Black & Orange 2024

Edited by: Linda Saad, Rihanna Ivery, & Betsy Antedomenico

Forward

By Linda Saad

Halloween season is about to disappear, not to be seen again for another year. You turn out the lights, put away the pumpkins, and you reach into your bag of candy. Where tricks and treats once lay, you instead, from the bag, pull out a little book. A book of the creepiest, strangest tales, to remind you that the season of spooks will always be watching.

Let's all gather to unveil the works by the masters of dark, the keepers of fright. This is the Black & Orange, 2024.

Content Warning: Some stories and poetry may contain content not suitable for all audiences. Some topics touched upon in previous editions include murder, nudity, cannibalism, abuse, sexual assault, & police brutality.

When the Air Grows Cold and the Leaves Turn Orange by Linda Saad [visual art]

One-sided Conversation With My Sleep Paralysis Demon by Karson Joyner [poetry]

Witch 4 Witch by Crooked Halo [poetry]

Untitled by Gracen Regan [visual art]

Cabin in the Woods by Karson Joyner [poetry]

Fear of the Woods, Hylophobia by Bianca Makaj [visual art]

The Host by Becca Hensley [fiction]

Fear of Being Touched, Heptephobia by Angus Wong [visual art]

Suzy the Succubus by Zachary Rozell [fiction]

Fear of the Moon, Selenophobia by Phoebe Fleetwood [visual art]

THE TREES CRIED by Linda Saad [fiction]

Fear of Flowers, Anthrophobia by Emily Clifford [visual art]

Miasmama by Jade Christos [fiction]

Luna Ghost by Bianca Makaj [visual art]

The Intruder by The Intruder [fiction]

Pumpkinwise by Bianca Makaj [visual art]

Patient Zero by Alivia Stonier [fiction]

Skeleton Gothic by Bianca Makaj [visual art]

Virulent Gaze by Dario A. Florian [fiction]

Snakebrain by Bianca Makaj [visual art]

Loatie’s Eatery by Evilsund Horrors [fiction]

Spooky Swingin’ by Bianca Makaj [visual art]

Paddleboarding to Wisteria Island by Timothy Froessel [fiction]

When the Air Grows Cold and the Leaves Turn Orange

Linda Saad

One-Sided Conversation With My Sleep Paralysis Demon

Karson Joyner

Pull our teeth instead of tongues. 
Writing curses on concrete 
slabs, crippled by the pitted
eels and ink and buoyant boats
wading and waiting by waves
Poseidon proudly poured 
down his child’s porous cheeks; 
Our cries come from the sea. 

Crush the burden of birthing 
children, caging youth within 
auras around orcas' bellies,
making magic under us
sans echo location; sans 
decibels of doubting death;
sans a solution in sight.

Witch 4 Witch

Crooked Halo

My lover is a witch
Pour me into your cauldron
It doesn’t matter how far you’ve fallen

Sends me out
Then I come back to give her what she needs
Oh, she’s a witch indeed

Werewolves and ghouls don’t give me fright
I love your little Frankensteins
As long as you will be mine

Darling, I’m your wand to use
I’ll love you until I’m black and blue
Maybe I’m a witch too

Untitled

Gracen Regan

Cabin in the Woods

Karson Joyner

Gravel grovels its wrongs under tired car seats as the sun begins its swansong of surrender to peace. This is all I’ve ever wanted, yet I feel incomplete. Maybe these pines will sweep messy thoughts neat; will the wind return with wicked wisps of the east? Swarming Swallows wallow worries from the tips of their beaks:

It’s time to restart. Reset. Don’t repeat.

For now, I can only feast on the dessert of sheer disbelief that I am hallowed from borrowed bothers tethered to my tightened, taught teeth. I pray the walls won’t speak as pleas crawl up from the bleak:

Goddess, good Goddess, it’s been days. Let me sleep.

She obliged with nightmares I’ll soon beg to keep sheathed; spiders sharpen their fangs for fights fought undefeat; scorpions scatter somewhere between breadcrumbs and bed sheets; they all whisper a game:

Don’t hide. Don’t seek.

Days upon days; weeks upon weeks; amber eyes age from embers ebbing over salted caramel cheeks. I mourn when the moon pumps patience dry from high tides’ teat. Her words echo from the peaks where virtue voyeurs with the sheep:

Child, not even I can blind mountains that steep.

In the black of the trees lives the belly of the beast, boiling bits of a mountain manmade honey treat. Decimate his desires in future foliage forgery; Bury the bones in blistered boxes marked repeatedly:

Don’t keep.

Tether together with the tendons he wrote his life’s recipes; let lie the only line with no lies, nor clarity; read as is written, readily, unsteadily, recklessly:

1. Sautée the essence in your soul.
2. One bowl o’ heartbeats.
3. Simmer low heat. LOW heat.
4. slowly.
5. Prepare neater than last week.
6. Never eat.
7. Never eat.

Fear of the Woods, Hylophobia

Bianca Makaj

The Host

Becca Hensley

You cannot go swallowing things you cannot hold. I swallowed such a thing a long time ago, and today is the day he is set to escape the shell of my skin.
At first, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He was quite small, a creature that rested just inside the nape of my neck. A comfortable weight, a steady reminder that I was not alone. No matter what happened, no matter what I got myself into, I could be reminded that I was not alone in my flesh when he softly adjusted along my neck and spine, exploring his large new home. He was warm, and not too heavy, like holding a small kitten. He wouldn’t be there for long, he had said, and would leave when he got too big.
About a month in, he began to talk. Quiet, little whispers of thanks and comfort. Thanking me for sharing my vessel, complimenting me on the health of my body, soothing me when something wrong would happen outside of my skin, in the real world.
“They just don’t understand you, not like I do. Give them time. They will come around.”
Soon after he began to speak, he began to grow. Flexing and stretching across my muscles and bones, curling himself around my organs and slithering all across my skeleton, as if he was searching for something. He was not yet uncomfortable, just a foreign movement inside of me that I was not yet used to. He remained easy to hide for quite some time, despite the twang he caused in my stomach and the metallic taste he left on my teeth. I don’t believe anyone noticed that I was not alone, and I learned to ignore his exploring the map of my body. Even as his whispers turned into full-fledged speaking, I remained unphased and unworried. Sometimes I thought I could hear him move around, but he talked so much I figured that when he was quiet, my ears were compensating for the lack of noise. It got hard to ignore him as he continued to grow, creating an itch inside that I simply could not scratch. I found myself shifting in my seat, jerking and fidgeting slightly as he got bigger and bigger, louder and louder. He was beginning to bump around my body instead of moving with it, becoming more solid and invasive. Despite all of this, I didn’t regret taking him on until the day he asked for control of my head.
“We’ve got to do this, it’ll make everything so much easier,” he had said, becoming steadily more persistent until he was begging for control, relishing in the way my eyes would twitch and how I’d thrash around in attempts to ignore him. Finally, I gave up, and he got quiet again. He was rather good at pretending to be me, and would take over my tongue when I forgot what to say or was too tired to respond on my own. He seemed to like speaking for me, and told me once that he really didn’t mind taking over, as he was sure my body was tired since it had become a host. He was right, it was hard work as he got heavier and heavier. Soon, sleep became my savior. His weight was a lot easier to hold when I would lay down, and he slept when I slept. We were a cozy little family, and despite his strain, I was thankful he took over as I learned to adjust to his growing presence.
It got a lot harder as he stopped sleeping and began talking more and more. Half the time I wasn’t even sure what he was saying, I just started agreeing with him to please him. His behavior had grown erratic, and if I thought he was wrong about something, he would violently jerk himself from one side of my body to the other, causing a burning pain. Everything ached, and so he had me focus on resting our body while he took control of our personality. At first, I didn’t mind because he was funny and quick-witted, more so than I had ever been on my own. I stopped paying attention to him until one day when we leaned in to kiss a girl, and as our mouth opened, the rotting stench of him spewed out and scared her away. This horrified me. As I looked in the mirror, I realized the gray of his body could be seen under my skin, and his sewage-like smell was now leaking out of my pores. He assured me no one would notice, but this time I didn’t believe him. We argued all day, and at night he would scream constantly to keep me awake. Our body became heavy and hard to move, and I was so exhausted by the burning pain he caused underneath me that I could barely focus on anything anymore. I was no longer glad he took over control, I just wanted him out. I couldn’t take the weight anymore, he had gotten so heavy he felt bigger than me, and he itched to escape our flesh. He was so heavy it felt like he sunk the ground as we walked. He put pressure on my eyes and such a horrid weight in my ears, I could no longer hear anything but him, him, him. The feeling was unbearable. I didn’t care if I lived, I just needed him out.
That’s why, as we got home today and I crashed out onto the floor, not even making it to my bed, he asked if I was done.
“Yes!” I cried, shaking, “I can’t do this anymore! You’re bigger than I am now, and yet you stay in my skin. There isn’t room for both of us here any longer. If it’s going to kill me if you leave, I don’t care anymore. Do whatever you want, just leave me, please!”
“If this is what you want, my son, then I’ll make my leave. I warn you, this is going to be painful.” He replied, and I felt him shift up and up and up, until he was pushing at my skin in a painful and protruding fashion. I felt my skin begin to rip as he slowly busted through my back, shedding my skin and stepping into the realness of the outside life. My body felt like an old glove, and I cried in relief as the hand that used to inhabit me slowly slipped out and I lost my shape. The air hit my split back, cooling my insides as he crawled out. I barely felt my bones break and my blood rush out, too distracted by the red hot pain his leaving called in comparison to the icy coolness being left alone caused.
Finally, finally, he stepped out of the flesh we used to share and I collapsed once again to the floor. My torn flesh flopped pitifully as I gasped my final breaths, eyes desperately searching for the monster that once shared my body. Black spots circled my vision until they landed, for the last time, to a grinning figure in the far corner. My mind was scattered as I formed my final coherent thought. It was hard to make sense of what I was seeing, but in my delirium, I found it somewhat humorous.
That’s so odd, I thought for the last time as I died, That man looks just like me.

