Scary Story for Young Readers

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For the learners at
Town Center Elementary School

2018

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Table of Contents

Scary Meter
...............Not So Scary
...........Scary
.......Horrifying



“Tinted Windows” by Katrina Fisher ................................................... 4
"Painting Boy” by Kendall Coburn ..................................................... 13
"The Cabin Visitor” by Brett Roth ..................................................... 43
"HOOK” by Alex DeMasters .............................................................. 47
"Amanda’s Text” Day by Alex DeMasters ......................................... 51
"The Box” by Casey Webb ................................................................. 58
"Fluff’s Scary Encounter” by Mustafa Adamji .................................. 79
"The Museum and the Tight Knots” by Elizabeth Fullwood ............. 82
"The Basement” by Jacob Trent ........................................................ 88
"Halloween Mystery” by Bakhtawar Yasir ........................................ 95
"There’s A Monster Under My Bed” by Audrey Helm .................... 101
“Planet Bonsai” by Alyssa Raley ...................................................... 106

Classes taught by Zane G. Porter at
New Tech High @ Coppell (2017-2018)

3



Tinted Windows
by Katrina Fisher

I’m going to die.
Seriously, I’m going to die.
My eyes are stinging so much and I’m so tired and
my neck hurts and the seatbelt buckle is - ow - digging -
ow - into my back - ow! I sit up from my reclined
position on the back seat with a huff. Why do I even have
to be in the car? Couldn’t we just have flown to
Colorado, instead? I’m so tired.
“Mom, I’m hungry” I whine. All the gummy peach
candies and cheese puffs have already been eaten. “And
I’m so tired and my back hurts and this road trip is
awful!” I add on for good measure, looking dramatically
at Mom’s face. She doesn’t turn her head from the road to
look at my sorrowful expression, though her mouth
purses in annoyance.
“I’m a little hungry too,” Mom replies, choosing to
ignore my other comments. “Maybe we can find a 24-
hour grocery store in the next town and get some snacks.”

Satisfied, I sit back and turn on my DS. I pass the
time until we arrive at the store by playing Legend of
Zelda and looking forward to the scrumptious taste of
Cheetos’ fake cheese.

The words “We’re here!” jar me out of my
concentration on the game. I look out the window to see
an old parking lot in front of an even older grocery store.
With its sign that clearly hasn’t been updated since the
60s and its various bits of roof missing, I’m surprised that
the store is open at all, let alone this late at night.

“Do you want to come in with me?” Mom asks me as
she reaches for her purse and slides her shoes back on. I
look again at the decrepit store and frown in disgust,
thinking that I’ll be safer in the car than in a building
that’s about to fall down. I shake my head.

“No. Get me some Cheetos, though.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get me some Cheetos, please.”
“There we go. I’ll be back soon.”
Not likely. She always takes ages in grocery stores,
so I figure I have at least a full twenty minutes with no
parental supervision. I grin manically. Now is the
moment. I shuffle out of my cramped spot in the back,

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pushing aside piles of pillows and suitcases as I move
clumsily into the passenger’s seat.

So, this is the life. Before me is stretched possibly the
widest expanse of legroom I have ever felt around my
swinging little feet. As I lay my arms across the wide
armrests and let my head loll back onto the slightly
reclined seat, I envision myself as the Queen of Road
trips. All I need is a crown of gummy wrappers to be true
ruler of the flat Texas fields that spread in my view
through the windshield.

I sit there for a moment, reveling in the cracking
sounds being produced by my spine as I slowly slouch
into the cushy chair. But the resulting silence quickly gets
old, so I begin to look around for a new outlet for my
boredom. I gather the options around me. There’s Mom’s
soda, sitting and looking tantalizing in the cup holder.
The night chilled windshield also calls me to kick my
bare feet up against it and get my toe prints all over it in
the way that Mom despises. Endless opportunities to
misbehave materialize in my mind, and I only have to
decide which one to do first.

Just as I decide to jump into the driver’s seat and
finally get my hands on that forbidden steering wheel, I

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hear a noise. It isn’t loud, but it echoes just enough in the
still silence to make me pause. Uncomfortably, I turn my
head slowly towards the direction of the noise.

