More Scary Story Contest entries (2025)

Here are the rest of Halloween tales written readers who responded to the IJ’s annual Scary Story Contest, except for stories that did not include a full name, hometown and age. They are unedited.

Scary stories, 18 and older

“Bean and the Bones”

Bean was the quiet, scared kid in Neil Cumming’s Third Grade. Pop a lunch bag and Bean would hit the ceiling. No scream, just shock. He knew the pranks would get worse as Halloween neared.

Halloween was no joke to Bean, who had seen death. The dull hours at Marin General, the alarm of a breathing machine. Confusing movements by faceless doctors. Ultimate silence, then gray weeks while his family pretended to be cheerful.

Bean’s classmates knew that Larkspur parents were generous at Halloween, even if they didn’t let their own children eat sugar. Bean liked candy, but feared stranger’s houses.

On the 31st, Bean decided against going out. Skeletons scared him. Plus, his Dad called and said he had to work late so Bean would have to go with Granna. He hoped they could just watch a movie.

Bean was surprised when a witch arrived, warts and all.

“No trick-or-treating?” asked the Witch, seeing Bean still wearing his school clothes.

Bean was silent. The Witch gave him a hug. She smelled like Granna, so Bean hugged her, then burst into tears.

“It’s all death,” he choked. “Kids think it’s funny to be dead.”

Granna whispered, “Halloween is about life.”

What?

“You were born and you’ll die. You can’t have one without the other. You can’t have Easter without Halloween”.

Easter, with bunnies and eggs, was confusing too.

“Nature isn’t born in the Spring, it just wakes up from Winter. Like the egg and chicken question, which came first? They come together, you can’t have a chicken without an egg.”

“Halloween isn’t a funeral, the earth needs some sleep. So, we have a party, with pumpkins orange like the moon, and treats as reward for working hard all year.”

“What about skeletons?”

“Bones hold us up while we live, and remain long after we die. We celebrate our living bones and honor our ancestor’s. When we remember those who came before, they never die.”

“Mom will live as long as I remember her?”

“Yes.”

Granna convinced Bean to put on the bunny suit he wore in “The Velveteen Rabbit.” He looked out of place amongst the ninjas and goths roaming his neighborhood. Bean relaxed as his jack-o-lantern filled. Granna talked with a neighbor and Bean walked ahead.

Some 5th Grade bullies spotted Bean. He ran. They chased, but Bean hid. As they circled back, he made a plan.

Bean dumped his candy on the sidewalk and climbed a tree near his neighbor’s trampoline. As the boys fought over the sweets, Bean jumped. He bounced into the air, and screamed the most ghoulish scream he could, one that had been brewing inside for months. The bullies turned to see an enormous crazed rabbit flying toward them. They froze, then scattered, spilling candy as they fled.

Granna’s stories became more elaborate as Bean, (now Ben,) grew. Her wisdom revealed how opposites need the other to live. Bunnies and goblins, birth and death, and the scary witch who was also his sweet Granna.

— Ferenc Dobronyi, Corte Madera

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Steve

There once was a boy named Steve who loved to play in the leaves he would play and play all day long from dusk until dawn.

Till one day the bullies from school asked Steve, “I bet you can’t play in the pile of leaves by the Novato Creek, You know the one under the library bridge, Where the black devil shadow is said to live.” Steve said Of course I can with a smile on his face, there’s no need to be scared, he embraced.

So the bullies and Steve walked to the creek each step with a crackeling under there feet.

They made it to the bridge and Steve looked out.

There it was, the pile of leaves, so short and stout.

The bullies cried “Now go steve, lets see what you’ve got!” Steve took a deep breath and ran down the hill in one shot.

He stopped at the pile of leaves.

He heard the whistling from the trees.

Steve crouched down slow like a flee.

And out came the black devil shadow as clear as can be!

The bullies got so scared they ran to hide, leaving steve alone with that evil site.

Steve took one look into its piercing red eyes.

1,2,3 the devil said and gobbled up Steve in just one bite.

There once was a boy named Steve, who never again played in the leaves.

— April Wiltz, Novato

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I have a house in Stinson Beach, set against high sand dunes, which shield the house from the eastern winds. One day something was amiss. There was sand on the floor being blown from the eastern side of the house through closed windows, and tightly closed doors. Strange, we thought, until one night, in the light of the full moon, right near Halloween, we saw a huge hole, like a tunnel, in the sand dune nearest our house. It meant that someone or something had dug it out and the loose sand was blowing into our house…how, we did not know, and never found out. W

e waited until the next morning, and saw that the hole was big enough for two people to walk through it, to what, we wondered. We had to see what was there, wouldn’t you? So, two of us walked into the opening, and for a while saw nothing but sand, up the walls, and above us on the ceiling, until…….well…… we saw something that was absolutely unheard of and unimagined, horrible and very frightening, which made us tremble and scream, turn around, and run out of the tunnel for our lives.

You, dear readers, will read what we saw, if the I.J. allows me to publish the end of this story next year for your 2011 Halloween Pleasure.

— Mitzi Kemp, San Rafael

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I had noticed the old man working in his front yard off and on, for about two weeks. He often hummed odd tunes to himself during his late evening periods of labor. I had thought he was using the evening shade to protect himself from the hot sun, but he rarely wore a hat. And, his digging could be heard for a while after sunset.

It took me about a week to figure out that he was building a walkway from the sidewalk towards his front door. Halloween was two days away when I first saw the concrete bricks outlining the pathway began at the porch way, and, bending slightly arching toward the curb. The odd thing was, I never saw him unloading the bricks from his car.

His house was set back from the street about 15 feet, and because of the unkempt lawn, and a couple spiderweb laced cypress trees, his house always left one with a foreboding feeling while passing. His house backed up to the old San Quentin Boot Hill Cemetery property. Being a curved street with a cul-de-sac, the eleven children on the street stayed clear of his home. Finally, he was responding to the Remillard Park neighborhood complaints to clean up his yard. The kids always called it “the crypt house”, now, with a brighter look, that end of the street felt safe.

The day before Halloween, six or seven empty cardboard boxes topped his open recycle bin. There were all the best ones too! The kids noticed the words Hershey’s, Kit-Kat and Butterfinger and they knew that this year they would hit his house for what promised to be tastiest prizes on the block instead of toilet papering it as in the past.

The kids always went out as a group. “Safety in numbers” was the motto. This year would be no different.

Halloween morning, he was out in front of his house, stringing the goblin lamps from his porch along his new pathway. Humming to himself, he was content in his work. By the time the kids got home from school, his place was a seasonal showcase. Jack-o-lanterns lined the path waiting for the candles that would make their eyes glow in the evening light. That would really help tonight, with no moon at all. It would be dark.

Sunset! Time for the raids to begin! The 16 year-old would quarterback the raid. The horde of costumed goblins began their march of Trick or Treat extortion toward the old man’s house. They had a plan, all of them would raid his house at the same time. I stood by with my camera, a few feet off to capture the moment.

THEY WERE OFF! The group, noisily walking up the new pathway was a sight to behold. Framed by the lights, I took the shot and the white flash of the camera blinded us all for a second. Then, nothing! No noise, no costumed children, no pathway. Nothing. Just the old headstone pathway.

— Steven Rathbone, Novato

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Last Stop: Larkspur

I could smell his wet, woolen trousers and feel the mist turning to drizzle on my face. I lay on the dirt road, confused, staring back at the circle of people peering down at me. I could see droplets of water beading on their shoulders, men wearing 4-inch neckties, and ladies with parasols blocking the gray, cloudy sky. They were dressed as if they were going to a Roaring 20’s Halloween party. A man with a broad, black mustachio, wearing a blue “Conductor” cap knelt down and put his warm, scratchy hand on my cheek and said, “Are you all right, son?”

I struggled for words, but in my puzzled state I could only utter a broken, “What happened?” He said, “Ya took the 3:38 train outa Sausalito, bound for Santa Rosa, and ya got off here in Larkspur and tripped gettin’ off the train. Ya took a nasty fall, and ya got yourself a big bump on your noggin. It’s best ya lay here for a few minutes.” He stood up and brushed the cakey dirt off his clammy pants. I rolled my head in his direction and behind him I could see a steam engine, huffing and puffing, loading and unloading people.

The conductor looked at his pocket-watch, said he had to go, smiled at me, and along with the others, faded from view as might an apparition in the night. As the train chugged away, I could feel the ground buzzing underneath me like the mattress of a 25-cent, vibrating motel bed. Its whistle pierced my senses. I swear I could feel it in my teeth.

I don’t know how long I was lying there, but I must have passed out because I was awakened by the crunch of fall leaves as a man approached me, asking if I needed help. Disoriented and achy, I rose to my feet and right near me I saw sprawled out on the bike-path, the bent wheel and scratched seat of my 75-dollar, garage-sale, Raleigh CS450 bicycle. As I sat in King of the Roll Sushi Shop and Japanese Cuisine in Larkspur, making a call on my cell phone, I admired by pulsating road rash and offered thanks to the bike gods for sparing my bones and tendons.

Fifteen minutes later my wife pulled up in front of the Sushi restaurant and helped me load my bike into the trunk. I couldn’t wait to tell her about my goofy dream! I went back into the Sushi restaurant to once again thank the owner. On my way out, I noticed a plaque on the restaurant wall of what seemed to be an old mission styled structure with a clay tiled roof, likely built in the last century. I shivered as I read the plaque: “Listed on the National Register of Historic Places — City of Larkspur District, 522 Magnolia, Northwestern Pacific Railroad Station: 1929.

— Monny Sklov, San Anselmo

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COBRA’S KISS

I gazed at Alcatraz, my reminder, misty as Belfast, through me Sausalito apartment window. Karin burst in that Halloween; hair curly’n’damp from fog, eyes a’flickerin, wearing a leather, leggy black- cat costume. “Meoow!” She sat on me lap, surprisin’me. Twenty-three days she’d been gone. “You’re back”…” She kissed my words, tasting of cigarettes’n’drink — tawdry but enticin’. Tossin’er curls, tinklin’a laugh, she heaved open bottles of Perrier-Jouet and Hennessy from her bag with a glass stolen from No-Name Bar. She sloshed in some both. “It’s called Cobra’s Kiss!” She took’a mouthful; instead’a swallowin’, kissed me with’t. Through ‘er, best drink I tasted. Taking the glass – drank, returned the Cobra’s Kiss to ‘er. She purred. We settled inta’ couch. Couldn’t’ell she was drunk, but didn’t care. Felt grand t’hold’er. We kissed, refilled, shared. Guess we’re only good together when drinkin’.

She poured another, “I’m to testify against Reisel at his murder trial.” “Oh? Ha’ you somethin’ to tell?” I asked, easylike. Silence, but meaning known. “That must be harrrd.” Boyo! This – the hardest thing I er’ had to do. Realizin’ I was fallin’in love with’er again – scared me. I wanted to tell’er, but afraid a’scarin’er. So I kept a’kissin’. Last time, it ended badly. This time, it’d end worse for’er.

Remembrin’ back weeks o’ pleasure, I closed me eyes. Shite, didn’t she realize how close me’n’Reisel were? The money? His ways, his will – now mine? I reached fo’er neck. I had’ta. A’fragile as a bird …

“Darling, you know I was working for Reisel, too?” she blurted. I thought back. Of him, me, ‘er – a sinkin’ feelin’, a’realizin’ where she got the green for expensive drink. My mind fogged. How’d “… she “… drug”… me? “I suppose I didn’t”…” I saw’er dagger at me throat. —…darling?” I inched me’and under t’cushion. Knowin’ what monster lurked there she pressed the dagger, urging, “Don’t! It doesn’t have to end this way,” then easin’up a bit.

“It does.” I pulled me throat closer to the dagger. “I still love’ya. I don’t wanna kill’ya. You go ahead. I’d rather die still in love with you. But one’a’us has’ta die.” “No! Yes! Reisel! If we both testify, he’ll get death.” I went limp. “Or”… we could run.” “You’re bleeding.” she lifted the dagger. I wrenched it towards’er neck.

“I’m sorry, baby, I hav’ta”… ” I’d changed me mind.

She gasped, “Maybe Reisel wants us to run! He adores us. He’s so clever! Has to be why he put us together again, against each other. He knew”… it had to seem our decision. He “… knew …” Me slippin’ mind full’o clarity, I threw the dagger down. We toasted our Halloween Cobra’s Kiss to that manipulative barsta’d Reisel; kissed this time with me’eyes open. Close-up, she looked young, innocent. And w’me dizzy, w’kittycat costumed Karin on top, we made love in gaspin’ kisses, like we’shad make love to t’ones we love – as if this – could be the last time.

— John M. King, Mill Valley

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A Visitor At The Barn

It was October 1972. I had volunteered to do the stage lighting for the ross valley players at the old barn in the Ross Art and Garden Center. We had just finished the third rehearsal of a Niel Simon comedy and the cast had all departed. I had decided to stay behind and redo some of the light settings. A young woman also was there to work on the handbills and posters at the desk in the vestibule.

I had set up a step ladder in the auditorium and was occupied with a screwdriver tightening the mounting screws of one of the spotlights. The main theatre lights were off so that I could see the stage lighting as it would appear to the audience. The wind was blowing very strongly that night and i could hear the sound of something tapping against the side of the building.

A tree limb perhaps.

The old screws that held the spotlight were badly worn and I was very intent with what I was doing. Then I felt a gust of wind as though someone had opened the door. I looked at the main door but it was still closed. I looked around the auditorium and near the side wall stood a short older woman in the semi-dark area. She was wearing a long black dress and clutched a grey shawl around her shoulders. Her silver white hair was illuminated by the stage lights.

“Can I help you maam?” I asked.

“I used to play in here when I was a little girl.” She said. ” Where have all the horses gone?” “There haven’t been any in here for a long time.” I replied and chuckled a little.

I was still holding the spotlight with one hand and the screwdriver against the the screw with the other, so I looked up to finish securing it.

” I’m going to be done here in a little bit and closing up shortly.” I said looking down in her direction, but she wasn’t there.

I turned completely around on the ladder and peered into the semi-darkness. I climbed slowly down and looked around the entire room. Then I walked to the front door and turned on the main lights. There was nobody there. I opened the door and looked in the vestibule. Sitting at the desk was the young woman who looked up when I stepped out.

“Did you see a little old lady come in or go out?” I asked.

“No,” she said, ” Nobody came by me.” I went back inside and stood in the middle of the room. The old lady couldn’t have gone backstage in that short period of time, she didn’t look that spry. I checked the kitchen. It was empty.

I went backstage and turned on all the lights. I went up the stairs to the second floor, looked in the dressing rooms and the area where costumes and props are stored. I was definitely alone.

I worked there for several more performances over the years but I never saw the old lady again.

However, many a night when I was there alone I would hear the sound of someone walking around upstairs or the sound of something being dropped. I didn’t bother to investigate. I knew I wouldn’t find anything.

— James R. Loomis, San Rafael

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EMMA

“Bye guys, see you tomorrow.”

“Go with Emma,” my friend replied. Emma was her dead mother. Suzanne swore Emma watched over me on my drive home. I believed her. Strange things happen on that long curvy road in the middle of the night and I was happy to have Emma’s company.

Just as I approached my car, I realized I had not taken my keys out of my purse, only my phone. I poked around my deep bag and listened intently for the jingle. Unsuccessful, I glanced down. That’s when I tripped over him. I screamed as I attempted to pull my hand out of my purse and brace my fall. I fell on my knees and flew forward onto my side. Everything in my purse scattered, including my keys. He was lying in the doorway twitching, eyes barely open and filthy hair hanging in his face. The smell was nauseating. My pants were torn exposing a bloodied knee and my back felt a little tweaked, but at least I wasn’t twitching in a dark doorway. I dialed 911 as I backed away from him and then he stopped twitching. His dull empty eyes looked directly into mine.

“Stay out of your car,” he said. Then calmly, he stood up and walked away.

“I guess he’s okay,” I said to the 911 operator. “He just walked away.”

I needed to gather my belongings. I grabbed my keys first and opted to leave a few tubes of lipstick. I wanted to be in my car. I jumped in and hit the lock as I shoved my keys into the ignition. I took the first left then the second right– straight shot to the Golden Gate Bridge. I would be home in no time. As I made the deep turn off Shoreline onto Panoramic I remembered what the man had said”…stay out of your car. I forgot to check the back seat. How could I have forgotten that! I always checked the backseat, even in the daytime. I was afraid to look back and giggled at myself when nothing presented itself.

I passed Mountain Home Inn, only 12 minutes and I’m there. Pantoll, only seven minutes to Stinson.

I didn’t expect to see fog ahead. I slowed a bit and rolled down my window. I love the still quiet of the fog. I glanced into my rearview mirror and he was sitting right behind me. The same man I tripped over! He grabbed my arms and my car began swerving out of control. I had no strength against his icy grip. The smell! I slammed on my brakes and realized I was approaching the last sharp curve before my descent into town. The car skidded as I tried to shake free. Something cool blew through my window and past my face. I grabbed the wheel and skidded to a stop. My back seat was empty.

“Thank you Emma” I said aloud.

I finished my drive under clear skies.

— Dawn Agnew, Stinson Beach

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T’was the night of Hallowe’en and all through the town all creatures were stirring with their costumes on.

The children were trick or treating as they ran house to house– some painted as if bleeding, one dressed as a mouse.

They all carried bags with the candy they’d begged as visions of their hauls danced in their heads.

And Mama with her flashlight, and I in my mask were walking the streets to assist with the task.

When out of Sleepy Hollow a great wail could be heard coming toward Miracle Mile, but no one was sure, as the racket continued, and then sirens and police all rushed to inspect the noise being released.

Away to that street I flew in a flash, tore off my skeleton costume, and pulled down my mask.

The moon shone full down on the street now a’clutter with police and firemen, and then one gave the order– “We cannot tell where this is coming from, but one thing’s for sure–trick or treating is done!” And with that the children, both big and small, were ordered to go home, and that that was all they were going to have of Halloween till someone could discover the source of the scream.

When what to our wondering eyes should appear, but a witch on a broomstick that had several gears.

She swooshed down so hard toward the group that had gathered, we thought she would crash, and so we all scattered.

She groaned and she wailed, and her face was all green, but the worst thing about her was that horrific loud scream.

There was no way to catch her, though the firemen tried; no way to snag the hag each time she flew by.

To the top of the buildings, and way past the trees she zipped in and out, creating a breeze.

And then in a twinkling it occurred to me she might simply be trapped from an old Halloween in some portal of time we knew nothing about and that all she wanted was just to get out.

She flew by again, and I could see from her face I was right–she was just trying to get out of this place.

Her eyes were so darting, her face wrinkled and sad…

she only wanted to find a way back.

I spoke not a word, but went right to my work as a Warlock, like my father before me– and I said a few words, that would break the curse that was keeping the witch from absconding.

Suddenly the sky opened, and a tunnel appeared and for a moment it all looked so weird…

then laying a bony finger beside her hooked nose, up the tunnel the witch on the broom rose.

With a cry and a whistle, as smooth as a thistle, suddenly she was out of sight–; but we heard her exclaim as she flew away, “Happy Halloween to all, and to all a good night!”

–Sue Aldridge, San Rafael

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Help Wanted

It was on the bulletin board at the senior center in Novato. “Help Wanted To Run Halloween Haunted House.” My curiosity was piqued. Why not? I thought. It isn’t that I do anything else besides hand out candy. I called the number and was about to hang up after several rings when a creaky voice answered, “Breakaway House, Cassie speaking.” The woman sounded ancient. I hesitated. I certainly did not want to take on the whole project! I thought quickly. “Cassie, can you tell me a little bit about your Haunted House?” Her reply was a bit strange. “Well, it is always haunted, but that just makes it better for Halloween, don’t you think?” She went on to explain. “I live in Novato and my home is 100 years old this year, so I decided to have the Haunted House. There are plenty of children around here.

That sounded reasonable. But still…I didn’t want to do it all myself. “Are there others helping?” I asked. She reassured me that there would be plenty of others helping in the true spirit of Halloween and that she had already started to decorate. I finally came out there in time to help with the children, just to be sure she had help before that.

The next week, on Halloween, I set out to find the address she had given me. It was in an area I was not familiar with so it took me some time to figure out it was down a lane behind another house. I drove down and spotted it. It was huge and dark though dim lights shone inside. I shivered involuntarily. There was something about it and there were no other cars. I realized few decorations were needed. It was spooky anyway.

I rang the bell. After a few moments, the door swung open and a tiny lady who looked as old as the house answered. “Come in, come in,” she whispered. I looked about, half expecting others to be around but no one was there and an eerie silence filled the hall. Again, I shivered. “Where is everyone?” I asked. But she did not answer. Instead she turned and I heard the bolt click into place. I knew then. I somehow knew.

She smiled at me. “Welcome to my haunted house,” she said. I did not even have time to think before the hatchet swung behind me, but I heard her eerie cackle as I fell. I lay there, feeling the blood seep from my body. She left the room. I slowly dragged myself toward the door. If I could get away….but my hope died when I heard the cackle again. I turned, and no one was there but the hatchet came down toward my head, my own blood still dripping from it.

I am telling you this story as a warning. I now come to Halloween as a bonafide ghost. And don’t worry…I will come to visit you!

— Maggie Neese, Novato

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PLAYING WITH APPARITIONS

I used to follow Miss Boyd whenever she left the retirement home. None of the other residents were ever “encouraged” to go farther than the front gate, but Miss Boyd was not your normal “guest”. After all, she was famous – she had traveled the world, explored the Artctic and killed polar bears, and was even presented to the Royal Family in England. At her whim, she had huge trees moved to her gardens. No, nobody could stop Miss Boyd if her mind was set on something, even after her youth and wealth had gone.

It seemed to always happen on the foggiest mornings, but it was a Halloween, long ago, that I’ll never forget. Miss Boyd made her way to the playground and took her usual seat on a park bench. I stayed behind her, so she wouldn’t see me.

Soon, she began to giggle, like a schoolgirl.

If I hadn’t seen and heard it with my own eyes, I would never believe it. Miss Boyd extended her arms and rose from the bench, as if being pulled by someone, maybe even two people, one on each hand.

She literally began to glow — was it a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds? I don’t know. It made her look so young! Miss Boyd threw her head back and laughed joyfully.

She screamed, “Seth! Be careful!” She spun to her left, looking high and low. “John! Come out of there!”.

Miss Boyd would clap, hoot, and cheer them on, calling them both by name.

I heard myself gasp: “Unbelievable!”, but Miss Boyd could hear me, too. As she turned toward me, her glow faded, her youth with it.

She approached me sadly, as if being reprimanded by an adult. When I greeted her, she put her finger to her lips to shush me. “Can you hear them?”, she asked me.

We both surveyed the playground, then smiled at each other.

“They are saying: ‘Weezy, don’t go! Weezy, don’t go!” Louise Boyd looked at me in amazement. “Yes, that’s right! You can hear them, too!”…”, and tears rolled down her cheeks. I felt as if I’d joined her world, right then.

Miss Boyd has long since moved on, … and I have, too.

But I’ve been back to Boyd Memorial Park every Halloween since then.

Come, play, and remember your youth. You may not see me, but I will surely call to you by name.

— Ken Jacobs, San Rafael

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“Frank Lloyd Wrong”

Halloween night was chilly with sharp gusts swirling the thick fog. I had limited myself to wolfing down a mere nine peanut-butter cups and sixteen Tootsie Rolls and I was feeling fine.

Perhaps that wired energy was responsible for my bizarre decision to take a midnight walk to the Civic Center to return a bunch of library books. With a heavy backpack cinched tightly over my layers, I trotted off down Freitas Parkway.

The freeway was eerily quiet under me as I crossed by the Merrydale cemetery. I walked over the abandoned train tracks. The silence was cut by clopping sounds to my right. A small group of shadowy deer skittered across the gravel parking area of the Civic Center. I froze, hoping I hadn’t frightened them. The deer slowed also, stopping to stare. All of a sudden, they bounded away in huge leaps.

My heart was thumping as I passed close to the duck pond. Through the fog I noticed a cluster of fake coyotes planted to scare off the geese. The coyotes had arched backs and fierce frozen snarls. The wind was shaking their heads in unison, a silent chorus of angry disagreement.

I hustled up the road and started jamming the books into the library collection slot. I heard some rustling in the ivy behind me and was startled by a small, dapper man in a light-colored suit and a matching fedora carrying a large pair of hedge clippers. He was muttering to himself and I struggled to hear him even as I cleared my throat to make sure he noticed me. The only thing I could make out clearly was something about, “The building must enhance the landscape”…must be a reflection of the landscape” mixed in with a string of profanity.

He didn’t look over at me and instead started chopping away at the pointed tops of some small potted trees. “Damn fools! The rolling hills demand rounded shapes for the marriage of the elements!”

“Ummm-hmm. Hello?” I said, trying to make myself heard over the clacking of his shears.

He turned toward me and his eyes glowed a sickly yellow in the feeble light of the mushroom-shaped lamp. I thought I heard a growl and, without waiting to find out where it came from, I took off.

I ran back toward the duck pond, approaching the fake coyotes, which were now all bouncing their heads in mocking agreement. Then the little man popped up, brandishing his hedge clippers. He violently clubbed the coyotes, shouting, “In harmony with nature! HARMONY!” He let out a bloodcurdling howl as he ripped his jacket and vest open and hurled his hat to the ground. He flung himself onto all fours and, before he bounded off into the night, I swear I saw a bushy tail. I sprinted off and the last things I heard from him were his tortured shrieks, “Kinship with landscape “… harmony with nature”… follow my vision”… or else!”

— Jeff Krieger, San Rafael

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PINK GHOSTS

The echo of raindrops plopping into dozens of tubs reverberated through the concrete halls of Big Pink. The Haunted Seats of Government Tour Guide led a group of wide eyed children up the down escalator. She illuminated the cavernous space with a pencil thin flashlight to provide atmosphere. “A long time ago, this Dead Zone was once a bustling hive of governmental activity. If that doesn’t frighten you, now only ghosts of workers past show up here.

The unfunded pensions and health care costs of Marin’s aging government servants eventually had to be paid. They were contractual. But as the Economic Recovery without Jobs or Houses dragged on, governments couldn’t squeeze more revenue from nongovernment workers, most of whom were without pensions or health care. There just wasn’t enough money to pay working government employees and fund the retired ones. All that health and wellness worked. Retirees were living longer, while ever spiraling costs of hip replacements and medical treatment for retirees mounted. Since “Health Care Reform” had only minimal cost control measures, medical costs continued their giant sucking sound.

The pensions for their heavy hitters were reaching six figures before there was ever any talk of reforming those future costs, then only for new hires in the rank and file. Law and Order budgets continued to bloat, of course, but they’ve moved from Big Pink to their new Iron Fortress. They’re needed for Peace and Security from the economically challenged masses whose meager take home was being hoovered up to pay for pensions for retirees who didn’t even live in the county, maybe never had, draining any trickle down effect to stimulate local jobs.

Those had evaporated to Luxury Servants only, as the county was notorious for squelching entrepreneurial impulses with regulations, red tape and moratoriums.” She swung the light around in a thin beam at the peeling plaster, crumbling concrete and missing doors. “They deferred maintenance of the county roads into the hundreds of billions. They spent millions to study bike tunnels that never emerged into the light at the end, trails for retired hikers and horsepeople, the SMART train boondoggle, green energy consultants and widening Sir Francis Drake.

Affordable Housing was outsourced to Solano County. The wealthiest families and not for profits didn’t leave, but they have always cost more to maintain. Thousands of employee hours catered to irate millionaires and litiginous environmental organizations. It all just cost too much to keep the lights on. Only the ghosts remain. And if that’s not spooky enough for small people like yourselves, here’s the bill you’ll be facing when you grow up, if you can find a job at all.”

— Stephen Simac, Stinson Beach

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Scary stories, 17 and younger

The Cottage Lie in Ashes

“If you hadn’t insisted on stopping and asking for directions, maybe we wouldn’t be running so late”, I angrily mutter to Peter, languidly slouched in the passenger seat next to me. Peter simply makes a grimace at me, pulls his seat back, and begins to doze off. The long dark back roads of Novato Boulevard look empty and abandoned as we make our way to my parents home in Point Reyes, for one of our frequent visits . I glance at the time glowing on the dashboard, reading 10:39 pm., and start to shake Peter back awake. “Maybe we should find a place too stop, I hate driving his late at night on empty country roads. That’s the one thing I absolutely cannot stand.. it scares me too much, and I don’t want to have to wake my parents up so late.” Peter agrees, and we begin to search the roads for a place to crash for the night.