Fear of Being Touched, Heptephobia

Angus Wong

Suzy the Succubus

Zachary Rozell

The smoothie shop looks less colorful than I remember. The reds and yellows on the walls don't pop as much as they used to when I first started working here. Well, whatever, I can't stall forever. Eventually, I'll have to grab my cap and apron and begin another arduous shift. I just hope she goes easy on me today.
I feel a pair of eyes on my back, as I prepare the ingredients. I have to serve everyone, even the people crazy enough to get here at 8:30, so I quickly spin around and muster the widest smile possible this early in the morning.
“Welcome to Planet Smoothie, where we give you a taste of the milky wa-Oh, it's you.”
“Yep, it's me. I bet you're happy to see me.”
Not really, I was hoping you'd catch the flu or something, but it seems that’s a spell even God can’t cast. Yep, my coworker, Suzy Zoltan, is always in perfect condition. She's hardly ever sick but is probably the person most likely to contract something with her vast social circle. I should've expected she'd be here by now. She's always on time, never early, never late. Too late, and you're a bad employee, but too early, and you seem like you care.
“Hey, I should tell you something.”
She completely ignores me though, and heads into the back to get her uniform. At least she's ignoring me for something work-related, that doesn't happen all the time. She pulls her ponytail through her hat and ties her apron, but only the first straps, again trying hard but not too hard.
“One sec. I'm going to slice up these fruits first,” she says, plugging in the blender.
“It's pretty importan-” BLRRRRRRR
The buzzing of the blender drowns out my words. I watch with haste, waiting for her to shut the thing off. But it keeps going. And the fruits caught in the machine never seem to break down. They just spin eternally. The rattling of the device mimics how my heart feels with this anticipation and the concoction it's making looks like what I'm seconds away from throwing up. I reach over and press the off button on the blender myself, hoping to avoid more multicolored liquids.
“Suzy, I'm done working weekends with you.”
“What? But those are our days.”
“I know, but, you know, there's this tension between us.”
“Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I told you that you don't make me feel uncomfortable.”
“Well, I don't feel comfortable. Being around you... hurts.”
“...”
Worried, I elaborated. “I'll take up some weekday shifts. Those days are less profitable anyway. You can keep weekends and work with Jack or something. Hell, if you want, you can send him home early and see an increase in pay.”
“Yeah, but does Jack know all 37 flavors? Can Jack recite the Planet Smoothie anthem front to back, back to front, and recite it while drinking a smoothie? I don't think so. Only my little berry boy can.”
"Suzy, I'm not joking around. I have already spoken with the manager about this and starting next week I'll be seeing you a lot less often. No more fun and games, it’s time we get serious, and I think this change-up will allow us a better work ethic."
Suzy returns to her blending, but now there's a frown on her face. The manager always wants us to wear smiles, but now that she knows the managers on my side, she seems to have disregarded that policy. With every tug of a box full of fruit, her grunts become heavier and the thud that accompanies the box's placement becomes louder. She loads in fruit like those kiwis and watermelons did her dirty somehow. She seeks vengeance and the cute fruit voices telling her to stop as she forces them in the blender don't phase her. Those spinning blades look a lot more ominous than I remember.
“Suzy, I'm sorry for not telling you first. I know it's wrong for me to make the decision on my own. But I knew you'd never let me.”
She doesn’t respond, continuing her slicing and dicing, like she actually liked working over pointless chit-chat.
“One day.”
“Huh?” she said.
“I'll work with you Saturdays. But not Sundays. How does that sound?”
“Oh, my sweet, sweet berry boy, thank you, that's perfect. You had me really worried there. I thought I'd lose this great connection I have with you. Yep, without you, being here isn't as fun.”

I stand alone in an empty mall going down the slowest escalator imaginable. I look up at the skylight, feeling nothing, wondering where I went wrong.
Again, with this shit. I try and try to escape, but before I know it, I’m back in her grasp. Suzy Zoltan, she's nothing but a dastardly succubus. What's a succubus, you may ask? It's a mythological creature that takes the form of your ideal woman. Mine has long fiery hair, piercing blue eyes, and a figure that, well, I'll leave the imagining to you.
The escalator brings me to the bottom floor, where now the sun seems so far away.
Why!? Even though I know she's a monster, a demon that's clawed her way out of hell, am I so weak to her gaze? Why do I always fall victim to those pillowy lips, when I know I wouldn't meet anything soft coming close to her face? Under that lush, silky, red hair, is a pair of devil horns. And yet I ignore the bumps protruding from her head and pretend a halo hangs above it. What’s wrong with me!?
Other girls in the mall don’t treat me this poorly, so why am I so fixated on her? I guess they don’t give off the same overly mature aura that she does or are as obsessive about smoothie flavors as I am. That’s the thing, she’s just as crazy as I am.
I look around the mall, hoping to spot another twenty something year old that suits my fancy. But my search is fruitless, none by the pretzel stand or the burger joint. Even the five-star restaurant, with workers dressed in cute waitress outfits, isn’t displaying a traditional French meal but a sausage fest. Alas, it’s too early for any fine-looking girls to show up. At 9 o'clock, it’s mostly just grannies getting in their mall walking. I should get back to my station. You wouldn’t believe it, but those grandmas have a raging thirst after their jogs.
Upon returning to my post and quelling the granny crowd, there’s another long period of boredom. I’d go out again to smoke on the escalator, but I’m trying not to use up all of my break. When it’s like this, this boring, me and Suzy usually play ‘I Spy’ to pass the time, but she could spy that I wasn’t in the best of moods and refrained from bringing it up. I could see the gears moving in her head though, almost as though she was in search of another, newer, activity we could do.
“How about instead of ‘I Spy,’ we play a different game?”
“What do you have in mind?”
“It’s called Kiss, Marry, Kill. I give you three names, and you decide if you want to kiss, marry, or-”
“Yeah, yeah, I know the rules. Shoot me,” I said.
“Um, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and the Easter Bunny.”
I put my finger to my mouth and began to think deeply. “Well, I’d kiss the Tooth Fairy, no stop, I’ll marry her. Jeez, almost walked into a trap there. I’ll kiss the adorable Easter Bunny, and I guess kill Santa, no wait I don’t want there to be no Christmas.”
“Ha ha, see it’s hard isn’t it. Okay, come on, you think of one.”
“Let’s see, Winnie the Pooh, Tigger, and Piglet.”
“Pooh is so lovable; how could I not want to kiss him. So that means it’s between Tigger and Piglet as for who I’m going to kill. I’m sorry Piglet, but Tigger just seems more lively than you.”
“He screams as you drive the knife further into his chest.”
“Hey, shut up. That was worse than mine.”
It’s funny, this is the most we’ve laughed in a while. I miss this.
She stares off into space for a moment before coming back down to earth, no Planet Smoothie, to prompt another question. “Try this one, lover boy! Michelle Obama, Queen Elizabeth the second, and… me?”
“Well, I’d marry Michelle. She’s got to be loaded. Um, let’s see…”
“Hey, excuse me. Are you guys open,” a voice says, trailing in from behind.
“Oh, a customer, one second, Suzy.”
“Welcome to Planet Smoothie, where we give you a taste of the milky way!”
“He he, that’s a funny slogan.”
“You wanna know who thought of it.”
“Um, the marketing division?” The stranger replies.
“No, silly, me! I wanted to really embrace the store’s space theme and thought up a cute little jingle.”
“Wow, you’re really clever.”
"You think so?”
I could hear the blender going off behind me, interrupting our chat. But nothing could stop me from giving a Planet Smoothie customer the best possible service, so I fought through the terrible noise. When I pulled myself away from the sound of sloshing succulents and back towards the girl I was serving, I realized just how stunning she was. Long blonde hair, a white dress that’s sexy, but not too revealing, and a bright blue necklace that screamed she was into the sea. I don’t know how I got there, but I somehow managed to steer toward that topic.
“You into the beach? You look like you’re about to head there after this.”
“No, this is just my usual attire, but I do like the water. It’s so peaceful and relaxing, I find my best reading happens there.”
“Oh, you like books, that’s cool. For me, intelligence is always something I’m looking for in an acquaintance/person I’m wanting to become closer with. Hey, there’s a beach not too far from here. You wanna go there with me sometime?”
“You know what, sure! I don’t really know the area so I could use a tour guide.”
And just like that, the girl popped open a nearby sharpie and wrote her phone digits on my arm. I had her do it on my left, as I usually pour the smoothie contents with my right, and I wouldn’t want it to rub off. Why, on my arm you ask? It’s because there’s a strict ‘no phones’ policy at work. Well, it’s not like anyone obeys it. Especially Suzy, I’m surprised she hasn’t checked her phone once since we got here. I’ve somehow managed to hold her attention.
“Hey, I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Rosy. Don’t you forget it!”
I turn back around to see the blender shaking like it never has before. Jesus Christ, what did Suzy put in that thing? We pre-chop our pineapples, don’t we. No, one pineapple couldn’t produce that ear-bleeding noise, you needed several. I slowly work my way towards the mini earthquake happening in our shop but feel repelled by a force even stronger than the shaking. There’s this glint of darkness in Suzy’s eyes as she jams and jams into the machine whatever’s too big to be made into a smoothie. That’s what’s keeping me away. A look that told me if I wasn’t careful, I might end up in that blender.
“Suzy! Unplug that thing immediately. It’s way too loud.”
And once again, I’m ignored. But weirdly, this time it’s justified, as I can’t even hear myself. That’s all the more reason I should pull the plug on this out-of-whack smoothie operation. But as I get closer, though, I can feel the crushing weight of those darkened eyes. A blackness so heavy that it could lead anyone to do the rashest of actions.
I reach for the outlet and yank out the cord powering the device. With such an abrupt action though, smoothie juice ends up going everywhere. This only further tests my patience, as I’m already about to give Suzy a stern talking-to.
“Could you stop acting so jealous, Suzy.”
“Ew, gross. I’d never go out with you.”
“What was all that then?”
“You shouldn’t be slacking off, flirting with customers on the clock. That was an attempt to knock some sense into you,” she said.
“Whatever, I’ll go get some rags to clean this mess up. You stay here and hold the fort. And let’s keep the jealous tantrums at a minimum, okay?”
As I go around the mall, looking for cleaning supplies, I remember something that doesn’t need any supplies to be cleaned, and it’s something I should’ve checked on far earlier. When I hop on the escalator and get a chance to rest from my cleaning closet crusade, I check my left arm.
Damn, the number’s all smudged. Well, it’s not like she would’ve come anyway. She’s the type to ghost me or give me a contact that’s not even hers. I probably got the contact of her older brother who lives in Puerto Rico, who’s gonna come up next Saturday and beat my ass for talking to her. Yeah, something along those lines, she definitely gave off that vibe. That too good to be true vibe. God how slow is this escalator!
“Sorry for taking a little while, Suzy. I had to go to the janitor’s closet all the way on the third floor to get rags.”
But Suzy was nowhere to be found, and the huge mess she made earlier was gone too. Huh, it’s all cleaned up. Strange, this would have even taken me a while. Our garbage isn’t as close as a mall smoothie shop garbage should be. Maybe she recycled the spilled substance for other drinks? Let’s just hope those ones don’t go out to customers. Then, Suzy, almost like she heard my assumption, appeared from the back, covered in fruit juice and holding a freshly made smoothie in her hands. She looked like something of a mad scientist with her hair all frazzled, and that look on her face that she’d created something that she probably shouldn’t have.
“I’m sorry about earlier. I know what I did was pretty immature, especially considering how I usually act. If I wanted you to get back to work, I should’ve just talked to you like an adult about it instead of acting like a child.”
“It’s fine Suzy, we all let our emotions get the better of us. I’m just glad you’ve realized the error of your ways. Some people can’t do that, no matter how mature.”
“Well, as a way to make-up, I made you a smoothie. And it’s your favorite flavor, blue raspberry.”
“Suzy, you shouldn’t have.”
“Tee hee, drink up, berry boy.”
“Wow, what is this? I’ve never tasted anything like it!”
“Sorry, that’s a secret.”
I pull out a blue necklace, the color of the ocean, from the drink. “What’s this doing in here?”
“Oh, don’t mind that, it’s just decoration.”

