark purple and orange dress-corset over it, which covers all the way to the frilly skirt hem. A scarlet bow lays upon her bust, and a wide-brimmed hat with a decorated ribbon tops off the outfit. “What is it that my favorite pupil thinks of thine lady’s dress?” She brandishes a masquerade mask on a stick, also orange and purple and lined with sequins, over her eyes. “...you’re beautiful.” Lark is all but stunned, staring up and down at the taller girl. “You really are.” “Pleased to hear it.” Behind the mask and her hand, Lark catches the faintest hint of a blush blooming on Nyx’s cheeks. “I… suppose I will keep this, then. It is not unpleasant.” She lowers the mask, picks at the skirt, almost shyly. “You look quite the model yourself, Lark.” “Oh… thanks.” She’s almost surprised; Nyx never gives out praise. Her classmates know her for being rather critical, after all. Shaking off the fact that her face feels as hot as a candle, Lark grins and grabs the bag for her costume instead. “Come on, let’s check these out and go back to the decorations! We can buy your ghost, too!” “Okay.” Exiting the store later with two shopping bags and one large box, Lark decides she can’t wait to see Nyx in the dress again.
After (impatiently) waiting two weeks, Lark finds herself all dressed up one fine Halloween evening. “Augh, Nyx, you better hurry up…” She’s standing outside of the other girl’s house, rocking from foot to foot in her black Mary Janes on the sidewalk. The maid outfit is, unfortunately, short-sleeved, meaning the chill of the dimming night is snapping sharply against her bare skin. “Wish I’d brought a coat…” Fortunately, Nyx is not the type of person who keeps her company waiting; the ravenette emerges from the hazy, black shadow of the house within a few minutes, donning her dress and corset, hat and mask and boots and all. She also had the good sense to bring a coat, which now conceals her rather thin arms. “Hello.” She offers a stiff greeting, her eyes unfeeling and glossy in the golden blur of the streetlight. “Let us make the journey to the café.” The two begin walking, Lark catching glimpses at Nyx whenever they pass under the lamplights’ halations. She truly does look great in the costume, the skirt flowing behind her like silk wings in the faint breeze, along with her glossy, well-brushed hair. A porcelain hand, bearing a black, lace glove, is placed upon the brim of her hat. She’s… beautiful… doll-like, almost. “Is there something of the matter? Is it my outfit?” Lark jumps, finding herself ensnared in Nyx’s dull, grey eyes. “Is a ribbon out of place, perhaps?” “Oh, no, no, it’s just-” She looks away, ears flushing red, to the sidewalk, which transitions from auburn to void as they leave the light. “You look really nice.” “...oh.” And Nyx’s face in the dark indigo shadows, flushed a lovely shade of rose, the type associated with wisteria, is a beautiful sight to see. She looks away, too, and her hair slips to block her cheeks. The two walk in comfortable silence for the rest of the darkening way to the café, which is just down the street from Nyx’s neighborhood. Even from outside, the Holiday Café is very clearly the centre of Halloween in town. Orange and purple lights decorate the plated roof and overhangs, as well as the small, crimson trees around the building, flashy and shaped like ghosts and pumpkins. Through the window, which is decorated with bat and spider-web stickers, the two can see the round tables and dressed-up customers, along with the decked-out waiters carrying plates of decorated food and drink. A golden aura encapsulates the orange-carpeted and ruby-clothed room, a room bearing patrons of ghouls and witches and creatures of every kind. “Oh, this is so exciting! I got us a reservation, actually, so we’d have a spot,” Lark says, turning to Nyx. “This place tends to fill up every year like magic, y’know?” “Ah. How thoughtful of you.” “Come on, let’s go in!” Lark continues, as excited as a small child in front of a candy shop. She takes Nyx by the hand and delightfully leads her through the door. “Hi, hi! Reservation for two!” she says to the clerk as they enter. “Alright… Lark and Nyx, is it? Follow me, this way.” Nyx allows herself to be dragged along by the hand by her friend. The room is filled with the warm, sweet scent of pumpkin treats and cupcakes, and the golden lights above cast a hazy light over the room, saturated with shades of orange and indigo, punctuated with decorations of black and white. Truly, it is a Hallowed paradise, a capsule of the pure, upbeat energy of the holiday. While not the shut-in’s usual style of outing, it fits Lark so very, very well, as Nyx can now see, and if Lark enjoys it, she can, too. “Here we are!” The waitress happily shows the two girls to a round table. She hands them a pair of menu booklets, bound in black faux-leather and ribbon, as they take a seat across from one another. “Someone will be with you shortly to take your order.” With a bow, the girl departs. “Alright, let’s see…” Lark picks up her menu and flips through. “Ah, they have a bunch of new items!” “What is