Not far down the road, we come across a small quaint cottage in the middle of a dimly lit cow pasture, with a red VACANCY sign glowing brightly above it. We make our way to the “welcome” mat placed below the front door, and start to knock. Almost immediately we are greeted by a short portly old man, who looks up at us with a friendly simper. His wife soon appears behind him, smiling as well. “We saw your vacancy sign, and are looking for a place to spend the night. We’re sorry to bother you so late at night, but won’t be much trouble; we don’t need much”, Peter remarks. “Why of course! We’re always happy to have visitors.” Peter and I smile and each other, and follow the old couple down the hallway and into our temporary room for the night. Providing us with a dinner of warm chicken soup and salad, along with a comfortable bed and clean white sheets, the amiable couple was more than welcome to have us. The night was getting late, and we all headed to bed.

Peter and I awoke early the next morning to get a head start towards Point Reyes, and found the house empty, assuming the man and woman had set out early to tend their cows. I left money on the banister by the front door, along with a thank you note for all of their kind services, and headed out.

Arriving at my parents’ home, a small cottage in the downtown where I grew up, we begin to tell of our wonderful night. Mom and Dad look at each other flustered, then back at us. “Was it a small cottage, not too far from here. In the middle of a cow pasture?” my mother asks. Both Peter and I nod slowly, questioning what the confusion is all about. “That house, and its residents…burned down fifteen years ago when you were little. Are you guys feeling alright…?” Peter and I shake the thought off, assuming my parents are just mistaken with someone else. So we make our way home later that day, making sure to pass the house on the way.

We come to the pasture where the cottage was located the night before, seeing only the banister in the middle, and the money lying on it; not a single ash in sight.

— Elyse Connolly, Novato

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The fog finally cleared up, and you could see the blood-red sky almost anywhere. There was no clouds, and a bruised purple haze mixed with the red as the sun set across the hills. I was walking home, head low, hair in face, feet scuffing against the sidewalk.

It had been 3 years today that my little sister disappeared, kidnapped in front of my eyes, gaged with chlorophyll, as I struggled to save her, her face aghast, petrified, thrashing, punching, kicking, trying not to scream, trying not to breathe… her limp body in some strangers arms, laying her into his car. The exhaust burning my eyes and singeing my lungs. My only true friend.

Gone.

I fought back the urge to cry as I walked onto my street. Halfway there, my cell phone vibrated, I pulled it out, a text. I checked my text as I walked, my house loomed into view. A unknown number and the smell of gasoline made my stomach lurch and I held back the wanting to vomit.

I read my text.

Two words.

And my heart skipped a beat.

You’re Next.

Suddenly, my house exploded. Fire blazing up to the reddened sky, glowing glass shatter on the ground, chunks of debris shot into the air and ricocheted off anything in their way.A scream. The force of the explosion sent me 5 paces back and my head bashed against the sidewalk. Blood dripped down my face and my skin was peeling in the heat.

I stood , I ran. I can tell by the throbbing of my head, the ache of my feet and singeing of skin that this is no dream. My senses shut off and I was running on pure terror. I had beads of sweat and blood pouring down my face. Someone is after me. Someone wants me dead.

After some time I stopped in some wood-like place that I make out to be Indian Valley. I waited a moment then, a twig snapped behind me.

Someone was behind me.

I ran, but someone grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me to a halt, wrapped its arms around me and spoke.

“Calm down, Cayleen.” A deep voice shushed.

My terror maximized. That voice. Dear god, no! I screamed, I fought, but he had muscles bigger than my head. I kicked and spit, but it was like being in a straight jacket. He pulled a chlorophyll rag to my mouth and this time, I really let him have it…

I managed two steps before he pulled me in again, I felt dizzy, I fell, he let me, suddenly, I knew why.

A 6-inch knife had been lunged into my gut. He ran, the world blurred, and I experienced a warmth that I hadn’t felt since my sister left, and I never thought I would ever be this content, even though I was next to her kidnapper, had a knife in my stomach and was lying alone, bleeding into the ground waiting for help, I felt like my sister and I were finally together again.

— Aubrey Hagerty, Novato

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Man With a Stone Face

There is a stone wall at the beginning of a street at the top of a hill above a town called San Rafael. Outside the wall there is a face.

And inside the wall there is a man.

As long as there has been a wall, there has been a man. And perhaps he shall remain there so long as there is the wall.

In the daytime, the people who drive up the hill take hardly any notice of the stone face in the stone wall. At night, when the people have turned out all the lights and gone to bed, the hill grows very dark. When the moon shines on October the 31st, that is when the man comes out.

It was nearly time now, as the light was nearly faded and the sun had set long ago. The stone face bore a harsh countenance: an open mouth complete with sharp, menacing stone teeth and eyes that reflected a wild, awful fury of something that was once human. And then light disappeared and the moon took control.

There was a whoosh! sound like a great gust of wind, and the place in the wall where the face was became a gaping black chasm. Out of it stepped a man, coolly and calmly. He was long and lean and unexpectedly pleasant looking, with a face that no one would ever think to compare to that of a gargoyle’s. This night belonged to him, as it had for years and years since the hill was new.

“Kiss it all goodbye,” whispered a voice behind him, coming from a small bird.

He turned and snarled at it. “Not today.” “It’s the last wall. Soon.” The man nodded. “But there’s still tonight. And there are still people tonight.” “You’re a monster.” “Oh yes,” says the man, still grinning.

His companion nodded. “Happy Halloween.” The man disappeared into the black and the crickets chirped.

The man felt that pulse of power surge through him. He reveled in the pure, shameful emotion that others would call wickedness and what he called pleasure. He tore through the open air in a rage of energy and satisfaction, uninhibited and ravenous. Tonight was Halloween, and he felt alive as he ever could.

A kid, dressed crudely in a sheet, asks him if he’s dressed as a vampire. He smiles mesmerizingly, and the boy is under his control. No one notices as the tall gaunt mans leads the child away up into Gerstle Park. By the time anyone would realize he was missing, there would be nothing left to find, no signs of calamity. The victim and his perpetrator would have hours ago become part of the stone.

No one knows the truth, except a bird. And one bizarre, stone ghost of a man.

The last few minutes before dawn, the man smiled and returned to the hill, to the wall, and to his eternal madness.

— Simone Allen, San Rafael

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Ink Blot

Damien Flake, a psychology major, walked slowly down the aisle of shelves. He ran his fingers long the spines of the books as he searched. He was in the depths of the UC Berkeley stacks and had a very certain goal in mind. This vast underground library was never busy and always gloomy, but this afternoon seemed especially so. Damien’s search came to a stop as he pulled the book from its shelf. “Psycho Diagnostics: A Diagnostic Test Based on Perception,” it read and the author’s name was written below it in small, black print; Hermann Rorschach. Damien was writing his thesis on visual psychology tools and he had decided to begin his research with the master. Hermann Rorschach made a splash in the psychology world with his inkblot tests. These tests had long since been abandoned by most psychologists but their revealing, almost sinister nature would haunt Damien’s field forever. Damien leafed through the volume slowly. He was quite alone. The illustration on the bottom of the page he held open caught his eye. It was one of the inkblots the psychologist was famous for. Damien read the caption under it. “One illustration of ten that comprise the Rorschach test.” He started reading the text above the blot, —… The subjects’ interpretation of the illustrations are then analyzed using psychological interpretation”… revealing thought processes, subconscious fears, and underlying mental illness”…” Damien turned back to the illustration. It did appear to be an inkblot, but there was something about it that made him uneasy. As he stared, the image began to change and the formless blots began to take shape. Then it struck him with disturbing force. He found himself staring at the image that had haunted his childhood.

He dreamed of the vision again, as he had every night for the last week. He hadn’t dreamed of Quinton since he was seventeen, finally overcoming his childhood horror with the help of his parents and psychologists. It was not surprising then that he had decided to make psychology his life. What he had seen in the inkblot had stayed with him, and every time he thought of the inky forms, he was forced to relive the moment that had haunted him his entire life.

Damien had been born a twin to a happily married couple in a San Rafael suburb. No one could tell them apart as babies, but this did not last as Quinton’s differences began to make themselves obvious. When Damien played blocks with the other children, Quinton sat alone and entertained himself with imaginary friends. As Quinton and Damien grew up, Quinton’s problems surfaced completely and he began to get into increasingly serious trouble. Quinton’s imaginary friends remained a part of his life; friends, as Damien later learned, that ruled his decision making. Their advice became more sinister as Quinton’s depression, anger and schizophrenia worsened. Doctors could not help him and schools could not keep him. His family knew about his depression but no one guessed what he was actually capable of. Damien would never forget the cold fall morning that they found him.

Damien snapped out of his memories and into the room in which he lay. He couldn’t resist returning to the book with the inkblot. In fact he hadn’t been able to resist checking out every book he could find on Hermann Rorschach. Leroy had spent the last week mostly in his one room apartment absorbed in his new obsession. He had stopped going to his classes and everything else for that matter. He could not pull himself away from the strange, yet powerful way the inkblots and their mysterious creator connected him to his dark childhood past.

His shaky grip on his coffee mug failed him, sending the coffee onto the carpet. He returned with paper towels to see that the coffee had made a large stain on the floor. With a gasp, he realized what is was. It was the Rorschach image of the lifeless form of his brother. He cried out in anguish. Why did it have to be Quinton, why not himself? As he tried to soak up the coffee, he could plainly see his brother hanging from the sycamore tree in their backyard. Why not himself? Dark satisfaction rolled down his cheek. Soon, he thought, perhaps too soon, he would be an inkblot as well.

— Sam Alderson, Novato

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Stolen

The footsteps got louder and louder as they got closer to the closet I was in. I was cramped, in a fetal position, sweat beads popping off my forehead. My hands were shaking, my breath coming out in gasps as the figure closed in.

And that was when it happened. The closet door flung open, giving sight to a tall, bulky man with a mask hiding his face. I screamed with all the air in my lungs as I was roughly grabbed and slung over one shoulder.

I was blind folded with my arms tied, thrown into the trunk of a car, and herd it slam over my head. The engine started and we began to drive. I didn’t know where we were going, but I didn’t really care. All I wanted now was out of this car. I pushed with all the strength in my body on the hood. Apparently the owner had not replaced the lock in a while and it popped open. The trunk bounced and flapped around in the wind. The car swerved and pulled over to the side of the road. The driver leaped out of the car and grabbed me as I tried to climb out of the trunk. He slammed me back down with little more than an annoyed huff.

The man leaned over me and a shooting pain went through my arm, but quickly numbed as everything went black. So perfectly black and peaceful. I had no worries of were I was going or who was taking me there. No worries of why I had been taken from my warm, secure home in Bel Marin Keys. Nothing. It was all just blank, nothing, empty.

— Rose Thayer, Novato

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One creepy Halloween, 3 girls, Ebanie, Adaline and Lanai, decided to have sleepover. Midway through the night the decided to sneak out and go to Pioneer Park to meet some friends, Aden and Smith.

While they were waiting in the cemetery they started to hear a tiny clanging sound behind them it went , ting ting ting and then stopped for a while then again they would hear ting ting ting. They had brought a flash light with them to be able to see on the way there and back, because of course they had to walk, so they shone it back on where the sound was coming from, but all they could see as tombstones.

Suddenly the clanging sound got a lot louder, CLANG, again Adaline shone the flashlight back and they saw nothing. All of a sudden they hear a chopping sound like a body being brutally hacked into tiny pieces they turned and saw a silhouette of a person holding a chainsaw ” OH”… MY “…. GOD”…. “Adaline screamed and then she fainted . The other two girls horrified at the sight ran as fast as they could in the other direction, leaving Adaline laying on the ground. They ran to one of the only places in the park still lighted”…. The Gazebo.

Even while being the lightest place in the park the gazebo had very little light they heard the whirling and loudness of the chainsaw behind them the sound reminded them of body parts being torn limb by limb with it. They all screamed knowing and awaiting their death they all stopped and realized nothing would stop it, this was the end. The man crept up behind them and strangely he didn’t kill them, even though the timing was right he simply put a bag over each of their heads and knocked them out.

They awoke. “a closet,” Ebanie thought to herself” why a closet?” the other girls awoke. “uuuuuhhhhh, where are we?” Lanai asked. They all screamed hiding in the corner behindthe coats was a helpless little girl, sitting with her knees clutched to her body. “You don’t want daddy to get mad do you? You know what he does when he gets mad.” She said in a frightened but creepy tone. “I don’t have long before he moves me but I think he’ll keep you guys here for a while, maybe in separate rooms though he mostly repeats on each girl but he likes keeping you in the dark.” “Hey, you there, in the corner come over here I’ve got somethin’ to show ya.” The man said. All of the girls jumped, they were so fixated on the girl they hadn’t noticed the man come in. he picked up Lanai and said ” Lookin’ at my doll are ya. She’s not much compared to what I can do with you three” He laughed the evil laugh that you hear in horror movies and closed the door. Lanai was never seen or heard from.

— Emme Monahan, Novato

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The Worst Job Ever

It was late at night at the Point Reyes Lighthouse, where Joseph Venneri worked. He was the night watchman. It was his first night on the job, and he was in for the ride of his life. Joe had just sat down in his chair, when the lights sputter and shut off. He walked into the old building where the power box was located, the floor creaking under his feet. His hand was shaking so much that he dropped his flashlight with a loud “BONK!!!!” He trembled in fear at the loud noise, and stood still to listen to the whistling wind and feel the cool night air wash over his body. Joe looked at the power box, and said,” darn, the wires are fried.” He heard a creak, and thought “must be my footsteps”… wait, I’m standing still.” He slipped outside, and the whirling wind prevented him from hearing the noise. He held back vomit as he smelled the horrible stench coming from the door leading to the light. He opened the door to find a blob of what appeared to be the remains of the last night watchman. The rotting remains and torn uniform were disgusting, but the smell got even worse the closer he got to the rotting carcass. Joe fell to his knees and retched until there was nothing left to throw up. He tried to bolt out of the room, but found that the door was locked. He bashed against it so hard that the flashlight broke. He heard the growling first, and then he looked behind him to see the glowing blood red eyes, poring into his soul and seemingly seeing right through him. Joe screeched as loud as he could, “HELPPPP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” , but nobody came to satisfy his plea.

In the morning, Joe’s boss waltzed through the entranceway and unlocked the heavy metal lighthouse door which concealed the body of Joe and his fellow night guard. He looked down at Joe’s body and grinned. “HONEY, I’M HOOOOOOME!!!” His eyes flashed red as the monster that killed Joe slithered out from under the bodies. It was snakelike and had razor-sharp claws. The boss’s head opened up to show a slightly larger variant of the previous snake. “I see you have dinner ready,” he joked. They hissed with laughter and started to feast on Joe.

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Death’s Puppeteer By Natasha Sharpe, age 15, San Rafael, 415-256-1102 The laughing couple strode down Fourth Street. A mist lay over San Rafael, but this man and woman seemed oblivious, content with each other. Playfully, the young woman knocked the cap of her companion. Grinning, the man pretended to wrestle her against the wall of the Wells Fargo Bank. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and brought her lips to his.

Parked across the street, a van leered out over the sidewalk. A man hunched in the front seat, clutching a bit of paper in his hands. He tore his eyes away from the all-too-familiar couple outside the bank, scrutinizing the message again. The note was crumpled, and read:

“Charles, It was kind of you to take me out to coffee, but I feel loyalty to my fiance, Zane, so we won’t be meeting on Saturday.

Thanks, Virginia” Rage pierced the man’s mind and his eyes narrowed.

The whirr of the sewing machine echoed throughout the house. The room was small, with a framed page adorning the wall, a clipping from the Marin IJ announcing the wedding of Charles Malcolm and Virginia Hostia. In the photograph, Virginia stared expressionlessly. This black and white ghost of a face was mirrored on the figure bent over the machine.

The door banged open as Charles returned home, and bee-lined for the liquor cabinet. He needed to drink before facing his wife. When he had taken her to coffee, months ago, she had been radiant. He had gone to unspeakable measures to have her, but without Zane, she was lifeless.

That night, the two figures lay in bed, each imprisoned in their own universe. Virginia suddenly sprang upright and flew from bed down the stairs, toward an urgent destination. Moonlight washed over her as she stepped outside.

Sun Valley outstretched below like a spider web. Bushes snapped underfoot as Virginia continued. She cleared the hill and proceeded through the streets.

The cemetery gates were flung wide, welcoming Virginia., She marched across the damp grass, passed the looming grave stones, until she reached one reading “Zane Perdire”. Bare-handed, she clawed at the earth, her nails tearing up mounds of soil. Suddenly, she wrenched forth a dirt-encrusted arm, then the torso, and with a heave, the entire cadaver. Virginia clutched him to her, gently rocking. Tenderly, she raised his face to the moon, brushing a maggot from his cheek.

Virginia lay Zane gently onto her sewing table. Deftly, she stitched ropes through his limbs. She retrieved the butcher’s knife and bound it tightly into Zane’s clutch. Grasping the ropes, Virginia hoisted herself onto the ceiling rafters. With a jerk of the ropes, Zane sprung to life. Virginia crept forward, her eyes alight as she maneuvered Zane up the staircase.

At the top of the stairs, Zane lifted his head. With a fumbling but determined step, he plodded into the master bedroom where a figure lay slumbering. Revenge glistened in Zane’s eyes as he stumbled forward, and raised his knife aloft.

— Julian Swanson, Larkspur

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When my friends and I first heard about the skeleton found at the Woodlands Cafe, we went crazy. A real body, found in innocent Marin?

Sure, they claimed it was a Native American skeleton, but it probably was a skeleton of the victim of a murder. We simply had to find out.

What better night than Halloween night to go to the cafe, when all the children would be sleeping off a candy high. The set time was 2 am, and everyone met at my house for the battle plans. Our little “squad” included myself and my friends Sophia, Lily, and Elise. Since my house was closest to Woodlands, everyone “slept over”. Once my little sister Julia finally went to bed, we quietly crept out of the house. It was a 10 minute walk to Woodlands, so we had time to chat and dodge any car that drove by. “I wonder what kind of murderer it was. Maybe it was a lovesick man getting revenge.” Sophia swooned. She liked to plan and write plots. “I wonder what the murder weapon was. Maybe it was a regular dagger, or maybe it was a full-fledged katana (Japanese sword).” Lily danced with happiness. Weapons are her specialty. “Did they say anything about how the victim died? Like, was the neck twisted off, or knife dents in the eye sockets?” Elise was good at coming up with the murder scene. “We should be writers, not detectives.” I laughed, trying to hide being scared. The darkness was empty tonight, not thick and comforting like it usually is. I was dramatically shaken from my thoughts when I felt a combined whack from all 3 girls on the head. “Oi, we’re here.” There we stood, in front of the new Woodlands Cafe. Its apple fountain was turned off, and the only noise that could be heard was the ominous sound of the trees rustling in the wind. It may be that I was already on adrenaline rush from being scared, but the trees sounded like they were moaning. I swallowed some air and walked forward. “OK, lets focus and see if we hear or feel anything.” We all sat on a bench, closed our eyes, and focused. First, it was silence. Then, the trees moaned louder and louder until suddenly, we heard what sounded like a roar. The trees weren’t moaning anymore. They were laughing. At us. I heard Elise shudder and leap. Then I couldn’t feel her arm against mine anymore.

The trees shook with laughter, mocking me for my stupidity and arrogance. I turned my head and opened my eyes to see Sophia screaming bloody murder and Lily was frozen to her seat. Elise lay on the ground in front of me, crawling away and breathing in short, panicked gasps.

Suddenly, I felt the presence of a body behind me and hot, raspy breathing. The footsteps crunched on fallen leaves as they walked closer and closer. The flick of something metal caught my ear, and that was the signal. We ran as fast as we could, the trees mocking us the entire way home.

— Audrey Curry, Kentfield

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I was walking up a hill, I couldn’t see where because of the fog, but I knew for a fact I was somewhere in Novato. No cars drove by, I didn’t see any shadows; no houses were anywhere near around. It seemed like the place had no civilization. I looked at the time, 12 at midnight. Wondering if it was safe for a thirteen year old girl to walk alone this late, I heard crying. It seemed like it was a woman, I made my way over towards the crying. There I saw a woman sitting in the corner.

She had frizzy, black, long hair that was down to at least her waist. She reminded me of the grudge (a scary movie character). I go up to her and ask “Are you okay?” I have no idea why I just randomly go up to a strange-looking lady, and poke her behind her back. She then starts laughing but doesn’t turn around. She disappears in the woods. I see a creepy-looking shadow, and now assured that my heart rate was more than 70 per minute. I felt a drop on my shoulder, and realized it was the rain that was pouring down. The shadow was still there, and now I was soaked with goose bumps. The shadow came closer to me, and was staring right at me. I did the same. It came close enough for me to take a glance at its face.

When I saw her face, I screamed. It was my best friend, who had died three months ago from a car accident. She seems normal at first, and then she suddenly turned into a skeleton. I fell on the floor, too scared to scream, too afraid to move. I didn’t know what to do, I just stood there. She smiles at me, and a deadly smile. All I saw was that she fell on the ground, and a white light came in to me. I woke up, feeling very dizzy and tired. I looked at myself in the mirror, and heard my freakish voice. I had turned into my dead friend.

— Shivani Bhatt, Novato

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Shivers on a Hot Summers Day

It was a hot summer day with little excitement. I was hanging out with one of my best friends, musing on what to do. For lack of ideas we went on a walk. While we were walking we passed the “Haunted” Hospital in the Coast Guard housing. The many broken windows, graffitied walls and overgrown bushes made it look sinister and vacant. It sparked an interest in me, I suggested looking around to see what we could discover about the old, mystical hospital.

After circling around, we noticed a room that had a broken window, low enough for us to see into. We were too frightened too put our heads into the cold and dark space, so we took pictures instead. I had my phone with me, so I put flash on and stuck my phone into the building.

Cold, icy wind came out of the room and raised goose bumps everywhere. It was curious how a room could be so cold on such a hot day. It took a while to get a good picture of the room. After each picture taken we looked at what we had caught on camera. One picture showed a bookcase, another a desk.

The room seemed to have randomly arranged, dusty furniture. We wondered what this strange room was used for, or if anyone had died in it.

We took about five pictures and started to get the sense of what its like.

We decided to take one last picture. When I put my phone inside the hole it felt even colder than before. I pressed the button and the flash went off. I pulled the phone out and looked at the picture. It was a mysterious looking image. Once my eyes processed what the photo was, I screamed! The picture was neon green and scaly looking!

We ran away in a panic, frightened by the shocking photo. After regaining our senses, I looked at my phone. My phone had turned off while we ran away.

I turned it on as fast as I could and hurried to my pictures. We wanted to check and make sure we were not going insane. I searched through the photographs and all the pictures were there except the green scaly image.

The green scaly image was nowhere to be seen.

We were baffled. We did not know if my camera had broken or if my hand was in the way, so we tested it. I took a picture of the ground, it was normal.

I took a picture with my hand in the way, no resemblance. What happened to the green scaly picture?? What was the green scaly picture??

— Monica Denny, Novato

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The Wanderer

A group of people gather together in Boyd Park one day to celebrate little Ellie’s birthday, she’ll be turning five, and all her friends are invited. It starts at 5:00, and goes until 8:00. Birthday presents litter the picnic tables, and lanterns are hung on lines that are tied from tree to tree.

“Let’s play hide and go seek!” “Yeah!” “Yay, I count first! One, two, tree, thor, thive. . . . ready or not, here I come! Found you Grace, I see you Joey! Ellie! Where are you?” The little girl does not know that Ellie is hiding behind the big tree surrounded by rocks. And Ellie does not know that a little doll is hiding behind the old water fountain, behind the tree. Ellie sees the doll, and then Ellie sees no more.

I can’t help myself, its instinct, I always remember how she stabbed my heart, and I can never forgive her. She left me for the wolves, and there was no refuge from them, from the pain. My anger is dangerous! Ha! It’s beyond dangerous sweetie. It’s uncontrollable.

Where are you Ellie, where is your little broken heart? Where is your needle Ellie, to pierce mine, Ellie. Answer me Ellie, where are you, where is the warmth, the love I used to receive Ellie, where is it Ellie. You cannot say? Well then, Bye Ellie.

The girls called for Ellie, but Ellie did not answer. She could not answer.

There is a room in the Marin Historical Museum in Boyd Park that is dedicated to agriculture and dairy farming. In that room there lay toys of little boys and girls that used to live on the dairy farms. On one of the shelves there is a doll. This particular doll is named Erro, which in Latin means, “to wander, to go astray.” On occasion, a rag doll with golden locks can be found lying around the museum, or outside Boyd Park. Yes, this is Erro and yes, this is no ordinary doll.

There have been reports of murder in Marin, all close to the Historical Museum, and mysteriously, there has always been one doll sighted lying next to all the victims’ hearts. Over their eyes are hearts; over their mouths are painted smiles. People who do not know Erro think it was a twisted human who did these and one day shall be caught by the police. The few people who do know Erro wish this were true. But alas they cannot say, for they are the people with smiles painted on their faces and with hearts over their eyes, and silence is all they can account.

I can’t help myself, its instinct, I always remember how she stabbed my heart, and I can never forgive her. She left me for the wolves, and there was no refuge from them, from the pain. My anger is dangerous! Ha! It’s beyond dangerous sweetie. It’s uncontrollable.

— Catherine Collins, San Rafael

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The Asylum

Clair walked briskly though the rot iron gate with the bold sign, “St. Gabriel’s Physiological Correctional Facility”. She walked through the heavily guarded front doors and into the maze of white walls and windowless corridors that was St. Gabriel’s asylum in San Rafael.

Clair worked as an aid. The job did not pay well and the benefits were poor but Clair was content nonetheless. The fall days were slow at St. Gabriel’s; Clair would watch the clock above the nurse’s station willing it to move faster, which did nothing.

Finally the bell rang, signaling an hour for lunch. Clair jumped out of her seat and flew down the hallway, eager to get home. She was stopped however, by a wispy, disheveled, figure in a hospital gown, and a wide grin that was not induced by laughter or anything euphoric.

“Clair?” Said the man cocking his head, the grin never once faltering on his face. “Where are you going?” “Oh Billy!” Clair yelped startled, for he seemingly materialized out of nowhere. “I’m going home for lunch, got to feed the kids, they’ll be home from school any minute now.” “What are their names?” Billy asked his grin still plastered to his face and his head cocked to one side.

“Fisher and Logan.” She replied, addled.

“Ah.” Billy sighed. “Good names nice names”…give them my good wishes for a nice lunch.” And he drifted away, without giving Clair a backward glance.

Claire continued on her way home to her tiny apartment just a block from St. Gabriel’s.

“Kids! I’m home,” She yelled as she stepped in the door. “What do you want for lunch?” A boy and girl of about nine years of age came bounding down the narrow hallway, with a golden retriever just behind them.

“We want tuna sandwiches!” They cried in unison.

“Alright then,” said Clair smiling, “Let’s go into the kitchen.” Clair hadn’t even begun to open the cans of tuna when a blaring alarm sounded. A patient had escaped from St. Gabriel’s.

“Ok, Fisher, Logan, you know the drill. Go hide in the closet. I’ll hide under the bed and Roxy will keep watch by the door.” The golden retriever barked to show she understood. “Roxy will come and lick my hand to show the coast is clear, don’t come out until I call you.” Clair was under the bed for an hour when she finally felt Roxy’s wet tongue lick her hand. Clair got up and went down the hall to get Logan and Fisher out of the closet, but when she opened the door they were gone. She frantically ran throug. The APartment calling for them but there was no response.

Then she noticed that the door of the bathroom was ajar. She slowly pushed it open. In the bathtub lay Roxy, choked to death with a rope around her neck. And on the mirror written in three perfected drops of carnelian blood, still wet and glistening, “humans can lick to.” Signed Billy.

— Lara Garay, San Rafael

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As the fall leaves brushed past them, Joei and Beckham walked the long Center Rd. back to their suburban home. ” You got any ideas what we should do for Halloween?” asked Beckham, trying to strike up a conversation with his sister.

“I’m going trick — or – treating in Crystal’s neighborhood,” said Joei self-evidently.

“I know, I was just wondering if you wanted to do something fun, like . . . oh, I don’t know . . . sneak into the Novak house.”

“Beckham, every year you ask me this same question and every year I say no. Why keep asking?”

“Experiencing paranormal activity on Halloween would be the coolest thing ever.”

“Beck, there’s no such thing as ghosts,” Joei stated as she stared her brother in the eye.

“You keep tellin’ yourself that, chicken.”

“I am not a chicken!” Joei shouted, raising her voice more than necessary.

” Of course you aren’t.”

“Ugghhh. Hold on. “Hello, Crystal? Yeah, there’s been a change of plans for Halloween.”