Fear of the Moon, Selenophobia

Phoebe Fleetwood

THE TREES CRIED

Linda Saad

With every roar of the wind and moan of the pelting snow, the trees cried as leaves were ripped from them, like babies ripped from their mothers’ wombs. The first blizzard of the winter raged through the town, stomping on the streetlamps and refilling holes where footprints lay seconds later. Slowly, starting from the town’s heart, its electric veins clogged with ice and snow. It would plunge into night, and soon, the town began to sleep.
Miss Aurora Velvet Stein lived on the second floor of the oldest apartment building in the city. Although she was sixty-four, she never had a family—never married, never mothered any children, and never had siblings. The only other signs of life in her apartment were her work as a former fashion designer and a singular parrot, Harry, who was older than she was. She didn’t remember where she got him from, but she did know that he loved to stare outside the window and squawk something unintelligible when he’d see any passerby stop to sit on the rusty old bench just outside the building.
“What is it now, boy?” Aurora croaked, hoisting herself up to take a look outside. When she saw a figure brush off some snow with his bare hands to sit on the bench, she rolled her eyes.
“It’s just that sad man who lives right below us. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen him before.”
“Seen him before!” Harry screeched back at her.
“As I thought.”
The man sat down on the left side of the bench, the right side occupied by a woman in a thick winter coat and matching black tights.
“Excuse me,” he huffed as he plopped down next to her. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and they met the crunch of a crumpled fortune he’d gotten from the Chinese takeout spot just down the street. He squinted at it, and he couldn’t tell if it was the printed text or his aging vision that failed him in that moment.
“Can’t read a darn thing,” he muttered, and threw it onto the ground. He watched as the falling flakes quickly devoured it.
“Sorry ‘bout the language, Miss,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just in a bit of a rut.” She stared at the paper through her thick glasses. He followed her line of sight down to a rusty coin on the pavement.
“Penny for my thoughts, if it wouldn’t pain ya,” he said, leaning back. He sunk down to stretch his leg out and kicked the penny toward himself.
“To tell ya the truth,” he began, exhaling deeply. “I’m not sure why I’m still alive, or even how. You see, it’s been twelve years since I’ve last heard from any of my kids. I know what you’re going to say—they’re older now, they’ve got their own family, and they’ve got their own jobs. But why’d they forget about ol’ pops?”
She continued to listen, her blonde bob catching snowflakes.
“I’ll be honest, now. I could have been a better father. The divorce didn’t help. She couldn’t stand my drinking, and I couldn’t stand being sober. It just didn’t work.”
He reached into his pocket again like a cigarette would appear, but it didn’t.
“Anyway,” he continued, watching his breath dance between the fingers of the breeze. He shivered. “They just disappeared. I tried to keep in contact, but it was just missed call after missed call. I was sick of hearing that lady on the end telling me to send a voicemail. Is that what it’s called? I don’t even know how to do that.”
He shifted in his seated position.
“My eldest’s name is Madeliene. She looked just like her mother when she was born. Her eyes were dark brown, but they were beautiful. You know when you look at someone’s eyes, you can see the little lines in their irises? You couldn’t see those because her eyes were just that dark. It was like those cartoons. Kitty Kitty? Goodbye Kitty? No, wait, Hello Kitty.”
He smiled at a mother carefully guiding her child choked in a puffer jacket just across the street. The bright red folds of the jacket seemed to glow against the dullness of the snow. The woman saw him and shot him with something of a scowl. He put his head back down.
“She loved art. Really liked painting, especially. Super, super messy with it, though. You’d give her two colors to work with and she’d paint the table with it. Some kids can’t color within the lines. She couldn’t even color within the paper.”
He chuckled, recalling the memory.
“But she hated me once she was a teenager. You know how they are. They go off to high school and it’s like a switch goes off. They think they’re better than you, suddenly. She thought she knew better than me, and I was the adult! I’d tell her to stay away from certain kids and she’d tell me I wasn’t being ‘accepting’ of her and that I didn’t understand. But I did, Miss.”
With a touch of the wind, her hand gently grazed her coat. A snowflake landed between his lips, and he spit it out.
“I’d ask myself why I’m even sitting out here, in the storm,” he sighed. “But you know, if something were to happen to me out here, there isn’t a single number in my cellular phone that I’d have the instinct to call. That, to me, is enough proof that I should be gone.”
He cleared his throat again. “Lesley was my favorite. Before you hate me, I know parents aren’t supposed to have favorites. But I always felt bad for her. She had chubby cheeks and was full of life. She was soooo quiet though. Very shy. She never wanted to go anywhere. But she loved books, poetry specifically. And you know what? I was a writer. So, I don’t even have to tell you why that worked out.”
He quivered.
“I got a cravin’. I’ll be right back, Miss. Please don’t leave me. Please.” He got up, dusted his bottom off, and trudged back into the apartment building. He took the left hallway and keyed into room 102. There, a Snickers bar patiently awaited its fate. He grabbed it and stepped back into the hallway. As he shut his door, Harry screeched from somewhere above.
“Stupid bird,” he grumbled, and power-walked out of the building. He felt his blood grow sick as the temporary relief from the cold was quickly snatched from him once again. His pulse quickened as he picked up his pace. She had to still be there.
He blew into the wind when he approached the bench again. There, she sat.
“Thank you, Miss,” he breathed. His numb fingers fiddled with the candy bar until he could get a grip on it. He took a bite and pivoted his body toward the woman.
“These aren’t as good as I remember,” he said, shrugging. “And I forgot what I was going to say when I got back.”
He took another bite, watching the surrounding trees clothe themselves in dresses of white.
“Actually, I remember. She loved the snow, Lesley. She doesn’t live around here, but she’d love this. I’d play outside with her, and she’d beam at me with her little red nose. She’d insist that she wasn’t cold, but she’d be shivering once we were outside for a while. She wouldn’t admit that she was cold until we got inside.”
He swished his tongue around his back teeth, targeting a shard of nut that lodged itself somewhere he couldn’t pinpoint.
“Sometimes I wonder if I stayed out in the snow long enough, I’d find her. Is that stupid? I sincerely do wonder that.”
He gulped.
“I know I’ll never see her again. I’ll never see any of them again. And soon, nobody will ever see me again. Tonight…”
He sniffled.
“Tonight, I’m letting the storm take me. I’m not going back inside. You’re free to join me, but you can’t be as bad as me. So, I wouldn’t blame you if you left me right now.”
He threw the wrapper onto the ground. The wind picked it up just a little to plant the wrapper next to the fortune and the penny. Something inside him heated.
“You’re free to leave, Miss. I’ll just let you know, though—there was something I’d been missing for all these years. Not just the years I’ve been alone here. Even the years when my family was still around. It was all yelling and no listening, but you…you listened to me. You never interrupted me, you never told me I was wrong, and you just let me speak. And that, I have never found in a woman before.”
He ran his fingers through his beard as though to groom it.
“I don’t think I ever told you who I was. Most call me Nathaniel. But that’s not my name at all. You see, I may have left out an important detail in my little ramblings to you.”
He took a deep breath. A flurry seeped into his eyelashes.
“This won’t matter anymore, because I’ll be dead soon. But even if I wasn’t, I trust you enough to tell you. My real name is Roger Edward Dubois. And twelve years ago, I hid my family somewhere nobody had ever found them.”
His grayed fingers trembled against the mahogany of the bench.
“It was a bad night. I had some drinks. And it was a mistake. But there was no reversing it. I knew the clock was catching up to me soon, anyway. And they weren’t who they used to be. So, I changed my name and moved over here to spend the last of my days without the headaches.”
He closed his eyes and turned away from the woman.
“Feel free to leave and turn me in or whatever. It’ll be over soon, anyway. I’m gonna close my eyes for a second over here. I know you’re not much of a talker—which I appreciate—so we’ll put it this way. If I open my eyes, and you’re still here, I’ll assume you accept me for who I am, and you forgive me.”
He took a deep breath and focused on the awkward gray waves between his eyelids. His ears perked up, trying their best to pick up any signs of movement. There were none.
He opened his eyes, and there the woman sat. Still.
“Oh, Miss!” he cried. “I’ve only known you for a night, but I could write thirty poems about you. Your graciousness, your peace, your beauty…”
He shifted closer to her and gently touched her hair. It was silky and soft to the touch.
“You are beautiful, Miss. And even though we’ve found each other quite late, I believe you are my soulmate.”
He couldn’t resist the urge any longer. He leaned in and grabbed her face to press his lips against hers.
Her head popped off.
Her headless body tumbled off the bench and onto the bed of snow by the bench. His mouth hung in absolute shock.
A paper stuck out of her winter coat. He grabbed it with shaking hands. FREE, a red marker shouted in large letters. Her arms lay weakly in the snow. They were pale and light, with attachable components at the elbows.
He brushed the snow off her face and hair. She’d been wearing a beret and bright red lipstick. Her eyes, though lifeless, splashed with oceans of blue to him. If she was alive, she’d have been an artist.
He set her head down on the snow next to her body and began to walk. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew that wherever he ended up would be where he belonged.
Harry squawked once again.
“Will you shut it, already?” Aurora hushed him. “It’s getting late.” She followed him to the window again. The bench was once again devoid of life, the woman’s body lying helplessly near it.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” she grumbled, picking up the phone. She rang for the front desk.
“Hello, sir,” she said, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. “I left an unfashionable mannequin free to take outside on the front bench. I was hoping someone’d take it by now, but the poor girl isn’t making it through the storm. Would you please send someone to retrieve it for me?”
And, as promised, her mannequin was safely brought inside. Aurora cleaned her up and held her face, sighing.
“What’s it going to take to get rid of you?” Aurora said to her, like she was listening. “I don’t have room for old stinkin’ dolls like you anymore. No one will take you, even for free. How sad.”
She took the elevator down to the first floor and planted her on a bench in the lobby.
“I’m going to leave her here, if that is alright,” she told the man at the front desk. He rolled his eyes, but he didn’t seem to care enough to do anything about it. She retreated to her room, leaving the man and the mannequin to themselves.
Seconds later, an older man limped into the lobby. Rubbing his back from pain, he took a seat.
“Why hello, lady,” he croaked to the mannequin. “You mind if I sit here?”

Fear of Flowers, Anthrophobia

Emily Clifford

Miasmama

Jade Christos

A banned sign wouldn’t be enough to keep me out of the pet store. I entered while the cashier’s gaze was elsewhere and darted to familiar territory. The hamsters. They scuttled around like the mindless animals they were. Not like me. Mother made sure I grew up smart. There was a thicker lock on the cage after last time. Nothing a few paper clips couldn’t solve.
Feet shuffled somewhere to my left. I had to act quickly before-
“She’s back again!!”
No time to lose. I grabbed the entire hamster cage and bolted, knocking over the diabolical employee who called me out. Other employees tried to block my path. I slid under the arms of the first one then used my momentum to launch myself into the next one, knocking them down. The third lunged at me but I spun out of the way and gracefully leaped through the open window. The hamsters squealed but their fate was sealed. Sirens in the distance meant my time was up. I took a bow and darted into the woods.

The crater was what I called home. It had everything I needed. Dirt for sleeping, acorns for eating (Mother got the squirrels), and a large stone where Mother rested. The stone fell out of the sky a few months ago and ever since, Mother has been taking care of me. I sniffed the air. Skunk. Mother must have caught one while I was gone.
I knocked on the rock. “Mother. I got some hamsters for you!”
A slurping sound emerged from the stone as Mother’s goopy, purple body slithered out of the stone. She let out a horrible screech, but I knew what she meant: “Thank you so much for bringing me these hamsters!”
Twin tendrils of goop lashed out and pierced the hamster’s sanctuary. One by one, the little rodents were grasped by thin tentacles and absorbed into Mother’s body. She let out another screech: “You’re the best!”
“Aww thanks Mother.”
She put a goopy tendril on my shoulder and her “face” began lighting up different colors. A classic Mother/child bonding event. Memories of Mother flashed through my head, my first steps, my first word (mother!!), my first birthday. Then my memories of Mother were replaced by other people I didn’t recognize. My breath became heavy and sweat formed on my brow. I screamed. Then Mother came back into my memories. And all was as it should be.
Mother let out another screech: “Can you get me some more food?”
I saluted. “Of course Mother!”
Back to the pet store it was.

