Table of ConTenTsPage one..................................................................All HAllow’s EvE by blAir iskEn

Page Two......................................it’s lurking in tHE DistAncE by HAnnAH sHEEHAn

Page Three...........................................................tHis is not An Exit by JuliA Molin

Page four...........................................................tHE sHining by briAnnA niEMoEllEr

Page five.........................................................................wAtcHED by tAylor rEEsE

Page six..........tAliA willows: A PArticulArly strAngE cAsE by AMAnDA brown

Page seven..................................................knock ‘EM DEAD by briAnnA niEMoEllEr

Page eighT..............................................................................MADnEss by lExi longo

Page nine.............................................................oPEn MinD by briAnnA niEMoEllEr

Page Ten.....................................“QuotH tHE rAvEn, nEvErMorE” by FAtiMA AnwAr

Page eleven.....................................................rEst in PEAcE by briAnnA niEMoEllEr

Page Twelve........................................................DrivE sAFEly by HitA kAMbHAMEttu

Page ThirTeen....................................................................rEsonAtE by tAylor rEEsE

Page fourTeen.......................................................witcH’s HAnD by sAbrinA lutHEr

Page fifTeen.........................................................................tHorns by Ann guzzEttA

Page sixTeen & sevenTeen......DiDn’t your MotHEr wArn you About strAngErs? by cArolyn wArD

Page eighTeen...................................................................rottEn by sAbrinA lutHEr

Page nineTeen...................................................................rosElyn by JAsMinE MinHAs

PAgE twEnty & twEnty onE....................sHADowy AnD vAguE by AlExAnDrA cAiMi

PAgE twEnty two..........................................................PAtcHwork by PiErcE cArtEr

PAgE twEnty tHrEE......................................sHADows oF octobEr by lukE solAcoFF

covEr Art by AuriAn cArtEr

co-EDitors: Taylor Reese & Aurian CarterFAculty ADvisor: Coleen Hubler

All Hallow’s Eveby Blair Isken

Drawn through the leaves,hopeless faith stirs my sleep.Carried by the midnight breeze,prying for a secret I never meant to keep.Rustling the autumn stained fields,hushed whispers imbrue the terrain,soiling the Earth it once concealed,breaking a promise meant to remain.Painful speech impedes the day,celebrated for those with mischief in their heartsand at a loss of words of which to say.But with actions to express their desire,to punish a most deserving liar,came about a night they call All Hallows Eve,a night where the wronged, do receive.

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It’s Lurking in the Distanceby Hannah Sheehan

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This Is Not an Exitby Julia Molin

Severine felt crippled by the lethargic heaviness of her limbs, her every action slow and dutiful as if she was underwater. The car was quiet except for the strange purring of its engine, as well as the almost eccle-siastical, bell-like music seemingly coming from the the speakers despite how the radio was turned off. She was unsure of how long she had been in the car, only aware of how the azure of the afternoon sky had changed to a more nefarious gray color, blurring the lines between the shadows and the tangible landscape. The gray haze reminded Severine of the sinister grain of her family’s old VHS home videos; the strange ambiance the out-dated technology gave the tapes despite their jovial content. The driver of the vehicle was stiff and puppet-like as he maneuvered the car down the surprisingly quiet highway; every time Severine attempted to look at his face, particularly his eyes, he rejected her glances, turning the other way. His facial features were simply a blur of pale, translucent skin and dark hair. Severine focused on the large sleeve of his thick, black velvet coat, and the array of gold rings on his thin digits. A repetitive clink-ing sound soon came to her attention, and she realized it was her own gold charm bracelet, hung from the rear view mirror. An anger began to shake her body like a tempest, for she could not seem to understand why he insisted upon taking the gift from her aunt in exchange for the ride. She glanced at her reflection in the glass window, and her generally clear, cornflower-blue eyes had darkened considerably. She should have been more careful, for if she had been more aware of surroundings, she would not have missed her stop on the bus, and would not have been an hour from her desired location with no cash for another ticket. But it was no use reflecting upon the situation now, so Severine decided to attempt to converse with her perplexing driver. “What is your name again?” she asked, subconsciously swirling a strand of brown hair between her small fingers. The driver did not respond for a few seconds, and then spoke, his voice sounded foreign, yet devoid of any recognizable accent. “My name is Luc,” he said, his voice ringing. Severine began to twirl her hair until her scalp felt sore. “Funny,” she said slowly, “I thought you said Marcel earlier.” The car and its passengers were a separate entity, no longer inter-twined with the rhythms of life on Earth. For a moment, Severine felt very calm, a wave of pleasantness washing away her existential woes,and she even forgot her name. In the horizon, the grayness transformed into fiery hues of red, and the light began to creep into the car windows, illuminating the colorless orbs of the driver. The car slowly entered the realm of bright light, and when it finally reached its final destination, Severine was simply no longer there.