“Where’s your sleeping bag and flashlight?”

“Why would I need that?”

“For the Novak house, duh.”

“I’m not sleeping there, stupid. I’m going home after a half hour of no ghosts.”

“Fine, suit yourself. It’ll just be me and Noel. Without other companions.”

“No matter how many times you keep saying that, I’m still not staying there.”

Once all four kids were at the door to the house, you could see the nervousness in each of their eyes. After a few seconds of silence, Beckham through down his backpack and unzipped the biggest pouch. He pulled out a heavy crowbar and opened the old and rusted window. Following Beckham, every kid slid in through the window. After everyone was inside, the window slammed itself shut and all four kids jumped.

“Must have been the wind,” said Crystal, uneasy.

“Crystal, there’s no wind.” Besides for Crystal, everyone else was interested in touring the house. They all climbed up the winding staircase and stopped onto a long hallway that went on for days.

“Hey look, a balcony,” said Noel with excitement.

“Weird, I never saw it from outside.” responded Beckham, puzzled. “And look there’s a statue on it too.”

“Oh my gosh you guys, that’s not a statue, that’s a person!”

“No!” shouted Crystal, “It’s a ghost, run!!!!” But it was too late, the ghost had caught up to them and taken Crystal with it. Vanishing into a black vortex into the floor.

“Crystallllllll!!!!!!!” screamed Joei, at this point in tears.

“It’s too late, Joe. C’mon we’ve got to get out of here!” Then, all three kids ran for lives, thinking they could be pushing daisies at any minute. Fortunately for them, they made it back to their neighborhood before more terror could strike.

The next day, Beckham woke to his sister on the computer, clicking like mad.

“Hey Beck, look at this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s information about the Novak house. With a picture of Mr. Novak and his wife. She looks just like Crystal.”

“Hmmm. Must be a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?”

— Madi Sutherland, Novato

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One spooky, scary Halloween night two teenagers were camping at the Headlands. They were having a fun campfire and telling scary stories to each other.

“Oh, Taylor you’re so awesome you can tell scary stories, your crazy beautiful, and the sweetest girl I’ve ever met.” Tommy told his girlfriend.

“Oh, Tommy your too nice!” Taylor replied.

“Yeah”…” Tommy said jokingly.

“So you want to hear another spooky story?” “Of course, my dear. Ha-ha.” Tommy told her laughing.

“On a spooky night just like this a seaweed monster walked straight out of the ocean right over there and ate two teenagers camping after he flooded the entire west coast! Ha-Ha!” “Wow, that was terrible! Ha-Ha.” “Thanks! Jeez, Ha.” Retorted Taylor.

“Ok, well I’m going to go to the bathroom, be back in a second.” “Ok, hurry back.” Then, after Tommy had left Taylor had heard an odd noise behind the tent. She went to look, but before she got behind the tent Tommy came up and scared her.

“Eek!” “Ha-Ha, sorry.” “Jeez, I thought I heard something back here and now you probably scared it away.” “Aw sorry, babe.” “It’s ok, hey, you want to walk on the beach?” “Ok, I like it, like you.” “Aw thanks, lets go.” So, they started walking down the beach talking about this and that, and then Taylor said, “Sorry, I’m also going to go to the bathroom.” “That’s ok, see you in the minute.” “Ok.” She told him as she waved goodbye.

Huh, I’m kind of tired; I think I’m going to lie down. So, he did, but when he did a green seaweed monster grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him into the Pacific Ocean.

By that time Taylor came and called, “Tommy!? Where are you!” She could tell something was wrong, and then she saw the “seaweed monster”.

“Oh, very funny where did you get the costume?” It did not answer, it just kept slowly walking toward her.

“Ok, stop it right now, you’re starting to scare me.” She shouted.

The monster kept walking.

“Stop it now!” It did not stop, so she ran back to the tent, where there was a knife, for protection. So she ran back to the monster and shouted, “Ok, Tommy if you don’t stop right now I’m going to stab you!” The monster kept going.

“Ok, you made me do this!” She stabbed the monster, but it kept going and, just like Tommy, dragged her into the ocean.

No one ever found the bodies and no one ever found the bodies, or the murderer.

— Daniel Hopkins, Larkspur

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My friend, George, and I wanted to go camping, and Mt. Tam seemed like the place to go. My dad dropped us off and we hiked around until we found our designated camping spot. But it was wet and muddy, so we decided to go find a perfect camping spot. We did. Or so it seemed.

After we had set up camp and ate dinner, we sat around the fire and told ghost stories.

“One night, quite like this one, some boys went camping,” George began. “They hiked until they found the perfect spot. As they had dinner, they heard a rustling in the bushes. And then moaning. The kids hid in their tent and poked a flashlight out, and a giant monster emerged. As for what happened after that, nobody knows. Some say lights flashed and a screaming could be heard. No one really knows what happened on that night. Except that those kids were never seen again.” A sudden rustling in the bushes made me jump! Then the moaning started. We raced into our tent. Two shapes emerged from the darkness. We sighed. It was just an old man with his daughter. The moaning was coming from the old man. He had an odd limp in his left foot. The woman had a scraggly hair cut, and it gave her a creepy look.

“Owwwwww!” He complained. “My feet hurt so much!” “Sorry if we scared you,” said the woman. “Our campsite was all muddy, so we decided to search for another one. He has been complaining nonstop! Can we join you?” “Sure! Our campsite was muddy, too. Isn’t that strange?” “Maybe it rained last night?” “Maybe.” “We brought our own food, so you won’t have to share with us.” After the tent was set up, we decided to go to bed.

At about 12:00 at night, I heard stomping outside our tent. George was sitting up beside me, his eyes wide. I poked my head out of the tent and gasped in horror. Right outside our tent, two monsters stomped around. They were eight feet tall, and had purple fur. But their fur was falling off in places, and the skin was rotting. Where their eyes were supposed to be, just empty sockets stared out at you. I looked over at the old man and women’s tent. It was ripped up. There was no blood. I looked at the monsters. They had pieces of the tent in their fur. One of them also had a limp in its left foot! I realized that the man and women were the monsters. I gasped and they both turned around, and started drooling out of their tooth filled mouths. They jumped at us. And bit us. And we screamed.

It’s not so bad, being a camp monster. All you have to do is bite another camper. Mt. Tam is the easiest place to go. Our kind has been here forever. And now it’s our turn to haunt the mountain.

— Sean Belingheri, Novato

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It was Halloween, 2009, Sam and her friends were at Novato High School’s annual Halloween party. She thought it was going to be the best day of their lives sadly she was wrong. Sam, Alexis, Allie, and Jacqueline stepped out for some air. The bitter cold made their spine shiver. The lanterns made the night have a creepy feeling. WOOSH!! The door slammed shut. They were trapped out between the party and the creeping darkness. Allie began screaming and franticly pushing on the door.

“It wont open and screaming wont help,” Sam yelled.

Jacqueline and Sam started to walk around to see if anyone was there. They were tempted to cross the tape that separated them from the creeping darkness. One by one the lanterns started to burn out. A shadow appeared out of nowhere. The shadow was a strong mans holding a chainsaw in his hand. The sight of him made everyone shiver.

Everyone began to back up into each other. As they were tripping the man started to get closer. Once, he started up he chainsaw Allie and Alexis ran. You could see his muscles flinch. When Sam realized what was happening it was already too late. He had grabbed Alexis and held the chainsaw an inch away from her neck. Allie stopped in her tracks. The look in her eyes screamed and pleaded for her sister. Sam looked helpless and lost in the commotion. As she gazed in his eyes he flipped Alexis over on his arm and severed her head.

Allie was frozen in fear. As her eyes swelled with tears Jacqueline and Sam grabbed her and ran as fast as they could. As they got deeper in the campus they realized that it got darker with every step. The chainsaw got louder like it was on top of them. Sam glanced back to see his face, but all she saw was his motorcycle helmet. They thought that if they slit up they would have a greater chance of making it though the night. As Sam ran the chain saw got fainter. Something told her to that she was alone but she didn’t bother to listen. Even tally she ran it Jacqueline sorry for the delay here is the rest: “Where is “…”Jacqueline began

“AHHHHH” Allie screamed as the chainsaw started. “WAIT! “… NO! “… PLEASE! “… DON” The chainsaw stopped her screams.

Then the man yelled “Sam”… Jacqueline”… IM COMIN FOR YOU! Don’t be afraid… Sam”… Jacqueline!”

When he said that he appeared, with Allie’s and Alexis’ slung over his shoulders, with one swipe he took both Sam’s and Jacqueline’s heads. “You’ll do great in my collection. Who knows maybe ill find some better ones next year.” He chuckled putting the heads in a bag.

— Taylor Lee, Novato

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The 32nd of the Month

Bathed in gray darkness, the cold gripped his elbows, and he wept. All of his attempts at parenting were ineffectual since Kara left him. Money was tight. Milling wood payed less than the unemployment benefits that he would have otherwise gained. In order to sustain the glow of his beautiful daughter, they would have to leave Point Reyes Station and he would have to find another job. Disappointment lingered in his thoughts and he contemplated Sasha in his gray living room. Sasha had grown attached to the rolling hills, temperate weather, and the cute town. She had even applied for a job at the Cow Girl Creamery…

* * * * *

The fog concealed the moonlight and the cold gripped his elbows. Sasha had been in bed for several hours but he had stayed up, thinking. There was a chance to stay in Point Reyes if they moved to the Affordable Housing– “It’s cold in here.” A flick of the switch and soon the temperature would be far above 44°F. “Poor darling must be freezing up in her room.” He remained by the thermostat racking his brain for solutions.

* * * * *

The rage of Tomales Bay exploded from its bed and the stress broke every levy. The water crept to the 7th house on the Mesa. Biting at my heels it chased me. My bedroom was filled with opaque water. It was sinister and malicious, lapping at my throat and the salt encrusted my eyes. My essays on Dickens were suspended in the flood. The cold dug under my finger nails and the top of my teeth and filled my lungs– The covers strangled Sasha and the sweat dripped from the top of her head, dampening her pillow. Her blankets smothered her but she was finally able to connect the swelter to her amnesic father. Without his medication– A pervading, dull, thumping, interrupted her analysis and drew her attention down the stairs. 88°F and climbing. Her footsteps that caressed the creaky stairs were propelled by curiosity and suppressed by fear.

It was now possible to make out the disheveled murmurs of her father above the boisterous pounding of what?

* * * * * He absently watched the thermostat climb to ninety-four degrees. He stood with a blank face, transfixed by the rhythm of his own hammer. Every buffet left a cracked indentation and a– “44. 7. 88. 32!” blurted the father. His brain was throbbing and migraines cascaded through his cerebrum. Ninety-seven degrees. The hammering’s tempo increased and he started to smile. “The solution is clear. 44. 7.88.32!” he stopped and threw his hammer at the wall and watched the walls of his house spin and he cooed at the sight of their destruction. “I must fix everything! Everything must be repaired.” He now turned to the petrified and soaked Sasha, bathing in her own sweat and fear. He picked up the hammer without diverting his gaze. “Everything must be fixed. You look unhappy Sasha.” She chanced a glance at the wall opposite where her father now stood and yelped. The indentations read– “If I fix everything,” interrupted her father, “my income will outweigh our expenses. Lets get started. After all, our deadline, the 32nd of the month, is only a few days off.” She couldn’t run. The coldness was in her lungs and her skin prickled with– one hundred-two degrees- fear. He let his rage run.

— Bronimir Adler-Ivanbrook, Novato

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Innocence

Kate Inculpatus loved the way Edward Ferrus crinkled his nose when he laughed. He loved how innocent she truly was. They were a match made in heaven. For one of them they were closer to it than they realized.

It is a sunny day as the happy couple strolls through their gardens at Boyd Estate. They reach Old Mission Springs where they picnic in the tall grass. Edward gives Kate some wild flowers. “Aw Edward, these are simply stunning!” “They’re not the only stunning things here,” he replies. Kate blushes. “I have been meaning to ask you something”….” “Oh, but Edward you know that Grandfather Cruor does not approve.” “I love you too much to let one opinion come between us, will you take the chance of becoming Mrs. Ferrus?” He hears nothing except his beating heart. He glances at Kate as she takes a staggering breath. Her words are barely audible.

“Edward, I love you.” He hears a deafening crack, she falls silent and collapses. Edward rushes to her side, shakes her violently using all of his strength”…nothing. The next moment he darts through trees, leaps over logs and rocks with his true love wrapped in his arms.

Within a dark room Austin Cruor is contemplating his last few moments of life. A few moments pass until he takes his final breath. His soul slowly creeps out of his body. It flies over the twenty-foot iron gate, through a dense mist; bit-by-bit the soul makes its way to the woods. The serenity of the woods is disrupted by piercing screams and thunderous footsteps.

Edward can almost see the house when he hears a low rumbling coming from Kate. He watches Kate’s mouth slowly crank open, a gray cloud is inhaled; her eyes revolve until they are luminescent green. Her mouth begins to move, her hands and legs twitch. A single word escapes her dry, cracked lips: “Cruor.” Kate springs out of Edward’s arms; he cries with relief, “Oh Kate you’re alive, I can hardly believe it!” He grasps her in a tight hug, she tries to resist. From the few short moments they touched, Edward realizes she is alive, yet her heart is not beating.

When they get into the house, Edward calls to Grandfather Cruor. He hears nothing, dashes up the stairs, and suddenly finds himself pinned on the floor of the dark, oppressive room. “Edward, you beast! I am in love with Grandfather Cruor! How dare you propose to me,” Kate roars. He turns around in painful agony, only to be slapped across the face. Edward looks up at Kate and notices that the innocence has vanished from her eyes. Kate pulls something out from behind her back; it glimmers in the moonlight. Kate plunges the dagger through Edward’s chest. A shrill of distress, then a cackle, and finally silence. Kate exhales the misty gray cloud back into the oppressive atmosphere of the room. She becomes a crumpled, diaphanous pile of flesh resting along side Edward.

— Addie Weingard, San Rafael

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The moon was full and the night was ominously silent, a portent of the events that were to occur later on that night. Ainslie sat at her desk, typing away painstakingly on her laptop, scratching her brain for yet another in-depth example to support her thesis.

Does anyone even care about Gadsby? It’s literally the longest book ever and makes zero sense “… and what’s up with the whole “no e’s” thing? Seriously “… She continued to stare at the screen for a few more minutes until she heard a faint scratching from the next room over.

How original – parents leave for “date night” and the serial killers amass outside my back door. Perfect.

She got up and walked to the next room, breaking all the rules of scary movie etiquette, and checked to make sure the sliding glass door was locked securely. Just as she was about to shut the blinds, she heard the muffled scratching again. She tried to look out the glass door the lamp nearby allowed her only to see her own haggard, curious visage. She slowly pressed her face up against the chilly glass, letting her curiosity overcome her escalating unease. She looked out and saw nothing except the ancient deciduous trees that crowded her backyard and bowed in the forceful wind outside.

Well, there’s two minutes I’ll never get back.

She turned away from the glass and stepped on a chew toy, causing her to shriek in surprise and land squarely on her face.

Sure hope the serial killers didn’t see that.

She got up and brushed herself off, cursing at her dog for purposely leaving his half-chewed, slobber-covered toy kitten right where she was walking. She crossed the room and was about to traverse the threshold when she heard a distinct thud on the glass. She slowly twisted her head backward, fearful of what she might witness. She saw nothing and let out an uneven, shaky breath as she quickly went to shut the blinds and, once and for all, be done with this complete nonsense. What she saw when she came up to the glass petrified her all the way from her uncontrollably shaking fingertips all the way to her frozen feet, fixed to the chestnut wood floor.

A young teenage girl, ghostly pale and wearing a look of absolute horror, pressed her desperate face against the glass. Her ghastly mouth, open in a sickening scream, created a fog on the door that clouded her expression. Before Ainslie could even reach to unlock it and save her, she saw the girl’s head detach from the window and violently thrash back against the glass. She slowly slid down the window, emitting a sound so nauseating that Ainslie was shaken out of her shock. Just before the door could fully be unlocked, a looming figure appeared outside, gave her a sinister grin, and dragged the unconscious girl away out into the murky darkness and behind the viridescent trees that loomed so malevolently in the night.

— Lela Fossett, Novato

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Today is the 2009 Halloween Carnival at school. Spencer is going to Tristian’s house to watch “scary” movies and hand out candy while Tristian’s Mom goes trick or treating with Tristian’s little sister Ryley.

Spencer did not like to dress up for Halloween because he thought it was childish. Tristian on the other hand, dressed up in the most frightening costume to purposely scare Spencer and his sister.

When Spencer arrives at Tristian’s house, Ryley and her Mom were getting ready to leave for trick or treating. Spencer adores Ryley. He wished he had a little sister like her.

Spencer saw that Tristian’s Mom seemed a little stressed, as she just got home from working all day, so Spencer and Tristian offered to take Ryley out trick or treating so their Mom can stay home and relax.

Spencer and Tristian take Ryley all around the neighborhood, but Ryley wasn’t satisfied with the amount of candy she received. Tristian was annoyed with Ryley so he thought it would be funny if they took Ryley into the town’s cemetery. Spencer knew that would not be nice because it would scare her. Spencer tries to talk Tristian out of it, but it is too late. They have already wandered onto the cemetery grounds.

Ryley looks back at Spencer with a worried expression on her face and in reply he just gives her a small smile. She knew Tristian was just trying to scare her, she never thought he would actually do her any harm. Tristian bent down and told Ryley that this cemetery was haunted and that every Halloween night ghosts would rise up from their graves and seek revenge on the living. She gave a little shriek. She also shed a tear. All of a sudden, Tristian let her hand go and ran off into the darkness. He hid behind a tomb stone, getting ready to scare Ryley and Spencer as they walked by. Tristian waited, but Ryley and Spencer never walked by. Standing alone in the cemetery, Tristian began to feel a little afraid himself. He could not shake the feeling that something was getting closer to him, something low to the ground. Then, all of a sudden, he felt something tug at his legs, then his waist and he was being pulled down into an empty grave. The dirt began to fill up the hole. He tried to scream but dirt filled his mouth.

Spencer and Ryley first thought Tristian was just hiding from them. Then they thought maybe he went home. They decided to walk home alone and when they got to Tristian’s house, his mother said he hadn’t made it home yet. Tristian’s parents phone the police. They search for him for several days. No one ever laid eyes on Tristian again. He is lying in an unmarked grave in the cemetery he brought his friend and sister to, just to scare them.

Ryley and Spencer never went trick or treating again.

Halloween was never the same.

— Jillian Spurgeon, Novato

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It was the night before Halloween “… corny first line right?

Trust me, I know, but it really was the day before Halloween and my mom had sent me (Cora) and my best friend (John) to Costco for party supplies and food.

It was almost closing time when we pulled into the parking lot, but John and I decided to go in anyways to get the shopping trip over with. WHAT A MISTAKE!!! We walked in and the store was just about empty besides a few clerks. We walked by them unnoticed in case they would tell us that we had to leave. The next thing we knew the lights were shutting off and the doors were being closed and locked. John and I sprinted to the front of Costco and when we reached the big glass doors, there was nobody to be seen. We both pounded against the glass and screamed at the top of our lungs but there was no point.

Half an hour later we were sitting down in the food court eating a giant bag of chips. After another 15 minutes had gone by I started getting really worried because it was getting darker and John had gone in search of a bathroom. Then I heard a peeling scream that surprised me in the quiet of the store. But when I found John I was more than surprised. John laid on the floor, sprawled out, tears pouring down his face and blood spurting out of his leg.

A man was standing about three feet away, a large steak knife in his hand and an evil grin that exposed his grimy teeth. The man only had one arm, a baldhead, and wore no shirt.

The man started walking back to John, but I couldn’t move. I heard John whimper helplessly. I stood there and watched as the man tried to kill John. After a few stabs to my best friend I had to do something. I jumped onto the man and grabbed his knife. I stabbed him in the back of the leg until he fell onto the floor face first. That’s when I saw the tattoo that covered the back of his head, his shoulders, and his entire back. It said in black letters, This is a Dream.

“CORA!” my mom screamed, “get your lazy self out of bed! Its Halloween morning for goodness sakes!”

I woke up, confused and dazed, thinking about my horrible nightmare.

About 40 minutes later I was back in Costco with my mom getting supplies for the Halloween party. When we got to the check out line I noticed a strange man with no arm, and long dark hair. He wore a leather jacket and I couldn’t think of where I knew him. Then a cold autumn breeze came through the front doors, and the man’s hair flew sideways in the wind, to expose his strange tattoo”…

— Maya Chiodo, Novato

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Nightmare On Sleepy Hollow

We stood waiting for the self-checkout in Safeway. I spotted, the man who had been stalking my sister for what seemed like a century, nervously grappling his clear Safeway bag with exactly four green pears. “Wow, way to make it discreet.” “Don’t even look at him,” she whispered incomprehensibly. “Why?” I questioned. “What’s he going to do with his greasy hair, those crooked teeth and his Pinocchio nose?” What I thought would only be a trip to the grocery store in my pajamas, for a late night snack or meal, perplexed me night and day, even to present day. By the time my sister finished paying, the guy had disappeared. We dropped off the shopping basket, and walked to the car. “Look around, where do you think he went? I bet he’s still parked somewhere.” “Chill out and stop being so paranoid.” “Are you kidding me? You’re the victim, and I’m more worried! I doubt he came to Safeway to buy only four pears because he had the urge to sauté a delicious fruit salad,” I argued. However, my sister not being concerned at all, mind-bottled me. “What could she be hiding?” The car roared and the headlights brightened. There he was, sitting in the driver’s seat of his beat-up, black Mustang leaning his elbow on his seatbelt. I swore it was like a terrible horror movie that I was living. Everything seemed planned. I leaned my seat back until I was no longer visible to him and the fog covered the windshield with miniature water droplets. We drove around for what seemed like an hour, but was only fifteen minutes. We finally gave up and drove home, for there was no pint in escaping with him already knowing our address. The walls of the car felt as if they were caving in, while my adrenaline rushed, and possessed an extreme fear of getting out of the car and into my own house. I sprinted to the door, while my sister casually walked. Before I realized, the whole situation had passed, and I caught myself hazily watching re-runs of Jersey Shore. I turned off MTV, and ironically couldn’t fall into dream. I heard knocking on my sister’s window. I got up to alert her, but she only talked random words in her sleep. I ran back into the living room and saw a shadow creep past the shutters, with a long-nosed silhouette.

The next morning, I woke up to my brother singing in the morning. “Let’s do hill repeats on the Sleepy Hollow Ridge, come on.” On the way to the hill, from my peripherals I witnessed a nod of communication from a man in a black Mustang and my brother. We ran the first hill repeat, and then I realized that I never really knew anything about my brother, despite him “… being my brother, nor my sister.

So now I sit down and write hoping to finish the story in a bush here”…

— Matthew Hernandez, San Rafael

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Me, Michael Jackson and The woman

It was a cold night when I heard the rocking chair in the San Rafael public library creaking back and forth. I crept down the stairs and saw someone sitting in the chair. The figure turned around, and its eyes widened to about the size of a duck’s foot. As the atomic black color of it’s pupils in the dim light faded into blood orange, I heard a slight crackle of its lips opening to tell me something, but all it did was sigh.

At this point I was crossed with emotions. I couldn’t decide whether I should give this stranger a pleasant pat on the back or plan my escape. I had no time to think though because it lifted up its fingers to the ceiling and slowly brushed them together. I was confused but then suddenly with a puff of smoke it was right in front of my nose.

I could now identify that this creature was a woman, but definitely no ordinary one. She smelled like a whiff of old meatloaf that had been drying in a heated sewage pipe at a dusty mine. Her clothes were baggy, but would have looked fancy some time ago. She had a tattoo on the side of her neck that seemed to read “apple sauce”, but I wasn’t sure because the smoke was still near.

After a couple seconds of silence, yet again she lifted her fingers up to the ceiling and slowly brushed them together. With another puff of smoke, and pinch of déjà veu, our feet were landed in the middle of an attic.

There was quiet music playing in the background that sounded just like elevator music. Cobwebs were hanging everywhere in the attic, but all cobwebs connected to the chandelier in the middle. There was one thick cobweb gently hanging down off the side like part off a snake looking down a cliff.

All of the sudden, the song thriller started playing, and Michael Jackson started moon walking towards me. As the song got louder I got more terrified. By the time the singing started there were background dancers, a guitarist, a drummer and five chains tightly wrapped around me. I had no choice but to stand and wait for the best.

Right when the scary man started talking in the song all I could see is bright concert lights and neon ghost crawling or flying towards. I breathe harder and harder. Soon there were ghosts covering most of my body and I could barely breathe.

Near the end of the song, Michael came right next to me, and pulled the thick cobweb. A collapse door opened beneath me and as I fell forever I screamed with all my might. As I splat against the bottom of the pit, the song stoped and the creepy voice in the end did his little laugh.

— Zoe Carrell, San Rafel

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I was cornered by two zombies at the old cemetery at Pioneer Park in Novato. I didn’t know what to do. All I had was a cell phone with dead battery and a sac full of candy from trick or treating. I quickly sprinted in between them only to find myself face to face with more headless zombies. There was only thing to do. Run for my life!

It all started Halloween night. I was meeting up with my friends Typhoon , Lebron , Carmello, and Dave at Novato high school. We started to go down South Novato Boulevard. As we approached the man houses we attended to that night I examined the decoration thought about how stupid they were. All of my friends except me went inside of Tommy’s Salsa for a bathroom break. Some of my other friends Pokomo, Optimus Prime, and Sue approached me and asked me if I was interested in going trick or treating with them. At first I thought it was wrong to ditch Typhoon, Lebron , Carmello , and Dave but they were a very boring group. So I decided to go with the others. If I knew what I was doing back then I would have stayed right where I was. But I didn’t.

I was having a great time with Pokomo, O. P. , and Sue. We were getting lots more candy because Sue new a good neighborhood for getting big pieces of candy and more choices to pick. We crept up to this famous house on Vineyard Road. We rang the door bell and suddenly dropped down in a trap door. Pokomo , O. P. , and Sue appeared in the dark. One problem it was only their heads. I screamed at the top of my lungs! It took a couple moments to realize that I was in sewer. “Deaaathhh” a voiced hollered from somewhere behind me a quickly sprinted down the sewer no scared and not enough time to look behind me. I fell in the water. Splash! I was an all star swimmer on the Novato Riptide so I wasn’t too worried about me being caught and beheaded. “Deeeeeaaaaaaath” The voiced screamed again. I spotted a ladder and climbed up it like there was no tomorrow.

I reached the top of the ladder and use all of my strength to force open the rusty man hole. I recognized my location from when I was little kid. Pioneer Park. But, Oh my god! There were zombies everywhere. All humans there were dead. It was a zombie massacre! I turned around to see the zombie climbing up the ladder behind me. I ran up the hill to the graveyard. It may seem like a stupid idea to visit a graveyard the night of a zombie massacre, but think about my situation. There were at least hundreds of zombies cornering me. I curled myself up in ball and closed my eyes. The sound of gunfire woke me up. It was Typhoon! Good thing he dressed up as terrorist this year and bought real guns for detail. That was the tale of my Halloween.

— Henry Dalton, Novato

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I’m Watching You

It was an arctic, bloodcurdling night in the deep in the woods of Gerstle Park. The Halloween festival was just beginning. Three boys named James (14), Jacob (13), and Michael (13) were going to the endless woods to jolt fearful, apprehensive children and other teens. There were rumors though, about a terrorizing eradicator who randomly exterminates teenagers who wander into immense woodlands that don’t have any protection, and/or have no way getting out “… alive.

As the festival was just beginning to settle, the lads were entering the park that was shattered with blood and manikins. What the boys didn’t know is that they were real people and real blood that the murderer arranged this to leer the boys into his devastating ambush. Michael was the youngest of the three.

“This was the worst idea that he has ever James had ever had in a billion years,” exclaimed Michael.

“Your totally right,” he exposed. The boys had been friends ever since they entered school in 5th grade. Michael was afraid of anything; this had been a test to see if he was a coward or a true man. He would wear costumes that were actually frightening, like Fredy Cougar/Jason. James and Jacob however, would be as cool being Cookie Monster or some Catsup. On this day, however, the three boys dressed as the Murderer that has killed a huge amount of innocent people. The “Killing Spree” had a large scar running down the left side of his face, and he had a scar across his body as far as the I can see. His face was usually covered, but the few that live long enough for the police or S.W.A.T. to recover them say “His eyes were like a laser light shining brightly through the light.”

They set their journey through the eerie woods and they soon stop right in front of a building.

“This is strange,” assumed Jacob. “I’ve been in these forest tons of times with my father and there’s never been a building on this land”.

