Embedded Files
By Jaycee Comeau
"There's Fright in the Night"
By James Leasseur
There's fright in the night and that's no fight,
That’s right. There's fright in the night and that's no fight,
Why is there fright in the night you ask?
Well, there's a clown with a task. What is that task?
To bring fright to the night.
The clown is named Cakey and he is no fake.
He does bring fright to the night.
There's a girl in a gown and as Cakey spots her with his eye,
He climbs down the soul tree as he feels free.
He gets behind the girl with a gown after he climbs down the soul tree feeling free.
Cakey is not just a jump scarer no, no, no.
He kills her and brings her up into the soul tree,
The soul tree is his bridge from the devil’s home where he climbs down and feeds.
This night he climbed down and decided his appetizer would be the girl in the gown,
As he climbs up the soul tree feeling free to have this snack knowing nobody will attack back,
He finishes his meal as he climbs down the soul tree feeling free knowing,
That if you’re not careful, not so careful
Then Cakey the clown will kill and bring you down the soul tree feeling free and eat you.
So next night you’re feeling fright look out for the clown in the ripped costume with blood stains and sharp teeth in the mouth.
Cakey only appears on Halloween to do the devil's bidding by bringing fright to the night…
"Iris"
By Ollie Day
Mother said to stay clear
Of the house across the road
For entering that house
Is a death wish she says.
But I never claimed to be a good kid.
The old place was practically falling apart.
Definitely not safe for anyone to be here, especially a 7 year old.
But if I go home, Mother will know.
The rooms are dark, the walls are bare, except for the cobwebs.
All is silent, but a voice calls to me, speaking my name,
“Iris.”
Like the naive child I was, I follow the siren-like song.
A hand grabbed me.
I never was seen again.
My face was on the news, I was on milk cartons, My mother was worried sick.
But Mother, I’m right here. But how will she ever know if she doesn’t look?
It gets lonely in this labyrinth of a manor, just me and the cobwebs.
But the creaking of the door on Halloween night said otherwise.
At last,
A visitor.
"The Naive Hero"
By Vivian Nguyen
The pretty prince heard how
The forest’s voice rippled
It whistled and it whispered
Leaning toward it, he bristled
He spotted shiny skin like char
How peculiar, he thought
A thing rounded and smooth
Curiosity was what he fought
Its darkness innocent in day
He held an apple of obsidian!
He believed it truly remarkable
Although it surely was insidious
The fire hidden in the woods
Drew him nearer to her then
Where princesses ate fruits
Long known to be forbidden
He thought himself a hero,
A true prince in knight’s armor
Then, he took a bite of an apple
That once fatally charmed her
When he drew his greatsword
The witch would not win
As he stabbed her cruel heart,
He swore to give a brave grin
Into the woods he went
Before he found her soon
A beauty in black robes
The witch, a lovely doom?
She smiled a little for him
A farewell gift for a fool
His princess was a witch
Now he, one of her ghouls
By Alyssa De Araujo Silva
"Under the Streetlamp"
By Kaden Meade
Day drops like the autumn leaves.
Night awakes with the beasts.
Many are warned but
many decide to leave.
There are those
Who don’t value their life in the least.
As the night grows,
the curses are forged
to those who travel
to the woods,
past the gravel,
onto the dirt,
under the rain.
Follow the path of imprinted hooves
left behind from the last wanderers long ago
In the woods you'll never be heard
A lonely island you will be
In the woods you will crumble.
Hellooo? Hellooooooo? Hello?
You will never be free
- Anonymous
By Jefflyn Sahn
By Angie Fallavollita
Since it’s Sunday and it’s stopped raining
I think I’ll take a bouquet of roses to my grave.
As I walked across the road to the graveyard
I could hear a faint cry
I walked as stealthily as an angel can to the noise
Finally arriving in the woods
There was a young girl
Who seemed to be around six
Sat on the ground
As I crept up,
The crying stopped.
The girl turned around and looked straight at me
“W…w…who are you” she mumbled.
I froze
How could she see me?
I was at a loss for words
Flowers still in hand
I felt sorry for her
I passed her the bouquet and wandered off
I could feel her eyes burning in the back of my mind
How could this happen?
I walked back to where I started and made my way to my grave
I sat and looked at the night sky
Filled with countless stars
In my relaxed state
I didn’t hear the crunch of a fall leaf being stepped on
The little girl had sat next to me
Along with the flowers from earlier that day
She stared into my eyes without saying a word
After what felt like an eternity
The silence was broken
“Who are you?”
She whispered
I wasn’t sure what to say
“I’m an angel.”
I paused
Who would believe that?
But it is true
An eerie grin grew across her face
“I am too”
She said as her voice deepened and head turned
Then I realized
She was a demon.