Maybe my subconscious already knows what’s there.
I think I know immediately that it is a person, but my
mind still double - triple - checks. My eyes blink quickly
over and over, trying to comprehend what is in front of
me. Or perhaps just trying to believe it.
They are stumbling and quaking along the ground,
seemingly attached to the rough parking lot pavement by
every limb. Their hunch makes them almost like a spider
with a smashed leg, misshapen but still crawling. I can
barely make out any of their features except for the
occasional flash of fear-lit eyes or bloody, torn hands that
appear under the shine of the parking lot’s lone
fluorescent light.
It’s too silent. I can see the person writhing as if their
ragged breaths are ripping through their body like bullets,
but the sound barrier of the distance between us turns
their movement into a terrifying silent film unfolding in
front of me.
The victim of - I’m not able to imagine what
happened to them - suddenly turns around. This time I

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can hear their scream even across the parking lot. The
sound rips down my spine and my eyes snap to the cause
of their distress. A hulking figure, huge and dark and
blending with the night’s shadows in a way that makes
him seem larger than possible, is stalking towards the
bloodied person.

Turning towards my car, the victim shuffles in my
direction. I can now fully see the emaciated terror that
distorts their face. My thoughts war, yelling
simultaneously to - yes get away hide here yes - and - no
not towards me because then he’ll come too! I don’t even
notice that I’m pressed fully up against the passenger's
seat, my feet curled like anxious springs and hands
gripped white in the pleather.

Oh, god. The man turns around too. His massive bat
slowly comes into sight from the shadows as he raises it,
and he takes up a full-on sprint. He moves impossibly
fast, with extreme agility and hulking mass combining to
a run that seems to shake the ground. The bat - oh god -
his raised bat is covered in something red, the same red
that dashes and drips from the person who is still limping
towards me - no go away!

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The screams aren’t stopping. The person screeches
and curdles and yelps as they stumble. They are just too
slow, and they know they won’t get away.

I know it too, but I can’t even make a move in
response. My muscles are frozen like glaciers. My limbs
are logs in the seat. I don’t know where my heart is
because it has at some point plummeted out of me,
leaving me cold and unbreathing. My lungs burn and I
can taste the bloody tang of panic on my palette. I watch
silently as the bloodied person, blind with terror, careens
towards the car.

The slam of the victim’s body up against the car
shocks my muscles into motion. Before I realize it, I am
crouched under the space between the seat and console
with my knuckles clenched around the arm rest. My body
is convulsing uncontrollably in shakes so jarring that it
hurts. I see the crown of the monstrous man’s head come
into view. It ticks this way and that, jerking with a sort of
sickening joy. The screams start up again, growing louder
and shriller with each second. My ears are only offered
relief in the moments between the victim’s breaths, when
they are whispering out almost unintelligible pleas of no,
please, please.

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My brain is screaming with them, my breaths just as
ragged as they tear silently out of my shaking torso. I see
the man tilt his head into the light just enough for me to
view a lopsided, grotesque grin carve half his face. I feel
a build of something inside me - a strong tension or panic
that drowns my lungs and stuffs my chest with pain. The
screams get even louder as the man raises the bat above
him. His blood-streaked arm and mangled club form a
sickening paint streak of red that shows bright against the
midnight sky.

Then there is a sickening thump of flesh against
metal, and my car shakes from the impact. The cries stop
in a sudden choke.

Did that person just…? My eyes begin to burn with
panicked tears and my heartbeat pounds in my temples.
My chest racks with cries and vomited-out sobs. I try to
press my palms against my mouth, but I can’t stop the
short wails and gasps from breaking out of my shaking
form.

The man turns quickly towards the sudden noise from
my car, and I cower down even lower into my hiding
space. My eyes bug out, and I scramble to press my
hands even firmer against my whimpers.

