Archives

I saw him get hit, I didn’t cry.

I was outside of the emergency room, I didn’t cry.

Even now at my father’s funeral, I wasn’t crying.

Many people tried to comfort me, not for me but because they were scared, scared of judgment, scared of mortality, scared of me. I wish they were braver then. No one saw me leave; I just slipped away as my father had from life. I ran. I wasn’t missing my kendo tournament, not for my dad, the man who had missed my first words. The man who had missed my birthday three times. I wasn’t backing out on the one thing that made me feel strong like he never could. I wasn’t missing that tournament for a dead man.

I had been having bad dreams lately. Every night I was killed by a beast ten feet tall, with grey cracked skin and glowing red eyes. He chased me down and swung his giant flaming claws towards me. His rage radiated with the power and heat of one thousand suns.

I arrived at the Golden Hilt Dojo soaked in rain and my family’s tears. My coach was stunned to see me that day, but he knew me enough not to say anything.

I solemnly stepped into the locker room and put on my protective gear. As I lifted my kendo stick out of its case, I heard a grunt come from my left. I turned to face the kid who had the audacity to try to scare me, intimidate me, the boy whose dad had just died. This proved that even though he was taller than me, Jacob Mchazer really was someone who deserved nothing except downward gazes.

Jacob was leaning on the third locker from mine with a dissatisfied scowl. He loudly ordered me to go home or else. I didn’t respond; the satisfaction of a response was one of many things that Jacob didn’t deserve. At the time he was still a white belt, but Jacob walked around like he owned the place. He was at least three inches taller than any kid at the dojo, so he was intimidating at first, but he never did anything. All bark and no bite. At this point he barely had any teeth left.

“Go home and cry, kid.” He speaks but my mind doesn’t register, his words pass right through me. As he opened his mouth again, the blade I had been slowly raising out of its case with my left hand quickly whipped over my shoulder, falling in an almost perfect arc. I spun at an angle, thrusting all of my weight into my sword as I slid my right foot, setting my center of balance straight. Every single movement fell into place, a perfect symphony of blade and dance.

His insolence was met by my rage, and my sword was met by his blood. I wish I was braver then.

I continued beating Jacob until he cried. I swung that kendo stick so hard my hands bled before Jacob did. Before I could do anything to seriously harm him, I was pulled away by my coach, who had heard Jacob screaming. I slipped out of his arms and rushed to the door, running into the rain once again.

The crimson falling from my fists hit the pavement the same way my father’s did when he died. Just ten seconds before the accident everything was just as it always was. My mom yelling at him just as she did everyday, he put on his suit just like always, everything was just like always. Dead before he hit the ground; the truck slammed into him as he walked away from us for the last time. I think he was brave.

By the time I got home, the sun had set. I didn’t want to go to sleep, I didn’t want to dream, but as I sat and watched whatever was on TV to keep myself awake my thoughts drifted, my mind slurred, and I fell into dreams once again.

As always, I was in the burning woods with a finely crafted katana in my hand. The beast’s footsteps came down hard and heavy, so loud they filled any space no matter how big. You could never tell where he was coming from. A sudden burst of heat whipped at my back, he was right behind me. I leaped to the left, awkwardly falling into an into a combat roll. I just barely evaded his swipe. He recoiled his arm back making a fist this time as if to show that he took me seriously. His second blow was fast, way too fast. How could something so huge move so fast? My left shoulder had been embedded into a nearby pine tree. Chips of wood had stuck themselves deep into my arms, almost reaching my bones. He reared back once again; this time, if I was hit, it was all over.

The second hit came down even faster than the first; this time I expertly ducked underneath his punch. As his fist hit the ground, I used the hilt of my sword to pick myself up. Using the inertia stored in the blade I pierced the beast’s ribcage. He was weakened. I felt strong, strong enough to kill this monstrosity. I began releasing a flurry of blows but I soon realized that the hits I had been aiming at his ribs were now aimed at his thigh.

I kept slicing and stabbing until my hands were sore. I stepped back and looked up. The monster was at least twenty feet tall now. The bent, cracked, and melted hunk of steel that was once a fine Japanese blade slipped from my charred palms. I wasn’t scared but I wasn’t brave either.

