The Car

written by Josie Schultz

The bright sunlight seemingly caresses Conrad's features, emphasizing his masculine beauty. He watched from the bleachers as his friends played some intense game he wasn't interested in, feeling the cool breeze as he did so. Mornings like these were his favorite. He felt like he could actually breathe; it didn't feel like the air around him was suffocating. It was one of the few times he genuinely felt free. He felt truly like himself without the pressure of everyone else beating down on him. 

“HEY CONRAD!! WATCH OUT!” 

He was suddenly snapped out of his moment of bliss by his best friend, Josh, yelling at him, warning him of the ball flying at his face. Instinctively, he put his hand up, catching it. “Thanks, Josh,” he said as he tossed the ball back towards them. 

“I'm going to head to class, see ya guys,”  Conrad said, picking up his backpack and starting towards the school. There was a chorus of different goodbyes from his friends as Josh ran up next to him. It was still early, seeing as it was 7:30 and school didn't start until 8:15, but Conrad liked being early, and Josh was wherever Conrad was. 

Conrad and Josh were inseparable. You could tell they were best friends just by looking at them, but their friendship didn’t start like that. Throughout middle school and freshman year, Conrad was considered a loner. He had a few friends, but they were embarrassed to be seen around him, and many of his other classmates were flat-out scared of him. His parents had a lot of influence in the town, so everyone wanted to be his friend. He formed a large group of people whom he considered all to be his best friends and would do anything he could for them. 

One day, he found out his childhood best friend, Luke, was being severely bullied. He stumbled upon a group of older kids harassing Luke and stepped in. He defended both himself and Luke to the best of his ability until a teacher found out and split them up. The other kids were fairly beaten up by the end, especially compared to Conrad. He had been interested in kickboxing and lacrosse, taking lessons for both, which allowed him to stand his ground in a fight. After hearing about how he acted, many of his friends distanced themselves, eventually avoiding him altogether. The only one who stuck by him the whole time was Zach. They were inseparable, but the keyword there is ‘were’. Zach's bullying didn’t stop, it got worse. 

He went through years of consistent bullying and couldn’t handle it anymore, even with Conrad’s help and support. He had thought the best option was to leave, so he took his own life. At such a young age, 14 to be exact, this had a horrible impact on Conrad and many others around Zach. Conrad, having fallen into depression shortly after, would lash out when people brought up his change in mood or Zach’s death. That was until halfway through his freshman year when Josh first transferred. 

Josh was dead set on being Conrad’s friend, despite all the nasty rumors that had formed. In the beginning, he would consistently try to talk with Conrad but to no avail. Nearing the end of freshman year, Josh was able to break down his walls, becoming Conrad’s (only) friend. They became fairly close throughout the summer because Josh constantly bugged Conrad to hang out or at least do something with him. Slowly, Conrad opened up to Josh and improved a lot through their friendship, the pair quickly becoming inseparable. 

As the next school year started, more people became friendlier with Conrad. They’d ask him about his day and make small talk in the hallways. At first, he was a little taken aback by it, skeptical even. He thought they had alternative motives since they had ignored him just the year before. Gradually he became used to it and gained a lot of popularity, being sucked into a group quickly. 

Though this group did everything to make him feel welcome and like he was a part of it (per Josh’s request), Conrad always noticed a weird air when they hung out. Like they weren’t happy he was there. Like they were pretending and stepping on pins and needles around him, he felt awful about this, so he made up excuses not to be too close to them. 

Conrad blinked, realizing he had made it to class. Thinking back, he had probably been there for about 15 minutes. Josh was next to him, continuing on the random stories he tends to tell. Josh knew that Conrad didn’t often listen to them, but having the silence filled them both comfort and allowed them a time of peace. They still had about 20 minutes until class started, but people were starting to trickle in. 

Josh and Conrad had the same classes, the teachers thought it would be best this way. Many students, and teachers too, were afraid that Conrad would explode in anger at something. The solution they came up with was Josh. They noticed how Josh was able to keep Conrad from getting angry and could handle him when he was. So they were always partnered together. 

Classes flew by as Conrad continuously got lost in thought, reminiscing about the past and how he was able to get where he was. 

“Hey, Josh, Conrad, you guys should come to my party tonight!

 It was one of Josh’s friends. Conrad didn’t know him very well, but felt almost happy he was invited. He had never gone to any parties before, but was feeling different about this one. Josh looked towards Conrad, his eyes pleading with him to say yes to the party.
“Sounds fun. What's the address?” Conrad sounded almost bubbly when he spoke, the complete opposite of only two years ago. 

“I’ll text you guys it. can't wait to see ya there.” 

Though the interaction was only a few seconds, it would dramatically change the rest of the year for everyone at the party.

T.B.C

Food Service

By Julian Denney

If life is a prison, restaurant work is Guantanamo Bay. Picture it: you woke up with a fever of 101, but you’re still on your way to work because it’s short-staffed and someone else already asked for a shift cover with no luck. It’s a Friday night, so you can’t even dream that it won’t be busy, because it undoubtedly will be—especially with tourist season creeping up. You’ll have to be coordinated enough to balance a tray of thirteen dirty cups and plates precariously stacked atop one another, even though you nearly swerved onto the wrong side of the road while driving there. The moment you step foot into the restaurant, the smell of stale fries is already making you nauseous, and finally, you get the warm, warm welcome of:

“The regular that *#$% herself called ahead, she’ll be coming in again.”
“She’s still not banned? She’s gotta be a health hazard at this point?”
“She and her husband spend too much money here to ban them.”
And that’s how my shift started. I was a busser for two years because I was too scared to ask for a raise and only got upgraded to host in the third year because I was more tired of getting $11 an hour than I was scared of my manager. Even with that, I still got the privilege of continuing to buss, having to touch everybody’s plates even when I saw them cough all over it. Despite that, I finally felt grateful to miss out on hosting (after three weeks of being put with too many hosts to make my own host money) solely because I thought I might get a migraine if I had to talk to anybody. 

However, my luck stopped there, because even if you’re not arguing with an old lady about a wait list or telling the fourth person to ask if you have filet that you don’t, you get a coworker twenty years your senior chewing you out for anything they can gripe about. Not even an hour into a shift, and I’d heard enough about booths two, three, and four needing plates grabbed and water refilled to last a lifetime. Nothing can quite recreate the feeling of rage ignited when asked, “Can you go _______” while you are visibly mid-task and trying not to vomit. By hour four, I’d sent off several texts, including but not limited to:

“Everyone’s catching [kind] attitudes with me. I could throw up on this [beautiful] floor right now and make ALL of your guys’ shifts a lot less fun don’t play with me,” and “So help me god if [my favorite coworker ever] says one more thing I’ll [give her a hug] swear on HER life.”

While I’d forgotten water in someone’s water glass (presenting them with only ice), shattered several wine glasses in a full restaurant, and otherwise humiliated myself plenty, the final straw to make me consider quitting was when the restaurant was void of customers. I was made to clean the bathrooms, apparently not having played the sick card hard enough, and was not informed that the floor was freshly mopped. Everyone else was cleaning and celebrating the final table leaving, and I was so out of it that I mistook their laughter for the color green.

With my coworkers preoccupied, the only people to see it were me and god. I hit the floor like a brick, watching the basket of towelettes drop beside me. I could immediately feel the bruises forming along my entire side, my work of rolling up towels was completely undone, and my pride was more bruised than my body. The mop water was quick to seep into my cheap uniform, and clung to me as I made myself finish cleaning. 

After it all, I still (unfortunately) didn’t quit—jobs for highschoolers are finite, and so is my checking balance. 

I still have yet to quit.

The Coin For Charon

By Nico Furhiman

I wasn’t supposed to be in the museum after hours, even worse I had to steal the key from my dad to even get in here. Unfortunately, there's something about a dare, especially one that was given to you by the entire friend group that you just can’t say no to. It was a stupid dare anyways, I just had to grab a pamphlet to prove I broke in. 

I unlocked the back door and slid through hoping it wouldn’t creak as I closed it behind myself. All the exhibits were dimmed as I walked past. I had been in this museum many times but something about it being so quiet and dark gave me the creeps. I had seen everything a million times, the old pottery, dusty scrolls, ancient languages, and the cracked statues. Nothing was new until I saw the boat. It was in the middle of an exhibit, it seemed to be almost out of place. The ship was small, probably no bigger than a bathtub. There was a glass case in the middle of it. Inside was a black stone, smooth like a river rock. It was carved with Greek symbols that I didn’t recognize. Underneath was a sign that read:

“Obol for the ferryman— offerings once placed here were believed to guide the dead safely to the underworld”

I reached into my pocket, reaching for a quarter. The glass case had a coin hole that I dropped it into. It landed in the case, on top of the rock with a soft clink. Visitors have dropped coins in here before as there were plenty of quarters. Nothing seemed to happen so I stepped away from the boat and suddenly–the lights flickered and then it went dark. It felt like the floor was shifting underneath me as the light started to fade back on. The light was dimmed and it was a foggy atmosphere. I was no longer in the museum.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

I looked around, there was an eerie feeling about this new environment. There was a river, and that same boat from the museum. Except this time there was a cloaked figure standing there. 

As I approached the figure he said “ You’ve paid your fare.” He gestured for me to board the boat "Are you ready to cross the river Styx?”. I stopped and asked “What fare and who are you?” The figure looked at me as if he was pondering how to respond, then after a suspenseful wait he replied “ I am the ferryman of the underworld, Charon. I am responsible for transporting the souls of the dead across the Styx and the Acheron Rivers.” Now I’ve heard the stories and myths, but again these are stories. I thought this must all be some kind of weird fever dream, so I pinched myself hard and I was very much awake. “I’m not dead so this doesn’t make any sense” I replied thinking this must at least be some kind of prank. “But you have paid your fare, no? If you are not dead then you wouldn’t be here”. 

I was confused on this whole matter and I didn’t want to stay here longer than I had to. The ferryman was still gesturing for me to get on the boat. 

Charon spoke “If you do not wish to board you may stay here with the lost souls to roam the riverbank”.

I looked around at the miserable souls and decided I would try my luck with the ferryman so I hopped on the boat with him. 

“If I wasn’t dead, how can I get back to the museum?” I asked nervously as the boat was pushed off the bank.

Charon didn’t answer. We floated down the river Styx. He simply kept his grip on the oar, pushing through the water. The water was thick as if it was made out of these souls. It didn’t have the form of what a natural river would, with no waves or ripples, just hands ripping through the surface. 

After what felt like an eternity, Charon responded “Few return, fewer return unchanged. Hades will judge you when we arrive” 

Not exactly the most comforting thing to hear when you’re trapped in a mysterious place floating down a river full of lost souls. I looked over my shoulder to where we had left, mist had already covered the bank. There was no turning back. You could hear faint wails from the lost souls who just wanted to get off the bank and out of the river.

“I didn’t mean to pay my fare” I  said quickly “It was just a quarter! there were already tons in there and I was just curious!”

Charon looked at me, The hood he wore shadowed his face. “Intent does not change the currency of the dead. A coin placed on the Obol stone binds the offering” 

“Binds the—” I stopped. My mind raced. Was this happening? A dare turned into a one-way trip to the underworld? I never believed in any of that mythology stuff. At least… not until now.

I turned to Charon looking at his hooded face. “There has to be a way back to the living. I’m not supposed to be here.” 

Charon gave a slight nod “There is a path but it is dangerous. It’s been taken by very few but even fewer have actually made it back to the living. I cannot grant you passage, you will have to talk to the queen. She is much more empathetic than Hades. When we reach the other side you must seek out Persephone.”  

As he spoke the names it clicked that these were the Greek gods I’ve learned about back in middle school. I, a dumb teenage boy who worries his mother, had to go seek out a goddess. As Charon was speaking all I could hope was that I’d wake up and this was just a dream.

Lost and Found: Chapter 4

By: Savanna Proffit

Chapter 3 Recap:

“Think of it this way, we get to leave this spot and get started sooner than we would if we had to wait for Kayla to get here.” Nathen tried to bring a positive tone to the conversation.