- Anonymous
The Cycle
a Short Story by Anonymous
An audacious girl, about the age of ten, ran through the woods with an imaginative friend, Jack. They ran wild, like a group of chickens, observing the hectic woods, with rigid branches, and maddening screeches from the owls, which made a perfect hangout for the girl and her friend.
“You see Jack, these woods are perfect for exploring!” the girl exclaimed. Her bright rubber rainboots stuck to the mud before springing another step deeper. The wood swallowed her whole in fascination. She leaped with contempt as she kept running.
“Why yes, it is perfect.” She heard a luminous voice from afar. The girl stopped, looking around unsettled. She steadied her feet, the wind blowing heavier and knocking her off her feet and into the muddy pile. She got up quickly, rubbed the mud off her raincoat, and looked around.
“Jack, why do I hear you? You weren’t this talkative before. Are you no longer shy of my presence? Are you rather brave? What is the matter Jack, why won’t you speak again?” The girl questioned against her. She huffed in annoyance, crossing her arms in irritation,” Tis rude, tis disrespectful even!” The girl exclaimed.
“I apologize, Ms. Everdeen.” The voice replied,” I, Jack, have lost mannerisms. I apologize greatly, Ms. Everdeen,” Jack announced. The girl looked around to see a ghostly boy in front of her. He wore dusty trousers, a white-stained long-sleeve shirt, and some rather fancy shoes. His attire replicated a Victorian-era boy.
“You are forgiven.” The girl decides.
“Kat-”
“Ms. Everdeen,” Kat corrects.
“Ms. Everedeen, are you not perhaps bothered I am headless?” Jack asks, his lips pursed in awe.
“Never. You forget I am special. I made you from my imagination, Jack.” Kat smiles a vague one, not bothering to look behind what he was trying to say.
“Well-yes, Ms. Everdeen. But, I am a ghost. Not an imaginary figment, does it not occur that other people cannot see such phenomena as you and me? Does it not bother you that people cannot see you, hear you, feel you?” Jack asks, his usual subtle voice growing rather timid. He bites back his tone at the end of his sentence, his eyebrows raising in anticipation of what Kat will say.
What are you on about, Jack? Mother and father await for me every day after my adventure in the woods.” Kat questioned herself for a brief moment, looking away and seeing Jack grow taller and taller by the second.
“Ms. Everdeen, does it not concern you do this every day? Yet, you pass the same barred owl, the same abandoned shed, and yet every time you hear the sounds of a horseshoe slapping at the ground. Does it not bother you you’ve been in this simulation for ten years, five months, and three days now? You should’ve been twenty by now.” Jack conveys great worry about her naive persistence.
“Nonsense, it’s only been a day!” Kat refutes.
“The same day, over and over again. You wake up, running through the woods, hear a voice that isn’t mine, and submerge in mud! Why can’t you accept your fate, Katsra?” Jack has lost all patience. Kat looks underneath her to feel her body submerging to the bottom. She sees Jack’s head as she turns around on the saddle of the horse, staring at her. The horse is only bones, brittle and decayed. She tries to pick herself out of her death. "You cannot change fate. For fate is your destiny.” Jack disappeared from Kat’s gaze. She raised her hand to the surface, only to be pulled in again, in an incessant cycle.
“A cycle,” Kat mutters out as the mud fills her lungs like always, and her vision blurs out.
There she is again, running for no apparent reason. Kat tries dragging her feet, stopping her acceleration. But, it was futile. She sobbed as she did not want to experience death again. “You see Jack, these woods are perfect for exploring!” she repeated. It felt like deja vu. She then heard the same luminous voice again, looking for Jack she saw him afar near an ongoing river. He must be in his cycle again too. She sees a crowd of ghosts, cheering him on.
He appears to be dueling another boy his age with swords. It is all fun until Jack is beheaded, bloodied screams flee the woods as Jack’s head remains throughout the woods in terror. A horse nearby picks up his head, walking around with it like a trophy.
Jack suddenly appears behind Kat headless, as if he is haunting her. He pushed Kat into the mud. It must have been the gush of wind that cursed her to the submersion. She sobbed. It felt different this time as she’d discovered the truth.
It was all a cycle, nothing brand new.
Beware of headless horseman Jack
He’ll play
And stay all-day
with no delay
And stab you in the back
By Julianna Hodgdon
By Nola Finn
"A Walk Down the Broken Fairytales"
By Emaan Asad
my feet slid along the forest floor,
grass dead of long
slipping in between my bare toes.
a monster of impending doom,
the giant tree rose into the sky,
hindering that white, warm glow from leading my way.