For a moment the forest felt like limbo. Nothing moved, there was no more fire, no more rage, and no more fear. A calm sadness spread across the beast’s face as he began to crumble away into golden flower petals. He blew into the wind. I watched as the petals danced in the breeze, shaping and forming around me into a loving embrace. My father gripped me tighter and tighter and then slowly released me, his warm glowing eyes wet but unblinking. He spoke to me. He spoke to my soul. “I love you, my son.” The words resonated within me, warming my heart, and the petals descended from the sky as the silence burned my throat and just like that, my father was gone, gone once again.

That morning I awakened brave enough to cry.

Mosadi Pearson likes playing video games and drawing. He usually listens to progressive rock while writing. After trying to write an action-heavy story and failing, he decided to go with a sadder tone. Mosadi is a proud Mighty Writer.

We were kids, so everything was in technicolor. The sky was the sapphire ring Cam’s abuela wore. The grass was the fresh emerald paint on the corner grocery storefront. Dewdrops were the liquid diamonds that spilled from Aunt Pia’s neck on Sunday mornings. The clouds were that sweet scratchy cotton candy that melted gloriously in our mouths, the kind that reminded us of summer.

Back then, Liam used to pretend the cracks in the sidewalk were rivers of lava. He’d shout, “Mya! Watch your step!” and that would start our game. The concrete was broken up because thick tree roots snaked underneath so Liam said we had to be extra careful. He said it was tough terrain. He said a lot of things back then, actually. I wish he could have stayed eleven forever. I wish he kept talking. But I guess big brothers grow up.

When he was younger it was nice. Me and Cam were nine then, and we’d all go out wandering together. We scrounged up some money from under our couch cushions, bought a few Coca-Colas, and biked out. Once Cam took us to a little stream she found in the woods and we looked for tadpoles. Liam found a piece of shiny mica on the bank and he gave it to me. I tied a string onto it and put it around my neck.

The weekend after that, it was my turn to lead. I sped down the road on my bike in the cool afternoon, shimmery new pendant thunking lightly against my chest, and watched the buildings rush past. A blur of brick red. A swash of beige. Brushstrokes of forest green.

The street came to a dead end and I stopped, propping my bike against a knotted tree. There was a house here. Cracked yellow paint and blue-gray shutters. It looked lonely. Cam and Liam paused behind me. They put their bikes down carefully, silently, as if this place demanded quiet.

I watched them watch the trees. The bright leaves, parakeet green. The patterns of white sunlight that landed on our faces. It felt right to stop here, at the edge of the woods. Sometimes our wild youth could be stilled if we chose to wait and watch like this.

I listened to the chatter of the birds for a suspended moment, and then the three of us collectively approached the gate of the house. It was old, wrought iron with spotty patches of orange rust. A roaring lion was carved into the top. Swirling lichen traced the edges of its mane. It snarled, metal teeth jutting out. Cam snarled back. I laughed.

Liam kicked the gate lightly and it swung open, creaking. We crept in, our sneakers flattening the grass. It tickled my ankles. I scratched them and followed my brother.

“The man who lives here, he’s away, isn’t he?” Cam asked, her voice a soft whisper. She surveyed the house, cautious.

“He leaves a lot, I think.” I said, pulling a leaf from her thick hair. “For his job.”

Liam disappeared around the corner of the house so we ran to catch up. The setting sun blinded me for a second, yellow-white obscuring my vision. I squeezed my eyes shut. Then I felt Cam tapping on my shoulder.

“Mya, Mya, look at this.”

I shifted so the sun was covered by a line of trees. Its dying rays illuminated the back of the house in gentle orange, casting patterns on the garden in front of me.

And the garden was breathtaking. Liam stood motionless, watching the light dance over it. Cam had the biggest smile on her face. I just stared, and stared, because there was so much to look at.

The grass was tall and lush, whispering across our bare calves. I breathed in the rich smell of good soil. Moss blanketed a stone path, the bright green of my Aunt Pia’s eyes. Purple petunias and clusters of violets bordered the pathway. All soft as dancing slippers.

Thick, pale green stems strained towards the sky to my right. I turned to face the flowers, golden yellow and taller than I was. They stretched glowing fingers toward the rosy sun as it slipped quietly below the horizon.

I kept walking down the path, tripping over my own feet in excitement. At the center of the vast, vivid garden, there was a fountain, shaped like an elephant — intricately carved from its prancing feet to its wide, still ears. Its trunk was lifted upwards, spraying water in a graceful arc. The gray stone was inset with all sorts of things. Smooth green sea glass, ridged bits of apricot-tinged shells, tiny rhinestones. Spiky black bottle caps. They were all arranged in vibrant patterns, tracing sides, ears, toes. Liam stuck his head under the stream of water. His hair flattened against his forehead and he laughed as fat droplets slid down his face.