So, after the boys finished snacking, they picked more berries for the trail, packed up all of their stuff, and headed off into the woods to travel wherever they felt like going.

Chapter 4:

Kayla slammed the trunk of her car shut and got out her satellite phone to look at the coordinates her mom sent her. Then, with her camera hanging around her neck, her hiking pack on her back, and her dog, Sterling, by her side, she set off through the forest and let her GPS lead her to her family's campsite.

As she walked, Kalya studied her surroundings. Birds flew from tree to tree; squirrels scurried across the ground; the sun shone brightly in the sky without a cloud in sight. There was a small pond down to her left and a large clearing up to her right. There were rocks scattered all across the ground with an occasional boulder here and there. A deer and her fawn stood grazing in the woods beside her, but they quickly bounced out of sight when they saw her.

She looked at her GPS and noticed she was almost there. Another pond, this one surrounded by boulders, sat to her right, and up ahead, as she climbed the hill, was a small clearing. The clearing where her family was waiting for her. She could not wait to see them.

“Hello! I’m here!” she yelled and listened for a reply, but none came. Odd, they should be able to hear me…she thought.

When she reached the top of the hill it was almost one. She looked around her and saw nothing but an old fire pit surrounded by big logs; there were only the signs that her family had been there, but that looked like it was hours ago. Her family was nowhere in sight; no footprints for her to follow; no broken sticks to indicate which way they went; not even a piece of trash. 

“Mom!...Dad!...Christopher!...Josh!...Taylor!” Kayla yelled several times; each time she waited for a sound; a faint yell; something; anything. She walked around some more and looked for clues as to which way they could have gone, but there was nothing. She sat down on one of the big logs and took out her satellite phone and her lunch. Kayla unwrapped her sandwich and took a bite as she tried to turn on the phone. It did nothing. The screen was blank. She held down the power button and it finally buzzed and turned on for a split second; just long enough for her to see that it was dead. 

Kayla was so upset that she felt like crying. Why didn’t they wait for me? She felt betrayed. As she ate her sandwich, she tried to think of the most logical route her parents would have taken. There was a trail going back the way she came and then it turned right and went off into the forest. There was a small trail going up the hill on the other side of the clearing. There were a few other tiny trails, but she did not think her family would have taken them. Her family was very adventurous not afraid to blaze new trails. Kayla figured that they would have taken a random path, but that path could have been anywhere.

When she finished her lunch and decided on what she thought was the most logical route, she put on her pack and started to walk, all the while, she prayed that she was going the right way.

_________________________________________________

“All right men, today we are going to split up,” Mark said.

“Split up? Like in pairs or by ourselves?” Jack asked, a bit surprised.

“By yourself of course,” Mark replied matter of factly.

Jack and George looked at each other and then at Mark. “By ourselves?”

“Yep” Mark chuckled

“Oh, come on guys, it won’t be that bad, right Mark?” Waylen shared a grin with Steven and then looked to Mark for an answer.

“Exactly, you guys will be split up in half-mile sections. You’ll be looking for any signs of hurt wildlife, disturbed plant life, and anything that looks out of place or interesting. You’ll be staying in your area all day and we will meet up here, at camp, for dinner at 5:00 to discuss what you found. Understood?” Mark explained.

  “Yes, sir,” all four of them said in unison. They waited for Mark to go on and tell them where they were to go.

“Alrighty then, Waylen you’ll be going to the north; Steven you’ll head to the south; George to the west; and Jack, you will go to the east. Now, finish up your breakfast and get your stuff all packed up, then get on your way. You can take pictures of your findings on your GPS Satellite phones and make sure to remember which way you went in case it dies.” 

They each nodded their heads and liked the idea. George was the first to go, then Jack and Steven. Finally, after making sure he had everything together and had his breakfast cleaned up, Waylen left and headed for his area of land. He mentally made a plan for his day. He would walk around and explore for the morning, then stop for lunch at noon, after that, he would explore some more and then head back around four to make sure he had plenty of time to get back to camp before dinner and most certainly before dark.

_________________________________________________

Kayla walked along and hummed to herself a pretty song, Bless the Lord Oh My Soul. Night time was coming fast and she was trying to search for a nice little spot to make camp for the night. She could not wait to eat her beef stew. It was her favorite Mountain House meal. All she had to do was add some boiling water, stir it, and let it sit for a while. Then she could let the delicious hot stew warm her to the core.

Darkness was creeping over the forest. Kayla still had not found a spot to settle in for the night. She heard coyotes howling in the distance. 

It was completely dark now and Kayla was still singing and walking along when she heard a stick crack somewhere close by. She stopped her singing and stood completely still, trying to listen. Her heart started to pound a little in her chest and then a coyote howled even closer than before; it sounded like it was coming closer from in front of her. She completely forgot about the stick that cracked somewhere in the woods behind her for a moment and turned around and ran back the way she came. The coyote howled again and it sounded closer than ever as a searing pain shot from her ankle up to her knee. Kayla did not stop even with the pain setting her leg on fire but let out a scream and before she had time to look up from watching her feet run across the ground, she ran face-first into a man. She screamed again, stepped back, then flung her arms around the stranger and started crying.

The stranger returned the embrace for a short minute then, “Mam, Mam, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry. I usually don’t go around crying and clinging to strangers…” Kayla looked up, her eyes widened, and a gasp escaped her throat. 

“Waylen?”

_________________________________________________

Waylen was just walking through his parcel of land, on his way back to camp. He was heading back a little later than he wanted. It was dark already.

Suddenly, he stopped. Is that singing? He listened. It was singing. He moved toward the lovely sound of music coming from the little hill below him. As he got closer, it became clearer. It was a woman. All alone in the woods? A woman? What on earth is a woman doing out here in the middle of nowhere in the dark? He walked towards the pretty voice. CRACK! A stick broke beneath the pressure of his boot. The singing stopped and so did he. Coyotes howled around in the distance and out of nowhere the woman screamed and ran towards him. She ran head first, screaming, into his chest. She stepped back from him a second then clung to him and started crying. Waylen did not know what to do, so he returned the embrace and held her for a few moments. 

“Mam, Mam, are you okay?” Waylen asked softly, trying to soothe away her tears.

“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry. I usually don’t go around crying and clinging to strangers…” She stopped.

“Waylen?”

_________________________________________________

“Kayla?” Waylen squinted into the darkness and tried to look into her eyes.

“Is it really you?” Kayla asked, out of breath as she wiped away her tears.

“Yeah, it is. What are you doing out here? And all alone?” Waylen asked with wide eyes.

“Well, my family started doing a yearly backpacking trip up here a while back, you remember, right? Anyway, I couldn’t leave with them because of work so they left ahead of me, all except for Megan; she wasn’t feeling well. I was supposed to meet them earlier today. I got to their campsite, the exact coordinates my mom sent me the day before, only to find that they were nowhere to be found; they had moved on earlier this morning. I sat down to eat my lunch and checked my satellite phone and GPS to see that it was dead and had no battery. So, I thought I picked the best route in trying to find them, thinking that they couldn’t have gotten that far. I was wrong.” Kayla looked at her feet and then up into the eyes of her only high school sweetheart.

Waylen looked into her eyes and found sadness and hurt; in the eyes of his only sweetheart, ever. She still looked the same as she stood in the moonlight. The silver light lit her blond braids up and made her eyes sparkle with the tears that still lingered. She was beautiful; the most precious, dainty, thing he had ever set his eyes on.

Twisters Express

By Hannah Bertalot

There was a particularly stony silence as Wren entered the post office one morning. The Postmaster had paged her to let her know she was needed for an important ‘mission’ today, which seemed an odd way to frame anything done at her job as a carrier for the Twisters Post Office.

“Morning, Wren. Thank you for coming in early on such short notice,” the Postmaster greeted. She only nodded in acknowledgment, then fell into step next to him as he led her away from the aviary where her bird was kept. “You won’t be using your usual Hummer today, you’re going out on an Owl.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”

“One of our rookies has gone missing—he tried taking a Hummer into The Alpines and hasn’t reported anywhere in over twelve hours.” A weary sigh punctuated the old Postmaster’s explanation.

Wren frowned, then mentally ran down the list of newcomers who had joined the crew recently. “Who was it?”

“Orion Flaxley. Scrawny lad, you’d take him to be fresh out of school.”

“Ah, him.” 

Wren recalled the brief glances that she had caught of the mail carrier the previous few days while he underwent the typical training—she had pinned him as the sort to err on the side of caution, though it was hard to guess at personality based on appearances alone, she supposed. Regardless, a rookie made a rookie mistake, and as usual, it was left to her to clean up their mess. How thrilling. She huffed, then nodded to the Postmaster. 

“Right, then. I’ll get right on it.” 

“Thank you, Wren, really. We’ve been in over our heads with the new crew lately.”

A few hours later, Wren was out on the back of a particularly disgruntled giant snowy owl—she guessed that it was just as thrilled as she was to be headed out into the mountains first thing in the morning. Her breath came in billowy clouds as she scanned over the forest, eyes trained on the terrain below as it passed in a blurry green and white mosaic. 

Once she had been out for a while, boredom nipped at the edges of her attention and nearly caused her to miss the unmistakable flash of color nestled in the snow next to a scattered collection of boxes and deep footprints gouged into the snow. Wren tugged sharply on the owl’s reins, and it chittered at her unhappily as it reluctantly wheeled around to land in the clearing. 

With a flourish, the owl landed, and Wren dismounted. A scowl crossed her features as she looked over to the huddled pile of tropical-colored feathers as a particularly miserable-looking Hummer shivered in the alpine temperatures. 

“Hello? Orion? Are you here?” She called. Promptly, a young man’s head popped up from behind the Hummer; he looked relieved to hear his name being called. 

“Yes, that—that’s me!” He responded as he scrambled to disentangle himself from the bird’s feathers, where he was sheltered from the brunt of the frosty mountain air. He enthusiastically struggled through the snow to meet her halfway as Wren walked over. His overall state was disheveled; his hair was unkempt and dampened by powdery snow, his coat zipped up to cover his face, and a shiver wracked his shoulders.

Wren sighed as he offered a gloved hand to her, “Orion Flaxley, at your service! You’re Wren, right? I don’t think we’ve had the chance to meet each other properly, yet!”

His energy seemed entirely disproportionate to the predicament he found himself in, Wren noted with a prick of irritation. 

“That’s right,” Her gaze panned over to the scattered packages, then to the small pile that she assumed he had attempted to pull together after he initially crashed. “You acted against company protocol, you know.” She deadpanned. Orion looked put out as he sheepishly followed her gaze. 

“Err… yeah, sorry…” He mumbled. 

“It’s not me you need to apologize to—you have a lot of superiors to worry about when we get back. Anyway, how long have you been out here?” Wren asked as she stalked past him.

“Uhm, well, we left at around… I think it was six PM? I thought we would get over the mountain before it got dark…” 

Wren inhaled very deeply and caught herself before she snapped at the greenhorn. “That was exceptionally stupid of you.” 

Orion deflated, then sent her a guilty look as she knelt next to the Hummer, which stirred reluctantly as Wren prodded it.

“Poor thing…” she murmured.

After a short check-up, she concluded that with the condition of the Hummer, it wouldn’t be able to fly far.

“Hand me the spare canteen of nectar in that Owl’s bag, then pick up the rest of the packages you dumped in the snow.” 

“Right, right! One second!” Orion said, then ran to where the Owl had settled in a shallower part of the snow. He fumbled through the bags for a moment before he ran back over. In the process, he nearly tripped and dumped what little precious nectar Wren had on hand, and won himself a sharp glare. He relinquished it to her quickly, and she then offered it to the Hummer while Orion went to clean up the packages.

“Right, then. Now, since you so brilliantly brought a tropical species into the Alpines, it needs to rest before it has any chance of flight. We don’t have that time, and here is not a good place to rest. So we’ll have to find an alternative way to get ‘em home.” Wren said pensively. A beat of quiet passed before Orion made a distant ‘Ooh!’ sound as he rifled through her bags. 

“You have rope in here! What if we rigged up a harness of sorts and the Owl flew it back?” He suggested. 