it that you ordered last year?” Nyx is still slowly scanning through the first page, as if considering each item and matching it up against the others in a slow process of elimination. She gently brushes her hair back over her shoulder. “Hmm… The pumpkin cream cake, and the All Hallow’s First Star! Funny thing you asked, ‘cause both are still on the menu this year,” she notes, brightly leafing through again. “All Hallow’s… First Star?” Nyx echoes, as if in contemplation. Lark grins over the top of her booklet. “It’s this chocolate-vanilla milkshake-kinda thing with whipped cream on top, and the shake itself is orange and purple! And there’s little ice crystals scattered in there that sorta shine when you first get it, y’know, like stars!” she explains, a bit too quickly. Nyx tilts her head at her for a moment before setting the booklet down. “Then I shall order those two items.” “Eh? You’re not going to see if there’s anything else you want?” “I do not generally accustom myself with such human snacks. Whatever you believe is good is hopefully worth it,” Nyx emotionless explains, leaning back slightly in her chair and adjusting her hat. Lark smiles; Nyx really does fit into the Halloween atmosphere as well as she had envisioned, bathing in the opal light of the Jack-o-Lantern string lights hanging above their heads. Lark makes her selection, and the waiter soon comes to take their order. A few minutes after he leaves, while making idle chatter with Nyx (which mostly consists of Lark telling her stories), she decides she has to go to the bathroom. “I’ll be right back, okay?” Lark says as she waves and hurries off, leaving her companion staring after her back. And so, Nyx finds herself sitting in solitude in her chair, gazing pensively over the room. There seems to be an excess of energy, of positivity and cheer in the orange light, which is almost mimicking candelabras. Partying scares away the spirits, yes. But are they truly frightened of human children placing a sheet atop their body and calling it a ghost..? “Hello, there!” A sudden intrusion, it seems. She turns around, her eyes slowly meeting the eyes of a bright-eyed, brown-haired waitress in a maid costume. “Do you need any help? Need to place an order?” “Ah, no, thank you. My order has been adequately handled already by one of your partners,” Nyx replies, her voice toneless as if in disinterest. “Oh, good, good!” The waitress grins, not at all offended. “I love your costume, too! It fits you well.” “Why, thank you, my dear maid.” And the words slide over her tongue as easily as breathing (a royal dialect that Nyx has perfected over years, one that has become her). For a moment, she wonders if she has to brace herself for an appalled reply. She would with most of her peers, at least. “Delighted to know it.” The maid chuckles. “You’re good at getting into it, aren’t you? Halloween must be your speciality, my lady.” She offers a little curtsey. “Well, I should get going now. Have a wonderful night, darling!” “...and to you, as well,” Nyx bids her ado. Hmm… how strange.She turns back to the table, stares down at her gloved hands. She expressed no distaste, no; she even praised me, although I did nothing special. Is this what Lark calls the Halloween spirit? This unfiltered warmth, a sugary treat? But Lark soon returns, cutting apart her line of thought, and the two have fallen back into the rhythm of their discussion when the food arrives. “One pumpkin cream cake and one All Hallow’s First Star for you!” Nyx’s gaze is instantly fixated upon the tart set before her, a sort of miniature pumpkin pie, covered in cream and topped with a candy black cat and Jack-o-Lantern pair. The drink is orange and purple, with --as Lark promised-- little ice chips that glitters like stars in the amber aura. Some cream, a cherry, and an orange slice on the rim of the glass top off the dessert. She barely hears the waiter telling them to enjoy their night and leaving. “What do you think?” Lark’s voice breaks through the haze she had been consumed by; she sounds amused. “...cute,” is all Nyx says, her hands clasped to her collar as she finds herself for once at a loss for words. The traces of a smile tug, almost against her will, at her lips. “Absolutely… heavenly.” And Lark just beamsat her companion’s starry-eyed expression. “I’m glad you like it.” She sits down, too, sets down her own meal and the silver tray aside. “Come on, let’s dig in!” Nyx catches herself, for the sake of her own image, just before she snatches up her fork and does exactly as she says. The two eat in peace; Nyx truly does seem to be enjoying herself a great deal, her partner observes. It isn’t every day that one gets to see her like this, wide-eyed, like a joyous cat, expressive in a way not generally assigned to teenage girls. “How was that?” Lark prompts as they are walking back to Nyx’s house. “Did you have fun?” “...yes. It was quite a delightful festival.” Nyx does not look over to her, but her words are enough to put yet another smile on her face, somehow even wider than any of the ones before. “And you seemed to enjoy