“Our elephant garden,” Cam breathed.

And for the moment, it did feel like it was ours. It felt like the entire world was contained within this wrought iron gate. With its carpet of petals and leaves. All smelling like jasmine.

There was a small cluster of cherry trees on the far side of the garden. The fruit hung dark and heavy from the branches, like rubies, glinting with moonlight. I saw Cam lick her lips.

“Cam, My, come here,” Liam called softly. He pointed to something sitting between the elephant’s front legs. “There’s a box.”

It was unassuming, dull gray metal with a faded, unrecognizable logo on the top. Liam pulled it out and popped it open. The hinges slid easily.

There was a collection of things inside — eccentric things, colorful, strange things. A pink leather coin purse. A small porcelain goat. An empty cigarette pack. A 1962 penny. A floral fountain pen. The question mark key from a typewriter. A champagne cork. A strawberry gum wrapper. A poem penciled onto a piece of notebook paper. An embroidered bookmark. The cap from a tube of indigo paint.

I’ve always loved the color indigo. I told Liam this once, and he said it shouldn’t have its own name because it’s just bluish purple. I said I liked the word. It has a nice shape in my mouth. It tastes like ripe peaches and sea salt. Liam said that’s stupid.

“Where’s all this from?” I asked no one in particular.

“People, I guess,” Cam replied. “People who came here.”

“We should leave something too,” my brother said. His eyes sparkled. “So it’ll remember us.”

He placed the cap from his glass coke bottle in the box. Cam pulled the length of red ribbon from her hair. I slid the blue woven bracelet off of my arm and set it down, alongside everything else.

Liam closed the box, put it back between the elephant’s feet, and suggested we head home.

After that, we didn’t go back. Instead we explored the woods. Learned every street in that neighborhood by heart. Played tag on the cul-de-sac behind Cam’s house.

Liam went into eighth grade and he stopped talking to Cam. In ninth grade he stopped talking to me. The next year, Cam’s family moved back to Cuba.

A family with two daughters moved into their old house. Their dad’s yellow ‘50’s Cadillac sat conspicuous in the driveway, the brightest thing on the street. Neon purple fuzzy dice dangled from the rear view mirror.

I started high school. On the weekends, the two girls next door would jump on their bikes and speed away, into the woods or down the street, just like we used to do.

It was a Sunday in June. The sun floated like a carnival balloon over blue suede sky. I could hear my dad tuning his guitar from inside, the sound swimming lazily through the thick air. I slipped off my church shoes and stepped barefoot onto the grass, thinking.

Maybe I’ll talk to them — the girls next door. Maybe I’ll tell them all about fountains and elephants and boxes of strange things. Typewriter keys and pens and paint caps and poems. Maybe they’ll laugh unabashedly at my bad jokes like Cam did. Maybe they’ll ride their bikes standing up and whistling their favorite songs off-key like Liam did.

I grinned a little to myself. Maybe it’ll be like it used to be — but then again, maybe it’ll be something entirely new. 

 

Rebecca Uhlman is a 10th grader at Pennsbury High School who likes writing, painting, and photography. She also adores music and old movies. Becca can’t wait to travel the world and adopt a bunch of cats someday!

I glowered at the girl staring back at me through the glass. She wore leggings, even though they made her uncomfortable, as they were often scratchy. Her short shoulder length hair was down, even though she would much rather have had it pulled back in a ponytail. She wore boots, even though they would hurt. I despised this girl. Yet every day I went to school and posed as her anyway. One hundred and eighty days of hiding behind a mask –  a facade, trying to conceal from everyone, including myself, how I really felt. I knew how this worked. One leak of my emotions, and someone would exploit me for it. I had lived it

This girl continued off to school in her uncomfortable leggings, her short, blonde hair  falling into her her eyes, obstructing her view unnecessarily, and sweaty, clingy boots. Other children, strangers, also piled into the building. They all seemed to know each other. I was the odd one here. I needed some time to observe. I had studied how to get along with others.

Number 1: How to get along with anyone. Be like them. Some famous psychologist once said when meeting patients, to make a good impression, he would copy their mannerisms. It was a very effective method. Humanity as a whole is very narcissistic.

Number 2: When you’re being carefully watched by an audience, you have seven seconds to grab their attention, and ten minutes to keep it. After 10, you will begin to lose their focus, and thus the seven second mark repeats. If you bring up something interesting then, they’ll give you their attention for another ten minutes, and so on.