That actually… wasn’t a bad idea. Wren nodded in approval. Once the Hummer had its fill of nectar, she capped the canteen and grabbed the rope. 

A few minutes later, with some struggle, they had figured out a way to carry the Hummer home in the least stressful fashion possible for the bird. 

“Right then, all the packages are accounted for?” Wren asked, climbing back onto the back of the Owl. 

“Yep!” Orion affirmed as he joined her on the Owl’s back. The bird snapped its beak irritably at the increase in cargo weight but, as Wren prompted it, reluctantly took flight. 

“Let's high-tail it out of here then; I’m pretty sure there’s a storm on the forecast tonight, and I’m not keen on getting stuck out in the Alpines.”

Look-Alike Haunting

Look-Alike Haunting

It was an eerie day in Silver Creek Bend, South Dakota, and a deadly night for a fellow named Jeremiah Shout. The 30-year-old coal miner was savagely murdered by his 25-year-old wife. They had been married for five years, and the insanity had caught up to his wife, Rebecca Shout. She stabbed the poor man 15 times with a kitchen knife and tried fleeing before getting caught by the local police department. After extensive questioning, it was determined that for the better of the town, she had to be locked away in the Winterwood Institution for the Mentally Insane.

She was locked in there for 25 years, and the entire length of her sentence, she swore strange things would happen. Eerie, creepy, unexplainable, and downright terrifying experiences, from her door shaking violently in the middle of the night to her food being flung into the air and ruined before she could grab it. She often received bodily harm from these experiences, but nothing that would be fatal. Eventually, with only 12 years left of her sentence, they scared her enough that she sadly took her own life to escape the horrors. 

55 years later, a group of adventurers who call themselves the Soul Snatchers decide to explore the now-abandoned insane asylum. The group is made up of the group president, Shirley Smith; the tech genius and younger sister, Scarlet Smith; and Alejandro and Miguel, the two brave knuckleheads who joined for the money and stories and stayed for the crushes they’ve developed on the sisters.

The squad decided to explore the asylum due to locals claiming the building was extremely haunted. So one dark and stormy night, they headed into the dark and decrepit building. 

As soon as they step foot into the main entrance hall, Miguel, who could sense feelings and the moods of the environment around him, speaks up and says, “Guys, this place holds some dark, dark energy, and all I can feel is hatred and grievances.” With no hesitation, everyone quickly spits out an agreement. To break the eerie silence, Alejandro jokes, “The front desk ladies must be on break,” getting a small chuckle out of Shirley, making him blush and smirk. Scarlet pulls out multiple tools and spreads all of them out in front of her. She debates what to use since she and her sister are the only two who know how to operate the harder tools. 

The boys immediately take the proximity sensors, which emit a loud beeping sound and start flashing the small LED bulbs when they detect movement, and set them out and around the first room they would explore. Shirley grabs the EMF reader, another basic stepping stone in the ghost-hunting world. EMF stands for electromagnetic field, and the tool measures the electromagnetic waves a ghost or spirit puts out and lights up little lights correspondingly to the intensity and magnitude of the waves it detects. Scarlett then grabs a digital thermometer to detect if the room suddenly changes due to ghosts and spirits, which causes the room temperature to drop. Shirley and Scarlet quickly determine what else they would need. Swiftly, they chose the first room they would begin testing in: the cafeteria.

The cafeteria had been the meeting place for guards, doctors, and well-behaved patients to enjoy their food and socialize before continuing their day. The patients who absolutely couldn’t be in the presence of anyone but the doctors got their food taken directly to their rooms. 

Shirley immediately feels that there is something else in the room with them. Pushing past the feeling, they begin asking the potential spirits if they were there, or if they could hear them. 

“If there’s anyone else in the room with us, could you touch the black device in my hand or the lights in the doorways?” Before the words fully leave Shirley's mouth, the proximity sensor on the opposite side of the cafeteria flies as if it was harshly pushed or kicked. The group, all spooked and on edge, immediately stands up in case they need to run back to the main lobby. 

Shirley continued asking questions. “If that was you who just did that, could you do something to tell us you’re here?” Anxiously, they all waited for something to happen. After a couple of minutes, Scarlett screams and whips around to look behind her. Miguel quickly runs over to check on Scarlett, who is now crying, to see if she is alright. 

“Whoa, whoa, it’s ok. You’re alright. What happened?” Miguel asks, now hugging and holding the traumatized Scarlett. 

“I don't know, it felt as if someone was strongly grabbing the back of my neck,” Scarlett declared, now feeling somewhat safer with Miguel comforting her and still recovering from the attack. Alejandro, typically laid-back and careless, is now in protection mode, standing next to Shirley and looking around quickly. Shirley ultimately determined this spirit was mad, and it wasn’t scared to show it.

BANG! The group whips around, hearing something crash behind them. 

“The wind?” Alejandro jokingly asks. Shirley steps forward and pushes into the next hallway to explore further and to see if she can find the source of the loud noise. Suddenly, a sound ripped through the asylum. A scream that made everyone freeze where they stood.

Written By: Kaleb Dorale

The Deal

Ted sat in his car, firmly grasping the steering wheel with both hands. He leaned back against his seat and stared at the vehicle's roof. All the windows were down in hopes of catching an unlikely breeze. An empty water bottle lay on the seat next to him. He sat with his mouth agape, taking in the fine details of the car ceiling. A single strand of fabric stood adjacent to the rest. He pinched it between his thumb and index finger and twisted it back and forth.

A faint crunch of moving gravel and dirt echoed through the barren land around him. Ted sat up in his seat and looked into the rearview mirror, seeing a cloud of dust coming up the road toward him. He sighed disgruntledly and stepped out of his car. 

He watched the dust cloud slowly approach, leaning against the hood with his arms folded impatiently. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down his forehead, he hated being in this part of the country. Always dry, even when it wasn’t summer. He loosened his tie more and pushed the hair back from his forehead. He thought his days of meeting secretly in the desert were behind him when he finally took the corner office in LA.

The SUV slowed to a stop in front of Ted. He stood up fully and took a few steps forward. The door swung open, and a man in a suit stepped out. He held a single brown bag in his left hand. 

“You were supposed to be here an hour ago, Daniel. I was starting to get worried," Ted said with a distasteful look.

“Sorry, Teddy, we had a problem lower down on the ladder,” Daniel said.

“Anything I have to worry about?” Ted asked.

“Absolutely not. I know how to handle my side of the business.”  Daniel stood at a short 5”7, always wearing his cowboy boots in a pathetic display of ruggedness. 

Ted grimaced, his eyes glancing at the blacked-out windows on Daniel’s SUV.

“Are you alone, Daniel?” Ted asked, his eyes darting back to the man a few yards ahead of him.

“Do you think I would bring someone to a deal like this?” Daniel answered, not breaking eye contact.

Heat waves swirled around them. Faint noises of crickets sat quietly in the air. Cactuses sparsely filled the landscape as rocks jutted out of the infertile dirt. 

“What do you mean by that?” Ted responded. Daniel smirked and threw the paper bag to Ted’s feet.

“What is this?” Ted asked, looking down at the paper bag.

“Open it,” Daniel said, nodding his head upwards.

Ted leaned down and scooped up the paper bag. Something in the bag jostled as he picked it up. He glanced back up to Daniel before ripping the bag open. Rolls of money fell to the ground. 

“How much is this, Daniel?” Ted asked, nudging a fallen roll with his cowboy boot.

“That right there is 100 thousand dollars in unmarked bills,” Daniel said while resting his hands on his belt loops. 

Ted looked up to Daniel and then peered into a mangled bag, picking up a single roll and bringing it up to his face. 

“I have to say, I don’t like where this is going,” Ted said. 

“We want you out, Teddy.” Daniel is not smiling anymore, his face set deadpan on Ted’s.

Ted continued to stare up at the roll of money in his hand. As much as an idiot he could be, Daniel was not stupid. He looked back down at the man in front of him. He could not stop a wide smile from coming across his face. Maybe Daniel was stupid.  

“You drag me all the way out here, in the middle of the desert, to try and buy me out? You know I have never thought a lot of you, but this is ridiculous even for your standards. You really only offered me 100 thousand dollars?” Ted said.

Daniel reached into his SUV, pulling out four more paper bags. Tossing them over in one throw, the bags landed with four distinct thuds, leaving small craters in the coarse dirt.

Ted reached down to pick up a bag, ripped it open, and dumped the rolls of money back onto the earth. 

“How does 500 thousand dollars sound to you, Teddy?” Daniel said proudly. “All you have to do is get in your car and drive off. That’s it. You won't have to see me ever again. Is that deal finally going to be enough for you?” Daniel said, outstretching his hands in a motion of friendship.

“I want to ask you something, and I want you to be honest,” Ted said, still looking down at the fallen money.

“Of course Teddy,” replied Daniel.

“How stupid do you think I am?” Ted said slowly, raising his head to look at Daniel. Daniel’s smile quickly faded.

“Do you know how much I make in a month? I don't think you realize everything I do for this company. I am the one who handles all the moving of the product. I am the one who maintains the relationships with our manufacturers. Don’t forget who brought you into this,” Ted took a step forward. “You wouldn’t be anywhere without me, do you understand? I am the one this entire empire relies on.” Ted took a few steps closer. “Your feeble little mind can’t even begin to comprehend how much weight I pull,” Ted spat in Daniel’s face. “I am the only one who matters, not you… you greedy… you…” 

The side door of the SUV swung open, and a loud pop rang out across the desert. Ted looked over at the open side door, a smoking gun barrel emerging from the dark interior. The color drained from his face as he looked down at a red mark slowly growing on his side. His hand quickly moved to its location as he gasped for air, vaguely feeling himself fall into the hot dirt.

“What the hell are you doing?” Daniel shouted in horror as Ted wheezed on the ground. 

“What you hired me to do,” said the gunman nonchalantly as he stepped out of the car. 

“I told you to only step in if the situation got out of hand!” Daniel said, panic setting in on his face.

“You were not handling the situation,” said the man, holstering his pistol and walking over to the money Ted had dropped on the ground. Daniel dropped to his knees beside Ted, his eyes frantically looking up and down his collapsed body. 

” I… I'm sorry, Ted,” he said shakily. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but this is for the betterment of the company.” The man bent down and picked up the fallen rolls, putting them back into the ripped bags. 

Daniel stayed bent over Ted as blood started to pool around him. 

“Hey listen,” the gunman said, “It's not your fault. If he wasn’t such an ego-driven monster, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.” 

Daniel did not respond. 

“You can’t do anything, he’s hit in the lung.” The man made his way back to Daniel and the crumpled Ted, his breath slowing. Ted could vaguely see the figure standing above him, and all he could feel was hate.

Looking down, the man said,” Nothing personal Ted, just business.”

As the sun began to set over the arid plain, hues of purple, orange, and yellow streaked across the sky. A patch of freshly uncovered dirt lay, only visible if one was paying close attention. The only other disturbance was two tire marks leading into the side road, far out in the middle of nowhere. One set led in and back out, and the other led to a burning car, its flames starting to die down. A single bill, picked up by a rare gust of breeze, gliding to the burning car. Blowing closer until it too was lit, fading into the sun setting sky.

Lost and Found: Chapter 3

By: Savanna Proffit

Chapter 2 Recap:

Nathen Anderson studied his wife’s face. Her usually sparkling, joyful, green eyes held a hint of sorrow; a slight frown turned her beautiful smile upside down. She looked slightly older when she was sad. She was 47 years old and still looked the same as when Nathen met her in 1994, except for the little gray hairs sneaking into her naturally brown hair that reached to her waist. She was born on April 4, 1971, in Oakton, where they now live, and graduated from Oakton High School in 1989. She went to college at Vermont State University and graduated with a bachelor's degree in Home Economics. During her last year at the university, she met him, and his, and her life had not been the same since.

Chapter 3:

Since they were the same age and in the same grade in college, they both went to some of the same events. They were at a party that the college put on every year for the students who were graduating with a bachelor’s degree. There was dancing, food, soda and punch, and games. Caroline had gone with a few friends but they had left her almost as soon as they got to the party so that they could go dance with their boyfriends. Caroline stood by herself with a cup of punch in a corner and watched her friends dance across the floor as happy as they had ever been. Nathen was on the opposite side of the massive room and she caught his eye. She looked sad, lonely, and somewhat hurt. He watched and studied her for a few minutes then made his way over to the food table to get a plate of crackers and cheese. He then slowly made his way over to the corner where Caroline stood. 