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I’m going to die.
Seriously, I’m going to die.
The man scans the space around him, standing as still
as a hawk listening for the slightest rustle of its prey in
the brush. His face has fallen half back into the shadow,
but his eyes are still visible. They are sharp and raving
with fury, and they are narrowed right at my window! He
squints and leans in, his dripping bat hiked over his
shoulder.
My breath stops completely.
There is a moment of complete silence, where I feel
nothing but panic and neither of us move a muscle. He
looks from side to side, scanning closely once more,
before pursing his cracked lips.
Then, he turns away.
His form disappears from the window, and I hear the
sound of something horribly broken and heavy being
shifted around. Then some sort of dragging sound starts
up. It is slow and grating as if every exposed bone
fragment of the mangled remains that I picture in my
mind’s eye is catching on the uneven concrete of the
parking lot.
I sit there immobile and tense until the noise fades.

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I sit there for a time that could be hours or seconds.
I sit there until I realize that the windows of my car
are tinted, and that is the only reason I am alive.
Eventually, I move myself numbly back up from the
floor onto the front seat. The lack of feeling persists even
when my mother gets back.
Through the blur of waning adrenaline and swirling
thoughts, I remember a scolding for being in the front
seat and moving back to the back again. I remember lying
to my mother and saying that nothing happened when she
was gone. I remember sitting upright and soundless in the
backseat as we drove away. I will never be able to forget
watching how, as we drove away, the parking lot’s
fluorescent light reflected off the dragging smear of red
that led away into the forest.

12



Painting Boy
by Kendall Coburn

“Sweetie! Take the rest of your stuff into your room,
there’s no more space for boxes in the living room.”

“Yeah okay. Whatever.”

I hustle down the stairs into the living room. “Look who
finally came out of his hole.” my Dad says, hands on his
hips. I respond with a splitting glare. “Hey sweetie, don’t
forget to get the mail.” “Okay okay.” I tell my Mom.
“Stop calling me sweetie. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“You’re 14, I’ll stop calling you sweetie when you're out
of my house. Now go get the mail sweetie.”

I open the front door just in time to see the mailman
stuffing the overflowing mailbox with more letters. I
catch his eye for a moment. Not enough to be
uncomfortable, but enough for him to acknowledge the
fact that I haven’t been getting the mail. In the corner of

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my eye, I catch a purple blur. It was the weird girl from
down the street. When I meet her gaze she flashes a
toothy grin my way. I look away trying to prevent the
situation from getting any more awkward.

Throwing the stack of envelopes at the dinner table, I run
towards the stairs. I catch something in the corner of my
eye. It was a painting sitting on a dresser next to the
stairs. Now, this painting was just an ordinary painting.
Or so it seemed. I couldn’t tell really. Something was
always off about it anyway.

“Dinner!” called my Mom.

Walking down the stairs again, I tried my hardest not to
look at the painting. Almost like avoiding someone’s
gaze.

Dinner was silent as always save for the TV coupled by
our chewing of Mom’s meatloaf.

“So how are you enjoying the new house?” My Mom
breaks the silence.

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“It’s alright.”

The silence resumes.

“Have you made any new friends?” My Mom asks.

“I’m fine without new friends. I still have my old friends.
I talk with them all the time.”

“Trust me. You’re going to want someone to talk to if
you’re going to settle in here.”

“I said I already have friends.”

“It’s not the same as talking to people in person. You
want someone you can walk home from school with or
talk to for help with class. Harry, don’t you agree?”

“Listen to your mother.” My Dad is absent from the
conversation as usual.

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“Hey by the way, did you move the painting into the
house yet?” My ears perk up. “Oh no I haven’t. Not yet.”
My Mom replies. I have to interject. “Hey, did you mean
the painting on the dresser near the stairs?” I wait for a
reply. Did they just not hear me? I decide not to prod
further. It doesn’t bother me that much anyway, it's just a
stupid painting.

I closed my locker door to see a girl standing behind me.
The girl from before. “It’s you!” She almost screams. I
stagger a couple of steps back.

“Why would you do that?!?”

“You’re the kid! Come with me, quickly!”

Before I have a chance to respond, she grabs my arm
dragging me through the crowd of people.

“Okay spill it. Who are you? Some kind of shapeshifter
who adapts to every situation? Some kind of top secret
government weapon created to spy on enemies?” she
says.

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“I-”

“OR” she cuts me off.

“You’re the reason I’ve felt so strange the past few
days!”

“What are you talking about? Just leave me alone
already!” I push her away.