I’m sure nobody would like to hear Miss Wendy Ives’ long, winded psychology lesson. I’ll just shut up and tell you my story now.

So I walked over with the most confident gait I could manage, pulling my shoulders back, my palms up, and slapping on a fake smile I would really rather not have been giving, and went up to a girl huddled in a group with a bunch of other kids.

I felt her glaring at me. “Hi, I’m Wendy,” I squeezed out. Every atom in my body wanted to run. My heart was screaming at my brain ‘Abort mission! Abort!’

But I stayed. And her judgemental gaze didn’t let up. “Hello?” she said. It sounded like more of a question to me. The boy who was previously talking to her was also watching me carefully. Everyone in the group was staring at my irritating leggings, my short hair I would much rather have up, and boots I would be struggling to make it through the day with – it all felt so awkward to me. I could tell they were deciding what to do with me, whether I was worth their time. The mask was even more uncomfortable, sitting atop my face, digging into the back of my head, telling me what to do and say. At least, what the popular thing to do would be. I wanted to take it off. I wanted to leave. But I knew I couldn’t do that. So I stayed.

“Do you know where room J132 is?” That stupid, senseless smile I had plastered on my face was still there. I hated myself for it. “I think it’s seventh grade science? It’s my first period class…”

A small smile appeared on the girl’s face, followed by a mocking laugh. “You have Mrs. Reynolds first period?” She smirked. I shifted my weight nervously. “I hope you live to to see second period. You said your name was Wendy, right?” I nodded meekly. “I’m Samantha. You can call me Sam,”

A shrill ring interrupted our conversation.

“First bell.” She looked up, and started to walk off in the opposite direction, her herd of other populars following her. “And Wendy!” she glanced back at me with her fake smile. “Maybe if you survive first period, you can hang out with Aaron and me after school!” She pivoted her head back around and sauntered off with the rest of her clique.

“To the right, first door.” I muttered.  Above the entranceway sat an old, faded strip spelling out “MRS. REYNOLD’S SCIENCE 7TH in Parisian, decorative letters. It didn’t seem that bad….

I pushed my weight against the door. These were much heavier than the ones at my old school. These were solid wood, lined with stainless steel. Like a prison…. Perhaps a colorful prison, though….  I stepped into the classroom. The shelves were filled with DNA models, beakers, graduated cylinders, educational posters, and other teaching supplies.

The petite, older woman behind the desk sported what looked like Ben Franklin’s glasses, a floral dress, and a Erlenmeyer flask shaped mug, filled almost to the brim with black coffee, with steam pouring off it.

She walked over to me. Everyone else was already seated. I could see the boy Sam called Aaron peering up at me from behind his crossed arms. I didn’t even see him walking into the classroom.

Mrs. Reynolds stood next to me and told everyone to say hello. In addition to giving me a half-hearted, monotone greeting, they also gave me the same cold stare I felt earlier, the one Sam had watched me with.

Judging.

Mrs. Reynolds then directed me to sit down. The class continued. Once in a while, someone would glance over at me, but only for a second.

I liked Mrs. Reynolds. I didn’t see the monstrous woman  Sam had described. Mrs. Reynolds asked a question I knew the answer to, but should’ve been way above the 7th grade curriculum. Why was she asking us this?

“I’m not expecting anyone to know the answer to this, but I need to know how much you know to know what you need to learn,” she clarified. “Who first synthesised polonium, discovered radium, and conducted experiments with uranium?”

I looked around the room. Everyone shared the same confused look. I reluctantly convinced myself that I would share the answer…. I raised my hand. Mrs. Reynolds looked at me and nodded, surprised.

“Marie Curie.” I stated. She looked shocked that I knew that easy trivia question. Anyone who knew anything about science would’ve gotten that one.  

“Correct!” She seemed elated. “Do you know what two items in her study were most contaminated by radioactivity?”

Trying to test how much I knew, I guess. Easy-peasy. “The back of her chair and doorknob,” I rattled off.

“Excellent!” She beamed. Everyone else in the room just looked more confused. Understandable. They weren’t expected to know this for years. “Anyway, we should get back to class.” She looked back and smiled, then turned back around. The rest of the class went very quickly. I knew every answer but decided I didn’t want to show off.