“Are you here alone?” Nathen asked as he stood next to her and looked out into the dancing crowd trying to figure out who she was watching.

“No, I came with some friends but as soon as we got here, they found their boyfriends and took off,” Caroline, with a voice so small and hurt sounding, said as she looked into her cup still full of punch. 

“And you don’t have a boyfriend, so you couldn’t do the same?” 

“Yeah…why aren’t you out there dancing and having fun?”

“Well, I’m kind of in the same boat as you are. My buddies left me all alone too and well, I don’t have any girlfriend to dance with.” He said as he tried to be relatable.

“Oh…” she said kind of forlornly.

Caroline studied the dancing crowd for a minute, looked down at her feet, then looked around the room again. Nathen noticed her cheeks were rosy and complimented her red dress. The dress was not too tight or short; it was just below the knees and had a flowy skirt with a pretty short-sleeved top. Her hair was done in pretty curls and put up in some kind of bun. She was beautiful. He did not want to take his eyes off her. 

“Ummm…I need some air,” she said with a little more red in her cheeks than before.

Now you’ve done it! That’s why you don’t stare awkwardly at a girl, he thought as she walked out the doors beside them. He followed her. She was leaning on the railing of the cement porch, drink in hand. A curl slipped in front of her ear and hung on the side of her face.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “ I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by staring. I just think you look very pretty tonight.” He watched her turn around and face him. He hoped he did not look too hopeful.

Caroline studied him, “Thanks. In truth, you did make me a little uncomfortable but I was getting pretty hot in there and was thinking of coming out here before you came over.” A small smile curved on her lips at him. Nathen’s heart pounded in his chest. 

“Can I stand with you for a while?” 

“Sure, if you want to, I guess,” she answered, as she watched his face and movements as he made his way to stand beside her. The smell of his cologne drifted to her nose with the slight breeze that wafted through the night.

They talked of school, life, and past loves. They laughed and had tons of fun together which turned out to be the start of something great: a whole lifetime together. 

A year later they were married and lived in Oakton in a small blue house that suited them perfectly. A year after that their first daughter was born on February 14, 1996, Megan Ruth Anderson. Another year later, Kayla Sage was born on February 23, 1997; two years later, Christopher Nate entered the world, making them a family of five on July 24, 1999. Just when they thought they might have the perfect size family, little Joshua Luke arrived on September 6, 2000; then last but not least Taylor May was born two years later on May 1, 2002.

Once the kids got old enough, they got two dogs. Ruby, a beautiful Irish Setter, and Cocoa, a gorgeous chocolate Labrador Retriever. Then they got a Golden Retriever for Taylor on her eighth birthday whom she named Muffin. In 2010, they moved from their quaint little blue house to a bigger green farmhouse with a small barn. With owning a barn, the kids begged for horses, a cow, pigs, goats, rabbits, chickens, and ducks. So, Megan got a horse, whom she named Pearl because she was white, and a pig, who was called Pork Chop; Kayla got two goats, named Lily and Iris, and a rabbit named Pretzel; Christopher got a cow and called her Espresso; Joshua got two pigs, Bacon and Ham, and a boy goat he called Scruff; and Taylor got two bunnies, Dandelion and Juniper, and a horse named Misty. All of the kids pitched in to get twelve chickens that they called, Classy, Tootsie, Doodle, Nugget, Poppy, Betty White, Thumbelina, Chick-Fil-a, Ditsy, Curry, Sesame, and Truffle; and a rooster they named, Albert Eggstein. They also wanted ducks, so they bought six named, Puddles, Waddles, Holly, Mrs. Featherby, Molly, and Wiggles; along with a gander called Maverick. The kids wanted animals so badly that they each got summer jobs and worked for the money to pay for their animals, which added up to two horses, three pigs, three goats, three rabbits, one cow, 13 chickens, seven ducks, and their food. Mom and Dad only pitched in a “little bit”.

In 2009, they started their summer tradition of backpacking for a week, as a family, in the Green Mountains. They took the dogs with them and had great fun; everyone was always able to block off their schedules for priceless family time. They loved their life; their kids; and everything the Good Lord had given them. 

__________________________________________

As Nathen continued to study his wife’s face, he noticed she was staring at Chris, Josh, and Taylor. He guessed that Caroline was messaging Kayla, who was not with them yet, and was sad that Meg could not be there with them all. She eventually turned and looked at him. He walked over to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and looked into her eyes, “What’s wrong?”.

“Kayla just texted she can’t make it. So now there’s two missing; three if you include Nick,” she said sadly. She looked into her husband’s deep blue eyes; she could see sadness there; as well as compassion and sympathy for her. 

“I’m sorry…come here,” he wrapped his arms around her. Her frame was so small up against him. He stroked her hair that hung in a braid down her back.

“Me too…we haven’t had a ton of family time lately…we needed this as a family,” Caroline spoke softly as she hugged her husband and laid her head against his chest. Wrapped in his embrace, she could feel how muscular he was. At 47 years of age, he stood at six foot three inches tall with blond hair that made him look younger than he was. Some would say he had the perfect face; eyes perfectly in place on either side of his nose that was just the right size; below his nose, full lips surrounded by a full thick beard that covered his firm jaw line; his lips framed a smile that could brighten the day of anyone. His hands were big and strong to go along with his giant feet and strong, masculine frame. 

“I know we did. Let’s go and sit by the fire.” He led Caroline to a log to sit down; one arm still wrapped around her shoulders.

The kids were sitting around the fire as well, eating tons of berries. “Want some?” Chris offered with berry juice-stained lips. 

“No thanks,” Caroline said with a chuckle. 

“Good!” all three kids shouted in unison.

“We have some bad news. Kayla can’t make it this year either.” Nathen said as a frown transformed his face. He studied the sad looks that appeared on the faces of Joshua, Christopher, and Taylor.

“Really…how come?” Taylor asked as she looked from her berries to her parents.

“She probably got stuck at work,” Caroline answered while she watched her boys fill their cheeks with the red fruit.

“I was hoping to be able to share my tent with her. I don’t want to be stuck with just these two the whole trip.” Taylor gestured at her brothers who looked more like pigs at the moment than the teenagers they were. 

“Hey!” Chris and Josh said together between chewing and swallowing. 

“Think of it this way, we get to leave this spot and get started sooner than we would if we had to wait for Kayla to get here.” Nathen tried to bring a positive tone to the conversation.

So, after the boys finished snacking, they picked more berries for the trail, packed up all of their stuff, and headed off into the woods to travel wherever they felt like going.

The Lies He Tells

By: Autumn Purvis

Tyler

The snow fell into Tyler's hair, thick and cold as it coated each strand of his jet black hair. A sheet of powdery white covered the ground, glistening and glittering with each step he took. The only thing he could focus on was the crunch of the powder beneath his feet, which seemed to get heavier with each stride he took further. The sky was approaching pitch black, but that didn't stop Tyler from continuing his numbing walk. The tips of his fingers started going numb as he felt a buzzing in his pocket. He reached into his pocket, almost unable to feel the phone as he retrieved it. I can't do this right now, Tyler thought to himself as he used his icy fingers to hit ignore, then slipped his phone back into the same pocket it was moments before. Tyler wasn't sure what he was running away from, but he knew he couldn't return. Not right now. Suddenly, his focus shifted from the snow under his feet to the conversation just 30 minutes prior. Tyler had only known Ashley for a few months, but it felt like he had known her for an eternity. Ashley always had a flush to her cheeks, and her brunette hair was always styled so effortlessly. Every room she walked into seemed to brighten. On paper, Ashley was not only perfect but perfect for Tyler. He gets pulled out of his thoughts by the buzzing once again in his pocket, now seeming even more antagonizing. Still, he retrieves it from his pocket, his hands even colder than moments before. The name seems to taunt him as it dances across his screen in big block letters. His finger hovers over the answer button before the words suddenly flicker away, and he is met with a photo of Ashley. She is smiling brightly in Tyler's direction as her hands are held in the shape of a heart. He couldn't understand why he was doing this to her. He felt a deep pit in his stomach. He couldn't keep ignoring her calls, so he reluctantly scrolled through his contacts and, with a slight hesitation, hit the call button. The phone hardly made it through two rings before he heard the panicked voice coming from the other side of the phone. “Tyler,” he heard the softness in her voice, and for a moment, it almost took away from the events of the night. The feeling only lasted for a second before a lump formed in his throat, and he quickly hung the phone up and shoved it into his pocket once more. 

Ashley

Ashley sat on her bed, staring at her blank phone screen. Her lips quivered as she slowly stood up and walked to the bathroom. She turned to look at her reflection in the mirror and was met with a pale, damp, tear-stained face. Tyler left the house in such a rush that Ashley almost didn't comprehend what was going on. Ashley and Tyler had been dating for six months. They sat together in their first period, and Tyler swears ever since he first saw her, he was hopelessly in love with her. Ashley never doubted that Tyler loved her. Tyler was the type of boy who walked to her house with flowers. He was the type of boy who would stay up and talk to her until she was able to fall asleep. He was the type of guy who truly seemed like he came straight from a movie. That's what made all of this feel so shocking and like such a blur. Tyler had broken up with Ashley before he walked out of her room in a hurry and then out the front door. The worst part was that Ashley couldn't think of why he broke up with her. Surely he was just having a bad night, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it was something else. She tried calling his phone one more time, but still, no answer. 

Tyler

Tyler finally made it to his destination. He was met by a brick red door with the number 814 printed in black blocky letters. He lifted his fist to knock, but before he could, the door swung open. He was met by the teary-eyed girl with a smile and a hug. She quickly ushered him into the house and then up the stairs to her room. She insisted he sit on the bed, so he reluctantly took his shoes off and took the spot next to her. “Tyler, I was getting so worried about you.” She said in a hushed manner. “I know. I'm sorry I didn't answer your calls. I had to get some things figured out before I came back.” Tyler said while reaching his hand out to cup the bright pink cheek in front of him. Tyler may have had a smile on his face, but all he could feel was shame. The events of the night were starting to look clearer, and as each second passed, more and more he realized he had made a mistake. A mistake he wasn't sure he could fix anymore. “Tyler, are you okay?” The girl asked, moving Tyler's hand off of her cheek. Once again, he managed to smile. “Yeah, it's just been a long night is all.” He says as he scoots closer to the girl. He feels her body relax as she lets out a light sigh. At least she feels some form of relief from this. All Tyler felt was guilt. Tyler didn't cheat on Ashley. He was always faithful and never so much as looked at another girl while they were together, so why does this feel so wrong? He watched the blonde girl move a strand of her wispy hair out of her face as she scooted closer to Tyler. After what felt like a lifetime of silence, Maya spoke. “I just can't believe you finally broke up with Ashley,” she said, reaching to grasp his hand in hers. Tyler almost jumped from the bed as her fingers grazed him. “Sorry, I need to run to the bathroom real quick, okay? I will be right back.” Tyler rushed down the hall and flung the bathroom door closed behind him. He locked the door and fell to the floor as tears flooded his face, and his head started to pound. He pushed his palms to his eyes, hoping it would stop the stream of tears, but it only seemed to make it worse. He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket once again; this time, it was Ashley. He answered it quickly, lifting the phone to his damp face. “Tyler, are you okay? You left my house so quickly I didn't even get a chance to offer you a ride home.” Ashley spoke calmly into the phone. Tyler tried to speak, but all that came out was the continuity of the tears from moments prior. “I am so sorry, Ashley. please don't hate me,” Tyler managed to utter after a few moments of letting out choked sobs. There was silence on the other end of the phone. Before Tyler could say anything else, there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Tyler, is everything okay?” Maya asked from the other side of the door. Ashley started to speak, but Tyler hung up before she had the chance to. Tyler managed to compose himself before tossing the door open and greeting Maya with a smile. “Yeah, I just had to call my mom back is all. Let's go watch a movie or something,” Tyler responded while reaching for Maya's hand and closing hers intertwined with his. This is fine, Tyler thought as he walked with his hand intertwined with Maya's. This is what he wanted, isn't it?