“But you’re the kid I saw in the painting!”

“painting-?”

my thoughts freeze for a moment. They’re cut out by the
sound of the bell “Look just stop asking me all of these
questions already! We’re gonna be late anyways.” She
doesn’t stop staring at me as I walk away. This girl is the
reason I don’t talk to people in this weird town.

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After school, I walk out the front door to catch another
glance of the girl from before. She’s just staring at me.
Almost studying me.

On the walk home, she follows me, attempting to crouch
in the bushes like she’s on some sort of covert ops
mission. It would be impossible not to notice her though
considering her head of bright orange frizzy hair.

“Okay what's your deal?” I finally acknowledge her. She
ducks her head further into the bush. “I can see you, you
know.” I say.

She jumps out of the bush, her hair full of twigs. “Are
you an alien?” she asks.

“What- no!”

“Then why do you look exactly like the boy in the
painting?”

Again with the painting. “You’re crazy. Now leave me
be.” I tell her.

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It shouldn’t bother me, but for the rest of the night I
couldn’t stop thinking about the painting. What did she
mean I looked like the boy in the painting? That’s
impossible.

“Dinner!” My Mom calls. When I go down the stairs, I
catch something out of the corner of my eye. The
painting I noticed before. But now it seemed like a
different painting. Someone else was the subject this
time. It was the girl with the frizzy red hair.

The next day at school, I have to ask the girl about the
painting. “Hey, painting boy!” She sits at my table during
lunch.

“Don’t call me that.”

“About the whole painting thing actually-”

“I knew it! You are the boy from the painting!” she
seems satisfied with herself.

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“As I was saying… I saw you in the painting. But I
definitely remember something else being in the painting
before you mentioned me being in it.”

“What was it?” she asks.

“I don’t remember. It wasn’t you though.”

“Maybe it’s some kind of portal or window. A
compression in space and time.”

“Or it could just be a coincidence.”

“Meet me after school. We need to get to the bottom of
this.” She says, dumping her half-eaten lunch. She begins
walking out of the cafeteria.

“Wait!” I call out to her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Just call me Freak.”

“Freak?” I ask her.

20

“That's what everyone calls me. And I’ll call you Painting
Boy.”

She skips off.

When I get ready to walk home from school, she’s
already there waiting for me. “Where have you been?
I’ve been waiting for you.” She asks.

“School ended three minutes ago. How did you get out
here so fast?”

“I walked.” She replies. “And now it's your turn so get
those legs moving painting boy!”

“Where are we walking?” I ask her.

“To the painting silly! How are we going to get to the
bottom of this if we don’t investigate?

I slowly open the door to my house hoping no one was
home. It looks like the coast is clear. I walk in with her.

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“Okay, this is the painting. Look, your face is in it right
there-”

The painting on the wall was blank. “No... I could have
sworn it was you. You were in the painting!”

“I knew it! You are an alien that just wanted to bring me
here to-”

She buckles over as if she was about to vomit. The house
starts to shake violently. An earthquake? My knees
buckle and my heart starts racing. Just when I’m sure my
bones would rattle apart, the painting rattles off the wall,
clattering to the floor. The whole house goes silent.

“Hey Freak, you okay?”

“You felt that too, right?” she asks me.

“How could I not?”

Both our eyes shift to the painting.

22

“Well I’m not touching that thing.” I tell her.

“Hey this is your house! If I touched it, it would be some
kind of violation of privacy or something!”

“This was your idea in the first place.”

She rolls her eyes and begins inching towards the
painting.

Her trembling hand grabs the frame. I back up bracing
myself. She slowly begins lifting the frame. The simple
idea of touching the painting gave the feeling of
disturbing something we shouldn’t be. What horrible
picture would be in the painting after we looked at it?

Blank.

The painting was nothing more than a blank canvas.

“Um… What?” Freak asks.

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Before we can say anything else, a hand juts out from the
canvas grasping Freak’s wrist. She screams in terror and I
jump back. I watch in horror as she is slowly pulled into
the painting. I want to help her, but it feels as if my body
is frozen in fear. I have to move. I have to help her. Come
on! I finally get the courage to grab onto her foot, pulling
with all of my strength. Her sneaker slips off, and her
whole body slips into to the painting. I stumble back. The
air is heavy and I find it hard to breathe.

