“The Haunted Pen” & Other Tales – Celebrating Spooky Season with the Scribes
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1 ….. Where Moonlight Glows and Whispers Creep by Olivia Gilreath
CHAPTER 2 ….. She’s So Scary by Mantis Osiris
CHAPTER 3 ….. Through All Eternity by Angelia Ross
CHAPTER 4 ….. I Will Not Love A Ghost Forever by Paula Dixon
CHAPTER 5 ….. Within the Ghost, Myself by Kait Quinn
CHAPTER 6 ….. Wherever He May Lurk by Trent Sizemore
CHAPTER 7 ….. I Don’t Delight in Darkness, Darkness Delights in Me by Brittany Troxell
CHAPTER 8 ….. There Are Monsters & They Need to be Loved by Frances Denise
CHAPTER 9 ….. Look at the Scar by Miriam Calleja
CHAPTER 10 …. Images Scar My Mind by Tyler Heflin
CHAPTER 11 …. The Howling World Waxes Full by Cathy Socarras Ferrell
CHAPTER 12 …. Death Be Only A Payday In The Sky by Dane Osborne
CHAPTER 13 …. Somewhere Between Halloween & the 4th of July by Brandon Thorpe
CHAPTER 14 …. We’re Coming to the Scary Part by Kenneth Barclay
CHAPTER 15 …. Was it a Dream, or Was it Real? by Mark Hargis
CHAPTER 16 …. The Haunted Pen by Elijah Ayers
CHAPTER 17 …. Monsters Among Us – Poems from the Editors
1. Where Moonlight Glows and Whispers Creep
Poems from the Ancient Wood by Olivia Gilreath
ECHOES OF THE NIGHT
In the quiet of the night, where moonlight glows,
Whispers of the past, the ghostly wind blows.
Figures faint, in spectral light,
Wander through the endless night.
Memories linger, shadows play,
Echoes of a bygone day.
Silent steps on creaking floors,
Ghosts of dreams and ancient lore.
In the stillness, they reside,
Bound by time, nowhere to hide.
Yet in their eyes, a story gleams,
Of love, loss, and forgotten dreams.
⚘
WHISPERS IN THE SHADOWS
In the deep shadows, where whispers creep,
The monsters hide, in silence they keep.
With eyes that gleam in the midnight's glow,
They roam the night, where few dare go.
Their forms are twisted, strange, and vast,
Echoes of fears from the ancient past.
Yet in their hearts, a story untold,
Of loneliness, and dreams grown cold.
Beneath the fright, a truth we find,
That monsters too, seek peace of mind.
In moonlit woods, they softly tread,
Yearning for solace, where fears are shed.
2. She’s So Scary
Music Video by Mantis Osiris
3. Through All Eternity
Poems from the Hour of Sunset by Angelia Ross
FEAR
Fear freezes my heart
And gnaws at my soul like a starving rat.
I despise this fear,
But I despise myself more,
For letting it make me
Feel weak and out of control.
If fear were a tangible thing,
I would put my hands around its throat
And watch until the life ebbs from it,
As life ebbs from me,
But for now I must find some way
To conquer this fear
Because if I don’t it will soon destroy me.
⚘
WHERE HAS MY TRUE LOVE GONE?
Oh, where has my true love gone?
Where I know not,
But my heart is with him always.
Oh, where has my true love gone?
Where I know not,
But his spirit is with me,
Helping me find my real identity
And purpose in life.
The clouds are black as the night sky
And the day is full of sorrow
As they lay him to rest forever.
Oh, where has my true love gone?
Where I know not.
For I have never known true love.
⚘
ETERNAL KISS
In silence I wait patiently
For thee my Prince of Darkness,
Waiting for thee to come
And take from me the blood,
Which I no longer find precious.
For in my world I am not alive,
And in your world I am not dead.
I wait patiently, my Prince
For the hour of sunset,
So that I can look upon
Thy handsome face and feel thy gentle embrace,
Which makes me forget my pain.
⚘
MURDERED BY LOVE
The days are so black and cold
That it clouds all sights of hope,
And it shatters the dreams
As if they were only pieces of glass.
The nights are so full of pain,
Anger and loneliness that you can see
The vultures flying high in the sky,
And you can hear them calling your name.
The people are so cruel
And so full of hatred
That you cannot bear to face them.
So now is the perfect time for death.
Look at the gleaming dagger in thy hand.
Now, plunge it into thy tortured heart,
And watch thy red blood run free.
At last the pain is disappearing.
Now, there will be rejoicing
By all of the people you cared for,
But who hated you with such a passion.
Oh, my dear friend, as you close
Your eyes in death, believe my last words –
You were murdered by love,
And there will be no sweet vengeance.