“It’s supposed to be a cemetery,” rumored James.

“Let’s get out of here; it’s giving me the heevi-jeevies,” jittered Michael, sweating. I the distance, they saw a little figure running far ahead of them. A weird figure popped from behind them. It was the Killing Spree.

“Let’s chase some action before it flows away,” he remarked.

“Whhoo arree yyouu” questioned James, frightened. The Killing Spree had a rope and a something that was hard to clear out.

He screamed with fear, “This is mine and your good-bye!!”

****************

A young boy was walking with his mom and brother in an old abandoned field. He stumbled on something odd-shaped.

“I found something,” he yelled.

He shoveled it out and found three skeletal bodies, lying next to each other with ropes tied across their necks, and a machete slicing the boys’ hearts. There was also a bag with letters spelling “your next”…”

— Moises Tonoc, Petaluma

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It was ten o’clock when his trip began. He pulled on , what humans call, a t-shirt and shorts. C.J. Walker left a note to his parents saying he was safe and would keep in touch. He jumped out his first story bedroom window and then stood still for a moment making sure no one in his house had been awaken. He quietly closed the window and tiptoed down the driveway trying to stay as quiet as possible.

There were clouds in the sky and the moon was full and C.J. was the happiest creature alive for he had been recruited to join the most beloved entertainment among the human race. Before he reached his destination C.J. could feel the warm hair growing on his skin and could here the loud rip as claws poked through his shoes.

When he arrived the circus was nearing the end and C.J. caught sight of a few last acts.

“Thank you, I hope you enjoyed the show,” announced the ringmaster. “As you know you all have a raffle ticket and if yours is picked then you may meet the cast of tonight’s show. The crowd cheered wildly. A very buff man in a wrestling suit walked out and handed the ringmaster the bucket of tickets.

“Quiet!” he bellowed. The crowd noise died down to a whisper then finally stopped. “The winner is . . . Mary Walker!” The ringmaster gave a quick glance at C.J. who had his mouth open. C.J.’s sister marched through the aisles purposefully with a big smile on her face. The ringmaster asked her a few questions and then led her to the back. Mary walked right past C.J., now standing on all fours, without even noticing it was him.

They led her into a small room and triple locked the doors. Most of the performers, and C.J., had already become werewolves, but the few who didn’t immediately transformed. They surrounded Mary and went in for the kill.

There was one lingering girl waiting in the tent to see if maybe she could also meet everyone. When no one appeared she turned and started to walk away when she heard a scream. The scream was cut short so the girl shrugged it off and left.

“Delicious!” exclaimed C.J. licking his fingertips. “Where to next?” “I think we will be in somewhere called San Rafael in Marin County,” said the ringmaster double checking the schedule and map.

“Sounds good to me I just hope people in Marin County are sweeter than Mary was.”

— Fiona Farrell, Novato

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Stafford Lakes

“Why is it so hot in October?” Jeff complained. Mitch sighed as he finished pounding in the last of the tent anchors.

“Looks like camp’s set up nicely,” he continued. “What’s for dinner?”

Mitch surveyed the supplies and answered, “Probably canned beans and rice. Unless you’re hungrier than that.” Jeff quavered his hand, but agreed it was enough. Keeping cool concerned him more.

“I’m going for a swim. Care to join?”

Mitch immediately shook his head. “No way. You want me to go swimming in Stafford Lake? Aren’t there some hazardous fireworks chemicals polluting it?”

Jeff scoffed. “Psh! Not like that’ll hurt you.”

“Well, I’m starting dinner. The sun’s going to set in about an hour. As long as you’re back by then, I don’t care what you do.”

Jeff nodded, tapped his watch and left.

Mitch unfurled his sleeping bag on the floor of the orange weatherproof tent. From his backpack he pulled out a grapefruit-sized propane tank, which he affixed to a portable stove-top he left outside. He proceeded to prepare the rice and beans. The sun drooped below the hilltops as the rice began to boil, and Mitch dialed the gas down and walked to the lake. Mitch didn’t see where Jeff dove into the lake from the hilltop campsite, but he did notice Jeff’s t-shirt and pants balled up on the shore.

“Jeff!” Mitch yelled.

No reply.

He must’ve swam out too far.

He called increasingly louder until it was apparent that Jeff was still out swimming in the lake. Shirtless and without pants, Mitch waded into the chemical lake and cautiously swam out a good distance before hearing his name.

“Jeff, is that you?” Mitch asked as he floated, turning to the shore where he had heard the voice. He swam back when he saw Jeff.

“You know what’s weird,” Jeff said, as Mitch left the water, “I swam straight forward and straight back, but my clothes aren’t here!”

Mitch too was perplexed. “I left my clothes here, right next to yours! Where were you?”

“I’ve been standing here for almost an hour. How come I never saw you enter the lake even though we both swam from the same shore?”

“I dunno, Jeff…”

* * *

Two men who resembled Jeff and Mitch emerged from the lake, dry and fully clothed. Together they trotted up the hill to base camp. The rice was still simmering.

“What should we do when we get to our new homes?” Jeff inquired.

“Why not take their family for a swim?” Mitch suggested. “After all, we could use more humans by the other Lake.”

“It was kind of them to leave their clothes behind, wasn’t it?”

“Certainly. Our people aren’t always this lucky.”

“I wonder if they know where they are.”

“I doubt it.”

“Will they be safe on our side?”

“Are humans ever safe?”

“No.”

— Dexter Friedman, Novato

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The Horrors on Halloween night

“So how much do you need to know officer?” I asked. “All of it.” “Ok,” I replied. “So it started off like any other Halloween night”…

“When are they getting here?” I asked. “Soon Mack, soon” answered my dad. “I’m so excited it’s finally Halloween! I get to eat candy till I get sick and no one gets angry! Hey I hear someone at the door!” I opened the door and there they stood—Connor, Conor, Luca, Kyle, Jovanni and Griffin. “Lets go!” they shouted. “Okay, bye dad.” So where are we going?” asked Luca. “Why don’t we try downtown this year?” “Cool, that sounds awesome, let’s go!” Two hours later, we had so much candy we couldn’t believe it. “Let’s go to Sol Food and see what we can get,” suggested Connor. But I was tired. “I’ll catch up with you guys. I want to sit down for a minute.” I saw a guy I didn’t know approaching me. “Hey you! Come with me,” he shouted. “No way,” I said. “Yes,” he insisted, “I have to end this.” “E-end what,” I asked. “You’ll see when we get there.” I tried to run away but he grabbed me and pulled me into St. Raphael School! “Where are you taking me?” “Into the 6th grade classroom — to end this,” he growled. I yelled, “I’m not going in!” and kicked him in the back of the knees. He fell and I got away, but not far enough. He started chasing me in and out of classrooms, and finally into the church and out onto the bell tower! I tripped over the big cross and ended up hanging by one hand from a small ledge. “HELP! HEEEELP! SOMEONE HEEEEEEEEEELP!!!!!” I saw a policeman patrolling in his car and yelled as loud as I could, but he didn’t hear. So I took off my shoe, threw it and hit his car hard. (I think I made a dent!) He saw what was happening and sent some men up to rescue me. They tried to catch the guy who was chasing me too, but it was to late and he got away.

“So that’s what happened, officer.” “Wow,” replied the policeman. “Sounds scary. Can you describe the man?” “Yeah, sort of tall, brown hair, brown eyes, kind of ugly.” Is that him walking towards us?” “Sure enough that’s him!” “Hey,” said the stranger, “sorry about scaring you. I got carried away. None of that was supposed to happen. All I was supposed to do was get you into the 6th grade classroom.” “But why?” I asked. He smiled. “I needed to get you in there for a Halloween party!” “Seriously? Then why did you keep saying you needed to end this?” “Because I had to gather up all the kids for the party and I was getting tired.” “Okay” said the policeman. I guess that’s it.” “Not exactly,” I yelled. Now its time to PARTY and have the BEST HALLOWEEN EVER!!!!

— Mack Burns, San Rafael

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This story takes place in a nice town named Novato. The main character in this story is little Billy. In this particular story little Billy has a very big problem, he has horrible dental hygiene, even though he’s only nine. The problem with Billy is that he has a bad attitude and refuses to floss or brush his teeth. By this time Billy has not brushed or flossed for a couple months. He is on a fast track towards disaster. As you might of guessed little Billy’s teeth are bad. How bad, as bad as bad can be. His teeth were not white, not even yellow, but a dark green. Yeah, you guessed it, mold, on his teeth! Not only that, every tooth had multiple cavities in it! His gums weren’t much better. Gums are supposed to be pink, but his, were a horrific, black! And the worst thing is, these are his permanent teeth. Even though they’re called permanent teeth, they’re definitely not going to be permanent. It just happened that Billy’s teeth were only hanging on by a small strand to his gums. One shake of Billy’s head and all his teeth would be crashing down. That’s why it was bad luck for little Billy today, because this day was the day of a 8.9 earthquake.

The ground shook, Billy shook, and his teeth fell. One by one, the ugly, green, gory, teeth fell. Blood from his gums was flying everywhere. Clink, clink, clink! That was all 28 of them, now on the ground. Since those were Billy’s “permanent teeth”, their would be no more chewing for Billy. For the rest of his life he had to drink chilled, not hot ,brussels sprout and green onion soup, because his gums couldn’t handle hot things. So remember kids, if you don’t want to end up like Billy, please, brush your teeth and floss everyday. OR ELSE!!!

— Ryan Fong, Novato

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As my best friend and I walk up to the Novato town hall on Halloween night, the town hall casts shadows onto the ground surrounding only us. Once we get into the town hall the door behind us closes with a crash and torches light up the hallway in front of us. I suddenly hear a voice saying,”Beware! Those who enter never come out.” We grab a torch on the wall and it dances wildly and threatens to go out but doesn’t. We walk down the corridor and the past mayors pictures look down on us and their eyes seem to follow us. We soon come into a dark and dusty room with candles around the room flickering. As we look around some more we find a skeleton hanging on the wall. The skeleton moves just a little bit and a slight breeze starts and the candles go out with a whoosh. It’s all darkness and the breeze is still going. It abruptly stops and I look around to find my friend but can’t. I do find some glitter that was in her hair but that is all. When I look at the skeleton again it bears a sign saying,”Worse is to come…” I then slowly start walking to the next room knowing there is no escape and I think what a happy Halloween this is.

— Gretchen Tuscher, Novato

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She went by the name Samara Gon. One night, she started walking through the streets of downtown San Rafael. She knew that she recognized the shops and restaurants, but she didn’t know why. One peculiar closed down restaurant on the corner of 4th street and D Street struck her attention. It was called Aragon’s deli. Its doors were boarded, but inside she could see pictures of a family and pictures of the restaurant during its years in service. She felt funny looking at the photos of the family.

She then walked to the Lucas Valley Mountains and charged up the hill. After about the 30 minutes of walking, it was twilight and she noticed an old dog on the side of the trail. “Are you ok doggie?” asked Samara. The dog started barking loudly. “It’s ok, I won’t hurt you,” she said. The dog started to whimper. Samara didn’t know what to do so she walked on. The dog followed her. After a while she started to notice that she was walking on soot and ash. She continued. Crunch went the glass under Samara’s shoes. She took another step. Crunch! She kept stepping on glass. She walked further and saw a mystic house. It was burnt to the ground and deteriorated. There was an old newspaper article from the Marin IJ that was on the ground. “Aragon mansion burned to the ground.” She read on”… “Sam Aragon, the mother of the children survived the fire, but has been sent to an institution to receive therapy.” It came back to Samara. That was her family and her mansion! She wasn’t Samara Gon, she was Sam Aragon. She remembered her kids, her husband, and her dog. She cried and fell to her knees. She remembered being sent to the institution.

Before she could shed another tear, she heard someone. “Samara?” asked a woman in a nurse’s outfit. “Come here honey I don’t bite,” the lady said. She took out a needle. “Don’t take me back to the institution! I am sane! My family died here. We had a life. We owned the Aragon Deli. This was our dog Shadow,” Samara yelled. “What dog?” asked the nurse. Samara looked to her left and saw nothing. “He was right there! What about my house?” Samara yelled apprehensively. “Samara, you have been pacing back and forth in this room for an hour,” said the nurse. Samara looked behind her and saw endless white walls. “What have you done to me?” she yelled. The nurse stuck the needle into her and she fell asleep. The nurse left the room and started talking to a doctor. “I think it’s obvious that she needs to stay here a little bit longer. She has trouble with reality. She has pretended to be Sam Aragon for the past year,” the nurse stated. The doctor and the nurse walked out of the room, leaving Samara on the cold floor only to dream up another reality.

— James Dalrymple, Novato

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Halloween night, the scariest night of the year. Since I was about 14, I didn’t go this year. I felt too old, and i was just too scared. Even though I’m 14, I’m still a big scaredy cat. Even though i wasn’t trick or treating this year, i was inviting a few of my friends over to stay for a while. My house is supposedly “haunted” so I’m inviting them over to investigate my house with me. The door bell rang. I rushed to the door as quickly was i could. Since i was the only one home, i had to answer the door. When i opened the door, something jumped at me and i feel to the ground. “HA! I got you Chris!”.

When i looked to see who it was, it was my energetic friend Dylan. I laughed and soon enough, he joined in.

“I’m so glad you came Dylan!” I said cheerfully “But.. can you please get off me..?” Startled, Dylan got off of me and apologized. Then, the door bell rang again. I stood up and answered the door. I heard a high pitched “Hello!”.

“Hi Alex!” I said. She looked at me and waves, face as red at a tomato. “So, we are gonna go explore the attic right?”.

Alex nodded and walked inside. She immediately yelled “Lets go!” and ran up to the attic. Dylan chased after her and i followed right behind him.

The attic was the scariest place in my whole house. It was dark, and every time you stepped on the floor, it would make a creaking noise that freaked everyone out. When we all walked in, i felt a chill up my spine. “Did you guys feel that?” I asked.

“Feel what?” Alex asked.

“Oh i guess it was nothing”.

We looked everywhere. But no signs of strange activity anywhere. Just then, i felt another chill up my spine, and a voice calling out my name. “Okay, are you guys sure you didn’t feel anything?” “Chris, you paranoid. Lets just split up, Alex, you look over by those boxed over there, I’ll look around the window over there, Chris you just stay here.” Dylan said demanding.

Alex and Dylan soon went to where they needed to go. I just stood there. Listening to the voice continue to call out my name. It was kind of… memorizing. Soon then, everything went black, and I couldn’t see a thing.

I woke up, leaning agent a wall, with some sticky substance on my hand. Since i couldn’t see, i went to go and get the flashlight that was near the door. As i walked toward the door, more of the sticky substance was on the floor, i felt it in my hair, and on my shirt. Once i got the flashlight, and turned it on, i screamed. The flashlight rolled to the ground, and i could see everything in the room. Dylan and Alex where lying face up on the floor, dead. And the sticky substance on my hands, shirt, and hair, was blood. There where knifes in both of their backs. I panicked.

“I-I killed them! N-no! T-this cant be happening!!” I then screamed, and everything went black.

— Jordan Stenvers, Novato

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I was at my grandmother’s house when she launched into one of her stories.

“Here we go,” I thought rolling my eyes and settling into the couch. I was not in the mood for a story. I usually hated her stories because they always had a moral to them.

Her voice took on a spooky tone.

“You know that house down the road from you?” I nodded, of course, I did. I lived on Coast Guard housing. “You know the empty house next to the housing office?” I nodded again; I was already bored by this story. There was an empty house next to the housing office that had been empty for years. No one knew why.

“Well, about forty years ago, on Halloween a little girl died there. She went out trick-or-treating, came back and fell over. The county coroner couldn’t figure out for the life of him what she had died from. She was an extremely healthy little girl. The newspapers wrote about the mysterious death, but no one could figure out what she had died from. It was almost too spooky for words. Of course, there have been theories. Some say the devil came down and fed her some candy which was actually poison. Others say that it was just her time to go and leave it at that. But even those that claim that it was her time to go couldn’t help but wonder what actually happened. Neighbors had seen the body being removed from the house while the family sobbed on the lawn because the paramedics couldn’t revive her. The family moved away and never came back. Since that fateful Halloween, no one has been able to live in that house. Even the brave ones who said the story was rubbish couldn’t remain there. Families came and went; nobody could last longer then a week. Different kids from different families reported seeing a little girl crying at the windowsill. Adults reported that items had gone missing, and the items were never found. Little things like that drove the families crazy. Some say the girl won’t rest until her murderer is found. That is if she was actually murdered. Others say that she won’t rest until her family returns to say good-bye to her. One thing we know for sure is that no one can live in that house! That is the reason that people are scared to live there. So this Halloween, do not go trick-or-treating near that house.”

Grandma sat back and folded her hands on her lap. I gripped my lemonade and noticed that my hands were shaking.

“Is that true?” My voice wobbled.

“Yes, you know why that story is true? It was my sister who died. She was a prankster, and I wouldn’t put it past her even in the afterlife.”

When she was driving me home, we stopped outside of The House. We sat there and stared at the house. I swear I saw the blinds move.

— Bryn Michaela Baffer, Novato

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The Reason I still Can’t Sleep Tonight

We got out of the car, and walked over to the bridge, we had to cut through a parking lot on the bad side of town. As we were walking through I saw an older “hobo” with a shopping cart filled with various things and, a typical grey beard. He was wearing an old pair of green cargo pants and I fishing vest. He looked up at me as we walked by and grimaced showing a mouthful of missing and yellow teeth. He reached for something in his bag, and an ice-cold breeze blew through my hair and gave me the chills as the old man continued to rummage through his bag. He finally pulled out a small bell, like the kind someone would put on their house cat and jingled it in my direction.

“That was weird,” exclaimed Felix.

We eventually got to the bridge, and I was still thinking about it. I knew I shouldn’t be prejudice against homeless people but what had just happened was just too weird. Just as we began to cross the bridge I started to hear a little jingle behind me.

“No way,” he said, looking behind him. I looked too, nothing. We kept walking, but this time, just a little faster. After each couple of steps, we would hear the light jingling behind us, then we would look back, it would stop, and there would be nothing there. We walked passed the movie theater, it was just after ten so everyone was already in the movie and the outside was deserted. We continued to walk and decided to head back to my house which was close by.

The whole way home we continued to hear the ringing and as we got to my block we ran all the way to my front door. “Wow, I’m glad that’s over,” I said. We walked down stairs. My down stairs is partly underground because I live on a hill so the windows are just above ground level, they used to scare me when I was little. I turned on the TV.

JINGLE! I could have sworn it was coming from outside. Oh my God, I thought. Not possible. I decided to pretend I didn’t hear it and assume it was my imagination, but its pervasive ringing in my ear forced me to get up and walk to the front door.

“I turned the doorknob, the ringing got louder as I slowly opened the double doors. I peeked out, scared out of my mind. When I finally opened my eyes I saw”… A PUPPY! It was a fluffy little golden retriever. He looked up at me with his little puppy eyes, not harmful at all! I looked down at his collar, and of course, there was a bell and a nametag, that explained a lot. I took him inside and called the number on the tag. The owner said he would come pick up the dog at my house and when he came by he took, Kasha, I found out her name was, and put her in the in the back seat. As he drove away, I heard one little jingle coming from inside the house, I looked up at Felix, he shrugged. I guess it was just, well, I don’t know.

— Taytum Sanderbeck, Petaluma

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Forever Hanging

“Bye, thank you so much for having us,”

“Thank you for coming”

“We’ll talk to you later”

“OK, bye”

“Bye”

The door finally shut, freeing me from the pointless small talk and endless boredom. Quietly I slipped into the room at my right, hoping to avoid after-party clean up. I glanced around, not expecting much. Falkurk Cultural Center always seemed to me like an interesting place to look at but with nothing particularly interesting about it. Once it came down to it all it really was, was a house.

But I had been waiting to come into this room since the moment I saw it. It was relatively empty with only a few armchairs and some old portraits hanging on the walls, but in the center there was a piano, and to me that’s all that really mattered.

I felt my shoulders relax as I tied my thin brown hair away from my eyes, using spare piece of ribbon I kept with me for doing so. Then my fingers went to work. Generally, I tried to turn off my mind when I played and just find out what happens but something wasn’t quite working that day. It was as if a small corner of my brain refused to be quiet. The more I played the more it grew, and with it came the suffocating feeling of persistent eyes boring into me. My body tensed,

“Margret,” the wind breathed my name. My fingers stumbled,

“Margret,” it grew. This can’t be happening,

“Margret,” I broke from the piano, the voices screaming in my head. The portraits fallowed me with their eyes as sprinted for the door,

“No, stay, come,”

“Mom,” I tried to sob but my voice stuck in my throat.

“Mom,” I tried again but the panicked yell didn’t sound. I was crying but there were no tears; I was screaming but I had no voice. Something grabbed me. Non-existent hands pressing down on my chest stopping my breath; more hands, grabbing, clutching, every inch of me as I collapsed on one of the armchairs. Something clawed at my legs, tearing them apart as the pressure built in my head. The clawing moved up inch-by-inch leaving behind a nothingness in place of me feet, legs, stomach. Nothing was left except my head and the top of my torso. More hands grabbed at me, propping me up like a puppet for a picture. I was frozen unable to move, helpless.

Twenty Years Later

“If you would fallow me into the first room we can begin our tour,” The lady said, “This room is one of the most intriguing due to the vivid portraits that decorate the walls. My personal favorite is the one to your left of the young girl with the brown hair and the ribbon in her hair. Please fell free to look around but remember, there are not pictures permitted on the tour of the Falkurk Cultural Center.”

— Clare Brosnan, San Rafael

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A Clown Catastrophe!

Do you know the story of Little Samson Bortnight. Of coarse not because his death was so sudden nobody knew about it.

It all began with a sunny day the perfect day to strike considering all the others do it on rainy, musty, cold days.

Samson, who goes by SammyB, was walking home from soccer practice. He had his ball on the sidewalk and he was dribbling his way home, when he tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. He fell to the ground and when he opened his eyes he saw two more starring at him through a bush the painted face with a blue tear plastered to his face appeared out of the bush.

This creature came to SammyB and touched him softly acting as a friend, then leading him slowly into the forest across the street. The creature seemed nice to sammy so he let him lead him.

Once they were deep into the forest the creature smiled revealing terrifying teeth. Sammy quickly realized what was going on so he ran, back into the street. Where he got hit by a small car covered in flowers and bunny rabbits. He was dead instantly. Four big men with the same paint on their face jumped out of the car and grabbed the boy. Right then the other creature appeared out of the forest and smiled at the sight of the men. He helped get the body in the trunk and jumped in the car with the rest.

They drove away quickly and unnoticed.

That was the last of poor Sammy B.

— Michelle Helbig,San Anselmo

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My partner and I’s car thumped over speed bumps on its way, bound for Marin Headlands. The late evening breeze was crisp with the smell of autumn leaves. We were curious about strange goings on at Alexander Battery and wanted to see what they were at night. When we finally got to our destination a man there was standing at the entrance. He stared at us blankly as if he was in a coma. We got out, the man exploded. “I’ve seen them, they’re horrible!” he cried “They eat at you”…” He then crawled up in a ball and started shaking vigorously and I could hear him whimpering.

“Sir,” I replied “who are they?” “Them, oh God don’t go in that place it’s terrible I’m never going there again.” He just got up and sprinted off like an Olympic star. “I think my curiosity for Alexander battery just got a whole lot larger, Bob.” “Mine to,” Bob replied Our trek to the battery was anything but long and when we got there night was upon us. A full moon came into view and that made the hair on my back rustle. The battery pulsed with a feeling of morbid sorrow that pierced my very sanity. As I descended stairs entering the battery I fought to resist the urge to shove past Bob and sprint back to our car. All I could see were the columns of concrete and dark masses running at me and diverting directions before coming into contact with my goose bump ridden skin. I was trembling with fear. The darkness crept over us as if it was going to swallow us. Bam! A steel door slammed opened but nothing was on the other side. A voice separated from everything else whispered in my ear.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” “Bob did you say something?” “No, Why?” “Something muttered something to me.” That’s when something terribly frightening happened, I went around a corner and a white figure was walking along a catwalk. It turned around and horridly startled me almost to insanity and disappeared. “Did you see that?” “Yeahha, I think whatever we saw isn’t friendly.” A cold feeling swept over me, I felt a feeling of helplessness and sorrow and my muscles were locked in place.

“What do you want,” something said.

“We were just curious” “Leave us alone” it said I was pushed by what looked like nothing. Bob and I looked at each other. We took the short trip and as we left the battery, the feeling of sorrow left us. I was overpowered by relief and an odd feeling of great happiness and joy.

“Bob I think I found something distinctly haunted about that place” “I totally agree” Bob replied.

We got into our car and left without a trace.

— Andrew Wein, Novato

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The Horror Chemical Mix-Up

“RRRRROOOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRR,” screamed the mutant food monster mad of spaghetti, hot dogs, and whole hamburgers! It all started when there was a massive car pile-up, and Pasta Pamadora, In-n-out, and a hot-dog vendor all exploded, when one car’s gas tank ignited. No one knew it was even there, until the mess was almost cleaned up, then there was what looked like an explosion, and it burst out of the mess, and stormed to Novato.

And there it is now, wreaking havoc as it screamed in rage, devouring as many humans as possible. Even the military was called in, to try to subdue this 100 ft tall monster, but with little success. It seemed to be trying to find something, lifting whole houses, and slamming them down, with a considerable amount of force. Then, night came. Everyone feared what would happen if they went to sleep. They might not wake up.

But, it seemed to be slowing down, and collapsed on top of Mount Burdell, and gave the towns people a rest, but despite that, no one slept a wink. It had to have been the longest night in history it seemed to them. Then when the next day came, right before dawn, even people in Petaluma could spot the massive fire that had built up. The town was evacuated, but the monster followed them, through what seemed like a blizzard of gunfire and smoke. By then, everyone was wondering, “What did it want?” That was the question every one wanted answered. They tried knew things. They tried to hypnotize it, but it had no eyes, it could only smell.

Suddenly, it reared back, and bellowed so loud that glass within 2 mi of the area shattered, leaving the towns people in shock, and it charged the people, and went after Jimmy (name changed) and grabbed him, and shook him so much that he [Jimmy] started glowing. Then, he ate him, and seeming satisfied, started to shrink, until he became a little monster, that disappeared, then reappeared somewhere else, stealing every body’s trick-or-treat candy, and darting every where, forever haunting everyone’s dreams.

WHO WILL BE THE VICTIM OF THE CANDY STEALING MONSTER?

— Michael Stickle, Novato

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Revenge From Antiquity

The moon was full and the night ominously silent. As Lisa hunched at the keyboard, tired and gloomy, she heard a rattle of cans outside her room, she ignored it, and continued to type away. The ground then shook. She sat there quietly thinking, “It’s okay; it passed.” When abruptly an entire wall of her room bursts into pieces, and her body goes flying across the room, and then landing on her bed. She starts hysterically screaming and panting; knowing no one’s home she goes next door to find help. No one answers. She goes across the street. No one’s there. She runs up and down every street, searching for help. Suddenly a truck comes spiraling out of control, heading straight for her, but fortunately crashing into a two-story home. “What is happening?!” she shouts. The lights of the truck start flickering and the wheels continue to spin, but as she gets closer to it, the vehicle lays alone. Without hesitating a moment she sprints straight home, hoping to find her bike. Once she arrives a ringing from the telephone interrupts her. It rings once”… it rings a second time, and a third. Afraid of it being a murderer she is reluctant to answer it, but as she puts it to her ear there is nothing but static.

“Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Please answer me, this is urgent!” A quiet, nervous, frightened woman’s voice answers. “Hello? This is Clarice. Can anyone hear me?” “Clarice? I need your help. Everyone seems to be missing and strange events keep occurring. I’m really frightened; do you have any idea what’s going on? Am I dreaming?”

Lisa’s young voice starts to quiver, and tears fill her eyes. “It’s all right,” she says. “What is your name?” “Lisa Camerelly.” She responds. “Well, Lisa, come to Novato High School. Everyone who isn’t dead yet is here; hiding away from the monster.” Lisa almost giggles at how ridiculous it sounds. “Monster? What monster?” “JUST COME!” the mysterious Clarice’s voice becomes dark, and menacing. Lisa’s entire body jumps, and her hair sticks up. Soon the call is dropped, and loud shrieks are heard through the sky. The ground rises, and the earth creates large cracks. She rides away as quick as possible, but three witches soon catch her. One pulls her by her shirt with her long bony finger, and sharp nail. “Let me go! Let me go!” Lisa shouts. But the witch just laughs, and the three sing a devilish tune and throw her from one to another. They tell her of their spell that has sent every mortal to another dimension where they’ll be enslaved for eternity, and how she was specifically saved for plotting against them in another life, and having them burned to death.