Outside the pet store were these black and white cars with flashing lights emitting terrible sounds. Yellow tape surrounded the building. Broken glass lay outside the front window. One of the employees was talking to a man dressed in a strange outfit.
“And then she just crashed through the window and ran into the woods!” I heard the employee say.
“Property damage, theft, and three cases of assault,” said the man. “I’ll have my men sweep the woods until they find her.”
Visions of Mother being found by these strange men flashed in my head. I leaped out of the woods and howled.
“That’s her! That’s the lunatic!”
“Stand back, miss.” The man pulled a strange rectangle out of his pocket. He pressed a button and two wires shot out, hitting me. Then I felt pain, like my whole body was lit on fire, and I slowly fell asleep.

When I woke up, I couldn’t move my arms. I was tied to a chair in a freezing cold room. The man from outside the pet store sat across from me. Only then did I recognize what he was.
“You’re a police officer! Mother warned me about you.”
“I’m sure your mother would be very interested in what you’ve been getting up to.” He stood up and paced around the room. “Repeated cases of theft, animal endangerment, assault on three civilians, property damage, the list goes on.” He smirked. “You’re gonna be locked up for a long time.”
I struggled in my restraints. “I did those things for Mother!”
“You trying to tell me your mom told you to commit these crimes?”
I nodded. “She was hungry so I got the hamsters again.”
The policeman stood still for a second. “Where do you live?”
I shrugged. “The crater.”
“And where is that?”
“The woods.” I realized my mistake. “The other woods.”
“Uh huh.” He picked up another little box from his shirt. “Johnson, I need you to… un-call off the forest sweep.”
“No! You can’t disturb Mother!”
“Kid I don’t know what you’re blabbering about but we need to get you too…” He stopped talking and looked up. A familiar slithering noise came from above me.
Purple sludge slid out of the vent and formed a human-like shape behind me. She grew in size until she dwarfed the policeman and cast a shadow over me.
“What the fuck is that!?”
I grinned. “Mother! You came to save me!”
The policeman pulled out another box and launched several small metal things at Mother with matching BANGs. Mother’s goopy body absorbed them and spat them out behind her. Mother leaned closer to the policeman who just kept making those awful banging sounds. Suddenly, the banging stopped and was replaced by screaming. I couldn’t see Mother’s face, but I could see familiar light patterns reflected on his. I was so excited! I’d have a brother soon!
“Oh Mother, this is so exciting!” I said.
When the policeman stopped screaming, he grabbed one of his little boxes.
“Johnson,” he said into the box, “Call off the forest search. Again. Also I quit. I need to spend time with Mother.”
I tried to clap but my arms were still restrained. I tried to clap with my feet but when I looked, I didn’t have any. My lower body was inside of Mother. Her face turned upside down to look at me. Slowly, her head stretched towards me. I felt my arms, stomach, chest, neck, slowly absorbed by her body.
“I-I love you Mother.”
Mother’s face lights flashed one more time, showing me a memory of her cradling me as a baby.
I don’t remember much after that.

Luna Ghost

Bianca Makaj

The Intruder

There are no mountain lions in Virginia. She lays in a pool of his agony as the jagged tears in her back bleed into the dry dirt, whimpering slowly and softly. A mountain lion doesn’t scratch like this, they don’t have long enough claws to slice through skin, they don’t embed their claws angularly marking its preys’ body with a symbol of death like this. I had been separated from my dog’s side for a moment when the night sky shunned me from its light. The stars above had vanished and along with them so did my dog. In the moment of jet black, the sounds of running and a slobbering snarl surround me before a quick pained howl and silence is all I can hear. It’s my fault she’s like this, dead on her side in a barren forest where the birds don’t sing, nor do the owls howl. The grass no longer grows and whatever is left of it are shaggy patches of dry yellow tuff. I sit next to my dog rocking in rhythmic motion petting the husk of a friend thinking of my Ma and Pops. They’re gone and so is the dog. God has turned a blind eye on me as I did them; he has stopped answering our prayers and this is our punishment. A cold chill rattles up my spine as an unmistakable whistle grows louder with resonance. I feel its presence before I feel its pain, and its putrid nails before they initially pierce.
This forest was beautiful. Groves of tall weeping trees outstretched towards the sky shaded my family’s home while wildlife ran rampant through the endless green grass carefully decorated with wildflowers. The deep scent of death clung to the bark of dying trees now; if you lived here as long as I had it starts to cling to your shoes. My enchanted forest is now a desolate wasteland where my survival is dictated by the hunger of a creature I know nothing about.
My Pops had been the first to die at its hands. He had been paranoid the week he died; he had complained about seeing two piercing eyes of red watching us through windows when the sun set and darkness began to roam. He started boarding up the windows and covering any glimpses of glass panes with thick heavy blankets, instructing us to never leave the house past sun-down. The morning of the day he died his eyes had a sheer layer of ivory over them dulling them completely; sometimes I think he was already dead in that moment. He had begun rambling about the devil living among us. Pure evil runs through the roots of the forest, there is no blessing or miracle that could save us. That night he had left his bed at the will of a whistle that awoke us all. We were all wide awake, but Pops still looked like he was in a trance; he swayed back and forth as he started to venture through the house when the thrashing started. THUMP THUMP THUMP. The walls began to vibrate with vigor while low rumbles and wet snarls rang through the air with anger. The dog started an interchangeable bark and whimper mantra. Ma had tried to pull Pops back to their room as he grew closer to the front door, but an unnatural pull threw her back leaving her scrambling to reach him. The cracking of his bones grew louder than her high pitch shrieks. That night I hid under my bed rocking with my dog while Ma watched her husband die.
Ma started to deteriorate in that grief. If she was not crying, she was hiding with me under the bed at night. Every day as dawn fell and dusk rose the unmistakable sound of a whistle began to surround the house; the forest around us had begun to rot, animals in the wild became scarce, we became even scarcer, only leaving our home to drive to a nearby town for necessities. I asked Ma a few times what happened to Pops, what actually killed him, she remained silent with a heavy sunken mouth and chilled eyes devoid of life. I stopped asking after she became prone to hysterical fits of despair and disarray. A creak in the floorboards, the flicker of a light, the howl of the wind, it would set her off in an endless routine of preparation. Unlock gun cabinet, check ammo, cover all windows in thick blankets, unlock and relock the front door, hide son under bed, hide under the bed, check ammo, check ammo, check ammo. God knows why, she couldn’t spear a fish to save her life.
She had died in a car accident on our way back from town. We had a late start to the drive over and by the time we were heading back darkness had started to cloak the sky. You wouldn’t need to hold her palms to know they were drenched in sweat. Her skin had become a cool white shade as if all the blood had been drained from her body. She was fully alert: eyes bulging and beady in a state of trepidation, they constantly darted out at the road as if she was looking for something to avoid. A small prayer left her lips with every mile we drove. God please save my soul please please please save my son. The air in the car had become tense and thick, the stench of anxiety sat heavy on our tongues, I couldn’t help but take deep breaths of relief as we closed the distance between us and our home. Three miles away from our home is when we saw two small red eyes. The creature was tall; hunched at the torso, skin sickly taut. Its arms boney and angular with hands the size of paddles with thick sharp nails that decorated all five crooked fingers. It was so tall and frightening, mouth large and rows of violent teeth packed in like sardines. And its eyes. I will never speak of its eyes. It had been scarfing what was left of a deer in the middle of the road when Ma screamed in a blind terror and swerved into a tree stump in the surrounding forest. I think she died on impact; the front of her head crushed by another tree’s trunk as we spun out. Through blurry eyes and an underlying throb throughout my entire body, I had seen what was left of Ma slumped in the driver’s seat. The distinct heavy stench of iron battling for dominance over the earthy scent of the forest filled the car while a familiar whistle lulled me to sleep.
There was no hospital stay or a funeral. My body had reacted before my mind did as hot sweat coated my cool clammy skin as I awoke in my dark room, dazed and alone. How did I get here where are the paramedics where are the police where is my mom. Confusion and grief embedded its way in my chest like an old hunter’s knot. I felt strange, like I was wearing my own skin on too tight, maybe a zipper too zipped or a seam too cinched. I should be dead with Ma right now. A chilled breeze danced into my room and onto my skin when my dog started whimpering at an open window across from the foot of my bed. I stared at the large open window ominously until my Pops paranoiac speeches chimed in my ear like an old cuckoo clock. Cover all glass panes with the winter blankets, son. I sprinted to close it and nearly slipped while doing so; I slammed the window shut and hunkered down blankets upon blankets over the windows before I lost my footing and landed on the ground; A good jostle to the head finally made the weight of the situation feel real. I was alone in this world with a monster lurking at every corner to finish off the last of my family. My slow descent into the madness of my fate had me unaware that death was shuffling through the floorboards.
The uncomfortable feeling of danger set in my bones. The forest was without noise: no branches snapping, no owl’s haunting, no flock of birds singing with the slightest brush of the wind. I slowly huddled towards my dog when the floor began to tremble like a hearty laugh. In an instant every light in the house flew on with such intense heat that the air began to feel slow and sluggish. Not only was it hot but blinding too; I wrapped one hand around my dog holding her close while the other covered my eyes from the blistering sight. The sea of sweat amongst the curves of my body was vicious and offensive in comparison to the shallow pool I had woken up in. It’s so hot I have to get out I have to leave I have to get away my dog my mom it’s hot I’m hot it’s so God damned hot! Just as fast as I was thrusted into the aggravated heat, I was plunged into complete and utter darkness. The floor’s shaking had begun to simmer down in a taunting manner. What does it want why is it doing this God please why. My dog has begun whimpering with a primal vigor unlike before. She’s shaking like a leaf; the smallest gust could blow her away. I went to go huddle near her when she bolted towards the front door and out only leaving a trail of howls for me to follow. Pops words rang in my head again. Never leave the house past sun-down.
The stars were bright that night and guided me through the deep desolate forest in a frantic state. I trip over stray rocks and stumble over loose sticks and bones that recently blossomed in the region. I unroot chunks of dirt from the ground with each heavy stomp I place. The air around me feels tighter with every sprint. I’m winded and exhausted and I just can’t find the damn dog. A piercing howl echoes throughout the air shortly followed by soft rapid whimpers, and I feel a heavy burden fill my stomach. I have to punch the air out of my chest to keep running, focus on finding her and then I can relax. The stars have long dissipated into the dark night sky and I know I’m strutting into the creatures’ trap, but I keep running. I run and I run and I run until I twist my ankle on a dense mound of coarse bloody fur.

Pumpkinwise

Bianca Makaj

Patient Zero

Alivia Stonier

[07/16/2021 11:47 P.M. - Lab Log - Dr. Greene]
The graying of her skin was the first sign that something had gone terribly wrong. At approximately 5:24 a.m., the suspected contaminants were put in the room with Patient Zero. The discoloration continued to spread over a number of hours. It is uncertain whether she will survive contact with the contaminants. Physical symptoms may be proving our worst fears correct. Watch is being kept overnight for worsening effects.