Walking home, the fur lining of my boots I never should’ve worn were now clinging to my ankles. The only company I had was a boy who said his name was Shane. I think he was in my science class. He seemed far more interesting than the other kids I had met earlier today. He showed an interest in science, like me. If you’re friends with him, they’ll treat you like you did last year. Like nobody. My brain told me, but my heart screamed in disagreement. What a shame….

Sam and Aaron were already waiting for me at the park. “I heard you really sucked up to Mrs. Reynolds today,” Sam called to me. I walked over.

“Yeah, maybe a little…” I looked down at my feet. My dumb boots were still on. “I just guessed on that one.”

“Now you see how boring she is.” Aaron rolled his eyes. “Forty-five minutes never went so slowly.”

“She’s so mean when you don’t do your work.” Sam complained.

My hair fell in my eyes again. Maybe if you actually tried in class, she would like you more… I felt uncomfortable and I didn’t say anything.  I left, my opinion unasserted and unknown.

When I went in to school the next day, I felt great. Energized, ready to tackle the day, my head was clear. It was a beautiful morning.

Like the calm before the storm.

As I went to first period class, something felt off. The strip above the door was no longer there. Strange. When I entered the classroom, Mrs. Reynolds wasn’t there. Probably just getting coffee, like most teachers do.

But she never came in.

Instead, a young man in his early thirties walked in. “Good morning class.” He smiled. “I’m Mr. Kate. I’ll be taking over for Mrs. Reynolds for the rest of the year.

Whispers spread throughout the room. Most of them seemed joyful. They were glad she was leaving. I laid my head down on my desk. I felt sick. The teacher I had only known for a day, the only teacher I had felt comfortable with, was gone. And I would never see her again.

“I’m so glad she left.” I overheard Sam and Aaron talking at lunch. “Thank God. I hated that witch.”

“Oh, Wendy!” Sam finally noticed my presence, and smiled that fake smile. “Finally, you’re here! Wanna hang out again after school?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can,” I smiled, and walked away. Instead, I went over to Shane, who was eating his peanut butter sandwich in solitude. I sat down next to him. “Those kids over here can be pretty mean.” I grinned at him.

He looked up from his sandwich and smiled. “I would say that’s a case of the social anthropological principle of outgroup homogeneity bias if I’ve ever seen one.”

 

I could feel Sam and Aaron staring at me. I laughed. I was right. He was a great person to have a conversation with. And a better friend than Sam and Aaron would ever be. I didn’t care if last year happened again. I was happy this time. And I decided that was all that mattered.

Ella Bianco is in 7th grade and likes to paint, draw, and study psychology and physics. She also runs track and XC and lives with her parents, little sister, and dog in Haddon Heights, NJ. She has run into more things and injured herself more times than she can count on both hands.

Most teenagers have been to at least one party where they played with a ouija board, and when nothing happened, forgot about anything remotely supernatural for the rest of their lives. However, these three boys had always been curious. Ouija boards and Bloody Mary had never been enough for Cam, Mitch, and Elliot. So, when they finally had Mitch’s parents house alone for the weekend, they had broken out a summoning ritual (from the internet of course) and were going to attempt it that night.

The marred wooden table was set in the middle of the furnished basement, the dimmed yellow bulbs giving the space a welcoming light, so at odds with what was sprawled across it. Old yellow parchment covered the center of the table, with intricate symbols drawn in a dark thick paint. Various black candles sat lit across the tabletop, giving it an infernal orange glow. In the middle was a dark wooden bowl, that contained what looked to be dirt, feathers, and salt. At the head of the table was Cam, his blonde hair cut short and stormy gray eyes dancing with wicked delight. It had been Cam’s idea in the first place to try all this demonic stuff. Mitch and Elliot were willing to go along with it to please their friend and show him, for the last time, that this stuff didn’t exist, and that he needed to get his head out of comic books.

“Welcome.” He said in an ominous tone. Thunder stuck outside. “Woah! Did you guys hear that? That was like it usually is in the movies!”

“Or you just happened to speak as the same time as the thunder, dork.” Mitch responded, a sly grin plastered on his face.

Cam shot up from his spinny chair, probably about to try to tackle Mitch, because that was how he solved his problems, when Elliot intervened, “Guys, guys, there’s enough of me to go around.” The three laughed and started sitting around the table.
Mitch raised an eyebrow at the concoction in the middle. “What is that, summoning soup?”

Cam got serious, which may have been the first time in his life, and replied, “It’s raven feathers, soil from an unmarked grave, and rock salt.”

“Where did you get all this?” Elliot asked incredulously.