An Irish Goodbye Part 2

by Cedar Jeffers

“No, Mr. McOleden. This was no suicide; this was a murder,” Nicolas said with a matter-of-fact tone. Walton's face changed from pale and shocked to blank, empty face. Nicholas studied Walton's face. 

“Mr.McOleden, I can't help but notice how your face changed when I told you that your wife was murdered. Most people tend to sob and have irrational responses. But you look as if someone just told you the price of eggs.”

Walton turns, steps over the fallen lamp, and leaves the room. The dark oak door slams behind him, rattling the walls. With his eyebrows raised in surprise, Nicolas reaches for the little notebook and pen tucked away neatly in his jacket pocket. Scribbling in a notebook halts the silence. Nicolas walks over to the fallen lamp and walks out of the room.

“Mr. Harry, will you alert the local authorities? I am afraid that there has been a murder.” Nicolas causally said, walking down the stairs into the lobby. Harry nodded, picked up the phone, and called. Nicolas strolled into the cozy library. The library had emerald green sofas, a writing desk, and a roaring fire. The walls were filled with old, yellow-paged books.  Nancy was curled up next to the fire on one of the sofas; a blanket had been draped over her legs, and a steaming cup of hot tea was next to her on the side table. Her children were on the couch across the room. Sally had been drawing a picture of a house, and David was slumped over the arm of the sofa, asleep. Nancy looked up from her book when Nicolas walked in and was studying him.

“Hello, Mrs. Gresnal. What a lovely spot to read and relax after that stressful dinner we just had,” Nicole commented. He walked over to a bookshelf and looked at the books.

“How long is your stay here, Mrs Gresnal?” 

“Tomorrow is our last day, and then we must get back to London. How come?” questioned Nancy.

“I was just wondering, how long have you been sitting in this room?”Nicolas asked.

“Well, we spent the afternoon in here after what happened, and we came in here once we finished dinner about 5 minutes ago,” Nancy answered in a matter-of-fact tone. Nicolas nodded and walked out.  

“Harry, will you round up all the guests in the dining hall in about an hour? Make sure no one leaves. I do not want this case to get messy,”  Nicolas instructed Harry as he walked up the stairs.

----------

 “Why are we here? I see no reason for all of this!” Walton complains as he paces around the room. The dining room is washed in a warm yellow, and the dishes are cleared, leaving the table bare, with only the navy blue tablecloth covering it.

 “Walton, love. Just come and sit down. We will learn what all of this is about soon.” Walton huffed as he sat down in the  chair across from Nancy

“Love? Nancy, why on earth did you call him love?” Richard questioned

“Richard, darling, I call everyone love. It's not meant affectionately, I am sorry Walton I meant nothing by it.” Nancy sheepishly explains 

“Well, I still don't like it. You will stop this right now.” Richard scolded. Richard glared at Walton. 

“Don't look at me. I did nothing wrong!” Walton snaps. Walton stands up and walks from the starry window to the opposite side of the table. Richard stares at Nancy with a glare. 

“What do you want, Richard? I didn't do anything wrong; it was just a habit and nothing more.” Nancy snapped

“Nancy, I don't like it when you call other men love. I think that it's not a proper thing for a lady to do, and you have to stop.” Richard  slammed his fist down 

“Richard, stop this! You can't control me. I am my own person stop.” Nancy. She stands up and walks to the door.

“Ma’am, you have to stay in here until Mr. Nicolas comes to question you. The police are on their way, please don't try anything.”  Harry spoke calmly.

Lost and Found: Chapter 2

By: Savanna Proffit

“Clomp, clomp, clomp.” The sound of five pairs of boots echoed through the woods. Ten-foot trees lined the trail that was overgrown with weeds, shrubs, and moss; rocks were scattered across the ground; a fallen tree lay here and there; piles of pinecone debris lay scattered in the forest. Waylen took off his hat and wiped his brow. He studied his surroundings; a bird tweeted over there; and a squirrel scurried over here. He looked at the two men in front of him and the two men behind him. Mark Canfield in the very front; Steven Summer behind him; then Waylen; behind Waylen, Jack Stoneman; and very last in line walked George McKensy. All were respectable park rangers on a training exercise for two weeks in the Green Mountains. Mark was the one leading the group. His broad, strong shoulders stood straight, adding to his huge masculine form standing at six foot two inches. His blond hair stuck to his head whenever he took off his hat to wipe his brow. His blue eyes sparkled with delight as he studied this beautiful day and the beautiful mountain surroundings. He had a strong-cut jawline that was covered with a neatly trimmed beard like a blanket; that complimented the smile that curved on his thin lips as he thought of the week ahead. 

Waylen was so excited about his first outdoor training exercise that he let out a chuckle when he looked at his feet. He studied them for a little while; they were really big, size ten; they made him walk as if he had duck feet, he thought, sometimes. Though he thought they were huge, nobody else did because he was a tall six-foot man with big hands as well. He had a very strong and built frame at the age of 23 that matched his very handsome and young appearance. His brown eyes sparkled like they were sprinkled with fairy dust every time he got excited about something. Waylen Asher Sterling had the perfect shade of brown hair to compliment his deep eyes. He always tried to keep a tidy appearance by keeping his beard trimmed and wearing neat presentable clothes. He felt that being a Park Ranger required at least a little bit of professionalism away from the job. Right then he was wearing his green uniform pants with hiking boots and a tan button-up shirt with a little gold pin that read his name above the left chest pocket; he had his stetson on his head and a little red kerchief around his neck tied in a neat little knot at the front; his pack on his back felt like it weighed 50 pounds; like it was filled with granite. 

The four other men in the group wore the same thing and Waylen guessed that they probably felt like they also carried granite. At last, Mark held up his hand and signaled that it was time to take a rest. They all sighed with relief and found either a rock or a fallen tree to sit on. 

“Thank goodness! I thought we would never stop,” exclaimed Jack; a short stocky little man with black hair and green eyes who was the clown of the group and kept them all in a jovial mood. His crooked teeth showed as he chuckled. 

“I think that goes for all of us,” George chuckled, as he whisked off his hat and fanned himself with it; his little tuft of curly brown hair that hung in front of his forehead moved with the little breeze it created. He was not the tallest in the group but he was taller than Jack. He had deep, dark, brown eyes that matched his hair and made him look like he was a studious man, which he was; George was the team member who tried to keep all of the guys focused and on track.

“Say, Mark, when are we gonna get to that lookout? I thought you said it was only a little way,” Steven said while he eyed Mark suspiciously. He poured some water in his hand, took his hat off, and perched it on his knee; he took the hand of water and combed the water through his straight red hair so that it stuck up on end as if he were a porcupine; Steven sighed as the cool water ran down his forehead and the back of his neck.

“Oh, it’s just a mile or two farther. We’ll get there before sunset,” Mark said after taking a big gulp of water to moisten his parched throat. Then with a gleam in his eyes, “Why, you gettin’ tired already?”

“Well…no. Just wondering, that's all.” Steven looked to the ground, picked up a pretty little rock, and stuffed it in his pocket. He liked to collect little stones and then once he got home he would put them in his little box under his bed to save and look at later when time allowed.

“Hmmm…sure…that’s all,” a little smile curved on Waylen’s lips and the other guys started to chuckle; Steven smiled at the teasing but said nothing.

“Well boys, let's get back at it. We’re not gonna take another break for another hour or hour and a half so you better buck up.” Mark sent a teasing glance at Steven then swept his eyes over the whole group as he thought, This is a good group of guys. Then, again the clomping sound of men hiking through the forest echoed through the trees.

_____________________________________

Giant trees surrounded a little clearing on a hill. In the center of the little clearing, three small tents stood around a large fire pit. Around the fire pit sat several big logs used as benches. Boulders were scattered here and there along with wild raspberry plants with enough ripe berries to feed an army. Birds fluttered in the trees nearby and chipmunks scurried in and out of little holes between the boulders with cheeks full of pine cone nuts. A little pond sat below the clearing with plenty of fish living in it. 

While she stood on top of the hill, above the pond, and at the edge of the little clearing, Caroline Anderson checked her satellite phone to make sure her precious Kayla was still on her way. She was already torn up and worried about her sweet Meg, who could not make the fun trip, not being there. 

Her eyes scanned her messages; there was one new one at the top of the list. It was in the group message with Meg and Kayla. It read, “I’m not coming Mom.” Meg had already told her that she was not going to make it so it must have been Kayla who sent the message; why would Meg send it twice? Her heart sank like an anchor that had just been dropped from a ship into the sea. “Ok,” she slowly typed into the box and sent. Caroline turned toward their camp and studied the three children she did have with her; she was grateful to have each of them there but it just would not be the same without Megan and Kayla.

Nathen Anderson studied his wife’s face. Her usually sparkling, joyful, green eyes held a hint of sorrow; a slight frown turned her beautiful smile upside down. She looked slightly older when she was sad. She was 47 years old and still looked the same as when Nathen met her in 1994, except for the little gray hairs sneaking into her naturally brown hair that reached to her waist. She was born on April 4, 1971, in Oakton, where they now live, and graduated from Oakton High School in 1989. She went to college at Vermont State University and graduated with a bachelor's degree in Home Economics. During her last year at the university, she met him. His and her lives have not been the same since. 

_____________________________________

We Stay Out of These Woods

By Hannah Bertalot

I was always curious about the big trucks that drove past all the farmland. Large trailers covered with white sheets thundered down the tiny dirt road all throughout my childhood. They only showed up every few weeks, and I would drive the four-wheeler out to the back corner of the property. I would race them along the fence line, and try to peek under the thick white canvases to see what they hid underneath. 

One night, I went out on the same errand. When I got back, my uncle, who frequently sat out on the front porch in the evenings to shoot coyotes, scolded me for not minding my business. 

“Sorry, Uncle Harris.”

“I had better not catch you doing it again.” He warned as he wiped the barrel of the shotgun resting across his knee. I knew he didn’t mean anything by it, but the sheer implication was enough to scare me straight for the rest of my childhood and through my rebellious teenage years. I never once tried to snipe a peek past that point. They also stopped driving past for a long time as well, so it wasn’t like it was a challenge for me to knock it off. It slipped my mind eventually, just as many mysteries in childhood often do.

Or at least it did, until recently. I’m twenty-one now and haven’t chased them down the fence line since I was eleven. I was out at the edge of town near dusk, and I saw the distantly familiar black trucks as they all pulled up to a bar, got out, and traipsed inside. I considered myself old enough to make my own decisions regarding my safety, so I decided to go out of my way and finally sate my younger self’s curiosity. 

I stepped inside the bar- and this is a really nasty place. It was more where motorcyclists would congregate than a nice bar where one might take a lady for a fine evening. Cigar smoke nearly choked me out, and I had to slink past a group of grisly-looking older men who shot me dirty glares on my way to the bar, where the group of men who had gotten out of the trucks were just pulling out recently vacated stools. 

I couldn’t help but notice as I walked closer the tension that built in the air, nor could I ignore the subtle way that others around stared at me as if signaling that I was doing something taboo. 

“Evening, gentlemen.” I greeted, minding my manners and using a polite tone. The group reminded me of a herd of buffalo, gruff and standoffish. Their demeanor tended to ward off outsiders, so maybe that’s why I was regarded so harshly. 

“You had best turn back before you slip into a muddy mess that you won’t be able to pull yourself out of, bud.” A man who looked to be the leader warned softly, his voice toughened like leather from what I knew could have only been years of hard labor. 

“Please, sir,” I started lightly, but leaving enough of an impression that I wouldn’t be frightened off so easily - I let my uncle scare me away from this curiosity as a kid, but now I wanted to chase closure on this childhood mystery. “I’m only curious about what you’ve been up to for so long. You’ve driven past my family ranch for my entire childhood, see, and I’m dyin’ to know what you’re working on in the old woods.” 

A few beats passed, my gaze intently set on his, and I could see the change in the light of his eyes as gears turned in his mind. Something softened, then broke as he sighed and shook his head. 