The painting is no longer blank. It was freak.

I ran out of my house. I didn’t want to think about it. I
have no clue what to do. Should I tell someone? I don’t
think they would believe me. I have to help her somehow
though. The thought of going in there again terrifies me
though.

***

“Freak?”

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It couldn’t be. I saw her disappear into the painting last
night, yet here she was sitting at the usual lunchroom
table.

“Who’s asking?”

“But… the painting”

“What are you talking about? What painting?”

“This isn’t right. I saw you disappear!” I raise my voice.

“What are you talking about?” She looks around the
lunchroom as people begin staring at us.

“Don’t you remember? The painting last afternoon. The
one at my house!”

She stands up. “Okay kid. I thought I was some different
breed of crazy, but you’re just weird.” She begins to walk
away.

25

“Wait!” I grab her by the wrist. Her hand is cold. Almost
a little bit wet. She yanks her arm away from me and
stares at me. I watch as she walks out of the cafeteria. I
begin walking after her when I notice something. My
hand was covered in an oily substance. It was fleshy in
color. It felt powdery, as if it was starting to dry.

•••

That night, I stare at the painting. I have to do it. I have to
face my fears and find out what happened to Freak. I
slowly begin reaching toward the canvas. My heart
pounds in my chest and my eyes seem to water. I watch
in horror as my hand slowly begins to phase into the
painting. It’s not long before I feel an unknown force
begin to pull me in.

It happened faster than I thought I would. My vision is
blurred out. My eyes almost feel as if they’re clearing
paint from a canvas. I was expecting some kind of
alternate dimension or room, but it would seem as though
the inside of the painting looked exactly like my house
when I left.

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“Hello?”
My voice almost sounds muted. It’s as someone has
coated my ears in wax.
“Freak? Are you here?”
I wait for a response. I hear a distant voice. It’s coming
from the dining room.
“Freak!”
I run into the dining room. No one is present.
“Freak? Where are you?”
Another voice comes from the living room. I run towards
its direction.
“Painting boy…”

27

It’s Freaks voice. This time it was much more distinct.
Coming from the dining room

I run towards the direction of the voice. I’m back at the
painting again. But how? Something is wrong though.
This time the painting was not alone. Someone was
standing in front of it staring directly into it. Not just
anyone though. The person that was staring into the
painting looked exactly like me.

“H-Hello?” I ask.

It stares at the painting unfazed. I begin slowly walking
towards it. My trembling hand extends to try and get its
attention. Something was compelling me to touch it. It
almost seemed to draw me in…

“Stop!”

Freaks voice breaks me from my trance and I stumble
back. The thing in front of me instantly turns around and
looks at me. I crawl backwards in an attempt to get away.
Suddenly, an orange blur of hair appears in front me with

28

a baseball bat. She swings at it connecting with its head.
Colors splash on the floor and wall. It collapses to the
floor. I feel sick to my stomach.

“Don’t touch it!”

“What?” I ask

“It takes your colors!”

Before I can say anything else, the thing begins to get up.
It’s head slowly turns around. I see where the bat
connected with its head, there was no color.

“Run!” She grabs my hand leading me away from the
thing.

She pulls me to the living room and we duck behind the
sofa.

“What was that?” I ask Freak.

“Not sure. But whatever it is, it is not safe to touch.”

29

“What do you mean not safe to touch?”

She holds up her hand. I take a deep breath as I notice her
arm is completely devoid of color.

“They look exactly like you and me. Only difference is
when you touch them, they drain your colors.”

I can hear the footsteps behind me.

“Let’s go!” she says.

We bolt away from the painting and I watch as the thing
follows slowly behind us. It phases through the sofa and
leaves a stark white blotch down the middle of it.

“We have to find a way out of here” I tell her.

“The painting is a one-way door though. I already tried
getting out. It doesn’t work though.”

30

We stop at the front door and catch our breath. It was
then when I realized something

“Wait, how do I know you’re the real Freak?”

“What do you mean the real Freak?” she asks

“I saw you at school today. You were different though.”