They arrive at a sylvan area, with a small house hidden away. As they enter, the three witches brutally tie her up to a chair, do a chant around her, and soon Lisa’s body is afloat and becomes slightly orange and transparent. She then disperses like smoke, into the mouths of the witches, and all three shriek in enjoyment.

— Stefany Reyes, Novato

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It was a chilly November night in Novato when he first saw it. Jacob Wesley, the most popular kid in school, was dead. The witnesses name was Mike Somaro. Mike, a normal kid trying to make it through 7th grade, had stayed late at school to study. When it was time to get home, he began to walk off campus. San Jose Junior High was a very plain and boring place. Each day at Nelson seemed to be interminable, at least to Mike. On the way home he saw Jacob. Jacob was with friends across the street just ahead of Mike. He saw Jacob wave goodbye and slowly swagger across the street. Not wanting to be recognized or get into a conversation of rigmarole, Mike slowed down and trailed Jacob. They were walking on a sidewalk that had tall boughs, trees, and shrubs lining the side. Mike had walked this street hundreds of times and knew exactly where the small sylvan environment ended. Just as Jacob reached the end of the trees, he vanished. Mike’s first emotion was surprise. But when he approached the end of the trees, a wave of fright came over him. He stood still and locked into the ground. Mike gathered some courage and continued to where Jacob disappeared. When he reached the spot he found nothing. Relieved, Mike continued to walk, figuring Jacob took a shortcut. But, something caught his eye. He flipped around to find a pale flaxen object barley noticeable in the darkness. It was a hand. Mike was transfixed. He then saw a stream of blood slide down the hand. He ran and ran until he was safe at home. At school the next day, everyone seemed to be anxious. While his teacher worked to quiet the incorrigible class, he sat in the corner, his eyes blank. The day came to an end and Feingold 2 as the kids walked home, there were police standing everywhere. Mike was forced to walk home the long way as his route had been blocked for investigation. Though the days went by and people began to forget, Mike could not get the image out of his head. The next weekend as he lay in bed, Mike had a strange feeling that this killing had something to do with the school. He got out of bed and quietly snuck out of the house. When he reached San Jose, he climbed on the roof and over into campus like an elite athlete. Mike saw at the end of the hall a tiny slit of light. He began to approach it. As he got closer to the rooms proximity he realized it was the classroom of the insipid Mr. Melbourne who loathed all kids. As Mike slowly approached the door, his hands began to tremble and then he peered in. The lights blacked out. It was as if he was in a nightmare and all he wanted to do was wake up, but this was real.

— Mitch Feingold, Novato

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I got out of the car and started to stretch. The familiar sound of the lake and children’s screams at Civic Center Park made me feel energized. After I finished stretching, I started

walking in my normal route around the park to warm up for my weekly jog. I loved everything about this park, especially because it was big and it gave me enough space to run. As I

was jogging, this dog came up behind me. It was adorable and I did not see the owner anywhere so I didn’t mind it running alongside me. I sat down to take a quick break and catch my breath. The dog was still there. I studied the dog and noticed something strange. I had seen those eyes before, those same exact eyes, no doubt. I just couldn’t remember where

I had seen them. I jogged all the way to the bathroom.

I washed my hands and got out. The dog wasn’t anywhere to be seen. I guess the owner must’ve realized their dog was missing and called him over. I didn’t really care anyway. I was tired so I decided to walk for ten minutes to cool down. Listening to music on my iPod relaxed me. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going when I suddenly bumped into someone. It was a girl from my church that I got along with. Alondra I think her name was.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” asked Alondra.

“Oh I just came here to run for a little bit and you”? I responded.

“Nothing just came here to take a walk,” Alondra said.

That’s when I saw it. Her eyes! Her eyes are the exact same as the dog’s that was following me. I think Alondra saw the horrified expression on my face because she smiled menacingly at me. I wanted to start running but she had a death-grip on me already and wouldn’t let go.

“This is for telling everyone my secret. You shouldn’t have done that!” she said as she was taking out a gun.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I think you’ve got me mistaken with someone”…” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

Bang! Went the gun as it fired. ‘Oh my god’, I thought to myself. I sat in my bed realizing that it was just a dream. I felt myself just to make sure I was alright. The loud bang had come from my mom making breakfast downstairs. ‘Oh I don’t want to go to church today’ realizing that it was Sunday. ‘It doesn’t matter’ I thought, ‘it was just a dream.’ Anyways, what should I be worried about?

— Carolina Perez, Novato

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The Story of Jonas Mathewson

Jonas Mathewson thought nothing bad would ever happen to him. He lived a wonderfully average life in his delightfully ordinary house with his typical family. He had normal friends, drove a normal car, got normal grades, and worked a normal job. He really never had any reason to worry.

The day before Jonas was about to leave for college, he went on a walk with his father down at the Bahia lagoon near their house. It was an enjoyable hike. The ambient sounds of birds and wind accentuated the sunny day quite nicely. The world seemed to be at ease.

Jonas and his father, whose name was Peter, were having a conversation about the many experiences he was going to have at college, when his father said something out of the blue:

“You want to know something, son?” said Peter ominously. “Mortality is really a funny thing.” A long silence followed.

“How so, Dad?” responded Jonas.

“Well we live and we die, but our presence is never felt until we’re gone. What’s the point of living in the first place?” “You okay, Dad? You’re acting pretty weird.” “Yeah I’m fine. It’s just that your uncle’s death has had a pretty big effect on me lately.” The walk continued normally after that.

When they got home that night, the Mathewsons had a final family dinner before Jonas’s departure.

“I don’t want you to leave!” said Jonas’s brother Elias. “I feel like I’m never gonna see you again.” Jonas reassured him, “We’ll see each other again! Don’t worry.” Jonas couldn’t fall asleep that night. Partly it was because of his excitement for college, and also because of the minor case of insomnia he had always had. But mostly it was because he couldn’t get his mind off of what his father had said that day. Don’t worry about such unimportant things right now, he told himself. You have a big day ahead of you.

By the time Jonas had closed his eyes, a loud BOOM came from outside the room, followed by screams and another three BOOM’s. Jonas hurried to the living room.

Peter Mathewson was peacefully sitting on the couch reading a book. He didn’t acknowledge the two dead bodies on the floor below him.

“We’re going on a trip to see Grammy and Uncle Steve tonight,” Peter said enthusiastically. Grammy and Uncle Steve had died years ago.

Jonas started to run to the front door, sobbing, trying to convince himself that his mother and Elias were still alive. His hand reached the door handle, but his action was cut short by the shotgun bullet ripping through his back.

Jonas Mathewson was wrong not to worry.

— Danny Cassee, Novato

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The Williams family was packing up for their annual trip to the Marin Headlands. Charles, the father, was packing the camping supplies. His wife, Ashley, was getting her and Charles’s clothing packed, as well as Peter and Jimmy, their sons.

Finally, the Williams were all packed and ready and started toward the Headlands. On their way there, they told jokes, sang songs, and talked about what they’re most excited about. Peter and Charles were excited about hiking and biking while Jimmy loved the birds he always sees. Ashley was excited just for the views and beaches. They were all very happy and did not think anything could ruin this for them.

When they arrived, Charles immediately looked for a good spot to pitch the tents. Then they ate dinner and started a great weekend. During dinner-time they were telling scary stories and getting in the spirit of Halloween, since it was only one week away.

After dinner, Charles suggested going on a night walk, and everyone else loved this idea, and agreed. So Ashley and Jimmy got the flashlights and they headed out. They were about halfway through their walk when all of a sudden it got dark and a light shower started to come down. The Williams got a little sad and so they started to go back to their tents.

However, as they could barely see the tents in the distance, Jimmy got snatched away by something unknown and started screaming for help. By the time that Ashley and Charles had started to look with their flashlights, however, it was already too late. Jimmy was gone and nobody had any idea where he had gone.

After looking around, Charles found some footsteps and decided that he should follow them, thinking that they would lead to whoever took Jimmy. After about half a mile of following, the footsteps ended in the middle of nowhere. Charles then started to try and find his way back to his wife and son by going back from the footsteps so he could try again tomorrow since he was very tired.

That night was very hard for the Williams to sleep. Charles and Ashley were very worried about what may have happened to their son. Peter was worried, as well as scared. Jimmy was very scared because he was in a pitch black room all alone, but was oddly in a very soft bed.

The next morning, Jimmy was awoken by the sound of his door opening. He saw his neighbor, Mr. Rodger, walk into his room with some breakfast. He thought that it was very strange that his neighbor was there, and giving him breakfast. Mr. Rodger explained that this was all just a trick that he had played on Jimmy’s family.

Later that afternoon, Jimmy returned to his family and told them what happened. They were all very relieved that it was only a trick, and not real.

— Hovsep Lalikian, Novato

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October 31, 2010

It was dark, gloomy, and reeked of candy corn. I was walking down the cold sidewalks of Grant Avenue. The wind made the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up, as goose bumps covered my body like a shirt and pants. I started hearing weird noises in the bushes at the back side of Chase Bank. My slow walk turned into a slow jog, then a fast jog, then a full out sprint. But then I just stopped dead in my tracks. It was like I couldn’t control my own body. I started to cry, then my tears turned into hollers, and then into screams. When it seemed like it couldn’t get any worse, I woke up in the comfort of my own bed. But then I was shocked to notice, I still couldn’t move.

— Drew Treppa, Novato

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The Payback of the Spirit

I was sitting on the sidewalk curb, looking down out street. It was an old, cracked cul-de-sac in Larkspur, at the top of a hill, near what seemed like a forest.

” Nick, oh Nick! Help! She won’t go away!! She says she wants me!”

Now, naturally, when a girl like Amy is introduced as someone who is screaming and crying, you would think she is always like that. You could not be more wrong. Amy, with her long, dark hair, light brown skin, and almond shaped eyes, never cried. Ever.

” She”… It wants me! It’s pulling me towards her! Get it away from me!!” she screamed, gripping onto my shirt with a great strength I didn’t know she had.

Now, my Amy here isn’t like any other girl. I’m not saying that just because I love her. Not at all. Amy is special. She can see spirits. She helps those stuck on this world find peace, so it’s common for Amy to come to me looking for help because of a spirit. It’s uncommon that Amy’s afraid of one.

“Amy, calm down! Concentrate. Look into what she wants. What is bothering her?” I helped Amy down to the curb. I took her face in my hands and made her look into my eyes. Her’s -bloodshot- stared frantically back.

” I can’t tell, Nick. She’s so horrible! She keeps me locked up in what she calls her room and she won’t go away. She’s in my head all the time. She tries to control my movements. I feel trapped!” Amy can usually just close her eyes, look into the spirit and their essence, and know what is wrong; what in their past has kept them from moving on to the other world or wherever it is they go. Yea, really cool. She can usually carry out the necessary without being dragged down personally. She keeps her cool during the hardest situations and always knows what to do next. That’s why I love her and she doesn’t know it.

” What about blocking her?” I suggested, when suddenly Amy started convulsing on the ground.

“Amy!! What’s wrong?!” I shouted, taking her in my arms and running to my house. I threw open my door with a kick and set her down gently on my couch. Her back was arched when suddenly it relaxed. Amy sat up with a blank expression. She started walking towards the kitchen and took a knife in her hand.

“Amy took everything I had. She snuck out at night and went into her backyard and called me. Now she doesn’t want me. Well, now I don’t want her.” Then with a great force she stuck the knife into her chest. And that’s why I’m now sitting on my kitchen floor, the dead body of my best friend and the “girl-next-door” in my arms.

— Gricelda Gomez, San Rafael

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The Youth’s Tragedy

There are many ways that fate affects us. For many, fate is an average aspect of our lives. For example, we all go through the fate called “puberty”. Moods change (rapidly), hearts are broken (on a regular basis), and our way of thinking is drastically altered. It’s when boys become men and girls become women. Personally, while puberty’s a hardship for me, I always brave through my obstacles to see the light at the end of the darkness. The light that trumps all darkness. Sometimes, I’m not sure about anything but hey, I gotta believe something. However, some kids are unfortunate, in that they never see the light-that the world is and always will be dark forever. My best friend, Seth, never realized that the light was there. He stole his dad’s shotgun and shot himself last night. I never understood why.

I lost my grip on reality that day. I never came to school, I just”… I just didn’t know. Before I knew, it was dead night. I tried to sleep. Maybe I’d see Seth in my thoughts. Well, speak of the devil. Suddenly a faint wisp of smoke emanated from the floor. It suddenly turned into dense clouds, and in those clouds, I saw a silhouette. Out of the silhouette came a hand”… which grabbed me by the collar and plunged me into the smoke.

I plummeted to Earth like a human stone and slammed into the concrete of a park. Strange, I thought looking around, this place looks like Lagoon Park next to the Civic Center. But there were no people, and everything seemed to stand still.

“You’re right,” said a familiar voice with a somber tone, “I always have thought this place was quiet and tranquil. Even during Independence Day fireworks.” I turned and saw a horrible sight. It was Seth, but his face was literally gone and there was just a soggy pile of flesh, blood and assorted meats. “Surprised, my friend?” He spoke, but without obviously moving his mouth. He stared at me with pearl-like eyes that had lost its pupils.

“Holy crap, Seth, what the hell happened to you!” It was horrifying, to say the least. I turned and shut my eyes, trying to somehow awaken from my obvious slumber, but to no effect.

“Look, Phil,” sighed Seth, ” I haven’t much time. I would foremost like to say that I’m sorry for not opening my eyes before my suicide. Life is a cruel, daunting thing that I”… I never thought I could overcome. So I’d like to warn you not to follow in my footsteps. Those years of doubt”… I’ve discovered they’re natural. Especially for you. Find faith in”… something, and stick with it. Don’t doubt that there’s no good in the future. I have to leave you now, but remember these words. See you ’round, man. I just hope that it’s not soon.” When I turned, he vanished.

I saw my light.

And I woke up.

— Ryan Maher, Novato

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The Bog of the Underworld

I spent my Halloween Eve setting up for the Full Moon Dance at my school. We were hanging up streamers when out of the blue the power went off. Our teacher Mr.Vipersten got us some flashlights and then we decided to test the scavenger hunt we had planned for the dance. After Mr.Vipensten hid our clues around the bog, which was called The Bog of the Underworld as a myth that the underworld was under it, we sent out. After my team found our second clue, Mr.Vipersten called us over in a panicked look, and told us that Jonah Clark stuck his hand into the bush to grab the clue when he was sucked into a sort of a black hole. Everyone gasped and now we were panicked too. Out of all of us the bravest were sent to go and investigate when one by one they disappeared. The remaining of us ran back into the dance hall were we thought we were saved but right when we entered the hall a faint red glow came from the janitor’s closet. Then the Greek god of death, Hades, emerged from the glowing closet with the amputated heads of all of our lost friends. All at once he opened a bag that engorged us all. I guess that name was not a myth after all.

— Leann Revere, Novato

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It was Friday morning at Novato High, all of the students ready for the weekend. No one knew what would transpire before the second period bell rang. First period was dull, the students languid and uninterested in taking notes on the book Leviathan. I was the only one who seemed to be remotely paying attention to the substitute Mr. Brown. Suddenly there was a click! And the power was out.

“No School!” the kids screamed as they began to get up from their seats. Just as I was about to get up to I heard heavy foots steps plundering down the hall and then the words “Lock down! Lock down!” and with this the students froze.

“Stay in your seats students.” Mr. Brown said as he went to look the door. And so the talking began.

“Did you hear about that serial killer Brownlyn?” someone murmured.

“That guy seems creepy,” another said.

“I heard he wasn’t far off from here, like San Francisco area.” The first person said. This conversation went on for awhile. I wondered what the lock down was about, probably just some fluky thing.

“Hey do you know what this lock down is for?” Marina asked me.

“It’s probably just some school practice thing, don’t worry about it,” I said. Her hands were shaking and she began to sweat out of fear.

“But wouldn’t they have announced it?” she said trembling.

“I guess,” I uttered and then turned away.

“Hey Mr. Brown can I use my cell phone.” Marina asked. He turned to her with a wild look in his eyes.

“Absolutely not,” he said assertively. Something seemed strange about this but I blew it off.

“Do you want to read the article about the Brownlyn guy?” Jeffery asked me.

“That’s that serial killer right?” I asked. He nodded his head and then gave me the paper. It read: “On September 20, 2010 a man was said to be sneaking away from a house in San Francisco where a young girl had just been killed. Detectives later found out that this man was the killer and goes by the name of Brownlyn. He is middle aged, has dark brown hair, green eyes, and is recognizable by the dragon tattoo on his left arm”…” — Morgan Smart, Tiburon

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Written in Ink

I’m not writing this as an excuse; I can’t hope to justify anything that happened, or will happen. I can’t make anyone understand, the best I can hope is that you choose your own fate, don’t let others push you to do things you would never dream of doing yourself. I’ll see you when the time comes, Josh. He put down the pen–the reflection left him silent for a moment. He took only a few seconds to remember back to the place where this started; the days, even back in middle school when he could remember Mark. He and Mark had been friends. Not just good friends, great friends. They had lived down the street from each other for their entire lives, raised together in Novato, gone to the same school”… Until 8th grade. It was the last day of middle school, and each graduating student made a speech to the class. Some talked about education, others about growing up, but not Mark. No, he talked overtly about his sexuality. Five hundred people that day learned a secret from mark that almost none of them wanted to hear, least of all his parents.

It wasn’t long before the whole school knew, and within a few weeks, the few friends Mark had were beginning to distance themselves. I tried my best to stay with him, but even being around him had its consequences. “What were you too doing for so long in the locker room fag!” they’d say to me whenever I’d walk out with him. Soon, even I was making excuses not to study with him or go to his house. Once high school began, it only grew worse and worse.

Soon, it wasn’t just obscene writing on his locker, or the occasional insult, they began using the technology at their disposal to harass him constantly. After only a few months in high school, Mark deleted his Facebook, his Email, and he even got a new phone number.

Josh was nearing the end of his reimagining; the hardest part was not only that he had sat by and watched it all happen, but also that he himself had contributed to the torture. Mark couldn’t go to his parents for help, he couldn’t go to the school, the bullies made threats driving Mark away from any help he could think of. Instead, he just took it. He sat there, and took it for three years–that kind of intense cataclysmic trauma will lead a person to do unimaginable things.

The worst of it was, Josh didn’t even know just how bad it was, he didn’t know what intense suffering was going on in Marks head until that very afternoon.

Mark called in sick, so what?

“It’s probably AIDS” His classmates joked, and Josh had laughed right along with them. He regretted it now, but his callous crimes would be paid for in full in just a few moments.

He had finished with his memories, and made his decision. Looking up at Mark for the last time, Josh reached around his cold limp body to give him a final hug. The bed sheet that held Mark up by his fragile little neck tightened with Josh’s added weight.

In the absence of an extra sheet, Josh gripped a small prescription bottle in one hand and downed its entire contents. He knew he had a few moments left, and with a pen he wrote one final line the paper:

Insults are written in Ink”…

— Zane Gregorian, Novato

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Our story begins on a brisk autom day in October. There had been a flu going around the schools in Novato. A notice was sent out to all the parents of the disease in the area, the symptoms included an intense fever, vomiting, and a violent caugh. Every on in the school exept four students. The next day a strange man walked up to the school saying ” You are in danger. A terrible pluege is goming soon. The cure is on the top of Mt. Tam.” The four kids heard this and started going to Mt. Tam. The people on the street had been acting wierd. One person started to sprint at one of the children and bit him. Then other people joined in on the feast of his flesh. The other kid got away and made it to Mt. Tam. They were surronded by the time they got half way up the mountain. None of them survived.

— Greg Carroll, Novato

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The Locker Room Nightmare

Cooper Robertson was the Novato High Varsity Football team’s equipment manager. He was no good at playing them, but he thought fondly of sports. Football was his passion, and since he could not play, he was forced to pass out, collect, and clean the players’ uniforms in order to gain a spot on the team. But, eventually he grew tired of his tiresome job, and felt that he needed a change.

That’s when things got interesting for Cooper Robertson. Every Friday night, for the whole month of October, equipment from the lockers of players began to disappear. Players came up to poor Cooper Robertson and yelled and shrieked at him, complaining that they were missing their socks or their jerseys. Cooper couldn’t say a word to them because he had no explanation to this “locker room loophole”. He had to find the culprit. He had to save his team.

Cooper sought out the only person in the whole school who could’ve witnessed this thief in action, Ol’ Spice the Janitor. Ol’ Spice had been at the school for over 40 years, and he knew the school inside-out. Cooper told him about the terrible tragedy at hand, and Ol’ Spice sat him down and began a long terrible myth about a so called ” Turf Terror “. The legend told of a power beast made of sports equipments and turf from the football field. Every Friday of the Month of October, the monster leaves it home field and enters the doors of the locker room, on a mission to devour all sports equipment around it. Cooper of course had no reason to believe it, but Ol’ Spice insisted on Cooper witnessing this beast.

So Cooper Robertson stayed late on the last Friday of October, and ventured over to the field to prove good Ol’ Spice the janitor wrong. The next morning, as Ol’ Spice went to set up the field for practice, he discovered Cooper Robertson’s torn—up Giants Cap lying on the goal line. He chuckled, picked up the cap, and continued with his day. THE TURF TERROR STRIKES AGAIN!

— Robbie Cassee, Novato

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“Bang!” The strike of the flush seven-iron went soaring through the night sky. Cameron and I had come out to the McGinnis Park Driving Range, where I work to practice golf. We had a big high school match coming up, and I wanted to be sure we were ready. I had been trying to get him to come out here for weeks, but he had just been too nervous.

I finally persuaded him into coming out this one time. We were having a great time, listening to our iPods and hitting some good shots, but then both of our iPods started to cut out.

“What is going on?” I said a little annoyed. Cameron and I looked at each other, pulled the headphones out of our ears, and suddenly realized everything was completely silent. We then looked up and there was a sinister, leviathan cloud right above us.

“Hey, let’s get out here, Cameron!” I said softly, picking up the flashlight I brought.

“Okay. I’m just going to run out and get the golf balls I hit,” he replied, and took off running. As he ran out there, the cloud swooped down and engulfed him. I was just standing there, alone, astonished.

“What just happened?” I yelled. I started to run away, but I couldn’t just leave Cameron, so apprehensively I ran after him, only to be engulfed by the cloud as well.

I was transported to a dark room that was completely silent. I quickly flipped on my flashlight and saw Cameron screaming, however there was no noise. That’s when I tried to say something, but there was dead silence. It was as if sound did not exist! We both realized we had to get out of here.

We timidly walked around numerous hallways leading nowhere that were covered in a cloudlike material that made it tough to walk. We had no idea where we were. Suddenly, we saw a flickering light at the end of a corridor. Realizing it might be our only chance; we followed the hallway and came upon a control room. Inside there were little creatures with enormous ears.

“They must be aliens,” I tried to say, but once again nothing came out.

Suddenly the aliens noticed us, and they started coming after us. As they were pulling us away, we both clutched at the walls, holding for dear life. I happened to tear the wall and as I went up to grab it again, there was a “Bang.”

The aliens dropped both of us and retreated. The material must have been blotting out the sound, and it was clear the aliens didn’t like noise.

“Cameron,” I yelled, “make some noise.”

We both started yelling and the aliens clearly hated it.

Finally, a message appeared on their screen that read, “Please Stop. We will let you go and leave your planet forever if you just stop making the noises.”

There was no argument on our part and they let us go, and left forever.

“What a night, last night,” I said to Cameron the next morning.

“What do you mean?” he replied back. He was completely amnesic. Its like he didn’t remember anything.

— Matt Briggs, Novato

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The Swing set

“Come on Karina! Hurry up! I want to go to the park!” Melissa said as she took my hand in hers.

“Fine, Fine. But your mom is going to be home soon.” I told her, as we put on our coats, brown for me, pink for her.

“Thank you! You’re the best babysitter ever!” She shouted as we clomped down the steps. We walked across the street from my house to Gerstle Park, and Melissa ran straight for the swing set. I walked after her, enjoying the breeze and the mist.

“Push me Karina! Push me!” She screamed as she bounced up and down next to the swing set. I jogged over to her and put my iPod on shuffle. Melissa sat on the swing.

“Underdog!” She screamed.

“Ok! Get ready.” I said intensely, as I pushed her up and over my head. I kept pushing her higher and higher, ” Ok, Karina. Too high! I cant”…”…” Melissa said shakily.”

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by her screams.

I looked up just in time to see her tumble from the swing, at its highest point. She fell too quickly for me to catch her, right onto her neck. She landed with a sickening crunch. I whipped out my phone and called the Paramedics. As they loaded her onto the stretcher, I asked,

“Is she gonna be OK?”

“No, her neck must have been broken upon the impact. but it should’ve been painless.” The ambulance driver said to me.

I sat in the sand next to the swings, until night began to fall. Then I walked across the street, to my house. I went right upstairs to my room, and sat at my desk. As tears began to fall on my shirt, I heard a voice.

“Karina. Why did you leave me? Why can’t you come back and swing? Are you mad at me?”

I looked out of my window across the street to the park. There she sat, Melissa, in her pink raincoat, swinging back and forth. Her ghostly figure looked at me from the swing set. I shrieked, and swished my curtains shut. I kept hearing the squeak of the swing back and forth all night.

I stayed home that day from school, and my sadness seemed to be slowly melting away, that is, until nightfall.

“Karina. I know you can hear me. It’s me Melissa. Why won’t you play with me?”

Once again I closed my curtains and tried to ignore it, but the squeaking kept me awake all night. This continued for the whole week, but then I figured out what to do.

“Karina. Why won’t you talk to me?” I pulled on my coat, and boots and walked out into the mist. I nervously walked across the street to the ghostly Melissa, who sat waiting on the swings.

“Finally. It took forever for you to come and play”

Then, she disappeared into the mist from her swing.

— Alexis Thompson, San Rafael

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Halloween at the Marin General Hospital Mental Wing was always a time of fright. Of course, for Jason Carson, a twelve year old boy who lived in a padded cell, everyday felt like a horror film. He was out in the common room, where the icy walls and plastic couches were void of color or life, the walls holding the only semblance to normality, having been decorated with two crude drawings of jack-o-lanterns transfixed uncomfortably to the stucco with silver masking tape. Jason sat playing chess with Aria Stevens, an albino autistic girl who spent the better half of the week staring expressionlessly at her own smooth indestructible walls. She said that she was working out math equations, but her Alabama born-and-raised parents believed she was nuts. She was just about to inform Jason that he had lost when he bolted from his cross-legged seat on the floor to a stoic upright stance, his brown eyes showing terror beyond his auburn bangs.

“Did you see that?” Jason questioned the victor.

“Did you see that you just LOST!? Checkmate!” She laughed wickedly, proud of her feeble attempt at humor. Jason was far too distracted to pay Aria any attention, and proceeded to walk towards the site of the disturbance.

Once he crept closer to the edge of the common room, having a better view of the interruption, he saw it was a chocolate colored kitten. Funny, he thought to himself, I didn’t think animals were allowed here. The forbidden pet shot a glance back at the boy, revealing charcoal eyes, both of which lacked pupils. Jason moved closer, as it dashed away, its long tail tempting Jason to follow. Jason quickly succumbed to the lure and chased after the animal.

A sharp left, and the creature ran down a corridor that Jason knew he was prohibited from entering. Jason had been obeying the rules since he had arrived, and yet nothing had gotten better in the last three years, so he figured he was allowed at least one escapade.

Chasing the feline proved more difficult than he had thought it would be, and in a heartbeat it disappeared. He saw the door to a cell left just slightly open, certainly enough for the thin cat to crawl through.

Sure enough, when he entered, the cat was sitting on a bare mattress, licking the hair of a man in his late forties who appeared to be sleeping. Jason inched just close enough to pet the cat, when he realized the man was not breathing, having had a plastic butter knife jabbed through his abdomen.

A shriek!

It had not come from Jason’s lips, and prompted him to swivel his head back to see none other than Aria, her face an unearthly pale hue, and tears streaming down from her red eyes.

“I didn’t kill him! I was just following this cat! The cat must have done it!” Jason fell to his knees.

“You know,” said the cat eerily, “Pets aren’t allowed here.”

— Alexis Caligiuri. Novato

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Of Life”…

He was a business man. He was portly, middle aged, and ran his own company in Boston. For him life was going well and he thought that nothing could ever go wrong. Yet, everything did. His life crumbled down to nothing after last Halloween when he strolled into a Chinese tent at a market and told the owner that his products were not scary one bit. As he was driving home one day he had a heart attack and was immediately hospitalized. The doctors said it was because of his inactiveness, his arteries got clogged up with the fat from his food. He was being supervised my nurses all the time for this heart attack should have been fatal and he could die any minute. As time progressed, the man was released from the hospital and sent home, but only to have a stroke the next month. The doctors were puzzled by this, that the same man has had both a heart attack and a stroke within half-year span.