“I’ll not be held accountable for whatever happens to you, bud. But fine, we’d best be headed out that way tonight anyhow.”

And that was how I found myself in my truck as I followed the old man down the dirt road, going right past my family ranch and over the crest of a steep hill. I watched as it disappeared for the last time in the rearview mirror, a subtle sense of longing began to build in my gut as the place I lived my entire life left my view. Immediately, I discarded the feeling as pointless rumination-- something I had been prone to for a long time. 

We drove for a long while, tall grass and brush eventually gave way to towering pines that obscured my view of the sky. Night fell quickly as I followed the red taillights of the old man’s truck. The bright burgundy glow surrounded by darkness lent itself to tunnel vision, and gave me the impression of staring down a pair of red eyes. 

If I thought the feeling of foreboding in the bar was bad, it was tenfold out here where it was just me and these men who blocked me in front and back on a rough dirt road. 

It felt like hours had passed, but a brief glance at my dashboard told me that it had only been an hour and a quarter since I had last seen the familiar terrain of my homestead, and about thirty minutes since the long fingers of sunlight had slipped out from between the trees and disappeared into a faint glow at the edges of the sky.

At last, the road that seemed to have grown ever narrower finally opened up into a clearing, and the truck in front of me turned off the road, and my sense of tunnel vision was broken. I pulled off to the side with him, then got out of my truck and stood next to him as the rest of the band of vehicles pulled in, the semi-truck hosting the tarp-covered trailer bed brought up the rear.

“Don’t wander too far kid, we’re finishing it tonight.” The old man advised ominously before he wandered toward an old camper that looked so old that nature had started the process of reclaiming it. Vines of ivy grew up onto the awning and rooted the shelter in place.

I braved further exploration of the clearing, which had slowly begun to light up as other buildings further into the trees turned their lights on, the people who lurked inside stirred by the cacophony of trucks that had just arrived. Front and center was a tall structure, obscured by white tarps that waved gently in the breeze. A large cabin that looked just as aged as everything around it, but exuded a sense of grandeur, stood at the back edge of the clearing. People with gas lanterns began to gather before the porch steps, and I curiously wandered closer when an elderly woman stepped out.

The quiet chatter that echoed around the clearing died away as soon as she appeared, so I took that to mean that whatever was meant to be happening was about to start. I searched the crowd for the band of old men that had led me here, then found them gathered around what I had originally assumed to be some kind of generator, but upon closer inspection, turned out to be a large crane. The mast stretched high into the trees and blended with the narrow trunks. 

A hush muffled any other noises as the old woman began to speak, “Hear me, valued tenants, as we finish reassembling the statue of Pandora, the guardian of these woods,” her voice was frail and creaked the same way the trees did in the breeze. “As you all know, Aldous--” she gestured toward the old man, who dipped his head respectfully as the woman acknowledged him, ”--and his dedicated crew of scouts have worked tirelessly for over twenty years, and scoured far and wide to find and bring all of the missing pieces of His statue back together again, so that He may once again watch over us all.” She explained in a reverent tone. 

A murmur of appreciation echoed through the crowd before it was again silent. 

“Now, we will begin the final assembly!” The elder announced in a grander tone, and a little bit of the youth she had lost in the wait for this night seemed to return to her. 

The crane in the corner of the clearing roared to life, and Aldous and his men all set to work as they carefully lifted the tarp from the structure in the middle of the clearing. Beneath it was a sculpted figure. A well-built man with hooved feet, the legs of a goat, I reckoned. The head was missing, though I looked over and saw the crane as it lifted a smaller piece off the semi's truck bed. The sheet that sheltered it from the elements fell away, revealing a handsomely sculpted face. 

I watched alongside the rest of the crowd with bated breath as the head of the statue was slowly lowered to the base of the neck, and several men shouted directions.

  With a loud rumble, they connected; the head mended the cracks and sealed itself to the neck all on its own. 

The air went dead still, the crane withdrew and shut off, and everyone watched in a stifled silence. 

I waited for anything to happen. 

Everyone did. 

All at once, the wind began to pick up. The moon, which once barely shone through the trees, was shrouded by dark clouds. It wasn’t long before trees lashed violently about, their trunks flexed and creaked threateningly as thunder roared. I heard people cry out in fear as a crack sounded out across the clearing, and chaos seemed to break loose. All around me, the crowd rushed for shelter anywhere they could find it, though destruction was faster than any of us as it circled the clearing. Shattered propane lanterns cast an eerie orange glow as young flames licked at the trees. A smoky haze filled the air as we realized there was no way to escape.

These people played too carelessly with old forces of magic that were better off untouched and forgotten. I let my curiosity get the best of me and now it’s too late to back out. Uncle Harris, if you ever read this, I’m sorry.  

Teardrops dripped off the hooked nose of a bespectacled old man as he pushed the newspaper featuring the journal entry and obituary of his nephew away. “I told you, foolish little boy,” He grumbled in a wobbly tone, “To knock that right off, didn’t I?”

Shadow on the Horizon

Written by Treyton Allphin

A lone figure walked through the endless stretch of sand, the sun hanging low but still beating on him from above. His clothes, once dark and full, were now torn and shredded from the harsh desert winds. His lips were peeling, his eyes sunken, and his steps sluggish, yet he continued.

The man had been walking for days, maybe weeks, he had come from a city once, a place with bustling streets and busy markets, he even had his own cloth store, a name even, Amir, but now it seemed as distant as a dream he was no longer welcome back. All he had was the desert with its vast, unyielding stretch of sand, the sky that never changed, and the blistering heat that clung to him like a second skin.

His identity was slowly fading. Just the endless horizon and the crunch of his feet in the sand. His water had run dry days ago. His food was long since gone. Yet, even with every step feeling heavier than the last, he couldn’t stop. It can't end now. 

And the wind shifted. A soft whisper in the air, so faint it could have been his breath. His eyes flickered toward it, and there, on the horizon, a shadow appeared. It was not a mirage, not this time.

In the distance, a woman, draped in black with no sand on her to be seen. Her cold eyes held his gaze, he was captivated.

With the last of his strength, the wanderer made his way toward her, his body almost dragging him forward. The air grew cooler as he neared, and his skin felt even drier than before, like parchment. He fell to his knees beside the woman, he was stuck, the sand swallowing him. He looked up, the woman was doll-like but held a terrifying gaze and a slight grin, she held out her hand to him. He raised his hand, slowly grasping her hand, and with all his worries fading away, he smiled.

Grandma’s Garden

By Julian Denney

I’ve only visited my grandma once a year at best—almost 17 years of week-long summer trips over the mountains in Pocatello. I never thought about it much until we had to visit twice: once for fun and again for a funeral.

I was 16 when my grandpa died. It was odd sorting through the military garb and Native American memorabilia left to the family, sitting on the dusty blue carpet surrounded by boxes and boxes of “junk.” While the office had always been cramped, it no longer felt homey; I no longer felt the warmth of sleeping on a cot with a quilt, just the cold blue light struggling to brighten the room. It was sitting on that scratchy, aged floor that I realized something was different.

It was on our summer visit following the funeral that I knew it wasn’t something reversible. The first thing that drew my eye was the flower garden. A dilapidated truck sat a few meters off, now covered in rust and weeds. My old swing was faded by the sun, the red now a dull pink. The yard was overgrown—save for the tread marks where my grandma had begun to park her car, no longer able to walk from the garage to the front door. The garden where I’d once dug up worms from neat rows of flowers now had Canada thistles as tall as I was, having finally encroached where my grandpa had been warding them off. 

It was off-putting to me. As a kid, I never expected my grandparents to age beyond their golden years; as a teen, I thought I’d brag about my grandma being 90 forever. I never processed that health truly would catch up, that my grandma would ever really die—nobody does until it happens. Even when I noticed her voice was frailer or that she had a walker, I simply thought of them as adjustments to keep her comfortable, not signs. I was in the first stage of grief before I even knew it—denial.

I can’t say it was unexpected when I got the call that she was in hospice. She’d been in and out of the hospital recently, cancer treatments and checkups becoming a routine. 

In a way, I think I’m still in denial—I still don’t believe that when I go back to Idaho, she won’t be there. I don’t believe I won’t see her when we go to the house. She has to still be there on her recliner, feeding stories about when she was young and asking if we want candy behind my mom's back. I should be able to open the door to the scent of newly baked cookies and dated flower perfume, but I can’t.

I know she won’t be at my graduation, and I know the dust is gathering on her recliner. The little blue office is still empty, the tire tracks will fade in the yard, and the weeds in the garden will continue to burgeon.

The Deadwood Saloon

Silence filled the air. It was as thick as the dust floating through the beams of light coming from the saloon window. A pile of old and weathered playing cards sat neatly in the center of the table, yellowed by years of cigarette smoke and grime. The rest of the saloon was empty, aside from an old man passed out over the bar and a bartender quietly scrubbing a glass. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, taken there by years of travelers coming and going as they pleased. Three distinct piles of poker chips lay haphazardly on one of the tables, one noticeably larger than the others. Behind the different piles were three distinct men. 

Hiding behind the smallest pile timidly sat a small man with sizable spectacles, trying to stay small and unnoticed. Mouse-like in appearance, he wore tattered and dirty clothes, sporting a bald spot on the back of his head reddened by the western sun.

Behind the second-largest pile sat a disgruntled-looking man, his mean eyes visible beneath a dark cowboy hat. A cigarette stuck out from under his brown mustache. He swayed it side to side as he tried to figure out what his best option was, his scarred hands angrily gripping the cards.

Behind the largest pile lay the boots of the obvious victor, his feet lying comfortably up on the tabletop.  The winner’s chips took up most of his side of the table. He leaned farther back into his chair and let out an exaggerated yawn, bringing his other hand out from the large red and white poncho draped over him to cover his mouth.

He smugly looked over his cards, then glanced up to meet the man in the dark hat’s gaze, raising his eyebrows with a stupid smirk. The man in the hat glared harder, almost looking as though he would burst a blood vessel in his forehead.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere friend?” said the man in the hat.

“It’s possible,” said the man in the poncho, “I'm somewhat famous ‘round these parts.”

“That so…” said the big man before laying down his cards on the table. “I fold.”

The man in the poncho suddenly switched his gaze to the small man in the glasses, staring him down. The shy man's eyes fluttered back and forth between his cards and the poncho'd cowboy's fiery scowl. He slowly dropped his cards to the table and squeaked out a faint, “I fold,” before dropping his head to stare at his worn boots.

The man in the poncho couldn't help but bare his teeth in an evil grin as he threw his hand down on the heavily marked table, revealing an assortment of random suites and numbers. Taking his boots off the tabletop he greedily raked in the pile of poker chips that had accumulated in the center of the table during their round. The mousey man covered his face in shame, knocking his glasses up his large forehead and letting out a faint groan. 

“Looks like you boys are plum outta luck and guts,” the poncho'd cowboy sneered. 

A loud thud rang out from the front of the saloon, a large figure standing in the now-open doorway, casting an outstretched shadow covering the poncho'd man; his arms still wrapped around the chips he had won. Everyone in the bar saloon paused 

The drunk old man lying on the bar slowly raised his head from the small puddle of drool he had created, looked the man in the doorway up and down, and dropped his head back down to the counter. 

Sniffling, the stranger took his first step inside; the spurs on his boot rattling loudly as his foot hit the old wooden floors. The man slowly made his way to the bar, grabbing hold of the chair sitting next to the old man and turning towards the poker table. As slowly as he had walked in he made his way over to the three men dragging the chair behind him, the chair jumping around due to the uneven flooring. With every step echoed out his loud footsteps and jingling spurs. The three men stared at the man as he finally made it to his destination, swinging the chair and letting his large body fall to the chair unfortunate enough to bear his weight letting out a desperate creak. 

All three men stared at him blankly.

He wore an old leather coat and chaps, the coat hanging halfway down his quads. His long hair and beard sat messily on his face and head. His eyes puffy and cheeks rosy gave the impression he had been crying. If not for his size and glum disposition, he would come off as a pushover.