yourself, as well.” “Of course I did! I got to see you smile, Nyx!” Lark mischievously tries to poke her friend in the cheek. They’re now standing at the base of Nyx’s driveway; the girl has nowhere to run to escape her teasing. “Do you like Halloween, now?” she adds. “...” Nyx seems to hesitate a bit more on this one, as if debating whether to tell the truth or keep her pride. She decides on the former, albeit with her gaze averted. “Yes. Yes, I greatly enjoyed today. Perhaps… next year, you could accompany me once more..?” “Ahhh! Of course!” And this time, Lark all but launches herself at Nyx, wrapping her in a hug before she can dodge away. “You really can be sappy, huh, you big softie? I knew it!” “...do not randomly hug people like that..!” And yet, her face is flushed in the streetlight, framed by her hair of emblazoned gloss, and Lark wishes for nothing more but to preserve this beautiful sight for just a little longer. “Let’s do this again, next year!” she says as she pulls away, taking Nyx’s hands in her own. So cold, even now, my Nyx, my night. “Yes, we shall.” She is always as warm as the sun, even under cover of dark… Truly, a lark, a bird of day. Today, tonight, and perhaps for the rest of their shared time, too, they are happy, and that is all that matters to them. Oh, if only that happiness could last forever... (If only next year ever happened.)
and wisteria will haunt her last breath: a halloween love story
By Pen Fang
Wisteria stands tall under the moonlight sky, a river of stars illuminating their face.
A hand, warm and solid, threads into theirs and everything is complete again. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The pumpkins adorn the room, eerie smiles carved out of them, candles casting odd shadows across the dim lit room.
The room is filled with sound, whispers from lips to ears about candies and secrets, cries of alarm and fright about the night, joy so palpable it’s almost audible; the sounds of the lost youth clamoring for a chance at what they so desperately yearn for. Costumes hide everyone’s real self - there’s ghosts and phantoms hiding around the knights in shining armor, the masks obscure everything in half-shadow, yet there’s a sense of trust among everyone.
Wisteria walks their way over to Lilith, sliding the mask off of their nose. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Blue veins run red, flushed under the heat of the dim lit candle hidden in the embrace of a pumpkin, peppered with the soft kisses of a lover, fingers intertwined together like the names so delicately carved together across the orange flesh of the pumpkin. Light blossoms outwards from the candle within, a bead of golden wax rolling down the side. Their names are cast on the wall behind them, flickering amber in the darkness, lines curling and wrapping around each other in a whirlwind of passion and hurt.
The light quivers, like them, like the way they hold hands in the darkness where no one can see them, so small and erratic and temporary.
Wisteria wraps their hands around Lilith’s, echoes from the grand party in the hallway seeping into the room.
It’s Halloween, dark and haunting but bright and lustrous, filled with ghosts and spirits but laughter and hope.
Lilith snuffs the flame. __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Shadows fall across Lilith as she sleeps, surrounded in a halo of blue. Dark blue walls haunted by the lonesome stars. Dark blue bags hanging under closed eyes, hovering over sunken cheekbones once-lined with the kisses from a pair of blue lips, a pair of blue lips now open, taking in the night air under the midnight sky. Her chest rises and falls and Wisteria breathes with her. Who knew, to be this close… __________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
They’re wearing a dark mask, hiding everything but their grey eyes, rimmed purple in the pale moonlight. It’s lined with silver fabric, twisting and turning, crawling up the side like a spider’s silk.
Wisteria nudges the knocker back and forth, the loud thrums echoing down the door. It swings open, a creak sneaking its way into the night. Wind rustles inwards, almost in tangible curls as it reaches and winds into the hallway.
“Are you coming in?” Harsh words, a soft tone. The moon longs for the ocean, waves crashing on a forlorn shore nearby. A million little bursts of warmth and longing echo in the song yet to be sung between them.
An angel on earth and a figure of wisteria cross paths.
“Well,” Wisteria laughs nervously, a light, breathy sound filling the air. “Yes.”
They step in, footfalls echoing on the floor, light as a feather, too far apart to be touching, too close to be properly far apart.
The angel is Lilith, a halo of golden hair framing her face, tender fingers clutching a bag of sweets. She’s a pure soul, delicate like the paper crown adorning her head, so carefully balanced atop.
There’s a rush of warmth and all Wisteria can think about is her. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“I love you.”
It’s a whisper, barely audible over the pouring rain, but Wisteria catches it nonetheless.