“You went to school already? It's only been like 20
minutes!”

“What? It's been a whole day!”

“Okay never mind that, I was onto something. If you’re
the real Freak, and the other Freak got out of the painting
somehow, then she must have been near a way out. The
only place there’s another painting is your house.”

“How do we know it works the same way for us?”

“I'm not sure, but it’s the only thing we’ve got.”

31

I grasp the handle of the front door and slowly turn the
knob. We’re greeted with an entire world seemingly
devoid of color. The sky is a white void. The trees are
stretching blank pillars stiff without motion. The streets
are vast stretches of nothingness. We look back at the
house and watch as color stretches out from the door and
envelops the whole house. The grass we were standing on
also seemed to regain its color.
“Holy-”

“Yeah.”

A loud crash comes from behind us and the thing breaks
down the door. It waits for a moment and then fixates its
gaze on us.

“Where’s your house?” I ask.

“It’s this way!”

She begins running in the direction of her house leaving a
trail of color on the grass.

32

My heart pounds as I struggle to keep up with Freak’s
pace. The thing is following from a distance. It seems to
be walking, but somehow, it’s able to keep up with us
despite nearly sprinting. As we run, I can tell that it’s
closing the distance between us. I hear its footsteps
behind me but I don’t look back. It’s right behind me, I
know it. I can’t stop. Just when I can feel it reaching out
for me, I notice something coming towards us. A white
truck.

“Freak! Out of the way!”

We jump out of the street just in time for the car to
collide with the thing behind us. The truck veers off the
road and crashes into a tree. I look back at the truck.
Someone stumbles out of the driver’s seat. It’s the
mailman.

“Come on! We have to go!” Freak pulls my arm and we
continue towards her house.

“Okay, this is it.”

33

Her house seems strangely old and decrepit. I walk
through the doorway and double check if we’re being
followed.

“This way!”

We climb up the creaky stairs and come to a hallway. At
the end of the hallway was a painting that looked
identical to the one in my house.

“Well,” I say. “Let’s hope this works.”

We begin walking toward the painting. I reach my hand
out. It’s the way out. It has to be. Before I can touch the
painting, I being to notice someone coming through the
painting again. We stumble back as it starts showing
more of itself. It’s the fake Freak from the cafeteria.

We both are taken aback and start towards the other
direction. It’s too late. The other thing that looks like me
appears behind us. We’re boxed in. We watch in terror as
they begin walking towards us.

34

“Hey Painting Boy. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll distract
the one that looks like you and you have to escape.”

“What? No!”

“It’s fine. It was mainly my idea to check out the painting
anyway.”

“Don’t be stupid! I’m not going to leave here without
you!”

“It’s not like I’ll be missed. Everyone just thinks I’m a
freak anyways.”

“You’re not a Freak! You saved my life earlier!”

She looks at me.

“You mean it?”

“Of course, I do. Besides, if there's anything I’ve learned
from the past few days, it's that I missed having someone
who you can be around and have fun with.”

35

She chuckles a bit.

“You think I’m fun to be around?”

“Yes. I admit it.”

She starts laughing.

“Well then Painting Boy, you must be even crazier than
me if you think that”

She winds down a bit.

“...But thanks.”

Our look-alikes draw nearer at a slow pace. Almost as if
they were mocking us.

“I never got you name by the way.” I say. “And I mean
you real name. Not some dumb nickname.”

She smiles at me.

36

“My names Jordan.” She says. “What about you?”

“Micah.”

“Well Micah, looks like we’re gonna die here together.”

“Yup.”

She grasps hold of my hand and squeezes tight. It seems
as if the things are just about to get us when the ground
starts to shake. Furniture rattles and we are brought to our
knees.

“Another one of those earthquakes?” She says.

The painting shakes off the wall and onto the floor. Just
as we watch it fall, we see the two beings around us
briefly seem to fade. Now was our chance. We leap
toward the painting and flip it so it faces up.

“Together.” I say.

37

“Yeah.”

The look alikes are right behind us as we both jump into
the painting, narrowly avoiding them. Before I know it,
we land in her house. It was finally over.

“We made it… We made it!” She says in rejoice. She
holds up her hand that was drained of color and the
pigment slowly returns to it.