“Dutch Carson?” The words barely left his lips, his voice sounding weak and shaky.

None of the men said anything in response.

The large man let out a deep sigh and reached under the table, pulling out a well-maintained Colt revolver, his eyes dancing around the table as he gently set the cold metal down on the tabletop, his fingernails gnarled and dirty. Sleeves covered in dust and grime.   

The spectacled man went white as the man in the dark cowboy hat quickly sat upright. The bartender watching from the back of the saloon let out a deep sigh and began to hide his most expensive liquor behind the bar’s counter.

“Listen, friend,” the poncho’d man said calmly, “I’m afraid that you might be mistaken. I don’t know anyone by that name ‘round these parts.”

The Stranger’s bloodshot eyes locked onto his face.

“You boys listen and you boys listen well,” he said, continuing to stare the poncho’s man down,  the man's voice cracking every other syllable. “I have been wronged by a man named Dutch Carson. Now I don’t know what he looks like but I know for a fact that he is sitting at this table.”  The man paused as tightened his grip on the revolver. “I’m not the type of man to hurt anybody I don’t have to and would be appreciative if the yellow-bellied coward would fess up now.” 

The three men continued to sit awkwardly, eyes fixated on the gun, all waiting for someone else to say something.

The Stranger's lips began to quiver as he took in the men’s silence. He quickly brought his fist up before slamming it down into the tabletop, causing the mousy man to let out a loud squeal. 

“One of you killed my wife last night.” His voice cracked and faded back into the awkward silence at the end of the statement.

“Like I said, I am not trying to take the life of an innocent man, but I don’t know what I’m capable of.”

The Mousy man began to hyperventilate, sweat dripping down his forehead, eyes still fixated on the cold piece of steel held tightly by the infuriated man. 

The man in the poncho spoke up first, slowly and calmly. “I swear to you I don’t have an inkling of an idea  to what you're talkin’ bout.” As he tried to de-escalate the situation, his left hand slowly inched its way from his hoard of poker chips and towards the edge of the table, pacing it every few seconds, millimeters at a time.

“I didn’t do anything either,” the man in the dark hat butted, hands raised and shaking, the cigarette in his mouth down to its butt and his mustache twitching. 

The stranger brought his sleeve up to his forehead, wiping the moisture accumulating on his brow. “I don’t know… I want to… I-I…” His puffy eyes shot to the mousy man who sat frozen in fear.

“Why haven’t you said anything,” the stranger said, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

The mousy man's mouth opened but no words came out. He tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. His eyes flickered around in desperation, begging the other men to say or do anything but they didn’t.

The stranger's grip tightened more on the handle of the gun, his knuckles and fingertips whitening under the strain.

“Say something!” The man yelled, tears streaming down his face in a river of hopelessness, slamming the butt of the gun on the table.

Suddenly the stranger's eyes widened; the pace of his breaths increased, “I know you, I saw you yesterday at the cabin.” 

The mousy man began to cry too, “What-”

“Why were you there, what were you saying to her,” the stranger said, face contorted in rage.

“I’m a postman,” the mousy man managed to squeal out, his voice high and frightened like a snared rodent.

“Shut up!” the stranger screamed, raising the gun directly between the mousy man's eyebrows, “We didn’t get anything yesterday!”

The poncho’d man’s hand lunged underneath the table underneath the table and kicked his chair backward, scattering chips all over the floor. Catching the sharp movement out of the corner of his eye, the stranger swiveled his body along with the gun to face the poncho’d cowboy. At the same time the man in the dark cowboy hat dove to his right seeking cover behind a table and reaching for his own gun. 

The Saloon stood nestled in between the drugstore and a small hotel, only having six rooms. Made out of timber from the north. It was a single story in height and had a small wooden porch in the front added years after its original construction. A candle fire years earlier had nearly burned the building down, one of the few interesting things that happened in the dying town.

Loud Cracks rang out from the interior of the saloon, first a quick burst of three or four shots, then a pause, and then another burst, too close together to be able to count an exact number. One of the panes in the back window shattered and fell to the dust of the barren desert.

Silence once again broke out over the sleepy town.

The Camping Trip

By: Greta Morgenweck

The wind blows through my bright red hair as I rub my arms attempting to diminish the goose bumps while the wind whistles past in only a breeze. My body is only covered with a thin tie dye bikini. I stand while setting my arms over my stomach, peering over the edge at the 20-foot drop that looks like a million feet down. Cautiously stepping over the rocks to Wren, I look at him and say, “ ready?” He nods while I grab his hand and we take that step off the cliff. My stomach feels as if I just took off in a plane. In an instant we fall into the water. As we come up gasping for air, we swim to the rugged boulder we have to climb to get back up to the cliffs. 

We are on the North side of the lake and the dam is roughly a mile away from us. It is 89 degrees. The pebbles and sand on the cliff burn as our bare feet quickly walk over to peer over the edge once again. I stood next to Wren as Kate and Ben jumped off. Wren was a foot taller than me but weighed less than my thigh. He stood there, arms crossed, trying to hide the unnoticeable bumps on his arms and flat stomach.  

Ben and Kate were always along for the ride. Kate was just under five feet with a slim waist, but too filled out for a small bikini. She had blue eyes and shimmery blonde hair. Ben has broad shoulders, a goofy smile with oversized glasses, and a GPA that would make Stanford want him. 

“ Dang, I wish Mia could’ve come.” Wren says.

“ Yeah, definitely.” I say with resentment. 

“ You know Ella, you're such a great friend, you’re like a sister to me!” 

I smile and nod because if you don’t have anything nice to say don’t say anything at all. 

“ I am soooo tired, can we leave?? Pleaseeee,” Wrens says in a whiny voice. 

Ben laughs and says,”Get in.” 

After this you would’ve thought the day was over, but it only began as we started driving to a camp spot on the South side of the lake, called Deer Creek. 

Kate’s hair reached to the end of her back and dripped all over the backseat of Ben’s car as she put it up in a messy bun. Wren sat in the front as always. Ben started driving to Wren’s car in town before heading to Deer Creek so he could drive too. I sat next to Kate in the back as my shoulder length hair drizzled red water down my chest and collected in my belly button. 

Wren got out and hopped into his car as I crawled into the front seat.

A ‘85 Blazer is in front of us that Wren is driving as we start our journey. The mountains are becoming closer to arm’s reach and fewer houses are appearing along the way, while Tame Impala rings through my ears. I turn my head to look in the back and Kate is curled into a ball fast asleep. Ben’s right arm is leaning on the console and the other arm is on the steering wheel while his hand is tapping to the beats of his favorite album.

At around two hours in, Wren called us and asked if we could pull over for a minute. We stop for him to call Mia right before we lose service. 

After this we finally arrived and drove over a bridge to enter Deer Creek. 

As we step out of the car there's not a soul in sight and the only sound is the water flowing and birds chirping. 

I can’t help but look up at the mountains that used to seem a million miles away that we’re now sleeping at the edge of. We all ran over to the creek right away. The smell of pine trees and wildfires fills the air. The sunset borders the mountains and the sky is a mix of orange and blue. We jump from rock to rock through the shallow water. After our side trip to the creek, we went back to the campsite. 

“ So here’s the wood and lighter fluid, coal and stuff to make a fire. Who wants to?” I ask

Wren and Ben go silent.

Kate laughs and says, “Uhhh do you guys even know how to make a fire?” 

“ Well you see- not really.” Ben says. “ I don’t camp.”

“ I’ve watched one be made in a movie.” Wren says as a joke but no one laughed.

“ I guess I will do it myself because the men clearly can’t.” Kate irritably says as she grabs a piece of kindling and throws it in the pit.

“ Why don’t you guys make yourselves useful and go set up the tents you brought?” I say while rolling my eyes. 

Wren and Ben leave for a few minutes to go set up while Kate and I build the fire.

Wren comes back over and nervously says, “ So what if I told you I forgot the stakes?” 

“ God Wren, I asked you to bring one thing and you can’t even do that!” 

“ I’m sorry, my mom packed it for me.” Wren defensively brings into the conversation.

“ It's whatever, try to find a solution because I am trying to make a fire that you obviously can’t be trusted with.” I angrily say and point towards the tents. 

As the night settled in and both the tents were set up with no rain coverings or stakes. Ben and Kate decided to sleep in a tent together and Wren and I got the other one.

 I lay awake staring at the stars as the sound of Wren snoring is in the background and the smell of his cologne fills the tent. 

I turn my head and look at his crisp jawline and spotless face and then turn back to watching the night sky as a shooting star passes. I fall into my own dreams.

I sit up and quietly move to the zipper of the tent. I pull up the zipper and look back after it moves up every inch to make sure his eyes are still closed. I step out and hear a crunch of a leaf. Crap, I hope no one heard that. I slide on my birks and go for a walk by the creek. 

Why did Wren compare me to his sister? What was wrong with me? Why doesn’t he think of me the way I think of him? 

A pine cone falls from a tree and lands behind me. I turn around and get chills. Why am I scared? And why am I not enough for Wren?

I walk back toward the tents and the full moon above me is the only light and all I can think of right now is everything he has taken from me. 

I see that rock against the tree just about the size of my hand. Big enough.

I picked it up. I turn it around and observe it. Perfect.

With the tent still unzipped I slide off my shoes outside and step in.

I look down at Wren peacefully sleeping on his back. I think he’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but that mindset changes quickly as my vision becomes a blur of his lips on hers, and his hands on her waist, all so wrong. 

My hands are shaking but that doesn’t stop me from bashing the rock down onto his head and it feels like water as blood splashes onto my face. The momentum of the blow throws my arm back and his body jolts.

 The way he had me wrapped around his finger and only wanting me when it was convenient for him. I throw my hand down again holding the rock as he makes a sharp inhale. His face is getting more and more unrecognizable. 

Who does he think he is? Why did he think he could just do that to me with no consequence for his own actions? My vision gets more blurred as the warm tears run down my cheek. I take my left hand and wipe off the mix of sticky red and transparent water. Even his blood smells like cologne. 

Another splash of blood hits my face after a strong blow and I fall out of the haze and look down at my hands. My fingers become weak and the rock falls out of my hand that is covered in red.

Wait what the- 

I fall back in the tent realizing this isn’t a dream and hear leaves and grass behind me as I quickly turn around to see Kate holding Ben's arm from behind as she has her hand over her mouth.

 I look back at Wren's motionless body and then slowly tilt my head down to see the red water dripping down my chest and collecting in my belly button.

The Dark Forest

By: MJ Whelan

It doesn’t matter how sunny the day is, the forest is always dark. Always like the sky above is a deep grey. Any light is dim, only able to bring clarity to three steps ahead of you. 

During the day, it’s quiet. There’s barely any creatures scurrying around, the wind barely moves the trees. No, they move on their own when annoyed. At night though… the forest comes alive with noises and sounds. Some familiar, the howls of wolves, cries of birds. But the others? Hideous shrieks of being that sound like they were once human, feral growls that follow any foolish enough to enter, and shrill cries that might be birds, or something else. Rustling in the bushes that seems to get close and then far away. 

Everyone knows something is wrong with the forest, and yet, people still enter. Pulled by some dark, fierce curiosity. There are those that seem to have the forest running through their veins. Those that don’t shy from the edge when the creatures scream, that can’t seem to take their eyes away from the edge. They stand at the start of the paths leading into the forest, paths made by the forest itself. No human would ever make an entrance to that place.

Most who enter, never come back. The few who do, well, they’re changed forever. Something has left them or something is there that wasn’t part of them before. Their eyes are always empty, like any life has been drained from them. When they die, you can’t find the bodies. They were reclaimed by the forest in death, though how is unknown…

Young people and children always dare their peers to go a few steps down the paths into the forest. Most can’t do it, their skin crawls before they can ever reach the treeline. It feels like the forest is watching with bated breath, waiting to consume them. Once, people tried to send sacrifices to it, in an attempt to keep themselves safe, but they were fools.

How do I know that? Because any village that's tried that ends up a ghost town. You can’t satisfy greed by feeding it. The forest claimed them too, added them to its darkness. Its hunger became their hunger, or, that’s what other stories say.