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The Shining by Brianna Niemoeller

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Watchedby Taylor Reese

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Talia Willows: A Particularly Strange Case

By Amanda Brown Here is this girl. Her dark black hair has not been combed in weeks, and her eyes are so dreary and wet

you might slip into their ghostly gaze if you were to dare look straight into them. Her eyes are as grey as the

stormy seas and her face and lips are as pale as fresh winter frost. She is beautiful in a tragic way that no one can

bear to look at. She finds comfort in the cold tight space between the floor and her bed. The staff had a partic-

ularly difficult time removing her from it to drag her to the cafeteria or the arts room, where she still would sit

with eyes glazed over and an expressionless face. Her presence is cold and her body thin and frail. She refuses

to speak, but continues to write the same daunting phrase over and over in a small white notebook: taken too

young. Every morning a nurse walks in with a bright smile to deliver her medications, which every morning she

refuses to take. The nurse is purposefully oblivious and leaves the room before causing a dispute with their most

difficult patient. She is aware that forcing Talia to do something against her will, will only result in several bite

marks to the arm. Perhaps it was the nurse’s lack of concern that made it such an easy escape for Talia Willows.

In fact they didn’t notice she was gone until she was roaming the streets in her paisley blue and white hospital

gown.

The crisp winter air felt brilliant inside her lungs, as opposed to the stale sanitary hospital air that had

been occupying her body for years. Talia knew that she did not have an abundance of time, and she began to run.

Her bare feet hit the pavement, and it was exhilarating to finally move freely about the world again. The harsh

frigid night numbed her thin body, and her breaths led to white trails of air. Not used to such demanding activ-

ities, she had to stop and catch her breath. Breathing heavy now, she slowly walked until eventually stumbling

upon the gate of the graveyard. It was tall and daunting and evidently closed. On the other side was freezing

corpses, which really was not much different from herself now. She began to quickly scale the fence, but in her

weakened condition it was incredibly taxing. Once on the other side, she dropped a couple feet into the field of

decay and whimpered as she hit the unforgiving ground.The pain really began to irritate her, but she had no time

to think of it. She began wandering through the dull grey headstones until she came upon one in particular. It

was blatantly clear that this death was recent with the headstones notably glossy finish and the sweet fresh roses

that had been placed upon it. Engraved into the the headstone was: Talia Willows “taken too young”.

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Knock ‘Em Dead

by Brianna Niemoeller

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I struggle down this endless road,My body twisting in pain.

My vision is red, my mind is dead,My life goes on in vain.

I feel my muscles twist and jerk,My heart pounds much too fast,Banshees wail within my head,

As I succumb to madness at last.

Yet deep within my sickly mind,I sense salvation near.

Deep within my sickly eyes,I see my death so clear.

The bringer of death stares back at me,His eyes alight with knowing.

Oh reaper of death, deliver me,It is time that I be going.

And with my last and final breath,I give a cry of defeat,

As the reaper raises his weapon high,And I taste death, so sweet.

My body slumps down to the ground,And this was my last thought,

Though I be lying and dying here,The true madness I am not.

The madness in this tiny town,Was never truly me.

The madness is the people,And the hatred they set free.

So bringer of death, I urge you this,Alone in a maddening sea,

Rise above their hatred,As you have risen above me.

And with my last look at life,I gaze up at him, so grim.

