Katherine Lovern

“Legend of the Spaghetti Zombie”

   On Hallow’s Eve, a rumor swept through the small town of Penne. Just to the south, a creature had been spotted wandering the wilderness. The residents shrugged off the news, for monsters did not exist. Or did they?

   On Halloween, children dressed as ghouls and ghosts flooded the streets in hopes of receiving the greatest trick-or-treat prize of all: Mr. Macaroni’s divinely delicious spaghetti. He made it only once a year on Halloween as a gift to one random lucky child that knocked on his door.

   As all the children flocked toward Mr. Macaroni’s house, they didn’t notice the creature hobbling slowly down the middle of the street alongside them. It limped on thin green legs, letting out loud groans all the while. The parents quickly noticed the creature and were sent into a panic. They grabbed their brooms and mops and baseball bats, storming outside with “monster” written upon their lips. 

   However, to the parents’ surprise, the creature peacefully waited in line outside Mr. Macaroni’s door, the children around it oblivious. And when the creature’s turn came, Mr. Macaroni stood at the door with a wide smile. In his arms was a golden tray holding a single plate of his otherworldly spaghetti. The creature let out an excited groan as it grabbed the tray and devoured the pasta. When it was finished, the plate sparkled. Afterward, the satiated creature promptly turned and limped straight out of town, groaning happily, as it returned to the wilderness from whence it came. 

   After that Halloween, the “Spaghetti Zombie” was never seen again. But the people of Penne still tell the story of the creature that came to eat Mr. Macaroni’s spaghetti.

Jessica-DeMarco-Jacobson

“A Cat Nap”

    Zipporah the cat woke up from her nap. As she stretched her body across the floor of the old house, she thought about breakfast. At this hour, her owner would usually ring a little bell and give her some tasty kibble. But Zipporah wasn’t hungry this morning, which was unusual for her. Bored of napping, she entered the kitchen, where her owner was eating.

    Zipporah meowed and rubbed her body against her owner’s legs. Strangely enough, Old Lady didn’t respond to Zipporah’s affections, which was more than unusual. Zipporah cried loudly, stood on her hind legs, and began to paw at her owner’s trousers. She did not respond. Zipporah looked at Old Lady dejectedly, and decided to go see Granddaughter, a young girl who lived with Old Lady. Granddaughter was on her bed, knitting a scarf for someone special. Zipporah jumped up, purred loudly, and rubbed her cheeks against Granddaughter. She did not respond either. 

    Zipporah decided to go to the attic, which was her favourite hiding place when she was upset. She saw an unfamiliar young girl with a short braid on each side of her head sitting in the corner. Something was strange about her—her body was transparent and blue. 

    “You are now in the realm of the dead,” said the little girl. 

   Of course…It all made sense now. But a mixture of feelings flooded over Zipporah—fear, awe, and sadness.

   “Your owners will no longer be able to see you,” said the girl. Zipporah’s heart dropped. “But don’t worry,” she continued. “I can be your friend, and we can wait for them to join us in our realm.”

   That didn’t sound too bad. Zipporah jumped into the little girl’s lap, and purred. She felt happy again. 

Samira Hibbler

“Jimmy’s Closet”

   The man with the white suit and no face stared at Jimmy through the cracks of the slightly opened closet door. Jimmy could feel the man’s presence without opening his eyes, feeling the darkness that seemed to surround him. The man was quiet as usual; not even the sound of breathing could be heard. 

   Jimmy tried not to make any sudden moves; even the thought of moving a tiny finger scared him to death. Jimmy squinted to see the bright red numbers of the alarm clock, sitting across from him on the bedside table. 3:00 A.M, it said. Always the same time, right on the dot. Not a minute ahead or behind. 

   Jimmy heard the squeak sound of the door open behind him. The tap, tap, tap of nails on the door almost made him jump out of bed. The rustling of feet sounded loud against the hardwood floors. He knew not to give attention to the thing, despite his body’s protests. The man continued to walk around the room as if he was looking for something. Jimmy dared to open his eyes a little wider. A mistake he regretted, as he was met with sharp white teeth.

Sidney Ducleroir

“Are you listening?”

   Have you ever been somewhere that feels old? The kind of place that has really solid floors and walls that aren’t exactly straight? Usually, those places are comforting. Homey. Places where people have surely lived for a long time before you. Places that promise people will keep living for a long time after you. The history-embedded walls are nostalgic and romantic, like the pictures your grandmother shows you from the year she met your grandfather.

    It isn’t always like that though, is it? When the walls aren’t leaning closer to embrace you, but falling in… suffocating you. When the solid floors seem like maybe there is something pulsing underneath them. The scent you catch is unpleasant. It is the smell of old books and your grandmother’s perfume, but soured and rotten. There is history in those walls too, but it is malicious. This history knows that people lived before you and promises that you will one day join them. 

   What was that? That noise behind you? No, don’t turn around. Sit still. Sometimes it’s better not to know. Sometimes it’s better to let those secrets lie.