“Jordan? Did you feel that earthquake?” a voice from
the stairs calls.

A man wearing a tank top who looked to be in his late
30’s climbs up the stairs.

“Who’s the boy?” He asks.

“Nobody.”

He stares at us for a long, uncomfortable moment.

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“Alright. Whatever you say. Not like you gotta tell me
anything anyway.” He mumbles under his breath.
He walks out of the room. I look at her quizzically.
“Stepdad.” She says.
“Ah, okay.”

We walk out of the front door of her house.
“It's probably for the best that we get rid of those
paintings.” She says.
“Yeah.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“I should get home. My parents are probably worried
about me.”
“Alright.”

39

I begin walking away.
“Hey-” she says.
“Yeah?”
She looks like she wants to say something important.
“See you tomorrow?”
I smile and nod my head.
“See you tomorrow. Freak.”
“Painting boy!”
We laugh for a moment and I begin walking home.

•••
“Micah!” my Mom welcomes me back with a hug. “My
god, where were you? We were worried sick about you!”

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“Relax mom I’m fine now.”

“Hey kiddo” My Father now comes to my Mother’s side.
“You had us worried sick.” He puts a hand on my
shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry. I-”

I debate whether or not I should tell them about the
painting.

“I had to finish an art project at a friend's house.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” My Mom asks. She hugs me
again.

“Yeah. I’ll let you know from here on out. I might have
to finish it up tomorrow too.”

When they finally stop hugging me, I take the painting
down from the wall, careful not to touch the canvas. I
throw it into the trash bin outside of the house.

41

I walk upstairs to my room and collapse on my bed. I
finally don’t have to worry about the painting ever again.
It was then when I noticed. There was a little bit of flesh
colored paint on my shoulder. Right where my Dad had
touched me.

42



The Cabin Visitor
by Brett Roth

Hank had been camping out in his cabin in the woods
for a month now. He had been camping out less since his
father died but he was getting back into it lately. He and
his father were always going out camping in the
wilderness. in fact, one time, they stayed in an old log
cabin like this for a month, but this time, it was only him.
The cabin was almost entirely wood except for a
cobblestone fireplace. His father had taught him many
things about the wilderness and the true man’s world.
Lately he felt something was off about the woods. The
deep and opaque view of the trees seemed a lot more
menacing. His truck had stopped working so he sent out a
distress signal but the nearest city would take several
days to get to him. He waited patiently.

Night fell once again and Hank was watching the
woods through his window. He had a lantern on out on
the porch. Hank saw scuffling behind the darkness of the
trees, but he couldn’t tell if it was real, or a work of his
imagination. He went to bed, leaving the lantern out on

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the porch, in case the city was quicker to get to him than
he thought. And with the door locked.

Soon Hank heard something trying to open the door.
He remembered what his father had taught him. What do
you do when an unknown visitor knocks on your door?
And when the knocks get harder and louder. When this
visitor wants in? You don’t let it in your territory, you are
the boss, you have to be the one to make them leave, so
make them leave. Hank grabbed a broom thinking it was
some small animal scratching more and more. He, from
the other side, hit the door with the broomstick a few
times and scared it off. Through the window, he only
caught a glimpse. The pale naked creature, running on all
fours. He didn’t recognize what it was.

The next night fell and Hank was watching the woods
again. The same dark and uneasy feeling still there. The
trees glaring back at him, hiding the unknown in its
domain. No rustling in the shadows. He got ready for
bed, he was about done shaving when he saw a silhouette
in the doorway from the mirror. It was gone as soon as
hank’s eyes fixed. Just his imagination. His hands shook
too much and he’d cut himself. He went to bed. He hears
more fumbling, this time he gets up and sees it trying to

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open the window, and he sees it clearly. A disgusting half
human beast, sharp crooked teeth, two beady eyes, jagged
claws, shriveled dry pale skin. Hank grabs a hatchet but
when he turns back, it’s already running back into the
woods. He remembered what his father said. “Don’t
assume when something runs with its tail in between its
legs, that it’s gone for good.” Hank heeded his father’s
words.