And though he killed my madness,Their madness is killing him. 8

Open Mind by Brianna Niemoeller

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“Quoth the Raven, Nevermore”by Fatima Anwar

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Rest in Peace by Brianna Niemoeller

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Drive Safelyby Hita Kambhamettu

Note: This story is based upon Scott Westerfeild’s short story, “Served Cold”

Mind if I take a seat?“Yes, of cou-oh!”You spilled a little on your shirt dear, sorry to startle you.“No, I should be sorry. Please sit down.”Thank you. Does it hurt?“Quite a bit, the meds are killing me.”Do feel better. Can you still drive?“Well it is a bit hard with one hand but I manage.”The waiter is coming. Would you order a coffee? I do love the smell of it better than the taste.“One coffee please.”With cream and no sugar, the usual.“Cream and no sugar please”Is that beer I smell?“Yes, a bit early but it’s been a hard week”You must have so many questions.“Well yes”Don’t hold anything back, ask away!“Erm, do understand that I am immensely sorry for what happened”Don’t be, it wasn’t your fault.“I know, the police said it was the ice patch”Yes I just checked it this morning, it has just started to melt.“I truly am sorry”Never mind that; how are ma and daddy doing?“They are a bit hostile towards me”As expected, I’m sure they loathe you. Before they always used to admonish me for being with you.“I’m sorry”It wasn’t your fault. Except…“What? Do tell me”A seatbelt. If I had worn a seatbelt I would be here and able to eat lunch with you.“You never wear a seatbelt”I would have if you had asked me to. I did many things for you.“It’s not as if…you’re eighteen after all”Ah, you’ve been practicing that line, haven’t you?

“Don’t be crass”Sorry. I wonder, have ma and daddy asked why we were out so late?“No, they are still a bit overwhelmed.”Well I guess that means you’re in big trouble.“How are you managing there? Is it…good?”There is a melancholy feeling that looms everywhere. As if you are not invited to a party that was occurring down the street. Speaking of which, weren’t you invited to the funeral?“Yes, it should be starting around now.”Why aren’t you there?“I could ask the same to you”Ah yes. But they say it’s not for me, it’s for them.“I don’t feel comfortable attending it”Yes, with that arm in a sling it would be quite odd.“I’d rather lay low and wait for this to blow over”Hiding from the action as usual.“And missing you”Missing my funeral you mean.“I’m too tired”Would you do one last thing for me?“Certainly”Go to the funeral.“It’s already started!”Funerals last forever, if you leave now I’m sure you’d be able to make it in time for the main event. I’d want for you to be there.“Do you really want this?”Yes, I really do. Now finish that beer quickly, and call the waiter.“Excuse me, cheque please”Pay with cash, it’s ever so quicker. You’ll be okay with driv-ing fast?“It’s a bit tricky with one hand. Will you come with me?”No, I’d prefer to meet you there. Thank you so much dar-ling. This means so much to me.“See you soon”---Ah, yes you will. Drive safely.

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Resonateby Taylor Reese

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Witch’s Hand by Sabrina Luther

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Thornsby Ann Guzzetta

15

Didn’t Your Mother Warn You About Strangers?