[07/14/2021 - Personal Records - Dr. Greene]
I've been given a new assignment not for the faint of heart. I have to keep these records hidden. I warned Doctor Eisenberg that things have gone too far. To risk a human life is simply unethical, but he argued that it will save millions of lives. We got in contact when the illness started spreading in human bodies due to resisting temperature increases, but I never expected this to get so out of hand. I am staying now purely out of hope that I can be a voice of reason for Eisenberg. I fear that he would let this young girl die for the sake of research. I've heard rumors around the lab that he fostered her from a local agency. It's less suspicious if she has no one to come looking for her. When I study her face through the protective glass, I just can’t help but see my kids’ faces instead.

[07/14/2021 6:04 A.M. - Lab Log - Dr. Greene]
Patient Zero
Sex: Female
Age: 12
Height: 5’1
Weight: 110 lbs
Race: Spanish origin, Caucasian
Status: Alive; Healthy
The patient has been brought in heavily sedated. Testing will begin on 07/14/2021 at 4:00 P.M. PST. Vitals have been taken and appear to be within normal range. Scans will be taken of the brain prior to testing. The injection is estimated to elevate these ranges and brain activity.

[07/14/2021 6:47 P.M. - Personal Records - Dr. Greene]
It's much worse than I expected. She became violently ill after being introduced to the injection. We suspected that it would be like the common virus at first, just far more deadly, but this is something else entirely. Goosebumps began to spread across her arms, with the hairs standing on end and sweat drenching her hospital gown. A noise came out of her mouth that sounded like a wretched groan. I can only hope that if she does become infected with this, that we will have a cure manufactured in the end as Doctor Eisenberg promised. They'll begin sending me into the room with her in the next couple of days to observe her behavior around other people. Despite my growing fears, I'm glad that it's me who knows what the others would do at the first sign of trouble. She's sleeping now, so I'm free to go home. I'll be glad to tuck my children into bed tonight.

[07/17/2021 5:57 A.M. - Security Footage - Room 1 Patient 0]
A man wearing a hazmat suit enters the room cautiously. A tray of food is in his hand. One can see the man turn toward the table holding the sample of contaminants before quickly turning toward a girl in a hospital gown. Her hair appears short yet tousled, as if it's been unkempt for days. The room can only be described as sanitary and small, with no hints of the outside world save a small window occasionally letting in light. The man approaches the girl and drops the tray near the bed. She begins to stir, looking quite scared when she opens her eyes. The pair both freeze, and then the girl runs straight for him, thrashing about. The man struggles a bit yet appears surprisingly gentle.
“Let me out of here!” the girl can be heard screaming. “What did you do to me?”
“I'm so sorry,” is all that can be heard out of the man's mouth.
The girl finally stops thrashing when she gets too tired to continue. It sounds as though she begins to cry as she slides to the floor. The man only apologizes again and turns to leave, but not before he takes the contaminated specimen and carefully closes the lid, taking it with him. The girl waits a couple of minutes before she begins to explore the room around her for the first time. When she sees the small window, she attempts to jump towards it but to no avail. Eventually, she gives up and climbs back into the bed.

[07/17/2021 6:17 A.M. - Personal Records - Dr. Greene]
I have to get her out of here, and fast.
…If she's still well over the next couple of days. I'm hearing that they have another test subject. The process has been sped up significantly and the new person seems like they won’t make it. When introduced to the contaminants, he immediately began to have the same physical effects as the girl. Dr. Eisenberg is saying that he is no longer verbal and won't eat the food provided. It's only a matter of time before it will have progressed too far for a cure to even be manufactured through testing him. The girl can still be saved.

[07/18/2021 7:15 P.M. - Lab Log - Dr. Eisenberg]
Patient One, 16, male, has become dangerously aggressive. He attacked Doctor Rosenthorne and left a bite mark. Hazmat suits were not worn due to contaminants not being present in the room. The suits will now be required moving forward regardless of contamination being present. Further testing will be required to see if symptoms can improve.

[07/18/2021 4:32 P.M. - Lab Log - Dr. Greene]
The graying of Patient Zero’s skin has appeared to improve. Cause unknown. A sample will be taken to see if there is any presence of contaminants.

[07/19/21 7:21 A.M. - Text Messages - Dr. Eisenberg]
Dr. E: Rosenthorne is sick, same symptoms as the patients. I've quarantined her, she fucking hates it.
Wife: This is going too far Jim, you're putting your colleagues at risk.
Dr. E: This could save lives, I can't stop.
Wife: And if it doesn't?
Dr. E: It will. I can’t let this reach the general public.
END OF TEXT MESSAGES.

[07/19/2021 1:05 A.M. - Lab Log - Dr. Greene]
Sample: Clean
Status: Healthy

[07/19/2021 1:10 A.M. - Personal Records - Dr. Greene]
She’ll be free by tonight. I’m leaving her with [REDACTED]

[07/19/2021 2:15 A.M. - Personal Records - Dr. Eisenberg]
It is with great pain and agony that I come to the realization that I must [REDACTED] Dr. [REDACTED]. He has jeopardized our entire mission and could cost humanity its safety. He was my first colleague right out of medical school. I can't tell anyone. It'll have to be covered up.

END OF RECORDS - REDACTED FILES - 109

Six Months Later
All I dream of are walls closing around me until I can’t breathe, and heads with no faces. I awake to the sound of the birds in the morning and the creaking of the stairs that lead to the bedroom. I don't understand why, but everything has been a blur since I woke up in this stranger’s house. It's a nice place though, far better than anywhere I've stayed in a long time. I was told that I was adopted from the shelter by Margaret. She's a single mom with one son who was looking for a daughter and that was the end of it. She even gave me a satin pillowcase, whatever that means. I could even see myself eventually getting used to the California sun when it's met with the cooling of central air and the comfort of my very own bedroom. But why couldn't I remember anything past having dinner that last night with the rest of the kids? I'm broken from my thoughts when I hear a knock on the bedroom door.
“Camille, it's time for breakfast! I made your favorite breakfast burrito!” Margaret happily announces.
“Coming!” I shout in response.
I get up and quickly pull on one of the hoodies that they gave to me. It features a band I've never heard of before. Something called Boygenius.
During breakfast Margaret always watches the morning news. Her son usually follows the newest story along with her. I'm good at tuning it out, but the alarms of a national advisory on the TV stopped me mid-bite.
“Stay inside and lock all doors. Do not let anyone into your home, not even neighbors at this time, until the advisory is lifted. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Miles’ face went pale. For some reason, his mom didn't look quite as shocked. Both looked at me as I stared motionless at the screen in front of me. She had been keeping the news off lately whenever we walked into the room, but I would catch snippets of infection spreading.
“Get upstairs,” Miles said.

Four days later
I didn't mean to get separated from Miles. We were taking a trip to the store while Margaret watched the house to make sure that nobody got in. Now I'm at a storefront, just not the same one. It's a big plaza. We all know we have to get away from the house as soon as things begin to get worse. Miles had quickly boarded up all of the windows and doors on the first day. They had a ton of food storage downstairs that I never knew about, so we were able to last without making any trips out. Margaret kept talking about the government taking people to zones when they thought I wasn't listening or was asleep. She was afraid we would be killed. How bad could this infection really be?
When I walk into the store, the first thing that I hear is the ringing of the bell attached to the door, and I immediately feel my stomach plummet. The store has become dilapidated. All of the blinds on the windows have haphazardly been pulled to varying lengths as if someone was in a hurry to conceal themselves. A shiver runs down my spine. I walk into an aisle of the small shop, freezing when I see a person eating the flesh of another person on the ground. I'll never forget the sounds. Or is the smell worse? It's hard to say.
I watch helplessly as flesh gets torn from bone as if the infected person hasn't eaten in days. I watch as blood begins to pool from the wounds until I have to turn away. It doesn't help that the smell permeates around the aisle, a smell of death and rot that I can't escape. The person turns towards me, and the sight only gets worse from there. There's strange spots growing from the person's head that almost look like mold. It's as if the person is decaying from the inside out right before my very eyes, like some kind of creature. I look down at the torso of the once healthy person and notice that they are wearing a store uniform.
Is it possible that that was what the owner was trying to hide behind the blinds, themselves and what they were becoming? The thought almost makes me sick. A person still staying with their business no matter how bad things got in the past few days. A million possibilities flash through my head of a family relying on them to survive–of them only expecting this to be like the common cold and wanting to stay open for people who have nowhere else to go. I nearly vomit on the spot. The coloring of his skin appears green around the eyes. I notice that the pupils of this creature have whitened out, as if the spreading of these spots have caused vision damage. Yet, it's as though the person sees right past me, even though I'm fresh blood. I want to run, but I'm frozen in place, my knees feeling wobbly. I feel my body begin to warm and everything pulls out of focus. I swear in the distance, I hear the bell of the store go off, and I notice the creature turn towards the sound. I feel somewhat relieved that the attention is being pulled away from me until I see the brown curls that belong to none other than Miles.

The fear that gripped me when Camille wasn't behind me on the walk into the grocery store surprised me. I shouldn't get attached. I know that, and yet it's difficult to do when you've been living with someone for all of these months and grew up always wanting a sibling.
“Shit,” I cursed under my breath.
However, it didn't take long to find her. I only had to look as far as the convenience store across the lot that was much smaller. Considering she seems to love little trinkets, I thought she would like it here and planned to take her after the grocery store trip if we had time.
As I walk into the store, two things raise an alarm bell. One is the literal jingle above my head. All it would take is one crazed straggler who found shelter in this place and didn't trust me to cause trouble, or worse, a sick person could come out and attack at any moment. The second is that I'm tall enough to see the top of Camille's head in one of the aisles. I told mom it would be reckless not to tell her how bad the infected really are. I begin to make my way behind the sick person without a word. Camille stares at me wide eyed as I pull out my pocket knife from the side of my jeans.
“Don’t look,” I mouth the words to her soundlessly.
She squeezes her eyes and shut them tight until she can only see spots behind her vision. I swiftly make a killing blow to the neck of the sick person, trying not to notice what sounds like pain as they experience their last moments of life, if I could call it that. I quickly make my way around the corner before telling Camille to open her eyes and make sure that there are no more sick people hiding about. When the coast is clear, I make my way back to her.
“Everything is fine now. Are you hurt?” I ask.
“I'm fine, that just scared me. Is that what this infection is? Have you known this whole time?” she asks.
“Listen, I wanted to tell you this entire time but it's more complicated than you understand,” I say.
“More complicated than I understand? Isn't this difficult for anybody to wrap their head around? It's not like some type of normal everyday virus that you can just get at school and it'll go away within a matter of weeks. This is clearly life or death, and you thought that it could wait to tell me?”
I've never heard her so frustrated. I sigh to myself. “Come into the mirror for a sec right over there on the right of the store by the cash register.”
Mom would kill me for this.
“The mirror? I don't have time to care about this right now.” She rolls her eyes, ready to walk right out of the store without me.
“Just trust me,” I say.
Finally, despite her annoyance, she listens and steps into the mirror. I try to brace myself for what her reaction could be without showing it. No matter how poorly this could go, at least she isn't alone, and even though I can't explain everything, I can at least reassure her.
She doesn't see it at first. Or, at least, she doesn't see it in her face. It's when she looks down at her hands that she begins to notice, and I can only describe the look that passes over her face as disgust and terror.