The next night came, and Hank sat by the window,
watching. It grew late, and eventually, the time at which
the beast had usually tried to break in had passed. Hank
decided to go to bed and he figured the monster wouldn’t
bother him that night. He climbed in bed and he heard
creaking sounds coming from the cabin. It was a fairly
old cabin so this was normal, at least that’s what Hank
thought to himself. Until he heard sounds coming from
the other room. Stuff being knocked over, growling, and
footsteps. At this point, Hank decided he was never going
to see this beast again. He grabbed his father’s shotgun,
and kicked the door open. There it was, a disgusting,
pale, subhuman figure with elongated limbs and what you
might call a face. It charged at him, shrieking an inhuman
screech. Hank fired the shotgun and the beast was down,

45

dead. Hank dragged its pieces outside and decided he’d
bury it the next day.

The next day had passed and he buried the remains of
the monster. When night fell, he slept peacefully, until he
woke up in the dead of night, and saw the beast, sitting at
the edge of his bed.

46



HOOK
by Alex DeMasters

“I don’t want to be here” Jacklyn Garza said out loud
to her family. Her dad, William Garza, rolled his eyes.

“We get it Jacklyn, it is not my fault your phone isn’t
getting reception out here.”

“Actually, you totally could have chosen a place that
has cell reception… but whatever” She says and
continues to throw her arms up in the sky with her phone
in her hands, like she's trying to levitate off the ground
and into the clouds to get one bar of reception.

“Ugh… the only connection we have is that stupid
radio…” Jacklyn grunts.

“Calm down… come play cops and robbers with us!”
her little brother, Logan Garza, says, ‘All the kids are
playing!” Jacklyn scoffs.

“I’m not a kid Logan… I’m twelve. You know what
that means? I’m a tween. I’m in between being a kid and
a teenager… I do not have time for these childish
games.”

Logan than ran off and Jacklyn continued trying to
get cell service. This was their family reunion. The adults
were all by the cooking meat, chatting about their lives.
Meanwhile the kids were running all around the

47

campground playing cops and robbers. It was a nice
day… but not for long. The radio static shuddered and a
voice started playing,

“Attention all citizens and guests of Fairview
Mountain, an inmate has escaped from the prison hidden
away inside the mountain range, we have no idea where
he is, he is distinctive by his orange uniform, and his
hand. He has a hook for a hand.” The entire family of
Garza’s stands in shock.

“Should we pack up to leave?” One of the aunts asks
in fear. All the kids are shaking their heads yes.

“I think that might be the safest idea…” Brad says to
everyone, “Pack up your stuff, we are getting out of
here.”

The whole family begins to pack up their things. The
aunts are gathering the food, the uncles are putting out
the campfire and taking down the tents, and the children
are putting things into the care. Meanwhile, Jacklyn had
gone off long before, trying to get a cell phone reception.

The family continued to pack up their stuff, the
children gathering their toys, turning around in fear every
time they hear a sudden noise, or the snap of a twig. But
Jacklyn has wandered off even farther through the
woods…

Jacklyn walks through the forest and steps on
countless logs trying to reach her phone even higher, but
nothing is working. Then all of the sudden, Jacklyn hears

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the sound of metal against a tree… Jacklyn hears this and
sounds confused. She does not know about the prisoner
with a hook for a hand that is on the loose. She decides to
head back to her campsite with her family. Meanwhile
everyone there is already getting inside the cars. Jacklyn
hears the metal sound again. It sounds a lot closer! She
starts running back to camp. She keeps hearing the metal
noise and it getting closer and closer. When she arrives
back at the campsite, everyone is already in the cars.

“Wait for me! Wait for me!” She yells. She runs and
jumps into the car, right when they were about to leave.
A few more seconds and she should have been left
behind.

As soon as she is in the car, there is an eerie, metal,
scrape across the outside of the car.

“DRIVE!” Jacklyn yells to her dad as he hits the gas
pedal as hard as he can.

They drive. For as long as they can. Going down
miles and miles of endless country roads until they come
across real civilization again.

They are all scared to get out of the car.
“Open the door, Dad,” One of the cousins says to one
of the uncles.
He slides open the door for everyone to see a huge
metal hook, hanging on the door handle.

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