“Ebay.” Cam said in a sarcastic tone. “I collected it dumbass, where do you think I got it.” Cam started mimicking Elliot’s voice, “Maybe he got it from the neighborhood witchcraft store next to the walgreens! Come on man.”

“Sorry Cam, I’ve never summoned a goddamn demon before.”

“Well, neither has he.” Mitch pointed out.

“And I never will.” Cam replied. “Demons are scary S.O.B.s, from what I’ve read. We’re summoning this weird thing called The Raven Man. No one knows what he is, but he’s not a demon.” Thunder struck again outside.

“Okay, that time it was weird.” Mitch said.

“Seems like easy ingredients to summon an extraplanar entity.” Elliot quipped.

“The stews’ not done yet, boys. We have to add the secret ingredient.” With that, he got up, took out a rather plain looking pocket knife and sliced it across his palm, hissing as he did so. Blood slid down his hand and dripped into the bowl, the metallic scent of it filling the room.

“I guess it requires the blood of a virgin.” Mitch remarked, earning a snarl from Cam.

Elliot felt a tingle go down his spine as the blood dripped into the bowl. Drip. Drip. Drip. He didn’t know why it was so unsettling. “Guys, I don’t think we should be doing this. Shouldn’t we have more respect for this stuff?”

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in hocus pocus.” Cam said with another grin, and took a Dora bandage out of his pocket and applied it to his wound. Elliot and Mitch would usually make fun of it, but after what he had just done, neither seemed inclined to do so.

After he was done bandaging the cut, he said, “Now we have to light the candles and say the incantation. It was originally written in Latin, but Latin is annoying and hard to pronounce, so I translated it to good ol’ American.”

“What is it supposed to do?” Mitch asked.

“Well, once it’s summoned, we can ask it any one question each, then it will ask something of us, usually our soul, but since we have the rock salt mixed in to keep him bound, and I have a protection charm–” he pulled out a necklace with a small bag attached that smelled faintly of rosemary — “we should be okay. I read someone else’s experience with this ritual; apparently it worked and everyone died, but the username was EmoGirlx666, so I’m a bit hesitant to believe that.”

The boys laughed. “Who even posted about it if everyone died?” Mitch asked.

“My point exactly. You guys ready?” Cam asked, glancing back and forth at his friends.

“For this not to work? Sure.” Mitch said, blowing his dark hair out of his eyes.

Elliot thought for a moment. He really didn’t think he should do this. Oh come on, it’s harmless, this stuff doesn’t work, his thoughts seemed to say. They felt… foreign to him though. It was an odd sensation. “Yea. I’m ready.”

“Alright boys, chant with me. Remember, it’s ‘On this dark night, I call the Raven Man. Appear before me here and now, and grant me your forbidden knowledge.”

“Isn’t it supposed to rhyme?” Elliot asked. It always did in the movies.

“No, you idiot.” Cam said, and took a lighter out of his pocket. He walked over to the candle farthest from his seat, and held the flame to the wick. He started saying, “On this dark night, I call the Raven Man. Appear before me here and now, and grant me your forbidden knowledge.” and the others joined in half way through. The small flame flickered rapidly back and forth, and another chill went down Elliot’s spine. He moved over to the next candle and lit it. All of their voices syncing up as they said, “On this dark night, I call the Raven Man. Appear before me here and now, and grant me your forbidden knowledge.” Their voices seemed to echo off the basement walls, and the room got considerably colder.

“Guys, I really don’t think we should-” Elliot began, but Cam moved onto the third candle. As the flame touched the wick, a giant crack of thunder shook the house. “On this dark night, I call the Raven Man. Appear before me here and now, and grant me your forbidden knowledge.” Elliot still chanted along with the others, oddly feeling compelled to do so. His voice felt hoarse.

He lit the fourth candle, the boys said the incantation, and another lightning crack rocked the house as the room was plunged into darkness, the only light the flickering of the four candles.

It’s just the storm… His thoughts seemed to say, caressing Elliot’s mind into an even calm. “It’s just the storm,” the three boys said in unison. None of them seemed to notice.

Cam sat down at his chair. The final candle sat there in front of him. Elliot wanted him to light it.

He lit it.

“On this dark night, I call the Raven Man. Appear before me here and now, and grant me your forbidden knowledge.” They all whispered.

Taking the candle in his hand, he held it over the bowl in the middle, and said in a voice that sounded strange, ‘The flame is my beacon, the blood is my sacrifice. I call you, Raven Man.” He lit the bowl’s contents on fire.