It’s odd when you think about it, all these stories and we still don’t know what happens in the forest. We know people usually don’t come out, the few who do are changed forever. But, what exactly happens in there to cause it? Storytellers like myself often wonder, we try to make sense of it through the fantastic and improbable. But, what if it’s not either of those? What if it’s simply an old forest that we made a demon? The disappearance caused by wild animals who were hunting, the ones who come back and disappear at death? People with madness that got blamed on the forest.

Of course, you don’t believe that, do you? I don’t blame you, the noises alone are enough to cast doubt on it being normal. Not to mention the paths no one ever recalls making. The ghost towns, the mysterious callings to it.

Oh? The Storytellers, like myself? The ones who show up and no one seems to know where we came from? Many people think we’re tied to the forest, that we come from it. I’ve heard people say that we’re the disappeared who survived and made the forest our home. That we go to towns at the edge and try to lure people in like a form of the Pied Piper. I’ll leave the decision of what we are to you. I don’t much care, so long as you’ll listen to my stories.

Stories, maybe that’s what gave the forest its power. A few strange things happened and people spun tales that spiraled out of control and made the forest what it is today. Well, we’ll never know, the first stories are so old anyone who was around at their creation is long since dust. No use in lamenting it, is there?

Oh, your parents are calling, little ones. Hurry now, I’ll still be here tomorrow with more stories to fill your young minds. Tales of heroes and villains, strange creatures, and the forest. Now run along, you don’t want to keep your families waiting, be swift, little ones. Eat your dinner, sleep, and ignore the fog from the forest that creeps into town at night. Goodbye, I’ll see you tomorrow and tell you more stories. Goodbye…

Lost and Found: Chapter 1

By: Savanna Proffit

All the kitchen cabinets were light green and covered with charcoal black countertops. The sink laid on one counter below a small window with buffalo check curtains making the scene cute and quaint. A hall led from the living room to the back of the house, where a bathroom, two bedrooms, and an office were. In the one bedroom, the morning sun shone through the window, making the silver handles on her dresser sparkle. Next to the dresser sat a hiking pack with socks hanging out the top. Clothes were scattered on the floor and bench in front of the queen bed against the center of the north wall. Two small tables stood on either side of the bed with pretty white lamps on top. The sun caught her golden hair that sprawled across her pillow making it shimmer like strands of silken gold. She was just starting to stir; a stretch of the leg over here; a stretch of the arm over there; and then a yawn; finally a little flutter of the eyelids. 

Twenty-one-year-old Kayla Sage Anderson opened her eyes and looked around her cozy little bedroom; she was still a little groggy when she went through her plans for the day in her mind. Kayla suddenly flew out of bed; she remembered she was supposed to meet her family in the Green Mountains for their annual backpacking trip. Her family had left a few days before to get a head start. Kayla could not join them due to some work orders she had to fill. Her mother had sent her the coordinates of their campsite, where they were waiting for her and her sister Megan, the day before, so they would know where to find them. 

Megan, Kayla’s older sister at the age of 22, had not been feeling good the past few days and she and her husband, Nick Peterson, decided it was best not to go. Her mom, dad, two brothers, and her youngest sister had started ahead, and Meg and Nick would follow up later with Kayla if she felt better—but she did not. They texted Caroline, her mom, to let her know that they would not be joining the family trip this year. Though the family was disappointed, they understood. 

——————-

Kayla went through her packing list, “ Socks…check, plenty of shirts…yes, hat…check, pants…yep, sweatshirt…check, light…yes, food…yes, mug…yes, jet boil…yep…” She read through her whole list and checked everything off one at a time until she reached the end. Yet, when she was sure she had everything, she still felt she was forgetting something; something important. 

“What could I be forgetting? I know I put everything I needed on this list…OH! My camera!” She raced down the hall to the dining room, dog in tow, and almost lost her footing on the slick wooden floor, to get her camera that she could not do without. 

After everything was completely packed, she set her stuff down by the door, went to the kitchen, scrambled some eggs, fried some sausage, and made herself a nice hot cup of black coffee. The smell of the amazing breakfast cooking on the stove made her taste buds tingle and her tongue lick her salmon-pink lips that matched the color in her cheeks, which gave her a beautiful, youthful charm. Her pretty green eyes watched as the liquid eggs slowly turned solid and the red meat turned brown. Her eyes were perfectly placed on her gorgeous round face and paired just right with her nose, which was a smidge too big for her taste. As Kayla stood mixing her eggs and flipping her sausage, her wavy blonde hair laid down her back, stopping halfway, only adding to her beauty. 

She poured her coffee into her favorite pastel green mug, grabbed a plate, and served herself a delicious breakfast of eggs and sausage. As she sat down on a stool at her kitchen island, she scarfed down her breakfast so she could leave as fast as she could. She went to take a bite of eggs and a piece of her golden hair slipped into her face.

“Ah, shoot! I still have to do my hair,” then she looked at her feet, “And put my shoes on! Plus, get out of my pajamas! What on earth have I been doing that I didn’t get dressed yet?” 

She grabbed her plate and mug, headed to her room, and put on her favorite hiking outfit while she took bites of egg in between. Then she did her hair into two French braids which she started at the front and worked all of her hair into them until she got to the back. When she finished her hair, which looked like two golden cornrows on top of her head, she put on her hiking boots and tied the laces in perfect bows. She placed her favorite green hat with trees on the front of it, on top of her neatly braided hair. Kayla took a deep breath, and looked at herself in the mirror.

  “Good to go!” She said. 

The Anarchist #2

By Austin Corbin

Corvus sighed as the blood seeped into his dirt floor—a mess he desperately wanted not to clean. The strange politician lay in the chair against the wall, blood still spitting out of his neck. The man posed no threat to Corvus, yet he knew what must be done; anyone trying to form some type of government must die. It was part of his creed as a Steward of Anarchy. There were plenty more of his kind, wandering the cities, the settlements, the whole country. The Stewards of Anarchy was an elite group of military commanders handpicked by the two generals of the Anarchical army to keep the Anarchy safe, a program that went back generations. After the first few went undercover and set out into the country, they recruited more; they recruited the best of debaters, the most skilled in combat, and the people who were born to wander. As these qualities all invested into one living, breathing human being are quite rare, the most apt recruits were few and far between.

As for Corvus, he was more of the type to stay at home and read. However, he was a masterful swordsman and a dead shot with his Thompson and revolvers. Corvus was chosen by a man named Thomas Farrel Canfret, who spent eighty-four years of his one hundred and two-year life as a Steward of Anarchy; he never retired. It was rare that a Steward of Anarchy meet another, besides, of course, the mentor and the student. This was because of the strategic dispersal of the original Stewards of Anarchy. Even for the ones that travel enough and to the right places, they remain strangers, as revealing their identity would go against their creed. However, there was a system to call all Stewards. If help from the entire corps of Stewards was necessary, then the individual that calls all of them has a mark that they must don upon their forehead; then they must wander the country; when another Steward sees this mark, they will stop the other and don the same mark themselves; then the two wander together and find more Stewards of Anarchy. The process can take years; however, most threats to the Anarchy take years to escalate.

Corvus sighed. The blood was either going to be an eyesore for years, or it would take digging it out and re-mudding the seat and floor. Thankful he would not need any firearms, he leaned against the counter. Quickly he checked the body for any other weapons or bombs; not finding anything but a small pocket knife, he hurriedly dragged the rather large man into his cellar, where Corvus left him as he ventured off to find his shovel. Once found, the shovel made quick work of the wall in the cellar where Corvus walled up the body with mud, twigs, and rocks. The man was not the first to be buried in the walls of the cellar; Corvus knew he soon needed an expansion. Corvus kept constant track of his kill count, and it would never be something he would be proud of—simply a number attached to the duty he would forever carry out with a sense of accomplishment.

Corvus, in the end, decided to shovel out and re-mud the blood-soaked floor and chair. He figured it wouldn’t be too much more work than walling up the politician; however, it was just as much work, if not more. It all took Corvus into the early afternoon when he remembered his coffee on the woodstove and picked up his pipe once more as he sat on his bed. The day, not yet near to over, took on the slow, moody, grey guise of a cloudy day in autumn despite the summer month.

This led Corvus to find a pleasant book on his bookshelf, which he read for the rest of the evening until, on his third bowl of North Carolina tobacco, Corvus seemed to drift into a waking slumber, something he often found himself inundated with, an augmented reality where fine motor skills fade and a state of unmoving, peaceful, yet observant sight sets into the eyes. This strange sleep lasted for quite some time.

The second knock on his door confused Corvus mightily; it was late, and he had drifted into a more acceptable state of sleep, yet on his door, he heard a knock. As he got up, he groaned, not out of some awakened rheumatism, nor did he groan out of anguish; no, he groaned for the years he had spent alone; he groaned for every frown, every smile, everything he had done alone. Since his mother had given him away to Thomas Canfret, he could only remember her face. After he was done with his education at the age of eighteen, Corvus knew nothing but the occasional stranger on his adventures and the occasional knock on his door as he was at home. He groaned. 

Once he had properly armed himself and met the door, he tiredly opened the door. His heart absolutely dropped; confusion, worry, and anticipation flooded his mind. The woman standing in front of him bore the mark to call all Stewards.

The Trail Behind

Written by Nico Fuhriman

As it lunged at the window, I flinched, expecting to be mauled by the feline-looking shadow. But after a few seconds, I realized it hadn’t broken the window. When I looked back in its direction, I saw some kind of luminescent film outside, between the window and the shadow. It was as if some barrier kept it from breaking through. It threw itself at the window over and over again, growing more relentless. I watched in horror, unsure how much longer this so-called barrier would last.

As it continued to throw itself at the window, the symbols across the wall gave off a faint glow. The barrier was somehow connected to these symbols, but I still didn’t know what they meant or if they were something that could help me. I moved closer to the wall, keeping my eyes on the window. Not that I could do anything if it broke through. I ran my fingers over the symbols, tracing them, hoping something would magically happen. Every time I traced one, a tingling sensation ran through my hand, and I tried not to smudge it.

When my fingers returned to the originally smudged symbol, a soft whisper suddenly filled the air: “Repair the mark.”

I whipped my head around, goosebumps forming on my skin. I looked around frantically, unsure where the voice had come from or if it was just my mind fraying under the adrenaline. Then I noticed a small bowl filled with a red substance. I hurriedly grabbed it and traced back over the smudged symbol. Unsure whether it was blood or just a red paste, I set my worries aside. As the symbol was repaired, the barrier seemed to strengthen. I didn’t hesitate; I used the paste to trace over every symbol, even the carved ones. I wasn’t risking anything, and if this would help, I was willing to stick my fingers in this blood-like paste.

There was no longer movement outside from the shadow. I wasn’t sure if the symbols had scared it off or if it was just hiding, waiting for me to come out. I wasn’t leaving this cabin until sunrise. I was growing hungry and cold. Though I had shelter, there was no heating, and my clothes were still damp from the rain. I took off my layers to wring them out and try to dry them as much as possible before the sun rose. I planned to leave as soon as I saw a speck of sunlight peak over the mountain range.

I was still worried about whatever was outside. I didn’t know if it would retreat once more into the wilderness once there was light or if it would just wait out there until I felt secure enough to leave.

A few hours later, my once-damp clothes were just cold. I slipped them back on to help contain my body heat. As I warmed up, I began to hear birds chirping. I looked out the window to see that the sun was starting to rise. I grabbed my stuff and shoved it back in my backpack. I was hungry and terrified; the first thing I wanted was to get out of the wilderness. I hoped that with there being light outside, I could follow the trail back down and make my way back up to the parking lot. I’d just need to move faster than I usually would.

I took one last look at the symbols, flickering with a glow, and began to push the barrier from the door. I hoped that whatever was out there last night would be gone. As the cabin door slowly creaked open, I peeked outside with my heart racing. There was no sign of the shadow. I was safe… for now. I slung my backpack on and made my way down the trail. It was still muddy from the rainfall, but at least I could see in front of my feet.

As I made my way down the trail, I couldn’t help but feel paranoid. As if something could be watching me from the tree line. It was eerily quiet. I just hoped I could make my way out of here before nightfall.