While he was fighting for his life in the hospital, while he was trying to get back on his feet, and the doctors reviving him after a heart attack and a stroke, all of those people who he thought were his friends and colleagues took stole his company and split it up among themselves. Once he was barely on his feet, he found out of his company and went into a depression state. He then began to work really hard to get his life back to the point that he was at before all of this misfortune. He started out slow with the money that he had in his bank he started a one man business that brought little income, but was something. As time progressed and the effects of the disasters started to fade and he was starting to make a good income again, his wife suddenly divorced him because he was spending too much time at work and never with the family.

His wife, who has a history of being melodramatic, got really upset that he was always away from the family and even on weekends he would shut himself in his room and work, trying to get everything stabilized. She was usually imperturbable, but this was enough, she left him and took all the kids with her. He was never allowed to see them again.

Once his wife left and took the kids all he had was his business, and that seemed to become dull because there was no one at home to support him and keep him on his feet. He had lost everything his health, his huge business that was flourishing and his family. On one cold and windy autumn day, closer to Halloween, he was standing near the ocean contemplating life, when he saw the same Chinese tent not one hundred meters away. He walks over to it and opens the blinds and all he sees is an interminable hole of darkness, leading nowhere …

— Fedor Krayev, Novato

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Grizzly and Golden Eagle

Merlot, Chardonnay, Zinfandel. 2002, 2000, 2004. Bottles of wine surround me as I sit alone and beleaguered on the floor of the little adobe house in Rancho Olompali. I’m barely aware of the grandfather clock as it sings a single note. 1 a.m., and I’m exhausted and mentally deteriorating as I try to organize a tasting event for the following day. The sea of bottles seems to mock me, tormenting and besieging me as they edge closer”…

Creeeeaaaak.

My heavy head snaps up.

She is no more than 5 years old; her azure dress is sewn with painstaking precision. Her jet-black hair is braided meticulously, and tied with silky bows. A woven doll dangles lifelessly from her hand, and she smiles innocently. Her wide eyes are tinged with a hint of red.

“Little girl, where are your parents?” Silence. “Donde estan tus padres?” She smiles wider, and glides toward me, with a graceful step rare in young children. She grasps my hand.

“Ven. Come.”

I slip into a new world. My olfactory senses are enthralled by the scent of roasted pig while my ears are bombarded with the gorgeous notes of salsa music and uninhibited laughter. She tugs me outside to the courtyard, just moments ago deserted, now vivified and bursting with life. There are people, so many people, and colors, an immaculate ocean of reds and blues, yellows and greens, waving with the vitality of a million proud flags.

But the dancing, it transfixes me- elaborate, limbs entangling and gowns swishing, the partners twirling in crisp air. It’s nearly too beautiful, drowning me, but I feel hauntingly light. So free! The music rises ever faster, climbing, evolving. Suddenly I’m dancing, whirling, and I hear myself laugh, erratically, my head tossed back, and I’ve never felt so luminous!

Then I see his face.

Deep purple shadows outline sinister eyes. A gash on his head, a horrible wound. His hands, entwined in mine, just sinew, the skin rotted away.

Eyes, the evilest red.

I’m overwhelmed, and I break loose, stumbling backwards. I glance in terror around me, as I suddenly see the gorgeous people of shining black hair and olive skin, turn deformedly injured faces toward me, glaring. My scream is stifled by shock as I stagger, and force myself to run, to escape the awful grimaces, the accusatory visages.

The heinous wine-colored eyes.

The child, the precious child, appears before me, playful smile dancing on her lips, her knuckles now wrapped around the doll’s neck. Her other hand clutches a bottle of wine. Vintage. 1846.

“Know we were here, mi hermana of California,” she whispers, as her doll slips to the floor, staring blankly up at me. She clasps my hair, bringing it to her own. Flaxen yellow; inky black. “Remember we were here.”

Crack.

I lay in a puddle of deep vermilion, and my last image is a shredded and withered flag, with a bear and a star, fluttering defiantly and contemptuously over those whom it hurt without consequence.

— Cooper Nelson, Novato

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The Maiden of Bolinas Lagoon

Kim and John sat on the dock of the Bolinas Rod and Boat Club, gazing at the beautiful moon that reflected upon the lagoon’s surface. Feeling spontaneous, the two decided to paddle across the moonlit water in the little row boat tied to the dock.

Suddenly, the light was gone. Within seconds, a thick fog had completely blocked out the light of the moon. Kim and John bobbed up and down, surrounded by a thick, opaque blanket of white.

The fog was so dense that Kim had difficulty seeing John, who sat just a few inches away from her. “John? Are you there? What happened?” “Yeah, I’m here. It must just be the typical Bolinas fog. Let’s just try to find our way back to the Boat Club.” “But John, how can we find our way back if we can’t even see the dock?” “We can retrace our steps. We’ll paddle back in the direction we came from,” he replied, trying to keep his composure.

The two turned the boat around and began paddling in complete silence. After a few minutes of utter quiet, they heard a splash off to their right.

“John? What was that sound?” “It’s probably another boat. In fact, I bet they can help us find the dock. Let’s follow the noise.” Filled with fear, Kim hesitantly followed John’s instructions. They began paddling in the direction from which they heard the splash. The two listened carefully, waiting to hear the splash again. To their surprise, they heard the splash from behind their boat. A few seconds later, they heard it come from the side. Addled by the erratic pattern of splashes, Kim and John stopped paddling.

John put down the oars and cupped his hands around his mouth. He hollered, “Hello? Who’s there?” He looked back and forth in a desperate attempt to ascertain the mysterious source of the splashing. After several minutes, he gave up hope and decided to start paddling again. However, when he looked down to grab his oars, they were gone.

“Kim, where did you put the oars?” Before she could reply, a mermaid-like creature emerged from the dark water. With a sinister glare beaming from her maroon-colored eyes, she said, “You selfish, insensitive humans, do you really paddle through my home? My home? The home that you destroyed with logging and building and other selfish human activity. You have carelessly filled my home with elements from yours. I think it’s time I fill yours with mine. Let’s take a little swim.” The mermaid grabbed the bow of the boat with her long, bony fingers and dragged Kim and John through the channel, into open water. With the nail of her finger, she pierced a hole through the bottom of the boat, causing water to quickly flood in. Pleased with her work, she made direct eye-contact with Kim and John and swam away, leaving them doomed to drown in the vast ocean. Never again did Kim nor John make eye-contact with anyone, as they were never seen again.

— Amanda Grimm, Novato,

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Baby Allison

It was just a few short minutes away from the final velvet curtain fall of Sally Mayor’s fifth birthday, and the rollicking little girl was tucking her new baby doll, Alison, into bed.

Baby Alison was a beautiful doll. She had shiny new violet hazel plastic eyes with thick blonde lashes encumbering them, and neat plaits in her strawberry tresses. She was the product of Sally’s endless pleas to her mother the past two months, and a just reward for the consecutive A’s she’d gotten on her spelling tests.

“Goodnight baby Allison, Mommy loves you. We’ll play again tomorrow,” cooed Sally to the doll’s perfectly harsh ear.

Sally slid off the light and shuffled to her own bed, all of a sudden she was very tired.

The wind rustled and reeled against the window as the clock struck against the twilight moon outside her San Marin home, and almost instantly little Sally Mayor slid into a deep sleep. She fell into a delicious dream of Alison and her devouring a creamy vanilla sunday from a portly ice-cream tree. The two were sitting beneath a tree, holding bowls of the scrumptious dessert on their laps. Sally told jokes in between savory mouthfuls and her companion sputtered in euphoria at each until her plastic stomach and cardboard lungs hurt from the combined effort of laughing and eating.

Suddenly, Alison dropped her spoon from her lips back into her bowl of ice cream. She froze for a moment, unblinking and numb. Slowly, she craned her head towards Sally, glinting two rows of perfectly straight pearly teeth, barred in displeasure.

“Allison? Is something the matter–” Sally’s voice was slashed as her words spouted from her mouth. Allison’s tiny hard hands were at either side of her neck squishing the air out with the same terrifying grimace, relishing each centimeter less of the space between her hands.

“Al”…ison”…nno”…no”

Yanking her off by her long braids Sally freed herself of the doll’s smothering grip. She bolted away from the tiny assailant toward a looming pile of boulders taking cover in one of their deep crevices.

“Mommy?” came a sweet voice. “Oh Mommy where are you?”

Sally’s body bristled. She could hear the click of Allison’s heels creeping towards her hiding spot and the doll’s strawberry perfume mixing with her own smell of fear.

“It’s just a dream, you can wake up. It’s just a dream you can wake up,” she furtively chanted to herself.

“Mommyyyy, where are youuu?”

“It’s just a dream you can wake up it’s just a dream you can wake up!” She cried into the boulders.

“There you are mommy,” The owner hissed.

Sally woke with a start from her bed. She was back in her own room. The night was quiet and her Novato home calm. Sally put her head back to her pillow.

“It was only a dream; I just needed to wake up.”

“Goodnight Sally, I love you. We’ll play again tomorrow night,” a sweet voice echoed from across the room.

— Kaelin Chan, Novato

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The Silhouette

A soft rustling crunch echoed through the dimly-light sylvan setting with every step up the steep and jagged hill. It was drawing closer to midnight; the moon was sinister behind a myriad of stars. Looking back one last time before the lofty trees obstructed his view, Dave could see a city of immense size; a sea of radiant lights filled his view. A soft gloomy fog slightly covered the lower beams of The Golden Gate almost resembling a floating highway.

“We’re almost there Dave, just another mile to go”…,” Travis said panting. He was a few paces ahead considering he was carrying about half the load that Dave had.

Both boys were around the age of seventeen and on their vacation. They had rented a one room cabin near the Marin Headlands Campgrounds.

It was silent except for the soft rustle of the occasional tree branch or monotonous chirping cricket. It was a particularly cold night in San Francisco, hot steam drifted out of their mouths with each breath. Up ahead, the faint silhouette of a small wooden cabin could be recognized against the gloomy grey sky. The scene was serene in its entirety; there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

“I thought this was supposed to be a campsite,” said Dave.

“Yeah, I know, this looks suspicious. Maybe we took the wrong trail a little while back”….,” Travis uttered.

However, they kept walking until they were at the cabin; it was small and had only one window. Smoke erupted out of the chimney almost as though there was a fire burning inside and someone had been there recently. Dave took out a key he had been given when they checked in and unlocked the umber door. A gust of cool air emptied as the door opened and a foul stench hit them instantly. When they proceeded in, Travis took out a match and lit a nearby lantern instantly illuminating the room. The cabin had a sense of antiquity to it; there were two beds and practically nothing else except an old dusty radio. They both dropped their things and went over to the radio; it was particularly old and had knobs instead of buttons. Dave turned the knob, but only pure silence was emitted until he hit it on the floor. Then suddenly a man’s voice could be heard faintly:

“A psychologically ill patient has escaped from a local Insane Asylum; we cannot reveal the name as it would cause wide-spread panic across Marin. The patient’s description: age 42, height: 6 feet 5 inches, and extremely dangerous”….

Only inaudible noise could be heard after that until it went quiet. Travis then walked over to the window and proceeded to close the blinds when he noticed in the distance a large dark figure.

“DAVE LOOK! DO YOU THINK IT COULD BE HIM?

Dave went over to the window and noticed it for a second before his view was obscured by the fog and the figure was gone”… Knock”….

— — Andrew Fronczak, Novato

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One Drip of Blood

I thought I had heard a noise. I eased my body slowly down the steep cement stairs. The basement was black, so I could only trust my ears. I tried to listen as hard as I could. I had convinced myself that there was no man, no noise, nothing. But, in the back of my mind, there was the possibility, the whisper that someone or something could be waiting: you know, the monsters from your childhood. My eyes started to adjust to the blackness, but I darted upstairs anyway. I was safe in the environment of my room.

“Don’t worry,” I told myself, “Everything will be fine, just go to sleep and stop imagining these silly noises!” My parents were already fast asleep, so I switched my light off and slowly closed my eyelids. Ten minutes had passed, and I was still lying awake, staring at the blank ceiling in front of me. I saw a zephyr linger in my curtains and felt it eventually brush against my face.

Creeeeaaaak I heard the noise from the downstairs basement again, but this time, it was louder: a lot louder. I started to inch out of my bed, but I scurried back to hide under the covers. I was too afraid. What if there was a something down there? What if something was waiting for me, ready to take its pray? My mind wandered to my ex-boyfriend and the car crash. I kept waiting for something to go wrong, for something to happen swiftly but nothing did.

Creeeeaaaak It came again, but this time louder. Much, much, louder and closer somehow. So close that it seemed as if it was not coming from the basement at all but in the hallway instead. I couldn’t move. I layed as still as I could so no one could hear me or see me. I was scared. My first instinct was to scream, but I couldn’t. I tried to push my vocal chords, but I couldn’t. It was like my vocal chords had evaporated into thin air. Instead, I laid as still as I could, so that no one could hear me. I adjusted my head, so I could see out of the tiny hole in my comforter. What id, someone attempted to open my door? But the door stayed closed, and now I willed myself to feel safe.

I tried to get out of my bed, but my legs deteriorated and fell beneath me. I lay on th floor. I was shaking all over. Sweat dripped off me as I stood up and walked towards the bedroom door. I opened it as slow as I could, and it creaked slightly on its ungreased hinges. There was nothing in the hallway except a one piece of paper. I bent down and glanced at the paper. It was blank. I stared at for a while wondering how it got there. I turned to go into my room but was suddenly stopped by the sound of another drip. I looked over to see the white paper, but instead of blank, it was red. A giant red splash of color covered the white sheet of paper. This time, instead of ignoring it, I looked up to where the drip had come from.

Where the attic door should be, there was a man dressed in all black staring down at me. Even as I began to run, I exchanged glances with him. I ran faster and faster to my parents’ bedroom, but he was already behind me. He grabbed a hold of my ponytail, and together, we tumbled down the stairs. Instantly, instinctively, I was up and running again. My nose dripped a drop of blood, but I kept running until I reached the back of the house. I had to hide. I wanted to jump into the washer machine but the man came after me with his grimy hand. I couldn’t see his face, but he was already pulling me backwards. My mind and thoughts faded into nothing.

— Maddy Saboe, Novato

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“Crrrreeeeeeaaaaaaak.” The door slowly swung open, revealing the dark, disheveled room. Lilly crept in, swinging her light from corner to corner, watching the round circle shake with the trembling of her hands. She stepped over the threshold and the door slammed shut. Startled, Lilly looked over her shoulder, but found nothing. She scurried over to the window, pulling down the large, deteriorating tarp, showering herself in spider webs and bug carcasses. The light hardly made it through the opaque window, completely covered in thick layers of dust. Lilly scrubbed at the atrocious window, managing to clear off a tiny section. She peered out of the opening and saw the dry grass and adobe houses littered all over Hamilton.

Lilly crept up the Hospital stairs, nearly tumbling down because of a loose step. She caught herself on the rickety handrail and continued up. All of a sudden, she heard a loud creaking sound. She spun around quickly only to tangle herself in a sticky spider web; she continued her journey. The round circle of light guiding her way began to flicker and then shut off completely. Lilly scrambled up the steps and rushed into a room and slammed the door behind her, banging her flashlight against the wall. She glanced to the right and discovered a tall, dark figure coming toward her. She let out a scream and turned to free herself from the dark room, but her trembling hands couldn’t grasp the doorknob. After a short struggle, she finally managed to shove the door open, just as the figure grabbed at her arm.

Lilly ran down the hall, the tall figure chasing after her. She immediately turned to the elevator, but she found that it was disabled. She then rushed into a room only to find no windows and pads lining the walls. She ducked out of the room and found the stairs, taking two at a time, trying to evade the coming figure. She reached the top and glanced backwards, and to her relief, the figure was nowhere in sight. She sat down against the wall, resting. “Crrrreeeeeeaaaaaaak.” Lilly snapped her head to the side, searching, but not finding the dark figure she looked for. “Crrrreeeeeeaaaaaaak.” Again, Lilly searched the stairwell and this time, she found the ominous figure, slowly moving toward her. She had no other choice but to go up.

Lilly found herself climbing the last flight of stairs, panicked and exhausted. She reached the final floor and found three dark figures walking toward her. Frantic, Lilly whirled around only to find the other dark figure slowly approaching. Lilly shrieked. “Lilly! Calm down. It’s just us. Who else would it be?” replied one of the dark figures.

Lilly spun around, but was blinded by a bright light. When she regained her vision, she realized the figures standing before her were the friends she was meeting. “Sorry about the flashlights,” one replied “Our batteries ran out and we couldn’t find the spares.”

— Rose Jarjoura, Novato

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The Devil Visits Tiburon

Wet, shaken grass slopped under Richard’s feet as he slowed down his run. With tawny hair matted to his face, he squinted through the heavy rain to see the sign ahead of him. Old St. Hilary Church, Richard thought to himself, this should be easier than I planned. Thunder struck above his head, causing Richard to jump and begin running toward the church at a faster pace than before. The heavy lock swung forward and back, taunting Richard every second he looked at it.

“I’ll show my insipid friends,” Richard panted while pulling the lock, “I’ll prove it to my pestilent parents.” Anger boiled through him, suddenly his scruples had disappeared. Bullets of water hit his face at a slashing angle, burning his cheek. With his weight on the door, he fell forward onto the hard floor of the church. Wind rushed through the room with a piercing coldness. Suddenly, the wind slammed the door shut, and a sinister voice burned into Richard’s ears.

“You have entered. You must pay. Be aware, you will pay.” Richard held his chest; it felt as though he had been spurned by a large group of men. Breathing heavy, Richard couldn’t get the voice out of his head.

“I will change you.” The voice was ominous and dark, “You are malleable, you see? I can make you succumb to my wishes. I can make you who I want you to be.” Richard brought himself to a sitting position in the middle of the floor. He frantically looked around the room for the voice that kept coming back.

Repressing his fear, he yelled into the empty church, “You can’t change me! I’m not susceptible to what you need! You’re a coward; you can’t even show me yourself!” The statues next to the sanctuary fell forward, shaking the small building. The rain thickened, hitting the stain glass windows with a deafening noise. Richard stood, moving slowly to the door.

“Feel your head.” The voice was angry this time.

Warmth hit Richard’s fingers as he touched his forehead. As soon as the dark, sticky slime slipped between his fingers, it burned. Richard screamed.

“What do you want me to do?” Richard became bawdy and rude, “Want me to break this?!” He flipped over a pew, “How about this? Is this good enough for you?!” Richard was walking over the piano.

“You are wrong.” The voice was raspy and contemptuous, “You have been in the wrong for some time now. Your suppression of anger, I see it burst within you, I see it burn in your eyes. I want you to use it.” The storm blew the doors open, slapping Richard with rain. The windows shook as the church came to life.

“There’s no anger, I swear!” Richard was screaming while turning in a circle, “What you want from me is wrong!” Richard fell to his knees holding his ears, screeching at the air.

“You win for now.” whispered the voice. The bitter wind seized, and the rain slowed to a pitter-patter on the roof of the old church.

— Bridgette Magee, Novato

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Another Trip

The moon was full, and the night, ominously silent. The latter fact made sense, seeing as I was in a library, but the former was strange because one usually isn’t in a library at midnight.

I had never succumbed so easily to a book before even though the probability was high. I was a regular at here at the Novato library; if you could win something from accumulating frequent reader miles, I was definitely a winner. I would have reveries of being the nemesis of all the readers of Main County, trying to catch up to me. The speed at which I powered through books made me have daydreams too because I could never stay focused on my reading”…

Anyway, I was almost through George Orwell’s 1984. Julia and Winston had gone into the room above the antique shop for the up-teenth time, and Winston had affirmed their safety there. Totally immersed in the chapter I was reading, the lights of the library dimmed as the lights in the attic above the singing red woman were turned off. I cozzied into the far corner I sat in as Winston and Julia met on the old mattress on the wooden bed frame.

I was enthralled and the quietness of the space emphasized the tension between the characters. I didn’t notice the murmurs of students searching the shelves for non-fiction, nor young kids flipping the wooden beads on the scaled down jungle gym we all used to play with. The cat lady wasn’t flapping the cds across the shelf anymore, and the metal step-stools didn’t bounce over the carpet to the desired row. These sounds stopped because there was no one to make them. The night’s oncoming cold was seeping through the windows, centered on the courtyard, centered on the statue of stone bears. I didn’t notice, and it didn’t matter because now the Thought police were breaking down the doors.

The Thought Police were breaking down the doors. The Thought Police were breaking down the doors. The usually automatic doors were being broken down. I was no longer in the attic, observing the protagonists; now I remembered that the library closes at nine, and Big Brother was coming to get me? No.

But he was. I pushed myself against the wall and grappled for the mint-colored shelves to pull myself up. Books were being thrown on the ground and I heard them approaching. They were boisterous as they entered, and I knew I was being besieged. Not forgetting to put my bookmark in, I took my messenger bag and began to run from the noises. Something was torn off the wall, and what was revealed, I could not see, but yes, the telescreen was there. I turned left through the magazines and left again past the copy machine and a row of computers. The boots didn’t stop until I jumped through the broken glass door into the surprisingly harsh October night. “You are the dead,” rang the telescreen. I watched the last bus pull out onto Novato Boulevard, and I caught my breath to find my library card.

— Tarah Connolly, Novato

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One Dark Night

“Hey, what was that noise?” “What noise? I didn’t hear anything.” “No, wait, listen “… can’t you hear that?” “I don’t hear anything. You’re craz “…” She suddenly became inarticulate as a shadow began to form from outside the old hospital in Hamilton. Her eyes darted from the street to the top of the ancient building, looking for the source of the shadow. Snap.

“There is it again!” A miniature rabbit scurried across the night floor in the darkness, snapping small sticks in the process.

“Pssh. I told you there was nothing to worry about! But of course someone’s all paranoid after watching that scary movie last night,” Kelly said with a simper on her visage.

“Ha ha”… yeah”… you’re right”… nothing to worry about”… nothing at all”…,” Rachel doubtfully reassured herself. “Okay can we just hurry up and get out of here? I’m cold and ready to leave.” “Sure we will go as soon as we go in there and get this night camera set up, we HAVE to prove to Kris that there is no such thing as ghosts and that this hospital is NOT haunted!”, Kelly briefly explained. “Look, there’s one of the basement windows. I’m going to break it with this rock, and then you help me crawl into it.” The rock hits the glass with a bang and the glass shatters all over the ground. Kelly carefully lowers herself down to the basement floor then turns to help Rachel into the darkness. Rachel peers into the dark corners of the hospital basement and stands there transfixed in terror.

“What? Are you coming down here or do I have to force you?” Kelly states frustrated.

“Uh nothing, I-I ‘m coming down”, Rachel stutters and she languidly walks toward the open window and shattered glass.

Rachel begins to descend into the dark abyss, as she loses her footing and slips, gouging her knee on the broken glass on the basement floor.

“I’m okay; I’m okay, just a little blood. Let’s just hurry up and set up the camera so we can get out of here.”Rachel persuades Kelly.

“Okay. Hmm this seems like a good spot. Now I just have to press the record button and”… done. We can leave now, are you happy?” “What? Uh sure, right.” Rachel subconsciously replies, still focused on the corner. “Did you just hear that? I could have sworn I just heard someone breathing in that corner”…” Rachel jerked herself out of her reverie, now lying wide awake in her own bed.

“Whoa! What a weird dream”…thank God it was only a dream!” she thinks to herself before rolling over to fall back asleep.

“OUCH!” she thinks grabbing her knee and finding a huge gouge”… “But no”… it can be”… it was a dream”…wasn’t it?”

— Alli DeGeorge, Novato

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A Night In a Hot Tub Gone Wrong

Last night around midnight, Sara and Angela decided to go in the hot tub. They had just recently moved into an old home in a quiet neighborhood in Novato. A few of their neighbors had told them that their house was mystical and haunted, but they didn’t believe them. While they were in the hot tub, they felt a zephyr, then, they heard a crash. Startled, they turned on their flashlights, but didn’t see a thing. After a few minutes, they decided that they were hearing things. So, they continued to stay outside. Then, a tree started to creak and a dog started to growl. Unsure of what was going to happen next, the girls once again got out their flash lights, but again didn’t see a thing. Feeling apprehensive, they decided to wander around to see if something was in their yard. When they went around the corner, they heard a huge crash and then a boisterous thud. The girls screamed for their dad, but he never came. When they ran inside the noises started to occur more frequently and louder then before. As they walked into their bedroom, the toilet flushed, the bathtub turned on, and the sink began to over flow. They ran around trying to fix everything, but by the time they got to the sink, it had already flooded their kitchen. As they tried to pick up the pieces the stove turned on, and the kitchen burst into flames. They ran out of the house and waiting for the fire department to arrive. When they did, they told the girls that there was never a fire in their kitchen. Puzzled the girls went back into their house. They tried to turn on the television, but all that they could hear was a ticking noise coming from the bottom of it. Then, they discovered a book on the counter. The book describes in detail what their neighbors had previously told them.

— Christine Byrne, Novato

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The gut-wrenching rumble of the rusty, blood splattered chainsaw got louder and louder as the murderer got closer and closer to where the blue wood door of the cramped closet was. Susan shook vigorously and beads of sweat rolled down her face like she just got out of a pool. She rocked back and forth, hugging her legs as if it would save her life. Her eyes were closed as she anticipated the gory chainsaw. Then, when she thought she was going to die, the chainsaw fell silent and she could hear nothing but the fast and short sound of her own breathing. Bam! The door flung open and slammed into the wall, nearly falling off its own squeaky hinges. The chainsaw revved again, and Susan looked up from the stain on the floor she was boring a hole in to see the morbid chainsaw coming down on her. The last thing she saw was her own terrified reflection in his one glass eye that never stopped gazing mysteriously at you.

The credits rolled and the T.V. crackled like static when I clicked it off. I lumbered sleepily up the creaky stairs and to my room, collapsing instantly on my cloud-soft bed. The next morning I sprang out of bed wide awake. Later that night, when the sky was dark gray but not quite black, my friends and I met at an old “haunted house.” It was a prehistoric two-story house that was supposed to be wood but rotted into a grimy, black mold color. When all five of us were there, we approached the house sneakily. Just before we reached the cockroach infested porch, the half disintegrated door slowly creaked open, moaning as it did. It stopped and everything inside was pitch black like a cloudy night with no moon. We all looked at each other, fear in our eyes.

We all pivoted on our heels and began to retreat. The door slammed behind us and we heard an evil laugh. All of us sprinted away.

When there was a good distance between us and the house, our pace slowed to a walk. We found ourselves in a graveyard that smelled of death. Now it was pitch black out and we could hardly see our own hands in front of our faces. “Guys,” I whispered looking around, but no response, “where are you?!” Still no response. There was an eerie silence as the trees began to rustle in the whistling wind. I heard footsteps and whipped around to see a single tombstone with my name on it. The end date was today, Halloween. I slowly backed a way and heard the same evil cackle I heard at the house, but this time it was followed by a blood-curdling scream. I turned around and ran like the wind, but still I couldn’t run fast enough. The last thing I remembered was another blood-curdling scream, this time it was my own. Then all there was, was blackness.

— Mikaela Walkup, Novato

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THE KILLER DOLL

There once was a boy named Samuel Barker, who lived on Indian Valley Road. He had great manners, and was very helpful when he needed to be. One day his parents came home to find him dead on the floor of his room, with a doll in his hand.

The investigators were all over his yard. His mother was crying her tear ducts out asking, why? His father was trying to stay strong for his wife, but his heart was collapsing inside.

“Ma’am?” asked an investigator.

“Yes?” said Samuel’s mother still crying.

“We have no idea what happened to your son. There is nothing we can find”….” What really happened that day is something no one would ever guess. Something so unbelievable you will die of shock”…”… You see when Samuel was younger; he would make his own fun. He didn’t like video games; in fact he didn’t even own a television. His favorite thing to play with was a doll he had found in the tree house in his backyard. The weird part is no one knows who built the tree house or where the doll came from.

He had so much fun with just that doll. It had one eye, its stitches were coming undone, and it was extremely dirty, but it was his best friend. On his ninth birthday he got an awesome new action figure. So he put his old doll in a box with all the other toys he outgrew. What Samuel didn’t know was that the doll didn’t like that. That’s right the doll was ALIVE.