I should know for I too
Was murdered by love.
⚘
THE LAST KISS
As I remove this wretched mask
From your face,
You will no longer feel shame or disgrace
Nor will you feel my heart
Beating with love
That was sent from heaven above.
Oh, my dear prince, it will be
Your loving touch and your gentle voice
That I shall most miss,
But at least our love
Will forever be sealed
With this last and final kiss.
⚘
WILL YOU REMEMBER ME?
When you walk along the beach
As we used to do together,
Will you remember me?
After my duties are finished
And I am laid to my final resting place,
Will you remember me?
While you are kissing the lips
Of another and telling her you love her,
Will you remember me?
When the stars fall from the sky,
And the moon and sun
Stop giving off their light
And the beautiful oceans and seas
Disappear from sight,
Will you remember me?
Will you remember me through all eternity?
4. I Will Not Love A Ghost Forever
A Poem from the Dark Void by Paula Dixon
I will not love a ghost forever
Seek out the specter
Reach for her fine silk garments
Listen for the honeyed words
That once flowed from her tongue.
I will not wake from tormented sleep
Sweat soaked,
Stained sheets,
Bloody scratches across my chest,
Screaming her name into the dark void.
Wishing
Even praying–
Though I have stopped the practice–
That she will return
Cloaked in kindness and compassion.
The mirage that drew me into her grasp.
I will cut her free
Carve out the piece of my heart
She placed her stake in
Flee
Furiously
Rabidly
To the forest
Use the weathered spike as kindling
Start a bonfire
A signal
I will no longer twist in her grasp.
5. Within the Ghost, Myself
Poems from the Cemetery by Kait Quinn
WITHIN THE FOG THE TOMB / WITHIN THE TOMB THE GHOST / WITHIN THE GHOST MYSELF
after George Szirtes*
I will not dilute my inkwell with sunlight.
It's cemetery season. The moon burns
amber as Victorian bottles half emptied
of morphine in candelabra light.
I ask the great white eye for the secret
to desire. Gather your ghosts, she whispers,
in lulls of gray magic. Recite your despair
like a doctrine. My exit plan
was always a prescription, boiled water
steeped with nightshade, scapulae pushed
by invisible hands onto quickening tracks.
It's summer, and my hands are always freezing.
I am a seance of moths incinerating in the porch light's
singe until I am belly up on concrete, legs scrambling.
I am no one. Just a poem a fool dreamt.
A ghost reimagined as a turn in the weather.
*Note: Title is a line from the poem “Variations on Leopold Staff" by George Szirtes.
⚘
IN WHICH I DO NOT HAVE THE HEART TO TELL THE GHOST HE IS A GHOST
Grey the season, yellow the boy.
We don't have the heart to tell him
the world's on fire, the comet's
landing, the joke's on you—we're
already ghosts. When everything
turns to ash, what else is there to burn?
We haven't the tongue to tell him
there is no exit where spirits wander.
Only the ink between dusk and dawn.
Only false hearts in aubergine glass.
Only moonless, liminal space.
Only the lights left on in your wake,
but you can't go home. You can't go home.
We haven't the heart to tell him.
⚘
GHOSTS
after Anne Sexton & Kiki Petrosino
Some ghosts are snow landing
on snow. Petals whisked off
the cherry tree in violet ripples. Not innoxious,
but mute. As empty suburban streets
after moonrise, black
widows roped down your spine.
Not all ghosts slumber in silence.
I have bristled at the crunch against
crumpled ochre, turned to voids,
not vacuous, but thrumming.
They rake their nails across the asphalt,
stink like sodden bones.
But that isn't all.
Some of my ghosts are unhinged
leaves. Not placid. Not violent.
They trill no hymns, stir no dust,
empty night's pockets of her silver.
Moribund fragile & still resurrecting
incendiary as morning like embers on horizon.
⚘
LIKE THE TASTE OF ORANGES
Like copper
sun, oversized
sweatshirts.
Like midnight
shell, caramel center.
Like ghosts
in the blood.
Like trading harvest
moons for safe
passage over Styx.
Like onyx
pools wrinkling beneath
empty gallows.
Like a theory:
all my lives have been
lunar tied; all
my monsters
wear my face.
⚘
IS IT ME? AM I THE MONSTER?
I, a lygophilic swathed in black
velvet and motor oil dipped,
all dressed up for midnight. All ready
to devour the man who ghosted me
when he was a boy with only
pupil-to-pupil contact—eclipsing
an eclipse. We all make sacrifices
for peace of mind. Wear a mask
when we have to. Flood our eyes
aquamarine to hide our flair
to bloom bonfires underwater.