Spores everywhere have grown directly across my skin darker and more prominent than that of the infected person I just saw. This can’t be right, no. If such little contact could get me sick, then Miles would be feeling the same way, and here he was right in front of me completely fine, untouched by this sickness that has begun to plague me. I feel tears begin to pool in my eyes. As the panic sets in I begin to notice that my skin color is also starting to change, becoming more washed out, same as the creature that lay before me on the floor.
“Am I one of them?” I can barely get the words out.
“Are you going to kill me?” I begin to back away as I spoke.
“Jesus, Camille no. If I was going to kill you, I would have done it already, and I sure as hell wouldn't be standing right next to you,” he says.
“How did you know that I was like this?” I ask.
“The first night after the breakout was announced my mom told me about some things. I don't even fully understand how she knew, but she told me that you were different. She just didn't have an explanation as to why.”
He pauses. “Camille, we don't know what this means or how long it will last, but you have to be more careful. Do you understand? You can't tell a single soul. They’ll hurt you.”
I only nod.
After hesitating for a moment, I ask, “But am I one of them? Am I a creature?” My voice shakes as I brace myself for my worst fears to be confirmed.
“We don't know what you are, or what you are capable of,” he says softly.
“But I'm not like them,” I say.
“Far from it, it seems,” he says,“I won't let anything happen to you.”
“Do you promise?” I can't help but ask.
“I promise.” He says.

Skeleton Gothic

Bianca Makaj

Virulent Gaze

Dario A. Florian

When you imagine the end of the world, you expect it to come from an asteroid big enough to wipe out human existence or a solar flare that destroys all our electronics, sending us back all the way to the stone age. But an oil rig? A damn oil rig was the epicenter of an outbreak of an unknown yet ravenous plague that was trapped at the bottom of the ocean close to the Gulf of Mexico. I still remember the news unfolding about what was happening on that rig. Three days ago, an explosion was reported by workers on the rig who said the main drill had exploded, killing a few workers manning the drill station and injuring a few dozen close to the area. The workers who called in the accident had reported an unknown liquid being pumped from one of the wells they had opened, saying that it had a rank smell and that several workers were covered in it because of the explosion.
Several news outlets, both local and some operating from the U.S, had made their way to the rig via helicopter, chopper blades whipping through the air, creating an endless whirring that droned for what seemed like forever.
The TV displayed images of a bright and large ball of fire emanating from the drill site and parts of the rig that were damaged, showing how disastrous this event really was.
“It seems that evacuation efforts have already been underway as the helicopter that’s supposed to be on the helipad is missing, several people are gathering close by, ready for when rescue arrives.”
I sat watching on my couch, my breath bated. The shock of it all was immense and even though I’ll probably never see those people again, my heart still aches for them. How right I was for assuming I’d never see them again? As the rescue helicopter had started to make its way on to the helipad, people covered in the mysterious liquid were seen running to the helipad, seemingly trying to make it to the helipad to be saved. But what happened next was horrifying.
Those gathered at the helipad started to move erratically, as if they feared those who were running towards them, so they were backing away, grabbing anything close by they could hold the others back with.
Faint screams began to ring out, and the people covered with the liquid began to tackle anyone they could catch up to first, biting and scratching, ripping and tearing. Those with weapons managed to hold many of them back long enough for several workers to make it on to the helicopter, but they soon became overwhelmed, most of them falling to the group that started their brutal crusade against their own friends.
Two of the men, who fought against the infected, managed to run back towards the helicopter. One of the infected managed to dive right next to one of them, before the news feed was forcibly cut, going back to the news anchor stationed close to my area in California with a shocked and disgusted look on his face. I just stared at the TV, a ringing going off in my ears and sweat dripping from my forehead. Did I just watch people die live on the news?
“We apologize for the vile and horrendous events anyone had the misfortune of witnessing live on our news network. Updates will be made as soon as we can gather more information from our sources in the area,” the news anchor said.
My phone blew up, notifications from every social media app showing their shock and concerns for what just happened on that oil rig. Some people were even saying that the two people who ran to the helicopter managed to get on and that they just touched down in Mexico. Those comments were being deleted quickly, the profiles posting those comments being erased. Looked like someone didn’t want so much misinformation being spread around. It was crowd control at its finest.
Four hours after the initial coverage, the president went live in front of the White House, stating the situation was under control and that aid packages along with CDC and military forces were being dispatched to Mexico to help those affected by the Oil Rig Incident. As quick as he came onto the stage, some important looking people scurried up to him, whispering in his ear. Whatever they said was enough to visibly terrify him, rushing off the stage and leaving the crowd in uproar, some even asking what was so urgent.
That was when I saw the reports on my phone. The people injured by the infected had begun to attack and seemingly kill those trying to help them recover and heal. The military and armed forces present managed to put a dent in their growing numbers, but over the course of several minutes, the infected numbers were growing too large for anything substantial to be done by ground forces. Those who didn’t evacuate were claimed by the hordes, leaving any civilian still in the area to fend for themselves.
Dread is the best way to describe what I was feeling. It felt unreal, like it shouldn’t be happening. I made sure to check my stock of supplies, which consisted of about a month’s worth of food, half of which were canned non-perishables, three weeks of water, enough medicine to fix up a family of four and toilet paper. My anxiety and paranoia had started to make me wonder if there was a possibility of those attacks moving to where I am, to the greater areas of the United States. Turns out my paranoia was right.
The CDC had issued a report outlining what they had learned with the limited research they got from their scientists in Mexico before the attacks. Whatever it was, it was killing whoever was infected, bringing them back to life, their bodies filled with the same black goo found at the rig and filled with one need in mind: to infect anyone in sight. It was something completely new with no similarities to any other disease in the database, which made it completely unpredictable. The one thing they do know is that those who are infected… aren’t alive.
When victims lose consciousness, they lose all signs of life as well. Necrotization is accelerated and rigor mortis sets in minutes after death. There is no moaning, there is no screaming. The dead are silent as they have no use for any of their organs. Officially, the virus was given the name The Vectus, and those affected by the virus, The Vecti.
It seemed as if the world went into a state of panic and distress right after the report went public. Many world leaders, including the CDC themselves, tried to downplay the situation, saying everything is under control and that martial law and quarantine efforts were in effect to prevent the Vecti from causing more outbreaks. What they didn’t account for was the virus mutating at a rapid rate. It became airborne thirty-five hours after the initial coverage back on the oil rig, that was the change that ensured the end of the world.
Arizona was hit first. It seemed that most of the population had been overrun with Vecti, leaving nothing but carnage in their wake and making their way across the states. Then, Texas was compromised. The government and the people were shocked. The horde in Mexico was still quarantined and they were still trying to break through, but people were still turning. That was then everyone put two and two together: Now it’s not just bites and scratches they have to worry about. The virus went from having the potential to be killed off, to a world ending threat.
I didn’t know what to do. On one hand, I wanted to gather as many supplies as I could and head more upstate, possibly out of the country and towards Norway, but staying in my apartment seemed like a safer option. Going outside with the virus so close to me was too risky, especially now that it was airborne.
The supplies I had could last me until rescue efforts were made. All I could do was just hunker down and wait everything out. Being on the higher floors does give me the advantage of being farther from the chaos. But, if my building was breached, I would have no way to leave, and with the Vecti being completely silent, it would leave me too open to attacks. So, I decided to stay inside my apartment. It made more sense in terms of survival, and as long as I was careful, then I should’ve been safe from being spotted or heard. All it took was mental strength and a double check of my supplies for me to prepare. I was in it for the long haul.
By hour twenty-nine, the virus reached my area. I smelled the smoke and rotting flesh before I heard the distant screams of those unfortunate enough to be in the path of the horde. Fear had taken hold of me like a crocodile snapping its jaws down on its prey, I just couldn’t do anything as the horrors outside were unfolding.
For hours, I sat in a corner in my apartment, contemplating whether or not I should move and look out my window and to the street. When I finally mustered up the courage to crawl to the window overlooking a portion of my city, I saw an endless number of the damn things.
I heard a cacophony of shoes and feet slapping the pavement. A rumbling was slightly shaking the building as they ran by, and some gunshots were still going off in the distance. What relieved me was that it seemed like they hadn’t been able to get into my building, as none of them were branching off to the entrance.
It was as if lava was flowing down the streets, a vicious mind of its own with the sole intent of infecting and adding to its numbers. Covering up the windows was my next priority. I didn’t want to take the chances of one of those things to see me from where I was. There were enough blankets on my couch to cover both the living room window and the window in my room, leaving a faint light to pass through.
Using the time I had, I checked the news networks on my TV, but I was met with radio static. I even switched to other channels to see if it was just the news, but no. The TV was still out. I checked my phone, which still had a connection, using it to see what was going on. The virus had managed to breach every state in the United States, and even reach Europe, seemingly covering most of the world with red dots. The map the CDC had put out had even shown places like Hawaii and Greenland to be infected. It seemed as if nowhere was safe.
By hour seventy-eight, the whole world was covered in those red dots, signifying reports of the virus in the areas marked. It took two-and-a-half days for the virus to reach every corner of the world. Somehow the internet and power were still up, so I used that to see if there were any other updates. Maybe there were efforts being made on a cure, a way to fix this madness. Yet, all I saw was more proof that this was the end.
North Korea had blown itself up with nukes as a last-ditch attempt to quell their own outbreaks. The president had been pronounced dead after his compound was breached by a horde of Vecti. France, Spain, and even Iceland had all disappeared.
Communications were lost with a quarter of the world, and then my internet went out. The satellites were falling from the skies. It was like hellfire was raining down. Fireballs were landing in the distance, and one had even crashed right next to my building, breaking the windows with the shockwave, opening an entrance for the Vecti. The horde that initially arrived had lessened in numbers, but enough remained that they immediately converged to where the satellites crashed. It seemed like they had no desire to enter my building, until someone started to scream, alerting the horde to come inside.
I watched as they started to pile into the building, pounding on the steel doors, causing people who hadn’t left to scream in fear of the danger outside. I think they were able to break through the doors through sheer numbers alone since some of the screams had stopped just as they started. It was like that as they climbed the floors of the complex, entering apartments that made the smallest of noises. They started killing anyone they found, leaving me to make my own images as to what the mass of teeth and nails were doing to the people they caught, thinking about what they could do to me.
When they reached my floor, I prayed that they wouldn’t be able to enter my apartment. Staying as quiet as I could, I slowly crawled around the corner of the hallway leading to my bedroom, peeking around the corner and watching the shadows under the doorway rapidly pass by. They make no noise, but that’s what unsettled me. Silent killers running with their fold in search of their next target. I could imagine they may even lie in wait for prey to come to them. Who knows what they could do? What mattered to me was trying to not alert them to my presence. Somehow, I managed to fall asleep despite the fear and dread gripping my soul.
Waking up, I saw the morning sunrising, pairing its natural yellow light with the dozens of fires that added an orange hue to the skies. For a moment, I almost forgot that the Vecti were in my building, and outside my apartment. I heard shuffling outside my door, shoes hitting the ground and what sounded like wet chewing, with something breaking in frequent increments.
I don’t know what to do. Going outside is a one-way ticket to becoming one of them, and staying here will ensure I starve to death. Nothing in here will help me fight, but I still have enough food to last me three weeks. Staying quiet and making sure I’m not heard is the most important thing to do right now. As of this moment, I think the world just went silent.