On the day they found his body his parents were working late. So he was home alone for eight hours. He made himself dinner and then went upstairs to get ready for bed. As he’s brushing his teeth he glances into the mirror, and sees the shower curtain move. He gets the chills and slowly reaches for the curtain with a trembling hand, and he whips it open. Sitting right there was the DOLL.

At first Samuel is confused and wondering why it’s there. It was looking away from him and then suddenly it moves its eye to look at him. Samuel still doesn’t understand so he shrugs turns off the light, and shuts the door.

“This is so weird I haven’t seen that doll in four years.” He got into bed and reached to turn off his lamp. The bathroom door creaked open as the light went out.

“Whoa, did I just see that?” He fumbles for the light. When he finally grasps the switch, and turns it on the doll is on his bed staring at him. His heart was pounding, his mind was racing, his adrenalin was pumping, and he screamed.

Later that night when his parents came home, his mother came upstairs to say goodnight. When she walked into his pitch black room she walked over to his bed. She tripped over something. She reached down to pick it up, but what she feels is a cold, dead, hand.

— Isiah Quiros, Novato

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In 1958, a story begins spreading through all of Marin County. The story is about two teenage siblings whose names are Miguel and Jessica. They reside in a small town, Novato, and they attend Novato High School. Miguel and Jessica are siblings that are the centers of hate throughout the town of Novato. They are disrespectful, recalcitrant, inconsiderate, and ungenerous to all and especially to their mother. Miguel and Jessica even go to lengths of abusing her, but little do they know that this atrocious offense will be the end of their existence.

It is an ordinary day in the winter, when Miguel and Jessica’s mother ask them to go to Safeway to fetch some ingredients for dinner. Being their usual selves, they disobey her and revile her. To cease receiving more harsh comments from her children, she departs to Safeway by herself. Thirty minutes pass and the two siblings realize that their mother is absent for quite a while.

“Where’s that lady with our food?” says Jessica.

“Yeah really,” Miguel agrees. “Safeway is only five minutes away.”

“That lady probably fell and broke her leg,” laughs Jessica.

“Haha yeah,” Miguel laughs along. “Let’s just go to bed.”

Miguel and Jessica got off the couch and begin heading for their room. They open the door and see a figure resembling their mom on their bed; looking at the wall moaning.

“What in the world are you doing!” Miguel exclaims.

“Yeah you stupid lady,” Jessica adds. “Get off our bed!”

There is no response, only moaning. This makes Miguel and Jessica furious, forcing them to go up to their mother and flip her over. As they flip her over, they realize that the figure resembling their mother is actually a dark silhouette figure with a luminescent red radiating off of it. The figure levitates itself up and introduces itself as Lucifer, the Devil. The kids are in awe and inarticulate by the omnipotent force that the Devil exerts. The Devil just sits on the bed staring into their eyes with his hypnotic glare, making what is minutes feel like a millennium. The children finally snap out of the Devil’s hypnotism and bolt towards the door, but soon realize they were no longer in their room, but a ring of fire.

“You contemptuous kids are rude and undeserving of such a caring mother,” Lucifer asserts, “and for being disrespectful to the person who gave you live, you yourself don’t deserve one.”

“But Lucifer we can change!” the kids say.

“It is too late for you to change!” Lucifer exclaims, “give me your hands and we will begin your journey.”

The kids seeing their inevitable fate surrender their hands to the Devil and begin their journey to the fiery infernos of Hell, where they will be spending the rest of their lives.

— Jeffrey Hua, Novato

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A zephyr sent a shiver down Susan’s spine. It shook her whole body as she stood in front of the Applebee’s at the Northgate mall. The Marin county hot-spot had closed over thirty minutes ago, but it’s new employee, Susan, waited for her ride to pick her up. Susan checked her phone; 11:45 it read in bold white lettering, confirming her doubts that her father had forgotten to pick her up. She sighed as she started to call the home phone number. CLANG!!! Susan jumped at the sound of a public trash can being kicked. Idiotically, Susan crouched behind one of the stone blocks in front of the restaurant. She heard the footsteps of two”…three people as they passed the Applebee’s.

“I can’t believe it,” said a voice in a languid tone.

“I know,” responded another voice. “Two years since we’ve seen them, right? And now we’re about to, after all this time —

“Bofore the accident”…,” the girl spoke again. Everyone stopped.

The girl started sniveling, “It was our fault —hick-.”

Someone jumped onto the stone block; Susan sank deeper into her crouch.

“It wasn’t any of our faults,” a third person mumbled in a reassuring tone. “We didn’t mean for it to happen, one too many drinks, that’s all.” The girl wailed again.

The person on the block jumped down, “We’ve gone over this! It’s over, she’s dead, now let’s go and see if we can’t be forgiven!”

Still crying, the girl left with the other two in the group, past the Applebee’s toward the parking garage. Susan finally sat up and exhaled in a chain of erratic breaths. After a moment, with curiosity scratching her mind, Susan stood and followed the group past the Applebee’s. After arriving at the parking garage, Susan took the stairs, slowing down as she neared the roof. Susan gasped in amazement when she saw an RV covered in lights and surrounded by people, all holding candles in cups. Susan spotted the group approaching the RV, where a woman and man stood. The woman began to cry when she saw the group. I’m so sorry, for what we did, Susan could almost hear the girl say through hiccups and sobs. We were drunk, the girl admitted tearfully, and when we ran that light, and Susan-. She kept talking but Susan didn’t hear her voice anymore. She looked around and saw a photo of herself on a large board, leaning up against the side of the RV. She gasped. The crash, her head; she touched it and on her hand, three drops of blood stained her dead complexion. Her vision clouding, she remembered; her friends, her parents and her death. She screamed as she faded, and as she left, she say her friends and family look. She saw their eyes grow big and their tears stop, and as everything went black she wondered if they saw her, while she had been watching them.

— Rachel Shopoff, Novato

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A young woman parks in her San Rafael driveway Two cars were once parked there A young woman walks through a doorway She is dressed in black A young woman ignores several pictures Of her and another lady A young woman walks past the dining room There are two chairs at the table A young woman makes lunch For one A young woman glances at a letter lying on the couch Worn tissues envelop it A young woman walks into her room Another bedroom sits down the hall A young woman sits at her desk There is a driver’s license She fingers it It is not hers …A young woman remembers the trip ..A young woman remembers the ticket A young woman remembers the phone call

A young girl plays with her best friend

A young woman grieves

— Daniel Kong, Novato

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In Novato, along a rusty and antiquated railroad, and amid a myriad of bushes and piles of trash stands a seemingly abandoned warehouse. From the outside the building appears to be no more than four graffiti-covered walls and a collapsing roof, but in reality it consists of much more. The few that can muster the courage to enter the building are quite surprised at what they see. As you open the doors you will notice that the building is in fact some sort of holding area, a mental institution and prison hybrid, if you will. You will notice that the building is rather decrepit, flaxen wallpaper from decades ago is peeling off the walls and nothing in the room seems to be less than 60 years old or some other kind of antiquity. When you reach the front desk you will be greeted by a jumpy and disheveled, yet thoroughly beleaguered attendant; ask to visit someone who calls himself “The Holder of the End”. Should a look of child-like fear come over the worker’s face, you will then be taken to a cell in the building. It will be in a deep hidden section of the building. All you will hear is the sound of someone talking to themselves echo the halls. It is in a language that you will not understand, but your very soul will feel unspeakable fear. Should the talking stop at any time, STOP and QUICKLY say aloud “I’m just passing through, I wish to talk.” If you still hear silence, flee. Leave, do not stop for anything, do not go home, don’t stay at a motel, just keep moving, and sleep where your body drops. You will know in the morning if you’ve escaped. If the voice in the hall comes back after you utter those words continue on. Upon reaching the cell all you will see is a windowless room with a person in the corner, erratically speaking an unknown language, and cradling something. The person will only respond to one question. “What happens when they all come together?” The person will then stare into your eyes and answer your question in horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear soon after the meeting, and a few end their lives. But most do the worst thing, and look upon the object in the person’s hands. You will want to as well. Be warned that if you do, your death will be one of cruelty and unrelenting horror. Your death will be in that room, by that person’s hands.

— Zaid Elkurdi, Novato

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Eternal Rest

The backdrop of the Glenwood valley consisted of the ringing silence of the night, and the mysterious darkness of what existed beyond.

Aura and Nola were in their charming single story home on a Thursday night in the suburban neighborhood. The twins reluctantly ruminated over their tedious homework and anxiously awaited the thrills of their upcoming weekends before falling asleep.

All of a sudden, a shrill scream sounded and the entire house creaked. Aura listened intently to the nothingness that now surrounded her. She disregarded the noise, but later heard muffled footsteps coming from the far end of the house. She squeezed her eyes together tightly and forced herself to believe it was paranoia. Eventually, she dozed off and was excused from the dreadful noises that continued throughout the night.

The twin’s mother was your typical single mom; welcoming and always put together, yet seemingly overtaken by an unexplainable uneasiness. The daughters were well rounded, noticeably intelligent, and liked by their peers.

On the eve of Halloween, Aura was alone while Nola and their mom stayed out late, dealing with a last minute costume crisis. A strange, painful scream suddenly echoed throughout the house. Aura’s blood froze in her veins. She listened intently, until a shameful cry became audible.

It was hot, confined, and chillingly spooky. Aura suddenly came to her senses and realized it was not smart to be in the attic while home alone, searching for an invader in their house. Regardless, something made her continue to crawl through the dark, compact space. The small fragment of light coming from over twenty feet away was the entrance door she had taken from her room. A deafening thump sounded and breathing was coming from the opposite side of the attic; Aura had the eerie sensation that she was not alone.

Nola arrived home with their mom, and ran excitedly to Aura’s bedroom, with the intent of showing her the costume. “Mom!?” Nola desperately exclaimed, “wh-, wh-, what happened to Au-, ra?” She was horror-struck; this was not her idea of a Halloween prank.

Aura’s dead body was sedulously wrapped up and escorted away. Her neck was swollen and red. Disquietude overwhelmed the corrupted home.

On Halloween, Nola retreated to Aura’s abandoned bedroom. She hesitantly sat on the bed, and aimlessly felt the salty tears fall slowly into her lap. Suddenly, a hand grasped her lingering ankles and pulled her ruthlessly under the bed. She was instantaneously face to face with an austere and intimidating man.

His dark, abominable voice croaked, “These actions come not with ethics, but with necessity. My only son, your older brother, was mistakenly killed long ago. His absence has made me crazy. It is out of love and respect to my only son that I spare you of life’s troubles and assure your infinite rested state of peace. I love you.” With this statement, he insensately clawed Nola’s fragile neck and squeezed until the whites of her eyes turned red and her face became expressionless.

— Helene Erler, San Rafael

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Prey

You’re staggering around in Pioneer Park, only there are no pioneers here, just misplaced friends. You’re alone except for the rusty snickers of the wind being sliced by lamp posts. Even the aureate illumination of the sun has been replaced by a fuzzy yellow street light. Shivers slink behind the splotches of darkness, tingling as they scrape up the vulnerable part of your knee, then slip as a blade under your shoulder, then scorch all speech from the tip of your tongue.

The shivers bring a sense of justified paranoia, and suddenly there’s a stifling fear that besets you. It creeps in the slits of the park benches. It stalks you from your betraying shadow. You exposed yourself to the worst of predators; something that’s everywhere. A ghost from the cemetery, moaning for lost love and misery. A beast from the forest, growling and gurgling in anticipation. Something too hideous to be imagined, something that shields itself in darkness, lest it catch a glimpse of its own visage and petrify itself; it’s following you.

The footsteps are masked in rain drops now. You declare your fear in a controlled, concise whimper. The thing offers no comfort in return. Its steps grow heavier and steadier. As you risk a glance at it, you see its jagged-claw teeth. Its skin blends with the sky, with its eyes as blinking stars.

The street lamps stave away the hovering, screeching night, but down the streets, the lights are off and there’s nobody home. Even the small solace brought by the lamps is extinguished by the icy rain. Water stabs through your skin, pricking your hands and arms like malevolent needles. The malevolent being behind you is still plummeting through your senses, blocking the owls’ cries from your ears and replacing them with the patter of feet against slippery pavement. You can’t smell anything but damp air and the scent of mud. Your hands numb themselves.

This delirium continues, with the swimming black hole creature behind you. Your friends are forgotten. At least they’re in a group, if they’re pursued by the same beast. Your life is forgotten. There was never anything but attempting to escape this creature. Your name is forgotten. It’s not important. Your vision dissipates, leaving a burnt cutout of the monster in your eyes. The windows on the street reflect the remnants of your terror, house the remainder of your body, and reflect whatever’s left behind. The monster pants, desperately gasping with the beat of the rain. There is nothing left for it to remember.

— Taylor Saunders, Novato

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Breaking News

That night replayed over and over again in her mind. Every time she shut her eyes, it was like a movie theater premiering a horror film. Ever since that night, Mary never felt safe, ever.

One rainy afternoon, Mary and her mom were watching the news peacefully while eating their lunches. Lucas Valley was a rather quiet neighborhood that rarelyappeared on the news. Caught off guard, the television flashed “Breaking News.” Puzzled, Mary listened intently. The man in the suit stated seriously that there had been a series of burglaries around Lucas Valley. He said that the police were searching for the criminal, but hadn’t found much evidence. The burglar had stolen jewelry, televisions, computers, and money. The news anchor said that if anyone had any information leading to the discovery of the person responsible for these felonious acts, they would receive a reward of $5,000. When the broadcast was over Mary looked at her mother with worried eyes and asked if the burglar would come to their house. Her mother replied with a no to calm her child, and continued eating her lunch.

For the weeks following that newscast, there continued to be burglaries around Lucas Valley. Mary couldn’t escape the fear. The fear began to become a part of her. She lived with it every day, ever night, every minute of every hour. The fear became Mary.

One mystic night, while lying in bed, Mary heard someone walking. She got out of bed and inched toward her door. She looked through the crack in her door, and almost fainted when she saw the shadow of a large human. Frozen with fear and disbelief, she didn’t know what to do. Without any time to think about what she was doing, Mary grabbed her lava lamp and held it tightly. She opened her door quietly, and when she had her target, she threw her lava lamp. It hit the unknown figure with a loud crash. Mary’s parents ran out of their room frantically and switched on the light in the hall where Mary was standing. Unable to process what had happened, they looked from Mary, with a satisfied look on her face, to the dead body lying on the ground by their couch. In a state of shock, they called the police and the body was taken away and officially identified as Mary’s Uncle Pat. She had forgotten that he was staying with them, and he was getting a midnight snack.

When Mary returned to a normal state of mind, she had an emotional break down. Addled and unsure what to do, Mary’s parents contacted a doctor. After many appointments with the doctor and a therapist, Mary was diagnosed with schizophrenia. The newscast had never happened. Her parents sent her to a rehabilitation center for the mentally ill. Ever since that night, she never felt safe”… especially from herself.

— Kaila Greenstein, Novato

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On the Loose

“He must be drunk,” said the slightly taller, brown haired police officer. The two men were dragging a deranged homeless man from the green at the library into the police station. “He was shaking and moaning and shouting balderdash when we walked up to him”.

“Yeah, definitely. How are we going to get him down these stairs? He looks like he’s trying to walk, but he’s just way too loaded.” This policeman, Chuck, was shorter and more muscular, with fairer hair and darker skin than Kevin, his partner. “Okay, I’ve got him, open the door”. Heads turned as Chuck and Kevin dragged this crazed drunk into through the waiting room and into a questioning room.

“The holding cells are really crowded, and I don’t want this guy to rile up the other criminals. Let’s keep him in here, ask him a few questions, and then let him go” said Kevin.

“Good idea, but this is ridiculous. We don’t have enough time to deal with a case of public intoxication, another kid went missing last night” Chuck said emphatically.

“Do they know what’s happening to them?” Kevin inquired. He looked at the homeless man sitting alone at the table. He was unshaven and dirty, wearing a sordid trench coat and a pair of corduroy golfing pants that looked like he found them in a garbage can. He stared at the table, with sunken, glazed eyes. He looked like he could bore a hole through the table with that stare.

“We’re going to need you to breathe into this Breathalyzer” Chuck said undemonstratively to the man. The man turned slowly, his eyes wild with fear. Suddenly his face relaxed and he uttered his first intelligible words.

“For the children.” He stared at Chuck, stepped closer and breathed into the Breathalyzer. Chuck stared in disbelief at the little machine, and Kevin stepped up behind him to see the results for himself. Chuck turned to Kevin.

“We need to talk to the chief about this”. Kevin nodded, and they stepped out of the room. They walked into the chief’s office in complete silence.

“Chief, we have a problem” stated Kevin in a monotone voice. “The man who we brought in for public intoxication”…. was not drunk. He seems to be mentally unstable, and he’s talking about ‘saving the children’. We’re worried that he has had something to do with the disappearing kids” The chief was a small, fragile looking woman. She looked at the men as they walked in and accosted the men. “Unless you have some kind of proof to show that he has had something to do with the disappearances, you must let him go. He’s obviously unstable, so we cant trust anything he says. The department doesn’t have enough people and resources to have you two investigating a harmless homeless man, when you should be helping with the missing kids’ cases”.

The men were out of luck. A possible kidnapper had been set free.

— Emily Laskin, 15, San Rafael

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Halloween, October 31, 2004. Some say it’s the scariest night of the year, and some think it’s a cruel joke. But I found myself scared for my life on Halloween. Sometimes I wish it was all a dream, but I can never forget what happened that terrifying night.

“Hey beautiful,” Said Vinny as her draped his arms around me, “happy Halloween” “Is it?” I replied.

“I know this is hard for you” he said warmheartedly.

I looked away so he wouldn’t see me start to cry. Last year on Halloween, my twin brother Spencer died. We were super close, and I felt that it was my fault.

“I’m sorry, just thinking about it makes me emotional” I replied.

“Come on lets go” he said as he wiped my tears, took my hand and led me down the street.

We walked to the old Novato hospital”….it’s been abandoned for years, so we decided to go there.

-Creak-

“What was that!!” I said, alarmed.

“It’s an old place, Snooki” Vinny said calmly, but with a sense of worry.

“Vinny, let’s leave NOW!!!” I screamed.

“Stop being a baby,” he laughed, “even though you’re cute when you’re scared.” “Shut up, Vinny”

“I love you”

-Creak-

“There it is again, can we please leave???” I begged.

“Fine” he said disappointed, “you are such a buzz kill.” He started to walk away, but then he vanished”… “Vinny?” I asked. “Hello?” he didn’t answer”…I could hear my heart in my throat and I started to get a cold sweat “This isn’t funny”…..” I whispered. But then I realized that it wasn’t a joke.

Someone was following me.

Then I ran.

I stopped.

I could feel their breath on my neck, and as I turned around, I screamed”…

— Zoe Hoover Novato

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On chilly October days like these, I often walked around Grant Street just because of the silence and serenity it offered unlike my bustling home. A few shoppers who dared the freezing temperatures were scattered among the street, but other than that it was really just I. Well, me and that other girl who was sitting alone on the bench. Who was she anyway? Novato was a quiet town and most of us could recognize eachother, but not this girl. Her face was pale and solemn, bit once I was striding by her it lit up and she flipped her hair back.

“Hey, I’m Leila! I’m new here, actually,” the words rolled off her tongue expeditiously.

“Oh really? I’m Susie. How’s moving in going along?”

“Slowly and phenomenaly boring, but I suppose it’s inevitable.”

“Yeah,” I acted as though I knew even though I had lived in Novato my entire life.

“Actually, my parents said I could invite someone over if I wanted. I know we hardly know each other, but would you like to come?” her eyes stared at me wide and hopeful.

I had to get home but I cracked under pressure, as usual, and started walking to her house with her. As we chatted meaningless subjects I examined her actions, her words, her expressions. I did this with everyone and many stopped and asked me what I was doing; not Leila. She seemed to be enamoured with her own voice and kept babbling on.

At last we reached her house. There was no car in the driveway so I asked where might her parents be?

“They’re probably just checking out the town, you know?”

At the time it seemed like a valid answer but only later did I realize how vague Leila was and how she swiftly blew off my inquiries.

Leila opened the front door and locked it. I laughed nervously in an effort to make the situation less awkward. It didn’t work. Leila went off to the kitchen to grab some snacks-they had unpacked the kitchen stuff she told me. What she came back was not some crackers, it was a knife.

“What are you doi-” I started as she pinned me against the wall.

She held the knife to my throat and I gasped for air and attempted to shove her off of me. Leila pushed me to the ground and cut of my right hand’s thumb. I screamed in agony as blood gushed out of me and she continued to cut off all my fingers one by one, each time throwing back her head and laughing mercilesly. And as quickly as it began it stopped. She fled the house, leaving me in my pain. The room dimmed and grew fuzzy, my throat ached from shrieking, my mutilated hands sat on the floor lifeless, and suddenly everything just ended.

“Did you hear there’s a runaway on the loose?” Greta, and elderly woman, said.

“Really?” her friend replied.

“Yes, and apparently, she’s quite violent. I just heard something on the news about her. She’s been harming unsuspecting kids all over the tristate area.”

“What a shame…”

— Dara Elkurdi, from Novato

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It was a cold, winter morning in Novato and the first bell had just rung at Hill Middle School. The classroom was filled with the chit-chat of student as I sat in my seat and talked to my friend. We were waiting for the second bell to ring and our teacher to arrive at the classroom. When the bell rang we all sat in our seats as the teacher entered and explained the agenda for the day.

The door opened and a dark, intimidating figure entered the room.

“Class, please welcome a new student at our school, Aaron Jako,” The boy had black hair with bangs covering his left eye, and snow-white skin. Some kids giggled at his last name so he shot them and glare, quickly silencing them. “Aaron, you will be sitting next to her,” She said pointing at the seat next to mine. He sat down quickly, bringing his deadly aura with him that filled the classroom. Class continued awkwardly, and the bell rang for break.

I never saw Aaron get up but he seemed to just transport to the door. I paid no attention knowing that some people are quick to leave the room. I got up and left after the crowd had cleared and I walked over to where my friends were. We all talked but I got distracted, seeing some boys were picking on Aaron and calling him ‘Jako-Lantern’ and pushing him around. I wanted to do something but they went out of sight behind a wall. A few minutes later Aaron walked out from the hidden spot, but the boys didn’t. I got curious and told my friends that I’d be back. I walked over to where the boys were. I gasped at the sight and started feeling sick. The two boys lay on the ground, torn apart, and dead. Aaron had killed them.

I attempted continuing my day normally and not daring to say a word knowing that Aaron would probably hunt me down if he found out. It was nerve-wracking knowing that there was a murder at our school.

I was walking to my next class, unable to stop myself from telling my friend.

“Are you going to tell a teacher?! What about the police?!” He said.

“He’ll kill me too!!” The fire alarm went off and the classroom in front of us exploded in flames. I screamed and my friend ran, as did I. I tripped, almost being forced to watch the entire school burn. I vomited, as one person grabbed my arm, scorching it before they turned to ashes. I passed out.

When I woke up everything was fuzzy. I saw a dark figure walk up to me. My vision cleared and I saw it was Aaron with a knife above my head.

“I’ll end this town”…” He said. He brought the knife down and I screamed, feeling the sharp pain. Novato was going to disappear”… at the hands of a child”… No”… At the hands of a killer”…

— Catherine Gorman, Novato

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No Strings Attached

That night, the librarian had just finished her least favorite part of her job: putting on a puppet show for the kids.

The puppets were certainly quality stuff–even the she, who hadn’t paid much attention to puppets before she got this job at the San Rafael Public Library, could see that. Each little face was hand painted in bright, shiny colors with eerily cheerful smiles.

She dropped a puppet wearing a miniature flannel shirt and overalls back into its crate as the lights flicked off, one by one. Everyone else had left.

She looked up and saw a flash of red whip around the corner of one of the shelves in front of her.

“Hello? Is anybody here?” she called out cautiously. No answer.

She began to slowly creep between the shelves. She had almost reached the end of the corridor when something landed on her head. She screamed and flailed about, waving her hands in the air as something grabbed at her hair and kicked at her neck. It landed on the carpet in front of her. It let out a chilling high- pitched laugh. It was the puppet, holding a bloody, serrated butcher knife.

The librarian let out a piercing scream, turned around, and ran out of the children’s section as fast as she could. She sprinted towards the front doors. She feverishly tugged on the handles but the doors wouldn’t budge.

The librarian turned around and let out a blood- curdling scream. Before her stood over twenty puppets, each wearing a different fairy tale costume, and each holding a bloody weapon.

After a few moments, the librarian managed to leap over the sea of puppets and made a run for it up the stairs. The puppets suddenly changed from a crowd of laughing children to a herd of snarling beasts, blood dripping like paint from their crimson lips as they scrambled behind her up the stairs, grabbing for her ankles and ripping her stockings.

Finally the librarian reached the top of the stairs, and dashed into the midst of the dark shelves. Behind her, she heard the crowd of puppets halt, and judging by the pitter-patter of their little shoes, separate. She zig-zagged between the shelves, venturing deeper and deeper into the darkness and musty odors of her prison. She heard a soft tapping to her left, and dove to her right, galloping down the aisle, and slowed to a walk.

She crept down the aisle and cautiously approached the large room that held the computers and DVDs, which had huge picture windows that looked out onto downtown San Rafael. She stopped in her tracks and gasped for air.

It was a gruesome sight. There were two decapitated bodies in front of her. She recognized the pale, bloody faces at once. It was the other two librarians. Each different part of their bodies was hung from the ceiling with string. The librarian fell to her knees and blacked out.

— Frances Casey, San Rafael

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The Girl with the Green Eyes

The girl with the green eyes was putting the necklace back on its stand when the chain came alive in her fingers and slithered to the ground, clunking on the asphalt of the old driveway. As the locket opened, a cloud of dust rose into her face, making her sneeze. The man running the cash register of the estate sale scowled and adjusted his glasses before growling, “You break it, you buy it,” and turning away.

It was the night of the grand opening of the Falkirk Cultural Center when the voices started. On her way home, the girl with the green eyes was lingering at the cast-iron gate of her house, running her fingers along the spikes and spirals that wrapped themselves into a wall. Suddenly, her vision blurred, and she sneezed. Head reeling, she staggered back and began to fall until, with a life of its own, her hand slammed itself onto one of the spikes and pulled her up. Frozen, she stood there, until a burst of pain shot through her hand and she jerked it away, splattering blood onto the sidewalk across from Gerstle Park. Only the creaking of the empty swings startled her back to reality and she hurried inside, assuring herself that the laughter in her head wasn’t real.

The next time it happened, she was helpless. The girl with the green eyes was setting the table when she sneezed and fell to her knees, the room spinning. It took her a moment to figure out what was wrong–she couldn’t get up; she had no control.

Horror consumed her as she watched herself stand and smile at her mother.

No! I’m not ok! she shouted in panic, but no sound came out.

“Really, I’m fine,” her voice said, calmly.

The girl with the green eyes was trapped inside her own head, watching as something else lived her life. The times when her body was her own grew fewer and fewer, and she feared that one day she would lose herself completely. One morning she saw an article about the woman whose belongings had been sold at the estate sale–she had been sent to an asylum after killing her family in their sleep. The girl with the green eyes held the paper with trembling hands as she looked down at the picture of a woman wearing the same necklace she wore. She was ripping the locket from her neck when she sneezed, and crumpled to the ground.

The year was 2010, and the belongings of the girl with the green eyes were being laid out on a table in front of a house with a cast-iron gate, across from a children’s park.

A woman with red hair was putting a necklace back on its stand when it slipped from her fingers and dropped to the ground, sending up a cloud of dust that made her sneeze. The man behind the register scowled, adjusted his glasses, and said, “You break it, you buy it.”

— Emily Lane, San Rafael

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It Happened in the Night

It happened in the night. No one watching. No one suspecting a thing. The quiet Sun Valley neighborhood remained still, unknowing. But it happened.

He is a tall man, very thin but with strong muscles from years working as a body snatcher with no partner to help carry the load. When he approaches the fence, he climbs it with ease, his limbs stretching to hoist himself over the spires of the fence. He has done this a thousand times. The Tamalpais Cemetery was his favorite, many of the bodies were fresh. Although this night started out like all the rest, something told him it would end differently.

The tall man knew what he was looking for and he scoured the grave yard for the large, white cross that marked his destination. He had passed it by before, thinking about the wealthy man who had been buried there and longing to dig up the ornate casket to pillage the corpse. His time had finally come.

The tall man tried to travel to the well-known spot were he knew the alluring grave lay, but the mist surrounded him and took him from his path. He wondered, searching, growing anxious. Suddenly, the cross appeared. It seemed to loom from the fog, giving a warning, but the tall man ignored the fear crawling inside in order to perform the task at hand.