The bowl was immediately engulfed in fire, the flame reaching unnaturally high, nearly singing the ceiling. Cam was thrown back into his chair, and sat ramrod stiff. Elliot’s own back straightened and his face was schooled in neutrality, his hands resting politely on the table. He tried to get out of his chair and run away, run anywhere, just to get away from that horrible place, but he couldn’t. He was trying to tell his body to move but it wasn’t listening.

“It is impolite to leave a guest unattended.” A cold, drawling voice echoed throughout the room or in his head. By the panic in the other boy’s eyes, they had heard it too. The candle flames rose up in the air, brightening up the room and causing the shadows to dance and flicker on the walls so that they seemed alive. The flame in the middle turned a dark purple, and the feathers shot out of it, circling the room. More and more poured out of the gout of fire, so many that it looked like the boys weren’t just encircled in feathers, but in a murder of ravens. Then everything stopped. The candles flickered gently, setting the room back to a low dimness. The feathers landed on the table, forming a neat pile ringed in a perfect salt circle.

The pile started moving. The feathers began to climb on top of each other, forming a dark figure… a person. There was a flash of darkness as the candles were extinguished, and then lit again all at once. Standing in the middle of the table was a man, dressed in a fine suit, the cloth so black it was hard to look at. On his lapel was a small raven skull. He had his hands in his pockets, posed in a casual way, as if he had not just come from a pile of raven feathers after three teenagers had summoned him. His tan skin was leathery with age, and his nose was hooked like… a beak. He had jet black hair with specks of gray here and there, and his lips were thin, the skin chapped. The scariest part were his eyes. Black colorless pits where his eyes should have been gazed upon the three boys.

“Which one of you is Cam Maskus?” The man asked, his voice cold and raspy. After no one spoke, he said, “Oh, my apologies. Where are my manners? I forgot to introduce myself. I am The Raven Man.” Lightning cracked outside. “How dramatic.” The man said, looking up. Still, no one spoke.

“Speak.” The Raven Man commanded.

No one spoke.

He chuckled, a dark, humorless laugh. “Oh my. I forgot, I paralyzed you all. You may speak.”

All three of the boys screamed as their vocal cords worked again.

The man rolled his dark black eyes. “How dreadful. Stop.” The man said. They immediately stopped screaming.

“Now, I will ask once more. Who is Cam Maskus.”

Cam gulped, and choked out, “Me.” A single tear rolled down his cheek.

“You are the one who summoned me?” The Raven Man asked.

“Yes.”

The man looked down at the circle of salt. “Tell me, Cam Maskus.” He began. “Did you use purified rock salt?”

“N-no.” Cam said, his voice breaking.

“A pity.” The Raven Man crooned, as he brushed some of the salt away with his shoe. He walked towards the side of the table and floated to the ground, hands still in the pockets of his suit. He turned to the boys, and smiled a wolfish grin. His teeth were decayed yellow stumps in his mouth. “Since you summoned me, I’ll let you go first.” The Raven Man drawled as he walked towards Cam’s seat. He bent down and whispered next to Cam’s ear. “Tell me, mortal. What is it you want to know most in this world?” His voice slithered over them all, sending shivers down their spines.  

Cam’s lips quivered. “A-are you g-going to take my soul?” He stammered, another tear sliding down his cheek. The Raven Man took a hand out of his pocket. It was not a human hand. It was withered and off-white, it’s fingers long and decrepit, and on each finger were dark, razor-sharp talons. He put one talon down towards Cam’s neck, and pulled the necklace- the protection charm, away from him. It was sliced easily by his claws.

“No…” The Raven Man whispered, “I’m not going to take your soul. What do I need your soul for?” Cam sighed in relief.

“No…” He continued, and placed his talons on the boy’s chin and head, and positioned his face to look at his eyes. “I’m going to take your life.”

The Raven Man twisted his neck to a terrible degree, the sound of it snapping reverberating through the room, through the house, through their souls. Cam’s body slumped to the table, his eyes still open.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

He grinned at the two remaining boys. “Oh, you two look horrid. You really ought to smile.”

Their faces contorted into a large, beaming grin. They smiled so wide it hurt.

“Much better. It’s polite to act happy when you invite a guest into your home. Now, who is next?”

His dark eyes slid to Mitch. “Tell me boy. What is it you want to know most in the world?”