Snakebrain

Bianca Makaj

Loatie’s Eatery

Evilsund Horror

Plum muttered some sort of grunt disguised as a laugh. He had to show that he wasn’t too affected by his botched execution, even when nobody was watching. It seemed like he’d whacked the damn thing but it ducked away under the harsh shadow of the surrounding bushes. Usually–I mean, more often than not, he was an excellent bug swatter. He knew that, so he couldn't let his confidence subside just because one little crawly got away. It was the person he had to be. There are a lot of things he’s figured out about people, but what he understands most of all is their crucial requirement for effective presentation.

That’s what’s so deceptive about the experts in any field. They look like they don’t fail just because you only ever see them whack the bug. But I don’t have to whack bugs for people to know what I am. I just need the confidence of the guy who does.
It doesn’t matter what you know if you sound like you know it. What’s funny about that sentiment is the way it stresses people out, as if they’re not already playing a fraudulent character every day. If you ask me, I’d attribute their stress to a lack of work ethic. If you’re gonna play the game, you gotta at least put in the work to choose your fighter. If you don’t, it’s just laziness.
There are people in that building I work in over there who’ll crunch and shrivel your soul up. Dramatic, but true. You could make the best sandwich they’ll ever serve and they’ll still tell you it’s wrong because it isn’t consistent with their usual output. I came here to make good, clean food because of the passion I have for the sandwich arts, but the schmucks in that building wouldn’t look past my 16-year-aged skin if I was the president’s chef.

That building was Loatie’s Eatery. Loatie was the name of the owner’s supposed pet frog, who also represented their primary marketing gimmick. The claim is that you won’t see any bugs in the restaurant because, at the sight of one, the Great Loatie would shoot out his fat yellow tongue and rid the place of any and all buggy pests.
And though we’re no cleaner than any other lunch place you’d find in town, that sanitized reputation goes a long way. Trust is a lot wealthier than quality because true quality is too taboo if the marketing isn’t there. The best burger in the world will still be outsold by McDonald's, trust. If you can’t make the food good, then make the food look good for you. That means clean for ol’ Loatie’s.
No matter any of that, Plum had to walk all the way back across to the restaurant, its baseball-field-sized parking lot illuminated by the public installation of buzzing streetlights. The would-be insecticide location sat all the way at the far corner of the lot, so he had to make his way across its center for the fastest route. The lighting during the night was oriented in a square donut-like shape, where the darkest parts were either the surrounding bushes, trees, and fences or the center of the pavement that sat just outside the range of the lamps on the perimeter.
It’s darker than you’d think in that center. If someone stood right in the middle of that parking lot, and you were looking at them at the right angle, you would get this optical illusion where you wouldn’t even register anyone standing there. It would appear as an empty plain. Pitch blackness deceiving the eyes.
Plum rounded the place's many windows before swinging open the front door. Standing by the front counter were the two other high schoolers who worked there, the stone-chiseled Simon and the lankier Thomas.
“Daydreaming while taking out the trash again?” Thomas sneered. He was so clever. It’s like he’d been aiming that dart before he even entered the game room.
“Yeah.”
“Go make yourself a sandwich so we can get outta here.” Simon barely made eye contact when he said this, too busy walking over to the other counter to cash out his tips. Thomas walked over to do the same.
There was this wet, rich, putrid smell that hit him like a sack of raw fish when he got into the kitchen. Through the thin veil of water that welled up in his allergy eyes, he glanced at the manager, Trisha, who was counting the money by the takeout window. She didn't seem to notice the stench, so he couldn’t say anything.

You gotta remember, now: everything’s about how you present yourself. If I even put my shirt over my nose for a minute, they’d poke fun at me for not pushing through. It was something fierce though. I couldn’t remember what the last person ordered, but whatever it was hadn’t been made around me before. I’d remember that sting on my nose.
When I cracked the ingredient tray open through the horrible musk, I found out what really pooted out the sharp odor.
The little square bucket that usually contained pickles had a deep swampish green bubble protruding out of it. It expanded wide before sucking itself in with a bubbly stir. On further inspection, one would notice a few reddish moles speckling the lighter parts of its body. It was breathing. When it blew up enough, you could even see some black specks swimming around in it, through its translucency.
“There’s something alive in here!”
“What?” Trisha squawked at me, too tired to be dealing with what I’d just said. Simon and Thomas shoved over my shoulders to get their own takes on the matter, though there was really only one take anyone could have: something was alive in the ingredient tray.
“We let you do one thing the whole night…”
“Aw god, the smell! It’s got a kick to it!” Simon shouted before backing out of the way so Trisha can fit in to see. I’ll never hear the end of this and I didn’t even have anything to do with it. It’s not like I ain’t trying here. I should’ve just gone home when I caught a whiff of it. I should’ve known I’d get balled out for whatever they couldn’t find direct blame in themselves for.
“You,” she said, referring to me, “Go grab some gloves and pull this thing out of here.”
They’re gonna have me run it out to the dumpster. I just took the grease-leaking bag of trash out there, and they’re gonna make me trudge all the way out there again. I’m gonna go home smelling worse than I already did: a concoction of meatball steam, wet cheese, crusted sauce, charred leftovers, and now the mystery inflammation from the ingredient tray. I tore some rubber gloves out of the package in the cabinet next to the cash-out counter before–
POP.

It came from the kitchen, but Plum couldn’t see anything. His mind was fresh out of clarity for the situation. After the loudest silence of the night, the sound of evaporating water trickled in, and then the shrieks struck the air.
Mixed in with coughs were the thin shrieks of each of his coworkers, the boiling steam loudening by the moment. He couldn’t get to the kitchen doorway before he noticed the thick green gas slithering onto the floor of the dining area. Something in him knew he shouldn’t make any contact with that… but it began to show itself through the take-out window behind him, and it moved faster and faster. It would appear he was surrounded. The faster it rushed, the less it seemed real. It looked like it was progressively fast-forwarding itself.
He hopped up onto the booth to his left facing the door, the level of the foggy green rising and rising, rushing and rushing faster and in more massive bodies. He crawled up over the seats and stepped on each of the tables, rattling the salt and pepper shakers on the way, knocking over the little fake plastic candles and the drink menus. He jumped down to the door, swinging it back toward him so furiously that it dented the varnished wood of the wall.
In his head, he rolled out of the building like an action hero. But in reality, he kind of fell into a partial somersault as the gas was trapped by the slam of the front door.

The smoke looked like it came straight out of a cheap monster movie, one of the ones my dad would show me to give me nightmares when I was younger. If I spent my energy focusing on whatever just happened to everyone in the kitchen, then I’d be wasting precious time. All I can do now is get the hell out of here.
There was a deafening silence again. This one's lack of volume wasn’t as bone-chilling as the first, but I could feel there’s something I’m still not accounting for. The gas had completely obscured the view of the inside of the restaurant, the windows resembling plastic wrapped tightly around a green stuffed animal. But I noticed too many imperfections in the construction, and now gas was wheezing out of each crack, corner, and keyhole. I would have given it two minutes max before this place burst from the immense pressure.

But the internal pressure wouldn’t be Plum’s biggest issue for long. Flop-plick-schtuh…flop-plick-schtuh! Something was moving on the inside, and it was suction-cupping to the floor after every step. Being the intelligent young man he was, he assumed only the worst of what could possibly be concealing itself in his workplace, so he ran back around to the parking lot for his car.
As he reached it, he remembered that the only open parking space when he got there was at the far end, about three spaces away from the dumpster. His arm hairs stood up straight as he heard the door behind him burst off of its hinges, so he began to bolt. He had always been a natural runner, but he didn’t practice often and his pacing was much better than his speed. He looked over his shoulder to see the green smoke tailing him, approximately 50 feet back. Along with that, he heard those popping suction cups, one after the other, echoing through the small plaza in the breezy night. He wasn’t going to make it to his car in time, so he stopped himself in the dead center of the square donut.

I was completely still, not making a sound save the heavy breath rushing from my gut to my nostrils. I stood like a soldier in his camo, the light just barely missing each part of my body as it emerged. At long last, the flopping beast emerged from the same smelly bubble that led my comrades to meet their demise. It remorselessly propelled itself forward with hops, its rubbery skin bouncing the light off of its bulbous outline. It resembled some kind of alien amphibian, but it was at least five feet tall, and its faint breathing bellowed far enough for me to understand I could never truly know what had shown itself to me right here. The gas was bound to reach me, it had risen about ten feet high on all sides, somehow parting only in the space between me and the monster. As I sucked in my breath, the thing halted. It appeared to be staring directly at me, but I am still in the parking lot’s pitch-blackness. I’ll stand here forever if I have to.

A faint buzzing strikes the wisp of the rustling wind, and Plum is shaken by what he knows has returned to him. The bug that not ten minutes before was an inch from meeting its demise at that location, was gliding down in the beautiful flickering white beams of light that enclosed the sixteen-year-old. Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing, until it finally rested itself right on the forehead of its attempted assassin. It was like water droplet torture to him. With all of his intensity and spite, he wanted to blast that thing’s consciousness out of its body with the force of his bare hand. But, before he could even make his move, he found his attention hijacked by the sound of a damp opening. He squinted his eyes and leaned slightly forward to see that the creature had shot its fat yellow tongue out of its wide mouth at about the speed of a baseball pitch, and it was coming right for that forehead fly.

Spooky Swingin’