“I love you too,” they whisper, the words tasting like magic off their lips. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“Wanna go dance?” Lilith says casually, oblivious to the storm of butterflies that have just erupted in Wisteria’s stomach.
“Yes,” Wisteria whispers back, the word easing a smile back onto their face.
The floor is less of a dance and more of pure, unadulterated chaos. There’s no defining beat, just whatever’s in your head and the rest is left undefined, a blank page just waiting to be filled. They take Lilith’s hand, and the world is reduced to a technicolor blur, colors blending like the autumn leaves, warm hues echoing the laughter that Wisteria is pretty sure belongs to them. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Ballooned skeletons and zombies decorate the lawn as they walk up, hand in hand. The moon shines on, a thin shroud of clouds hanging over it.
For Wisteria, there was never anything magical about halloween. Just stupid people playing stupid games, stupid tricks and stupid treats.
Then they met Lilith.
Cool, Calm, and Composed By LYR
Everyone else Pumpkins; scarecrows; and leaves of red, yellow, and orange. Tables of apple cider and pumpkin pie line the hallways of the elementary school. Bright and festive music rings throughout the event. Carnival-style games line the walls of the gym. The room across the gym hosts the school’s Scholastic Bookfair, where children beg their parents for money to buy trinkets and posters. You jump from activity to activity without a worry in the world.
Her Wings It all happened so suddenly that after thirty seconds, I still wasn’t sure what had transpired. As far as I know, we were on our way to McDonald's, and now we’re not. My mother gently shakes her head and rests her forehead on the rim of the steering wheel. I’m afraid to ask, so I assume the worst. My seatbelt tugs at me as the car’s right tires teeters on the edge of a drainage ditch. I nervously run my fingers up and down the embroidery of the beige-leather seats until the pads of my fingers start to burn. Sitting in the middle of the back row, I stretch my arms to the side and rest my palms on the other seats. A young man who could have been in high school or college gets out of the car that pulled over to the side. The hairs on my arm stand up like needles on a porcupine and my stomach starts to shrink. My confusion turns to fear as I curl up in my seat. My mother tries her best to calm me down but it’s no use now. The siren of a police car gets louder until it stops at its loudest. My mother and the young man get out of their cars and meet with the police officer. I can’t tell what they’re saying, but at one point, the conversation takes an uglier route. Eventually, all three are yelling at each other, each one using a multitude of hand gestures to explain what had happened. My mother sees my frightened face and swoops down like a mighty condor and shields me with her wings.
This was the second time for her. She managed to maintain some strength, even though these occurrences disturb her deeply. She wept gently under the orange light of the formal dining room. Papers were scattered around the table like puzzle pieces. Like her son, she’s a perfectionist. Unfortunately for her, she has a difficult time accepting her situation when things go wrong. It makes her furious what little consideration some people have for others’ time and energy. The police report stating that she isn’t at fault doesn’t ease her nerves. She’s indignant towards having to fix a problem that wasn’t hers, to begin with. While she didn’t have to pay for any damages, she reserved the right to be inconvenienced. That aside, her son saw her fly.
Among everyone else The lights of the police car fade in the distance as the officer pulls into the road. My mother cautiously drives the car back to the elementary school to prevent the car door from falling off. The car remains quiet for the entirety of the drive, so I look out the window. The sky is uncomfortably dirty, covered in blue clouds with pockets of orange sun peaking through. I look away, for I can’t bear to see the sky act this way. If I looked longer, I think I’d make myself sick. When we arrive at the school, I’m overcome by an odd feeling. There's something inside of me that tells me that I'm not supposed to be here. A voice that shames. A voice that I shortly realize is my own. Walking past the bookfair, I still see a few people browsing through the shelves of books, walls of posters, and boxes of toys. My mother hovers behind me as I enter the gym. I stand in the middle of the gym in my thick, insulating jacket and survey the festivities. Everything’s the same, except for the battle between my mother’s reassuring smile and the dam of tears that sits behind her eyes. Finally, her wings collapse to the side as I turn away and resume the childhood festivities.
Kiss, Marry, Kill By Lauren Taylor
“There he is! There he is, there! Right there next to the rose bush!” the little boy forcefully whispered to his tiny audience of two neighborhood friends, one a boy the other a girl, all three filled to the brim with mischief and curiosity with no room left for logical sense, except for the girl. The girl’s name was Jenna, and she was always accompanied by her other sets of muddy fingers, Kevin and Charley. They were outside a lot, for the pure reason of; they didn’t understand being in their houses, sticking to the couch like glue.