I squint
at the strings that slumped down the branches.
clumps of mangled skin, I make out, tied in knots,
in bows, like presents.
a howl, a slight brush of icy cool against my cheek.
the strings flung forward, knots snapping,
collapsing at my feet
swaddled in remnants of steel blades,
a poked-out eye, a chopped toe, and a severed heel.
a howl, a firm push against the blades of my shoulder.
the sea, spruce in color, foaming along the shore.
a clustering of bubbles caught my eye,
popping like a cauldron of the most venomous of potions
and a lone dagger floating in their midst.
a howl, a hard shove against the small of my back.
a clearing comes into view
so does a flock of ravens,
obsidian, like water at the bottom of a well on a moonless night.
beaks snipping away at a carcass
with rocks spilling from its stomach
a howl, a sudden jolt that sends me reeling.
a window suspended in the air
visible through it,
a dance to death in red-iron shoes.
a man so small, screaming of the Devil,
his foot stuck so deep in the earth that he tore himself into two.
the bed of a princess awoken from her century-long slumber by a child she bore unbeknownst to her,
a boy kidnapped by the queen of ice, shards of glass stabbed into his heart and sockets,
a wandering prince mourning the loss of his lover, his sight lost to thorns pricking his eyes,
the sickly-sweet scent of sugar mingling with smoldering flesh—
narratives, tinged in black, often forgotten,
concealed in the shadows
of happily ever afters.
By Julianna Hodgdon
"Into the Woods"
By Jefflyn Sahn
"Drawlloween"
By Ricky Esancy
"SKELETONS"
By Logan Finn
In Paris, where the moonlight dances
through the misty air.
Skeletons roam,
their bones rattling,
beneath the Eiffel Tower’s dark
skeletal frame.
They tap their bones in the graveyard, in the
night’s eerie flame.
Their laughter rattles like a
snare drum of doom.
The River Seine weeps,
a spectral silver stream.
These ghouls of the night
haunt the Parisian dream.
Hollow eye sockets,
cold as the autumn night.
Through the catacombs,
their bony fingers weave the walls.
The secrets of death
in the city of love.
"Just a Little Fella"
By Meghan Hailer
"Shadows of the Night"
By Arianna Dean
"Smile"
By Anonymous
Day turns into night,
children come to trick-or-treat outside.
The streets are filled with lights,
and children wearing costumes with pride.
As loads of candy are piled,
with frowns turning into smiles,
comes a dark figure in the distance,
with no face,
and no spirit.
As children are walking alone at night,
the figure has grown in sight.
Kids are disappearing,
and the streets are clearing,
except for the figure with no face,
with its victim's blood it is now wearing,
plus a smile on its blank space.
"The Church Bell"
By Anonymous
Walking down the street at 11pm,
the sidewalks full of leaves and
the moon is shining bright.
The wind is stronger.
If I were to say the wind is just as frightened
If I were to say the trees look spookier
But nothing more spooky than the church bell.
If I were to say this car behind me is just my neighbor
That has been following me since the first turn I took
But my thoughts spinning around my head,
are telling me otherwise.
My feet are begging to be rested.
My hands are shaking as if this moment
was already experienced before.
I can feel the sweat rolling down the corner of my face,
It’s like my house is miles away,
It's like I’m walking on a treadmill.
The church bell strikes midnight.
When I look back all I see are the car lights in my eyes
And when I look forward I see the moon
Shining, like it wanted to tell me something.
Maybe it’s all in my head,
Maybe I’m just trying to think of the worst-case scenario
Or maybe, I will never arrive home.
The car follows my pace,
A tall man comes out of the car
The black hoodie, and those black pants
Was it too soon to judge?
I saw the man’s face. He had the most beautiful eyes
But the scariest look ever.
As he followed my steps, again I think
Will I ever arrive home?
And that's when I realized,
It was never my neighbor.
By Raelynn Palleschi
"Personal Hell"
By Ben Willis
Into the woods
Where my demons dwell
Razors of truth
Smiles cut me well
Toxic black rose
Where the angels fell
See and accept
My personal hell
By Savannah Milso
"A Shadow in a Dark Room"
By Gustavo De Paula
Inspired by Hugo DaSilva
I always assumed,
In my quiet, dark room
That those noises,
Sounds, creaking and squealing,
Were the wind or
just my imagination,
I always assumed,
The figures that I witness
In my quiet, dark room
Is a chair or
just my imagination
My empty, cold imagination
As soon as I lay down on my bed,
And stare at my blank, white ceiling,
The figures in my room start to move
They relieve me with a warm, welcoming feeling.
Creaking and squealing, as they move
But that shameful, empty feeling I have when I cut and slit the circulation
Of lights that give life to my friends
Changed.
When their presence stayed
Even in the dark.
"Stay Out"
By Caitlyn Harrington
Spider Web Cover Art by Natasha Finamore da Silva
***
Published October 27th, 2023
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