Bianca Makaj

Paddleboarding to Wisteria Island

Timothy Froessel

I spent that whole October in Key West. I had been staying there since the summer, but somehow, I spent the whole summer in a week. Don’t really know how it happened.
Paddleboarding trips all blend together after a while. You take six trips a week around Stock Island and the same thing happens six times. It’s like an abstract painting. I can look at an identical Pollock painting in every single museum and I’ll see the same nothingness every time. Stock Island was just a bad Pollock piece. The island didn’t have any beauty, and there wasn’t any chaos to distract you from the ugliness.
The resort owner, Kevin, gave me a discount for October. I stayed in Room 118 for so long that the mirror started to have my face memorized. Kevin smelt like a poorly-reviewed barbeque restaurant and had a lot of questions for me. Too many questions. He always asked me why I always used the resort pool instead of going to the beaches. Here’s a tip: the beaches on Key West are always filled with tourists, seagulls, and sunburns as contagious as a Jimmy Buffett song. The resort pool was library quiet and had a great angle to see some migrating flocks. You could spend an eternity counting all the cormorants that’d swoop through like there was some better place to be. I should’ve spent more of the summer birdwatching.
I always wanted the autumn in Key West to be different from the autumn in New York. I mean, there’s iguanas everywhere! My first time here, I saw one hanging upside down from a tree.
It was around 11 PM and a full moon had been smiling for a few hours. This smoker named Eddie and I were leaving one of the bars by the Hemingway House. Eddie always had a camera hanging around his neck, so I always had to withstand his constant bellowing about how sore his neck was. Apply some lotion, dumbass.
Anyways, the full moon was rising up perfectly parallel to the street we were on. I had to get back to Wall Street (the one in Key West), so I wasn’t thrilled to watch this guy lay down on the street to get some god-blessed angle for his photo.
I spotted the iguana in the tree above Eddie. It was unfurling its tail, kind of like how you spread open a deck of cards in your hand. It sat still for a moment. Eddie placed his camera on the street and was pacing around it in his own smoke. He looked like a dog with a cigarette trying to reach the lighter on its tail. Did he think the perfect footstep would push the camera’s shutter button?
The iguana wrapped its tail around a tree branch and stepped off. Several of its scales drooped off of its lime body, but it hung off the tree like some fruit. It was a smaller one, about the size of a banana, so it didn’t weigh the tree down too much. I pulled out my phone and took a picture of it. A few weeks later, I submitted my iguana photo to a magazine. It got published. I don’t think Eddie’s big toe ever clicked his shutter button that night.
Pretentious photographers, Wall Street, and bars you can’t remember the name of—there are too many similarities between autumn in Key West and in New York. You end up humming “The Great Pumpkin Waltz” in Key West, too. There’s always a flock of chickens outside the Shipwreck Museum, and they kind of look like a pumpkin patch. Red, orange, and brown hues. That’s all autumn needs to be autumn.
I really wanted that October to be different. It was my first time spending the month away from home, but the heat wasn’t chopping off the seasonal depression limbs that had grown on my body. I kept trying new things and resuscitating old hobbies to find something worth doing. I tried finding the bar Eddie and I went to that night, but the iguanas weren’t any good at giving directions. I started an Instagram account called “Chickens of Key West” in hopes that I’d become a cult influencer, but my New York friends made fun of me. Twice I went to the Hemingway House looking for writing inspiration, but all I ever got was cat scratch fever.
One morning, I signed up for a jet ski lesson. Jet skiing was never really my thing. My first time jet skiing, one of my contacts flew out of my eye. There were wake droplets covering my sunglasses like a pointillistic painting, so I didn’t even notice that my left eye wasn’t seeing much of anything at all. I spent the rest of the day squinting at restaurant menus. I always felt bad about indirectly, but certainly, adding some plastic to the ocean, so I never really got into jet skiing.
I slept like an inflatable tube man the night prior, so I was all sore and tired before I even got on the jet ski. My group consisted of a bunch of tourists and some women who asked too many questions. She asked our instructor about every single facet of a jet ski. I started to wonder if she was a safety inspector in disguise. At one point, she made the whole group slow down to ask each of us, individually, about our jet skiing experience. I told her that my glorious father was Jett Skii and that I, the inevitable Junior Skii, was soon to take over my father’s beautiful business. She rolled her eyes and moved on to her next questionnaire victim.
The trip around Key West was uninspiring and, in my sore and tired state, I was uninspired. Right at the end, we passed by Stock Island. There was a couple paddleboarding around it, and our instructor waved for us to slow down when we passed them. I stared at them as my engine revved down. They had smiles like they were being paid to stand on those boards and paddle. Realistically, in Key West, you’re paying too much to be there (unless Kevin hooks you up with a discount), but why wouldn’t you have a planet-sized smile in Key West? The whole city is a cafeteria where you can order whatever vacational appetizer you want. And their smiles on those paddleboards said that the chef cooked them up the most delicious morning activity.
My mind was re-engaged by the beauty of paddleboarding. There was something about the couple’s togetherness and their smiles. Their smiles told me they were right, and I was wrong. I had been spending my October trying to reinvent who I was when I was in Key West. But reinventing the wheel can only be done by prehistoric humans and naïve mechanical engineers. Why try every activity in the Key West booklet when I could paddleboard, as if I didn’t spend all summer paddleboarding? Still, though, Stock Island was a sight to avert your eyes from as you neared Route 1’s end. I needed a new goal, and I had an overzealous one brewing in my cauldron brain.
The Shipwreck Museum had a small display about one of the Keys’ most forgotten islands: Wisteria Island. According to the display, a steamship named Wisteria sank near the island and unintentionally became a namesake. I often wondered if I could find out who named Wisteria. They couldn’t have known that by naming a ship, they were naming an island. Did they live to know? Did they ever find out?
I felt bad for the unknown ship-namer. He likely never touched the island he should have had transitive ownership of. I felt worse for the ship. Shipwrecks break my heart as if they’re icebergs and my heart’s a hull. Ships are infallible machines being run by us, humans, the most fallible species on this planet. One mistake and the beauty of the ship is left for the seafloor rust to take over. Cormorants will zoom above them and paddleboarders will paddleboard over them, both unaware of the secret shipwreck in the bottom of the sea’s mind.
Even though I’d never walked to the right part of Key West to see Wisteria Island, I knew it was just off the shore of Key West. It was more than close enough to paddleboard to. Thousands of sailboats and steamships and paddleboards and jet skis had twirled by the island every week, and I’m sure none of them cared enough to ask it its name. Even the Shipwreck Museum could only lend its smallest display to Wisteria Island. The island, the ship, the glory. It was all thrown into history’s trash.
The day after I jet skied, I went to borrow one of Kevin’s paddleboards. There were a few options, but my favorite one of his was a pastel blue one. I loved the way that the pastel blue looked when it was beneath the waves. In the clear water of the Keys, that blue shade looked like a cloud beneath the waves. I wondered if the barracuda and tarpon thought that the sky was falling when they saw the paddleboard from below, if they thought death was imminent because of nature’s color grading.
I strapped on my water shoes and walked over to Sunset Pier. You could normally see Wisteria Island quite clearly from there, but there was a huge cruise ship blocking my horizon. A woman and a man stood atop the bow of the ship. They weren’t exactly as romanticized as Rose and Jack—he was wearing a tank top, and she was wearing a backward baseball cap—but it was cute, and I would’ve saluted them if I wasn’t busy angling my paddleboard through the crowd of tourists.
Many of the tourists around were watching me, their eyes trying to figure out my mission. Sunset Pier is lined with tables for people to have meals out on the pier, so my paddleboard probably scuffed a few table legs on the way by. I wasn’t anybody’s favorite nautical traveler on the pier that afternoon, but I don’t think I scratched anybody’s leg. One time, I watched a tourist attempt to fight a chicken. The chicken had grazed the tourist’s girlfriend’s dress. The tourist, in some attempt to defend his girlfriend, made aggressive gestures towards the chicken. He faked kicking the chicken. Eventually, the chicken left on its own accord. The girlfriend mocked the tourist’s imitations of being a hero throughout the rest of their dinner. Eddie and I sat at the bar eavesdropping on her realizing that her boyfriend was as fragile as a glass icicle.
I jumped off the pier after throwing my paddleboard into the water. The cruise ship had traveled closer to us. Its wake was starting to thrash against the docks. The tourists above were telling their brunch buddies to hold onto any bags. I’m pretty sure I saw a metal spoon fall into the water.
The cruise ship continued to speed straight by the pier without slowing down. The couple at the bow were shaking like a guitar pick during an earthquake. Yet, as the tourists on the pier hollered and the pier itself had a few hesitancies, the cruise ship only increased its velocity. It was heading to the left of the pier, not on course to crash into anything, but the wake continued to jostle the pier. I scrambled, trying to stand on my paddleboard to then climb back onto the pier, but I couldn’t get both of my legs up on the board. I was stuck with my legs on the paddleboard, unable to pull the rest of my body up. The waves pushed me under the pier until they finally knocked me clean off of my paddleboard, launching me headfirst into the metal bolts holding the pier up. All I saw was black.
A moment later, I opened my eyes. I was still underneath the pier. As if it was the miracle I needed, my paddleboard had been thrown against the same metal bolts that I was thrown at. My chin bounced back onto my paddleboard as I was knocked out, saving me from having a sunken head. My ears were dripping water. When they finally drained, I couldn’t hear the noise from the people on the pier. I could still smell their brunch, though.
I swam a few feet to get out from under the pier. Everyone had scurried away because of the cruise ship. Surprisingly, my head didn’t hurt too much. The bright sunlight was aching my eyes a bit, but Key West mornings had greeted me like an annoying relative many times before. I didn’t feel any blood or cuts on my head at all. My contacts had even stayed in my eyes.
Obviously, I planned on heading back to land to re-evaluate my mission. But as I gazed into the ocean, I saw it: Wisteria Island. It wasn’t pretty—just some weeds and sand—but it was all I wanted. My paddleboard was still good to go. Its pastel blue had been turned pitch black by the crud in the cruise ship’s wake. I knew Kevin would be upset, but I had my October discount in writing, and I didn’t absolutely need to stay for November. Wisteria Island was calling for me, as were the ravens and cormorants circling above it, and I was a noble answerer.
I got my knees settled on my paddleboard, and I saw another paddleboarder to my left. He was covered in seaweed, dust, and mud. He had a tobacco pipe in his mouth. He was traveling on a board that looked like a steamship door. I called over to him, trying to ask him if he was okay. His neck cracked in my direction. He coughed as we made eye contact, then his neck cracked away from me and he kept going. Dust fell from his body.
The trip to the island took shorter than I thought it would. I already knew it was only ten or so minutes, but the cruise ship had scared off all the other vessels. The water was calmer than a children’s book, and the trip was a breeze. The clouds in the sky blocked the harshest sun from speaking, and I was counting all the cormorants and ravens above the island.
I beat my paddleboarding mate to the island, and finally touched my feet on its land. I smiled in accomplishment, but my heart didn’t feel exceptionally different. I guess I made the journey for vengeance, to give some honor to Wisteria, to give its ship-namer and captain some long-deserved justice. Instead, the weeds were overgrown, and ants had already started making anthills out of sand on my feet. There was no one to tell the accomplishment to. I wasn’t justice, I was just another paddleboarder who was slightly interested in a shipwreck. The hot sand below me felt like grill charcoal, even underneath my water shoes. I placed my paddleboard on the shore, ready to make this visit quick.
The other paddleboarder was drawing nearer, only about a minute away from reaching land. I again called to him, asking why he was heading to Wisteria Island. I wasn’t exactly hoping to make a friend, but, of course, I thought it’d be cool to meet someone who shared my unnecessary love for an unnecessary island. His movements grew more strained as he got closer. His knees unsteadily quaked. He went to paddle on his left side, and leaned too far over, collapsing into the water. A hand dove out for a moment, only to disappear into the water again.
I immediately started running to try and save him, but I stopped my steps when I saw bubbles percolating in the water right by my paddleboard. The same man leaped out of the water like an oracle, as if he hadn’t just sunk several yards behind where he appeared from. I fell backward onto the charcoal sand, astonished by his screams and coughs. As I gazed at him, I noticed that the seafloor from which he rose was only a few inches deep. He was soaking wet, but just as dusty and muddy. The tobacco pipe hadn’t escaped his lips’ grip. Though his knees still limped, he ran up to me. I tried to ask him if he was okay, but he shoved his hand in my face as I spoke. He had six fingers on each of his hands. His mouth opened wide, and he screamed like a banshee with a megaphone at me. The dust, which was also covering his teeth, was propelled at me. He snatched my paddleboard and immediately boarded it, heading back to the mainland. I yelled for him to turn around, but he jolted away at a pace much quicker than he had been traveling before.
I was left alone on the island. Key West was still visible, a doable swim away, but my mouth hung open like a broken gutter. I had no clue what to make of the man I had just encountered, the man who had just left me abandoned and with an earache. I stood up, hoping to find another lonely paddleboard on the island, but I could only find washed-up oars and junk food wrappers. The cormorants and ravens above me started making more noise. They only seemed to be circling the island and squawking. I looked up at the ravens, and I noticed that the clouds above me looked closer to the ground than usual.

Black & Orange 2024