by Carolyn Ward Carmen was coming home late from the diner, slopping through the twisting roads of upstate Oregon. The front seat of her boyfriend’s busted truck smelled like mulch and laundry detergent. The car was littered with soda cans, garden supplies, and gum wrappers; as Carmen bumped along, she hummed to the Joshua James song on the radio. She was relieved it was Friday because the weekends meant no work and that she would get to see Bill. She hummed along mindlessly as the lyrics vibrated through the musty old truck: “If we’re to change them we must hurry, cause the devil’s moving in.” Slowly, Carmen reached out her fingers and pressed buttons, flipping through the satellite radio channels—but the signal wasn’t good in the mountains and static rushed through the speakers. All of a sudden, a voice boomed out of the buzz; a commentator was talking about the weather: “And be careful, folks, keep those rain jackets close by ‘cause this one’s gonna be rough. Winds starting around 500 miles per hour today, with gusts up to 1,000. Heat rising to above 300 degrees! Darkness all day and everyday!” Then the announcer’s voice faltered and static returned. Just then, she heard the truck slow down, the slapping under her tires getting quieter and quieter. Finally, all noise ceased and the engine cut. “What is going on? What is wrong with my radio? And oh no! Now the truck!” Frustrated, she twisted the key in the ignition and slammed the accelerator down. But nothing happened. “Crap.” Carmen glared at the gas gauge that read “Full” a minute ago, but now it showed the big red circle, indicating that it was empty. She was stuck on the side of the road, just over two miles away from the nearest gas station, with her cell phone sit-ting on the kitchen counter ten miles away in her little apartment. Quickly, she ran over scenarios in her head. Finally, she decided on running two miles to the nearest gas station, getting a tank of gas, and running back with it. Besides, two miles wasn’t bad compared to the warm-ups she used to do in college, and maybe Bill happened to be working tonight. She could surprise him since he didn’t know she was coming home from work early. Yep, two miles was nothing. Swiftly, Carmen swung her legs down from the truck and jumped out. She stretched and yawned. She scolded herself, “Should have just driven my dad’s car today.” Feeling completely alone without any technology just the setting of the sun, she ran. She had forgotten how much she enjoyed the feeling of feet smacking the cement, of trees whistling by, and of the sound of rushed breath. By the time she got to the gas station, it was nearing eight o’clock, and Carmen had forgotten about the strange radio incident or the rarity of the gas gauge reading “Empty.” As she approached the neon sign outside the local gas station, all she could think about was Bill. “Hey, miss!” The man behind the counter welcomed her as she walked in, “How can I help you?” He didn’t miss a beat as he moved toward the door to greet her. Carmen looked him up and down. And then again. She knew everyone that worked at this gas station— everyone in town— but he, he was new. “Is Bill working tonight by any chance?” She questioned awkwardly. “I was just wondering if I could speak with him.” She paused. “You’re new,” she voiced her thoughts, “What’s your name?” Carmen scanned the store. She had been here multiple times, but never at night, because while all the kids went here to buy beer from Bill, she was downtown working in the diner. She could have gone to college but chose to stay home for a year; now, she wished she had just put aside her nostalgic feelings, and hitched a ride out of here. “Bill...” The worker pondered the name like it was new to him, but quickly caught himself and said con-fidently, “No ma’am, Bill isn’t working tonight. He had the day off. But how can I help you?” The worker smiled casually. Carmen knew Bill didn’t have the day off, but she figured this guy was some stand in for Bill and just didn’t understand the small-town protocol; so, she explained to him that her car was out of gas and that she needed a carton to fill it up.

16

“Ah, I see,” replied the stranger from the gas station, “ Well, here’s a tank, and we can go fill this up out there; but, I don’t want you walking all the way back to your car with the gas. My truck is out back, so I can drive you out those two miles. Plus, I don’t think” he paused, but only for a second, “um—Bill—yes, Bill, would want you walking alone at night.” How did this man know about her connection to Bill? Carmen was stunned. His answer was direct and while she realized he was probably only trying to keep her safe, why did he bring up Bill? And why was Bill not here? But, Carmen knew walking back with a tank of gas would be impossible and that this man—regardless of his forwardness—seemed to genuinely want to help. Carmen decided that she could at least call Bill or even Amy or Maria from the phone behind the cash register. “That would be great. Can I just ring up someone from the phone here, first?” Carmen knew the phone was right next to the Sourpatch Kids and Sunflower Seeds, but as she began to move toward the counter, the man stopped her. “Honey, it’s ok. I have my cell phone—you can use it in the truck. Let’s go before it gets too dark.” So Car-men took one last glance at the phone on the hook, then turned and followed the worker into the parking lot. As soon as Carmen neared his truck, she noticed the smell; as she climbed in, the intensity of mulch and laundry de-tergent welled up in her nose. This truck was littered with soda cans, garden supplies, and gum wrappers. This was her boyfriend’s vehicle, the same one that was supposed to be parked two miles away without gas. So, why was she sitting in it, next to the gas station, with a complete stranger? Another thing Carmen realized: the weather broadcasting station from earlier was pounding through the speakers. The psycho man’s voice reporting, “And hold on to your hats folks, because those volcanoes never stop poppin’. Twenty thousand more erupted today and many more are soon to follow. The rain doesn’t get more toxic than this and the lightning won’t stop.” Immediately, Carmen’s instincts kicked in, and she shoved her hand against the door. But the door handle was useless because the truck was locked. She didn’t even see the man who worked at the gas station get in, but as she looked up, he smiled at her from the driver’s seat. He did not seem to touch the steering wheel or start the truck, but they had begun moving nonetheless. A feeling of unease and nausea grabbed at Carmen’s insides; her breath became wheezy and uneven as she felt the car accelerate around a bend. Carmen was not a weak young lady. She turned toward this stranger—this monster—and began punching and kicking him; she beat him, but he did not fight back; he just kept on smiling. Even as Carmen’s strength began to fade, and tears welled up in her eyes, there were no cuts or bruises left on his face as evidence of her abuse. Carmen stammered, “Turn....Around...Now!” As stupid as she felt, her mother said to always make her in-tentions clear; always give direction. But this was not a time for polite demands, so as insanity enveloped her brain, Carmen screamed, “Let. Me. Call. Bill.” But the stranger only laughed. “What are you talking about? Bill’s the one who’s got you into this mess. Bill was real nice to me: see, he promised me something, and told me I could have…the girl. He didn’t want to give you up. But, I’m hard to say no to. ” He smirked in her direction and winked. She vomited onto the jean shorts wrapped around her thighs. “Bill doesn’t own you—I do.” Carmen’s eyes closed slowly as the adrenaline from minutes before faded. The calming smell of mulch and laundry detergent was overpowered by the vomit covering her legs. This is all a dream. Bill loves you. Slowly she opened her eyes, and heard the radio commentator’s voice above all else. He was saying, “We just received notice that the fires are becoming progressively worse. Smoke is filling the air fast, so hold on to those oxygen masks.” Carmen took one last breath in and lunged herself at the demon-like man sitting beside her in a truck that was driving without a human driver in a small town that was unaware of dangers hidden in the night. Harder and faster, Carmen began to tear at the man, seizing his shoulders and slamming him against the truck’s door. But, the man was not phased, and eventually, he effortlessly plucked Carmen’s hysterical limbs from himself and tossed her into the backseat. “Stop struggling or you’ll have no energy when I take you home to meet my family.” The zombie that now had replaced Carmen Melley’s athletic body didn’t care to struggle. Sprawled in the backseat, she watched the world pass by—just like her life. “Oh, and it’s hot where I come from,” the man in the driver’s seat remarked as he turned up the weather report on the radio. “You are going to have the time of your life, though, don’t worry. Doesn’t everyone just wanna have a little fun sometimes? Come with me and take a trip down to Hell.” 17