Gorgeous, haunted girl gets online
and nostalgic for revenge. Treat of
the tongue, trick of the wrist. Am I
the monster for marching Garamond
ghosts across time zones, dangling
myself plump and pork fat dripping
over his regret, knowing it was all
for show? All for avenging my own
heart's break by dragging his to
the moon and stranding it there,
my throat's croons turned cackle?
Don't tell me you suddenly have sympathy
for the devil. That you've never been
bedeviled. Never stepped out of celestial
light and into penumbra and came back
better for the brimstone and burn.
I am the colossus, the water-lunged
siren, the wolf's iron mouth.
I will not apologize for hunger.
I will not shrink what I built
from the corpse state he buried
me in. I will not mourn over
an evil man's grave
just because he chose to heed
my death knoll as invitation.
6. Wherever He May Lurk
A Poem from Hell by Trent Sizemore
THE DEVIL’S WORK
Once there was an angel, who led the morning song,
He showed himself unfaithful,
His decisions let wrong,
Cast he was from heaven,
Alone he fell from Grace,
Forced into a new home to live with his mistakes,
His face fine cut, his hair took the darkest shade of black,
He spoke in modern beauty,
‘Twas compassion that he lacked,
His eyes could draw you in,
His clothing stained with sin,
His beauty something special,
A true Jewel among men,
And the ladies stood in awe of him,
Yet disgusted at the thought,
Knowing if they had their way,
In hell their souls would rot,
And with his musical background he had us do his work,
And he remains the puppeteer wherever he may lurk.
7. I Don't Delight in Darkness, Darkness Delights in Me
Poems from the Stearns Ranger District by Brittany Troxell
THE DARKEST MONSTER
Walking leisurely down the sidewalk
Of the city late at night
The only glow that can be seen
Comes from the dim haze of a streetlight
And the occasional gleam from the moon above
When the clouds part slightly
My hands are tucked warmly in my pockets
But my face catches a chill
Each time the wind blows and the leaves rustle
My body feels a little thrill
The cool darkness of an October night
Not something one should take lightly
I've heard tale of many a creature
Those that take flight and even bite
Creatures that bare teeth and wail in grief
Many that haunt those who easily fright
But none can compare to the monster I know
Surely naught but myself can feel a fear as true
I knew from the sound around the bend
Could tell something was there lurking
Just in the darkest shadows was where it would end
Suddenly around the corner, you came smirking
Dark eyes, tall stature, sly smile
What makes a monster you ask?
Simple, darling.
The one who stole my heart...YOU!
⚘
HAUNTED HOUSE
My eyes slide open like the windows made of wood
Allowing the autumnal breeze of your words
To wind their way through the hallways of my mind
Like terrifying music in the stillness of night
The chill of the wall under my palm
Much like the cold and calculated lies you unfold
Your words so empty and hollow
Hollow like my bones and empty like the organs they hold.
My memory of you as bright as the moonlit floor
Your touch lingering like the cobwebs in the corner
Vibrating my heartstrings like the spider spinning his prey
Your absence as noticeable as the shadows and how they splay.
This house is lost and pensive
This house is melancholy and sorrowful
This house is desolate and dismal
I am the house that is dreadfully haunted
And the preeminent ghost is you.
⚘
MONSTER OF TREPIDATION
Clawing its way up my throat
From the inside out
Feeling like I’m going to choke
My thoughts thrash about
My brain is slowly melting down
Body is itching and twitching
I need some Atarax, a shot of Crown
Plans are constantly changing and switching
Will there be a crowd
Or people that I don’t know
I don’t even want to ask
I don’t even want to go.
I need another drink
Before I decide to say no
Before I can overthink
Before it has time to grow
Some would say the drink
Is the real monster here
But my anxiety…
That’s what I truly fear.
8. There Are Monsters & They Need to be Loved
Poems from the Edge of the Veil by Frances Denise
COURAGE
She said “courage”
And I took a deep breath
Because lately courage has
Become an all-too-familiar friend
To be honest
I’m exhausted
But this is not the time to entertain
Anything but
So I gather myself
And everything I’ve got
There are monsters
And they need to be loved
⚘
VAMPIRE SNAKES
I like snakes –
The earthly ones with scales
And diamond-patterned camouflage
I do not like the black ones that exist
On the edge of the veil
They are not the same
Yet we call them by that name.