Mitch gasped out, “Please! P-please don’t kill me! I’ll do anythin-”

“That is not a question, boy.”

Silver tears gleamed in Mitch’s eyes as he asked, “Is there anything after death?”

The Raven Man sighed, “You mortals and your concern with the afterlife. Why does it matter? Yes, there is something after death, of a sort. That was an uncreative question. You disappoint me.”

He walked over to Cam, each step resounding through the room.

“Only the first boy gave his blood to me.” He drawled. “Perhaps if you had all given me something, I would have treated you a bit better. But not many are willing to spill a little blood for the poor old Raven Man.”

He raked a talon down Mitch’s cheek. Blood spilled down his face, and onto his chest. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The Raven Man inhaled deeply, in something like ecstasy. “How I love the scent of mortal blood. Shall we make more of it?” In a flash, his hand was out, slicing across Mitch’s throat. Blood sprayed onto the table, and his head lulled back. There was a faint gurgling as the blood cascaded down his neck. Something fundamental in Elliot broke at the sight of his two best friends sprawled dead. He didn’t think it could be fixed.

The Raven Man turned to the final boy. “Ah… Elliot. The one who had a feeling this would work, and that it would be terrible for you. You almost stopped the boys from summoning me. But you failed, didn’t you?”

He paced over, and put his hand on the table and tapped it impatiently, the talons clicking rhythmically. “Do tell me, Elliot. What is it you want to know most in this world. Think carefully.” He smiled.

Come on. ELLIOT, THINK.

Elliot’s eyes widened. He whispered in an even voice despite all that had happened, or perhaps because he felt detached from the world around him, “Tell me, Raven Man. How do I get out of this alive?”

The Raven Man kept grinning. “How interesting….”

“You’re different, Elliot.” The Raven Man began, his swirling black eyes narrowing on the young boy. “You are the first person to summon me that has asked a question that was actually intriguing. What was the exact wording? ‘How do I get out of this alive?’ Hmmmmmm.”

“I suppose you’d get out of this alive by doing exactly what you did.” He continued. “Entertaining me… However, that is far too easy. How about a little test, hm?” He chuckled, another one of his dark mirthless laughs.

“A test?” Elliot growled. He was so tired. The shock of the events were wearing off, and now all the adrenaline was replaced with… nothingness. He felt numb.“You killed my friends, and now you want me to pass a test for your amusement? You can screw off, I’ve been through enough. Just kill me already.”

“Oh, little mortal,” The Raven Man drawled, placing his talons on Elliot’s shoulders. “Your trials are just beginning.”

He dug his talons into Elliot, and where the razor sharp claws pierced his skin, it felt like fire spread under his skin. He screamed, and the Raven Man laughed once more, and when the pain finally stopped racking his body, he slumped in his chair, panting. He was vaguely aware that the supernatural bindings that kept him in the chair were lifted, but he was too tired to get up. He wanted to just let the oblivion of sleep overtake him. Maybe forever.

“You have been marked, little mortal.” Said the Raven Man. “Survive a week, and you pass the test. I’ll be watching.”

Elliot looked up at this creature. The light of the candles reflected in his black eyes. The bastard was still smiling. That thing that had broken inside Elliot pieced itself back together, into something new, into something fiery and cold all at once. He was angry… No. It was more than that. It was utter hatred for this thing in front of him.

“I’m going to pass your damn test,” Elliot spat, curling his lip, “And I’m going to kill you. I’m going to snap your neck and rip out your throat and make you feel all the things you made them feel.” He nodded to his friends.

The Raven Man cocked his head in an avian gesture, and for once, stopped smiling. “You are so very interesting Elliot. I look forward to seeing your corpse at the end of the test.” And with that, The Raven Man vanished, and the basement lights flickered back on. The ritual materials, candles, and the parchment with the summoning sigils on it all vanished with him, leaving only the bodies. Where he stood not even a second ago was a black feather, that floated peacefully to the ground. Elliot picked it up in his shaking hands, and held on to it for dear life, crushing it in the process. He looked at the remains of his best friends.

“I’m going to kill him for this.” He whispered, tears flowing down both cheeks. “I’m going to avenge you. Cam. Mitch.Whatever I have to do. I’m going to fucking end his miserable existence.”

Nicholas Philhower is a 17-year-old writer of many stories, reader of many books, and lover of life who lives in Egg Harbor City, NJ. He enjoys adventuring to unseen places with friends, talking about the universe, and sleeping when he can — usually in that order.