Rotten by Sabrina Luther

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Roselyn by Jasmine Minhas

Roselyn heard her father’s snores roar from across her bedroom. She sighed and hoped the scattered,

empty wine bottles in the living room had taken a toll on her father. She then hopped out of bed, threw on a

hoodie and a pair of black boots, and scurried out of her room. She went down the stairs with caution. As she

was nearing the stair’s landing, she tripped and landed with a thud on the floor. Her father’s snores halted and

his bedroom door swung open. “Roselyn, what the hell are you doing? I’m trying to sleep,” he slurred. “So-sorry

father. I was trying to get a glass of water from the kitchen,” she stuttered.

Her father grunted and returned to his bedroom. Roselyn took a deep breath and regained her compo-

sure. She slowly unlocked each of the six locks on her front door, hoping that her father would stay asleep. Her

father had installed the six locks on the door a couple of years ago, the day when Lucy, Roselyn’s sister ran away.

No one had seen Lucy leave the house. She left a trail of chaos behind her. Roselyn’s mom died suddenly the next

day from a stroke, and her father gained a new friend, his bottle. Roselyn started receiving messages relating to

Lucy from an anonymous person around Halloween each year. She used to find them in the weirdest places: first

on her mirrors in the house, then in her school books. She used to avoid them until they started coming in abun-

dance. The messages constantly stated: “Help me, Rosey. I’m taken hostage by these men. I’m in the woods across

from our house. Save me, Rosey. PLEASE! Love, Lucy.”

Roselyn would have believed these messages but Lucy was surely dead. She had been gone for too long.

But Roselyn felt guilty for not listening to the messages, so tonight she decided to travel to the woods across from

her house. Roselyn opened the front door with a trembling hand to meet a new friend, darkness. She carefully

shut the door behind her and ran straight towards the woods, constantly stumbling over her feet. She finally

reached the towering trees and realized that an eerie silence was evident in the woods. She started walking in the

woods, constantly ducking under branches of trees, when she heard a ghostly, child-like whisper. It was kind of

quiet at first, and Roselyn decided to ignore it and keep walking. Then suddenly the whisper turned into a yell

and then a scream, and it surrounded her. Roselyn started trembling and looked around the woods, but it was

no use; it was too dark to see anything. Then all of a sudden, the screaming stopped. Terrifying silence . Then

suddenly, she felt a pair of rough hands grasp her neck and squeeze. Roselyn started to choke, and the ghostly

child-like voice was back, but this time it said, “Happy Halloween.”