When he came upon the grave, he saw freshly pilled dirt and a shovel. He cursed under his breath, angry that someone had taken away what he felt belonged to him. Out of the mist, he saw a figure. The tall man immediately thought that this was the man who had taken his goods, and he prepared to fight, but the figure disappeared. He looked around, but saw nothing. The mist began to thicken, and he became disoriented.

A pair of bright blue eyes appeared in front of the tall man. Then, blackness. The blackness closed in until there was no light, no room, no air. His legs buckled and he is no longer able move. No escape.

A short, fat man scuttles through the graveyard on a misty night. He wears a tailored tuxedo and a top hat. The fat man struggles to hop over the tall fence. Behind him, he hears the wind and a deep muffled moaning in the distance. The moaning grows fainter as the fat man sneaks into the neighborhood. But the moaning never stops.

— Annie Brow, 15, San Rafael

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Blackness blanketed the slippery grass in front of Miwok Park. Footsteps rebounded on the rugged cement near the thicket of trees. The couple was running as if their life depended on it. A ways down the road, abandoned in hast, lay an upturned basket of half eaten sandwiches, cherry pits, and crumbs of brownies. The remains of a delicious midnight picnic lay ruined for they had disturbed the most dangerous imaginable.

“Cori! Head for the bathrooms!” Jason yelled up to the slim, shadowed figure of the normally bubbly girl he fell in love with two years previous. Halloween this year was their two year anniversary. Cori loved Miwok Park and moonlight picnics. This was Jason’s surprise to her. Unfortunately, some unexpected guests invited themselves to the party.

“Cori let out an ear-splitting screech as a hooded figure blocked her path; Jason gasping for air behind her. Automatically they stood back to back as five more hooded figures made a circle around them. There was no getting out of this. The figure in front of Cori moaned menacingly and she reached for Jason reassuring hand. The tall figure that groaned stretched out its arm. A grotesque hand was unveiled, its fingers bony and the skin was peeling. Cori let out a dry sob and Jason held her hand tighter in his.

“Leave this place or feel our wrath.” A chorus of deep, husky voices said to the young teens before them.

“Keep away from us you freaks!” Jason kicked the approaching hand away from Cori who shivered.

A throaty laugh emitted from the figure in front of Jason. He turned his shadowed face to look Jason in the eye. A cold shiver ran through him. “This day will be your last, for you have disturbed us. As for the young miss, she will watch you perish. That should be punishment enough.” “Let her go! I’ll stay here and you can torture me or whatever, but let her go. Please”…” Cori was crying softly. Silent tears left dark spots on Jason’s gray shirt.

“It has been decided. You may say good bye, young warrior.” Jason turned to the love of his life. “Cori,” she closed her eyelids and several more crystal tears escaped. “I love you. Know that I am always watching over you.” Jason kissed her forehead and turned to face the frightening figures before him.

“Goodbye Jason Alexander Smith.” Cori looked up into the most gruesome face she had ever set eyes upon. In a split second, red dripped from the knife protruding from Jason’s gut. Cori looked at his face tearing her eyes from the wound. Glassy eyes stared lifelessly at her.

“No”…” Cori breathed. “No!” Cori bolted away from the deformed circle of murderers. Her body was trembling uncontrollably and a bright light pounded her eyes. Was it a car? No, too bright”… The light was constant and more shaking started.

“Honey are you all right?” her mom asked.

“It was just a dream”…” Cori whispered.

— Sierra Mink, Novato,

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My dirty, bare, scrawny feet creaked along the bloody, rotten bridge to the pasture. I’m alone, cold, frightened as can be, and confused. The last thing I can remember is seeing a very pale face and a flash of bright, colored lights. I hear howls and groans, something I had never heard at Walker Creek Ranch before. Dark shadows pass before me too fast to identify what they are. My flashlight on its last battery finally goes dead, and suddenly I can see nothing but a small sliver of the silver moon. I get to the top of the hill very near Turtle Pond before I witness the group. Three men in dark cloaks, dripping with water and blood, are standing on the dock holding lanterns filled with bright fires. They slowly move towards me before I start running. I don’t know any direction, tripping over myself down the hill again. Three more men await me at the bottom of the hill and I am trapped. No way to run. No one to turn to. Just me and six strange men. I try to scream, but soon realize my voice has disappeared. They grab my arms and legs speaking a language only caveman would understand. They carry me to the lake, chanting words and lyrics very loudly. Right before the water they stop and drop their lanterns into the lake. I suspect immediately for the gas, burning lantern to die out, but I watch it sink all the way to the bottom of the lake. Illuminating the dark bottom of this calm water I shiver as I witness creatures swim past the lights sending shadows above. I turn to the men wondering what could possibly be next. Before I knew it, I was sinking to the bottom of the lake. I expected myself to drown, but miraculously I can breathe. I couldn’t swim up to the surface, but I was alive. The lanterns being my only companion kept me able to view my surroundings. I see many shadows, all of human children like me. We all swim on the bottom of this pond not knowing our purpose or intentions of being here. Next time you swim in Turtle Pond don’t be afraid of us. Just watch out for the group of men awaiting you. Or soon you will be a creature unaware of your purpose. Only being a shadow at the bottom of a pond.

— Jill Weidner, Novato

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The Black Lake

“Come on Amy, do it! I dare you!” urged Ashley, shoving the small, demure girl another step closer to the edge of the ominous lake. A dark blanket of clouds blocked out the afternoon sun, transforming the water into a mirror as black as ink.

“You know, it was on a day just like this that little Susie Sherman was found floating amidst the reeds not far from here.” grinned Tiffany who was dipping her fingers into the murky water.

“Come to think of it, Susie looked a lot like you, Amy: blond curls and freckles. Don’t you want to see if her ghost haunts these shores searching for her killer like everyone says?”

Amy took a step back from the two girls, shaking her head and whishing that she hadn’t come. No one ever ventured to this part of the forest because ghosts or not, it was just about the eeriest place in the world.

“I’m not going in there.” answered Amy, staring at the watery black abyss as if it could swallow her whole.

“Scardy-cat Amy is too afraid to get her paws wet!” Ashley taunted.

Amy frowned and took another step towards the woods. No amount of verbal abuse could ever force her to succumb to their wishes. Many people who had set foot in the lake never seemed quite the same again, and others just disappeared. It was said to be cursed.

“Fine. I’ll show there’s nothing to be afraid of.” said Ashley, removing her clothes to reveal a blue bathing suit. She carefully waded into the water until it was deep enough to swim.

“See?” she said, paddling to the middle of the lake. “Nothing to be afraid of.” Suddenly, Ashley was pulled under the water by an invisible force. The girls on the shore stood frozen with fright, watching their friend flail her arms, trying to get air. Then the splashing stopped and the water was still once again. The girl’s body floated face-down back to the shore. Amy and Tiffany let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the forest. Ashley stood up laughing.

“You guys are so gullible!” grinned Ashley, grabbling a towel to dry herself off.

Angry and annoyed, Tiffany and Amy stomped off into the woods.

“Come on! It was just a joke!” Ashley shouted after them as her friends disappeared amidst the trees. Frowning, Ashley turned around to gather her clothes, but found herself starring right into the face of a corpse, with two empty sockets where its eyes should have been, and pale, almost translucent skin.

Ashley screamed and jumped back a step, but the corpse was gone. Quickly, she grabbed her clothes, slipped on her shoes and made a run for the woods. She had only gone three steps before Ashley tripped over her own two feet and went down with a thud.

“Leaving so soon?” asked an innocent voice behind her.

Ashley turned to see a young girl in a white night gown with pale blond hair and freckles standing just at the edge of the lake. Then she changed into the terrifying, sinister bone-white skeleton dressed in tatters that Ashley has seen before.

“I really hoped you would come play with us.” said a menacing voice that seemed to come from every direction. “It will be so much fun that you may even decide to stay.” grinned the skull, showing a row of jagged-sharp teeth. Ashley Moore was never seen again.

— By Katie Somers, Novato

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Anyone would’ve called me insane. Walking out into the middle of Highway 101. I looked to my right, my eyes half-lidded in boredom as I felt the impact of the car hitting my body. I laid in lane, feeling each car and truck that came by work to shatter my every limb until one caught my head and ended it.

Then I did it again. I didn’t have a choice. I haven’t had a choice since I found myself on the side of the highway. I couldn’t tell why I was there. I couldn’t tell until I saw my own dead body, covered in blood, shattered past recognition. I was dead.

I am dead. There’s no way around that.

Feeling my bones shattered again. On the highway’s edge again. Hit by the cars again. Hitting the ground again. Shattered again. And again. And again.

I used to plead. To plead and beg and cry to not be hit. Plead to the car drivers as if they saw me. Beg my legs to stop bringing me into the middle of the highway as if they could stop. Cry to whatever power out there put me in this situation, as if they actually cared about me. If they did, I wouldn’t be killing myself multiple times, now would I?

Now, I’ve just resigned to it. It’s not going to change, whether I want it to or not.

I glance to the left and see that other girl. The one I watched get hit and killed by a drunk teenager. I watched her. She was pleading. She was begging. She was crying. I could do no more but watch. I wish I could feel pain for this girl. I wish I could care that she was so hurt. I wish I could work up a tear. I wish I could work up, even…. Anger. Hatred. Pity. Guilt. Even love, I don’t care. I can’t work up any sort of emotion for her. I couldn’t even work up any emotion for myself. Any emotion I may have had at some point in my life… They’re all gone. I no longer feel anything for anyone.

The looking out into the street before I begin to walk are nights spent gazing out over the city. The watching cars rush towards me are hours spent watching crushes in class. The car’s impact are sudden hugs by old friends. The moments before the shattering begins are nights spent relaxing on the bed. The shattering bones are the massages received and given to lovers. The moments before I appear on the highway’s side again are the only sleep I ever get.

I don’t know why I’m here anymore. I might have at some point. I just don’t anymore. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Maybe for Eternity.

I haven’t a clue when I’ll get to know something other than the walking, the staring, the impact, the shattering, the pain. And, in all truthfulness, I don’t even care anymore.

— Mallorey Lazzarini, Novato

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The Scarlet Candle

“Doom will hit when the candle is lit.” These words that had been scribbled in red were written a couple of days ago on Fiona’s ceiling and now reverberated through her head. She tried hard to push it out of her mind but they were embedded into her skull and as hard as she persisted to obliterate them it was no use. Fiona, who enjoyed solving puzzles and mysteries, was very inquisitive and wondered who could’ve written it. Little did she know she was about to find out very soon.

The next evening, after coming home from work, she went over to the kitchen table and began to cook. Her olfactory senses enlightened after smelling the delicious meal she was about to prepare. When she was opening the refrigerator, the lights suddenly extinguished and all of the electricity went out. That’s when she heard a raspy knock on the door that stopped her cold. Fiona then slowly made her way to the door that portended harm, but before she could grasp it to open it the door creaked open to reveal a miniature owl and a pack of matches. The owl was 6 inches tall and had a menacing visage. The owl’s wings were wrapped around an unlit scarlet candle. There were no apparent traces of who left the owl there, especially since she lived on the outskirts below Mt. Tamalpais and there were not many visitors.

Fiona then picked up the statue with precaution and set it on her desk. That’s when she recalled the words written on her ceiling, “Doom will hit when the candle is lit”. She didn’t want to think that this scenario could be anything but a prank and was skeptical that anything would happen if she lit the candle. The house rapidly became black that everything was obscure and she had great difficulty navigating around the house. That’s when she finally grabbed the matches, and lit the candle on the owl. In an instant, there was a blinding flash and she could feel herself shrinking.

Fiona strained to look up and a wild gaze of disbelief shot in her eyes. The owl was growing and transforming into a human that had similar features to the statue of the owl but in a human face. Then a dreary, chilling voice rasped, “I had warned you not to light the match and now you must suffer. I have lived in the body of the owl for many centuries and now it is your turn, Fiona. You will be captured in this stone figure until you can trick a human to light the match of the scarlet candle to replace you. Until then be patient.”

And with those words the man vanished in a second, leaving Fiona to decipher what horrible tragedy that just occurred.

— Kelsey Nieman, Novato

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A Dark Nights Un-sleep

Once apon a time in down town San Anselmo lived Mr. and Mrs. Harvel.

It was a dark, dark night, and Mr. and Mrs. Harvel where in their room when all of a suddon they heard a noise, they heard it again, you know what that noise was??? A ghost! Then is suddenly ate them!

— Kathleen Tringali, Fairfax

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Murder on Brookside Dr.

Melissa was seven. She lived on Brookside Dr. in a town in Marin called San Anselmo. It was midnight on Halloween when she heard the first scream that woke her.

“Mommy? Daddy?” No reply. So she called again.

“Mommy? Daddy?” Again, no reply, so she grabbed her teddy bear and walked across the hall to her parent’s room. She thought it would be bad, but this was terrifying. She found her dad lying in bed with his head cut off on the ground and a bloody knife in his heart. Her mom was gone. She heard another scream coming from the basement, so she went downstairs to the dark room. When she turned on the lights, she saw her mom, raped and murdered on the wall with her arms, legs, and neck hanging by kitchen knives. When she saw that, she ran to the phone and called 911. The phone didn’t ring, so she tried again. On her third try, she realized that the phone wires were cut.

After, she ran upstairs and hid under her covers with her stuffy, shaking and hoping it was only a dream-no- a nightmare. Seconds later, she heard footsteps in the hall. They stop right in front of her room. She took a peak to find her brother in the doorway with a knife in his hand. When he saw her looking at him, he ran down the hall. Melissa quickly and quietly grabbed her bear and ran into his brother’s room. She saw it how it always looked, messy and crowded, but there was one thing out of place. Even though his room was a pigsty, there was never anything out from under his bed, but now, there was the corner of a black bag sticking out. She walked over and looked inside to find money, guns, knives, and all sorts of illegal drugs: meth, pot, crack, and heroin.

Just then, she heard footsteps in the hall again. She turned slowly to find her brother standing in the hallway, staring at her. He pulled out a gun, and shot her in the leg. Melissa started crying and begging her not to kill her, but he silenced her by loading his gun again. She quickly thought of a way to distract him long enough so she could make an escape. Then it hit her- she grabbed the nearest gun from the bag and threw it at her brother’s head. It was a perfect shot; it hit right on the side of his head and knocked him unconscious. She got up, grabbed her bear, and rushed outside, without looking back. She went to her closest next-door neighbor and told them what had happened. Her neighbor ran and called 911. Four cops, three ambulances, and a fire truck were there in fifteen minutes. Her brother was arrested, and Melissa first went to the hospital, where they fixed her leg, and went to live with her aunt and uncle in Arizona, like her parents had wanted.

— Lauren Blackburn, San Anselmo

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Digging to Death

It was now around 9:00 PM, on Halloween night. I was at the Pioneer Park cemetery. My parents had told me to not stay out as late unless I was with my friends. And my friends were at a party right now. I was supposed to meet them at ten, so, why not spend my time doing something more fun”….such as exploring a cemetery?

The sky was painted black, and the moon was hidden by a swath of dark grey clouds, providing no light whatsoever. Luckily, I had brought a flashlight. I shined the beams of light across each tombstone, reading the names. I did this for a while and wrote down the names and dates that the people died on a list.

Laura Adams. I could tell by the date that she died on, that she was the oldest corpse in this cemetery. I imagined her dead body rotting inside the coffin that it was chambered inside. I imagined the revolting scent of rotting flesh, imagined the scabs that were left from where her pasty white skin had been punctured”…..

And my curiosity began to grow. I suddenly found myself wondering what this human corpse looked like. I made a quick trip home and grabbed a shovel before going back to the cemetery. I found the grave again, and began to dig.

I don’t exactly know how long I stood there digging. Maybe I had been here for two hours or more. I didn’t know, and right now, I didn’t really care about meeting my friends. My curiosity was growing, and finally I heard the deep bass noise that echoed as the end of my shovel came in contact with something wooden. It was the coffin.

I easily smashed through the wood, which had grown brittle from weathering. I shined my flashlight down on the dead body of Miss Laura Adams. Her hair was a dirty mess and in tangles. She had no eyes, for they had probably already rotted away. Her skin was just as I had imagined it”…..dry and leathery. There were parts on her face where there was no flesh at all, which exposed the milky white bones of her skull. And the scent that filled the air was absolutely disgusting, but I endured it.

And then, her left hand twitched. I froze in horror as the corpse reached for my face with its bony fingers, easily winding them around my slender throat. The corpse, or should I say zombie, squeezed my jaw, cutting off my airway. It was strong, for something that was supposed to be dead. I parted my lips to scream but no sound came out. The rotting creature tightened its constricting hold on my throat, and the delicate bones snapped. I felt a flare of pain. In my final moments, I realized what the term “curiosity killed the cat” really meant. And then, my eyes closed, as my vision blacked out, and I passed into oblivion of death.

— Amanda Roncaglia, Novato

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The Clown

There was once a girl named Amy. Amy was about 14 years old. One day her parents left to go to London. The next night, was Halloween in Fairfax but her parents still weren’t still home. Before she went Trick or Treating, she was watching TV when she heard a voice coming from outside. The voice was saying,” Amy, Amy come outside.” Amy looked outside and there was the scariest clown she had ever seen! The clown was staring into Amy’s eyes and Amy’s eyes were staring at the clown’s. This clown had magical powers. If anyone stared into his eyes they would do everything he said. Then the clown said again,” Amy, Amy, come outside”. So Amy opened the glass door and trudged outside. Then the clown said,” Amy, Amy come closer to me”. So Amy came closer to the clown. Then the clown said to Amy, “Amy, Amy close your eyes and count to 25.” So Amy closed her eyes and started to count. As Amy was counting the clown pulled a knife out of his pocket and stabbed Amy until she was complete dead. The next day Amy woke up and she was in her room. She felt a lot of pain so she looked at her arm and couldn’t see anything! Then right next to her the clown saying,” Amy, Amy you are now one of us.”

— Grace Reilly, Fairfax

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Speak To Me.

Around. Around. Around. A whirling energy field surged around the girl as she spun faster and faster with every second. She shut her eyes and held tight, trying to pretend she couldn’t hear the voices telling her these wretched things, trying to make her do things, things that terrified her beyond belief. She spun ever faster And all that happened leading up to this moment in time flashed before her eyes…

Her brother Connor died a year ago that day, and when it happened, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye, she didn’t even get the chance to. When she found out that Connor was gone she knew she had to look for him, call to him through the universe. She hoped and prayed with all she had, but she never expected that looking for him would bring her the other voices too. There were so many more of them, the unkind voices, that were looking for a poor soul to take advantage of, not looking for closure and healing like Charlotte and Conner. They felt her, her weakness, her faith, they knew she would keep listening to connect with her brother, and look to him for guidance since he was no longer physically with her. they all had greedy, unkind souls without boundaries tied to morality. The spirits of murderers and criminals gave confessions and wanted her to help them, to release them from the “in between” by fulfilling their uncompleted task. Charlotte could ignore them easily for a short while, but as they spoke more often and louder, it grew harder.

They learned all the little things that bothered her, and insecurities they could use to weaken her. They would torment her and try to convince her through cruelty, but that only broke her heart, not her will, she was determined. She had trouble keeping away the other voices for too long so interactions with Connor were brief and often took more focus. It became difficult for Connor and Charlotte to communicate over time and the spirits wanted a way out.

The twilight was setting in and the sky was a watercolor sunset, typical of beautiful autumns in Marin, but the chill was beginning to set in, Charlotte sat alone on the merry go round. A gust of wind pulled with the unimaginable strength and shouted in her ears, Charlotte began to whirl, and the voices pounded in her head, telling her she should have listened, she should have helped, they didn’t want to have to force her. She spun faster crying, screaming, but no one could hear her. She screamed louder still, but not a sound was made, then suddenly altogether the wind stopped and Charlotte’s body stood once again, and set off to fulfill the final tasks of the dead. Charlotte left the body in the whirlwind, her soul joined her brother’s, and her body moved on. She was never seen in town again.

— Harvest Roll, San Rafael

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Enter if YOU Dare (Speech to missing girl & n eighborhood families in San Rafael)

It all started out one dark cloudy day, the day you wish never happened, the day you wish you didn’t go in, the day that you dared to do what no one has done before. Well, you know what you did that day, but for those that don’t I will tell you. But for those who don’t want to hear I would suggest leaving.

In the beginning on a dull, dark, foggy day with clouds that looked like they were going to leak with sorrow and wash away all good, you of all people decided to play soccer. On a muddy field with holes that you could step in, goals with no net, why you decided to play here no one will ever know. As you dribbled down the field with tremendous speed and took a shot, it went soaring through the goal and through the window of the old Mr. Gagger’s house. He has been dead for 27 years and nobody has even taken a step on his front lawn. The neighbors have said they saw ghosts and heard noises that they couldn’t describe. What was within this creepy dark worn down house? If only I was there, if only I could have warned you, If only you didn’t go in maybe this story wouldn’t be as sad. But, “if only” is just like “what if,” they don’t do you any good.

As you stepped on to Mr. Gagger’s front porch you could hear something inside, you almost didn’t go in, but you wouldn’t want to be like the cowardly lion, would you? As you opened the door you could hear a creek and shuffling on the wood floor. One step, two steps, three steps and the door slammed behind you. You turned around, nothing was there. As you walked up the stairs you could hear faint little steps behind you, but when you turned around still nobody was there. When you walked down a hallway filled with pictures you swore you saw one blink, but that’s not possible, is it? You wandered in to all these rooms wondering where the ball is. You looked left and right, up and down and just when you thought all hope was gone you saw it. In the corner of the darkest, creepiest, scariest room. As you bent down to pick it up you felt something tap your back. A tap that felt like cold water dribbling down your back. And when you turned around you were never seen again. The only thing we have to remember you by is your scream.

I wish I had happier story, but someone had to tell you what happened.

Sincerely,

The Ghost

— Madison Allen, San Rafael

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Can You Tell the Difference?

The twins were unlike one another, despite the granted physical appearance, you knew right away who was who, between Sally, the reserved one, and Crystal, whom everyone knew. One evening they surprisingly went shopping together at the Northgate mall, yet not so surprisingly since Christmas was nearing. It was late and as Crystal was rummaging through the rack of clothes, something took her from behind. She screamed a small cry, but laughed too because she was familiar with the hug of her boyfriend. Crystal went to her twin, dropped the things, and walked away with him, leaving her to pay. Sally absent in her own thoughts, walked without realizing she didn’t have a ride with the bags in her hands. Sally walked nearby the cemetery. Tired, she stopped, and noticed a man digging something up from a grave. As she walked on she saw a man in a car staring right at her, so felt the need to cross through the cemetery. Sally felt dread being alone even if she knew zombies didn’t exist. With this entrapment she could hear herself breathing heavily as she continued through the misty place of the dead. Meanwhile Crystal was with her boyfriend and some friends. After some time of abrupt pain, Sally thought she saw Crystal, but looked closer, nothing. Finally she walked out of the fog. She arrived home without her parents aware, and fell fast to sleep. In the morning her sad mom, could only look at her for a second. And with that Sally said, “Crystal is dead.” At school she felt an unusual presence near her, and saw Jack, Crystal’s boyfriend, right behind her trying to comfort and embrace her. Sally felt a closed feeling in the hall with all eyes on her and everyone lingering right by her. She didn’t know what to say to Jack. And should she be mad at him? He noticed how she felt and led her near the parking lot. Yet she ran out of the school as he yelled out her twin’s name. The only place that stayed in her thoughts was the cemetery that she felt close to. So she headed toward it but as she came toward her destined place, she saw herself again and as she looked closer she realized it was her. This time there was no fog and she was stunned as she saw a ghostly figure of herself. “No no, it must be Crystal coming for me, that’s it. She felt a belonging around these graves, but believed, it was because her twin had died unexpectedly, that Crystal was trying to contact with her. She read the tombstones carefully, until she saw something odd from afar. She saw a plastic bag, and became annoyed with litter in a sacred place. Yet she saw it was a bag from something she bought yesterday. Her realization made her scream loudly, I’m dead!”

— Kimberly Gama, San Rafael

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A Goodbye in the Night

She walks along the sands of Stinson Beach, under the myriad of stars shinning above. It is night now; the sun has long ago set, and the crowds have slowly dwindled until there was no one left — no one but her. A light zephyr passes her by, and she feels a chill run down her spine at the sudden cool air, but the air instant turns stagnant once again. She turns and looks back, as if searching for where the breeze came from, but she does not move from her spot.

“Wha…who…” Her words are incoherent mumbles, spoken under her breath in fearful awe. A blank expression is plastered on her face, her eyes unknowingly widened and transfixed on the figure before her. But with one blink, he is gone. She holds her arms around herself in defense as she walks back, retracing her footsteps back to where she had come from.

The sky has become dark; clouds shroud the stars and moon, not even a speck of light passes through. Unconsciously, she quickens her pace, but finds herself frozen at hearing a whisper from behind and feeling a warm breath on her neck.

“Mika…” She hears the low voice call her name and her muscles instantly stiffen.

“Wh-who…who are you?”

“Do you not remember me? Even after all those years we spent together, you can’t even recognize my voice?”

Her eyes widen and her knuckles tighten, her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. “I…” she breathes out. “You…You’re not real.”

“Oh, but I am very real.”

“B-but…” Her voice comes out a quivering , fearful stutter. “But…you…you died! You were drafted to fight in the war. Two years ago, you were killed. I remember the image your deceased body lying in the casket at your funeral…I remember all the nights I spent awake, crying over your death…I remember…I remember it all…”

An amused chuckle comes from behind her and two hands grasp her shoulders. “You can hear me laugh; you can feel my touch; I’m not dead. Turn around and look me in the eye and you will know that I am not dead.”

His hands turn her unmoving form toward him so they stand face to face. Her dark eyes meet his, their gaze unmoving, fixated.

“A…Aaron…” she breathes.

He grins at her; his smile is just the same as it had been, all those years ago, and seeing it once again brought tears to her eyes.

“What…”

“I’m here to say goodbye,” he whispers, tucking her hair behind her ear as he takes her in his arms.

The clouds begin to clear, and she knows that he will go soon, so she holds onto him for as long as she can. So, as midnight slowly approaches, the tawny sand dunes shield them from the full moon as they embrace one last time.

“…Goodbye…”

— Faye Tunggal, Novato

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Lani jumped out of her seat and hurried out the door. Vaguely hearing her teacher call out “Have a fun and safe Halloween everyone”…” Outside her friend, Jenna, was waiting for her. “Let’s go to Sun Valley School tonight, it’ll be spooky in the dark and we can see who gets scared first.” Jenna chirped.

Lani shrunk back at the suggestion. “You know how my grandma was kidnapped when she was a little girl?”

Jenna’s excitement had died. Lani continued. “She was kidnapped at that school on Halloween night when she was on the play structure with friends, by a masked man. After that she acted out for awhile, and went to a rehabilitation center until she got better.” Lani finished as she ran to her car.

When Lani got home she hurried to her room and pulled out her box of old dress up clothes. She opened it up sorting through it, at the bottom she found a long sleeved black dress. She grabbed some plastic fangs, her newly assembled vampire costume complete. She went to Jenna’s house.

Janna’s dad led them out, as he pushed Jenna’s baby brother in a stroller. The girls giddily skipped ahead and up the path of the closest house. They were greeted at the front porch with a bowl of candy. Jenna took a couple candies and ran across the street. She realized lani hadn’t come with her. Jenna looked around and spotted her. Something glinting from her brothers stroller caught her eye, it was the bowl of candy.

She tried to ignore it but as the night wore on Lani kept taking various things from people’s houses. Jenna was confused and upset by the time they reached their last house.

The girls stepped into Jenna’s house and plopped down on the carpet, emptying their bags. Lani stood abruptly and left the room. A few seconds later a loud crash echoed from across the street.

Jenna ran out the door and gazed into the stark, dimly lit school. She could just make out a broken window. She rushed down the hall looking for Lani and found her crying.

Lani then told the story about how she was suddenly pulled by a strong urge to go to the school. She had slipped out the back door and ran across the street. She was then consumed by the desire to go on the play structure, the very fibers in her dress seeming to pull her closer. As she was leaving she glanced at the window of the building. In it she saw the reflection of a masked man appear, lurching towards her. Terrified her mind was seized with a qualm of nausea. In a whirl of confusion she grabbed a rock, hurdling it at the window, and sprinted back to Jenna’s.

Lani’s mom arrived to pick her up. She looked at Lani with a flicker of realization and sputtered, “That’s my mom’s dress, the one she had on when she was kidnapped.”

— Emily Rose Brown, San Rafael

Originally Published: October 31, 2010 at 12:00 AM PDT