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Shadowy and Vague by Alexandra Caimi

No birds twittered their cheerful tunes; no sunshine cascaded through open windows; instead, Vita lurched awake as the darkened undertones of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata slithered their way into her peaceful dreams. Groaning in discontent, she slipped off of her bed, groggily staring at the blue paint flaking off her bed-room wall. Accustomed to the sound of dismal piano melodies or feeling the reverberations of the organ rum-bling in accordance to the funeral marches splaying across its keys, Vita slipped on her bathrobe and made her way to the hallway, never once looking back, for if she had, she would have noticed her bed was perfectly made, as if no one had slept in it. Her dreary walk down to the kitchen was accompanied by the ever pleasant decorating style of a woman heavily influenced by Victorian era séance parlors. There were large, claw-footed cabinets against the printed wall paper, that looked vaguely like the snarling maw of some beast, and were filled to the brim with such oddities as: small rodents’ skulls, tarnished silver candelabras, various voodoo dolls from many of the world’s cultures, and great tomes of decrepit black magic books. Vita had drawn the line at the shrunken head her mother had nearly bought. Creeping her way through the desolate corridor, much like the flame of a candle flickers and dances its way through the overbearing darkness; Vita’s footsteps, somewhat masked by the bunny slippers, kept in time with the great grandfather clock as she gazed in boredom at the multitude of eerie china dolls propped against various pieces of furniture and flower vases filled with dead roses strewing their wrinkled petals onto the table tops. She skirted past the countless portraits of deceased relatives her superstitious mother insisted upon display-ing throughout the house. Perhaps if they weren’t entombed in the shadowy blackness of an unknown back-ground, which accentuated their gaunt, pale faces with nary a smile nor twinkle of the eye, Vita wouldn’t mind them so much. The final notes of the song resonated in the still air, when suddenly the sound of breaking glass shattered the spectral calm of the house. Dashing past the clouded mirrors hung on the wall, barely keeping track of the shadowy and vague reflections of herself captured briefly in the confines of the looking-glasses, Vita called out to her mother in alarm. Flying around corners and through doorways, she ignored her surroundings; and so too, did she ignore the new canvas with dull, painted eyes framed in oily golden hair (so much like her own) hung at the tail end of the Mortem family shrine. Skidding into the living room, Vita was accosted by the sight of her mother morosely regarding the stained glass window. By her feet, was a picture frame with glass protruding from the sides. Vita, ready to de-mand an explanation, was interrupted when Cornelius (their black cat) jumped out from the shadows, hissed in her direction, and promptly ran out of the room. Curious about the cat’s new-found terror toward her, Vita looked up and saw her mother haltingly stumbling out the front door. Throwing all modesty out the window, Vita pursued her in all her slipper-footed glory. She had but a moment to notice that, unlike her mother, no breath fogged out of her parted lips. Then she was off in hot pursuit. The dark pines by the dirt path loomed above her head, long spindly arms draping themselves across the grey sky. Shivering slightly from the frigid air, Vita sped up in an attempt to reach the rapidly retreating form in front of her. Out of the darkness between the trees, she thought she saw glowing eyes and phantom faces leer-ing at her in glee. Her feet slapped harshly at the muddy ground as she ran for the assurance of a warm hug. She stopped dead in her tracks and let the vague shadow of her mother spirit away, spirit away closer to the wrought iron gates of a cemetery.

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Dread pooled in her stomach as she haltingly entered the moss encrusted grounds. Eerie stone cherubs followed her movements with their sinister stone eyes. She was startled out of her trance by the dull drone of the church’s bells and the multitude of ravens launching themselves into the sky as a result, their inky black wings blotting out what remained of the sunlight before rain poured down from the heavens. Vita clutched her arms around herself and frantically sought out her mother with terrified eyes. Seeing her kneeling under a weeping willow, Vita weaved her way through headstones and mausoleums before stumbling backwards into a puddle. Before her was a newly erected granite slab with the words, Vita P. Mortem: Born June 21, Died October 31. This was followed by a quote from Edgar Allan Poe, “The boundaries between life and death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?” Vita’s mother was sobbing too much to notice the apparition behind her dissolving into the mist.

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Patchworkby Pierce Carter

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Shadows of Octoberby Luke Solacoff

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