Their skin is smooth like an eel’s
They can turn into smoke
They make
Movements like dragon dance
And light fabric caught in wind
Hiding
Vampire fangs
Slow-release venom
They can grip, constrict
Sedating with lies
Casting comfort as bait
Opening voids that consume but
Do not create
Yes, I’d be wary of those
They breathe undercover
Pay attention
Should you have an encounter
You’ll only see its eyes
When you have clear vision
Only truth can uproot it’s spirit
Only peace can soothe its anger
It’ll slither away, it can’t stay
When you’re altitude is higher
9. Look at the Scar
A Poem from Within by Miriam Calleja
THE BODY
craves and doesn’t care
if enough is the allotted amount.
It devours the sky until
the sky is gone.
Mouth open, thirsting,
it quashes guidelines, suggestions,
charts of statistics reflected in vanity
mirrors. Limits of the heart.
The very last mirror doesn’t tend to gravity─
it is in a slow inside-out
digestion of itself,
its acids no longer want
to stay small.
It is perhaps a hormone
storm, an ease that comes
with age which
takes up room,
takes no shit.
I know it:
it speaks.
Isn’t that how you learned to swim?
Look at the scar
it taught you not to trust
even the ones who love you.
Isn’t that how you learned to love?
Look at the scar,
it taught you to hold back,
to guard your heart.
10. Images Scar My Mind
A Poem from the Darkness by Tyler Heflin
OFFENSIVELY CRUEL DEVIANT
Alone in the darkness
The quiet is deafening
The voices in my head scream
Their chatter keeps me awake
Gnawing away my sanity
Questions
Questions
Questions
They do not stop
They echo inside; violently ringing
The piercing screech; wanting
But what do they want?
I don’t have the answers they seek
Images scar my mind
Images scar my mind
Images scar my mind
I see what they want me to
Pictures flash
I close my eyes, but it’s no use
A film plays on repeat; one I've seen too many times
Visions forced onto me, I don’t want to see
All I see
All I hear
All I see
All I hear
All I see
All I hear
The demon inside, burns its way through
It wants out; it wants more than my soul
My skin catches fire
Horns erupt through my skull
Blood rains from my eyes
Obey
Obey
Obey
Vision blurry; harder to breathe
Rush to the mirror
In the glass I see
A man stares back, nothing more
Just me, alone in the darkness
11. The Howling World Waxes Full
A Poem from the Wolf Moon by Cathy Socarras Ferrell
WHAT KIND OF MOTHER?
the howling world waxes full,
pace breathe count
the things my body carries:
a chicken pox scar
a bruise
the luxury of extra weight
scores notched in bones
tender whispering phantoms
a uterus
tiny cocoons incubating old moons
everything
spills
out, lower half numb, waning.
I gathered you
to me. Slippery,
shining, new. You lifted
your head. Searched, rooted.
These days
I want to cocoon
myself and you,
fold us back up
together in the Wolf Moon,
just as it was
a month before you were born.
It’s easy to mistake
faded pangs for peace.
The tilted world has dilated.
12. Death Be Only A Payday In The Sky
Poems from the Stars by Dane Osborne
THE LAUGHING MOON'S TEARS
Within infinity,
The Beast becomes water
and when you see this splendor then say no more –
say no more
for our tongue may not own the heavens
nor do wanton eyes see
the laughing moon's tears.
⚘
BENEATH ANCIENT STARS
Tenderness of broke-hearted thieves
liquifies the heart of our Lady of blue lit dreams
who thrives on the mystery of their midnight confessions
and for this white tears from her aching eyes are known as blessings
that allow murderous sorrow beneath vultures to become
the kind comfort and ecstasy of tomorrow's wonder.
Hate not time's plague of Madmen who lead the blind.
This skin is soft prison we all learn to escape
and eternity gives temporary confusion which begets
euphoria here in our paradise beneath ancient stars.
⚘
INVISIBLE MOON PEOPLE
There are people from the Moon
who live inside my house.
They are invisible and Only I can see them.
The Invisible Moon People are so nice and never do they
make any noise.
One moon person was a small child.
A girl of eight who
spoke like a grown adult and swore to be over 600 years old.
She gave me a yellow Dandelion
and advised me Words Be The Death Of Zen.
A Moon Man sits mute with shining eyes
blue as the ocean filled with Mercy
in my living room all day.
Nobody sees him but me.
He just sits in the same spot everyday.
The moon man is stone quiet because he talks to God
inside his own head.
The Moon Man is always sad at
the sight of us Human Earth Folk
because we came so far and lived so long but still....
still don't know how to Love.
That's all the Moon Man ever says.
What our eyes perceive comes from the unborn
which lies forever always beyond the scope of our grasp.
I tell the Moon People good night
and they all say a white prayer for me.
⚘
YOUR CONSCIENCE AND A LIGHTSHOW
All the promises made by necrotism (worship of the dead???)
Dare not bend to the rare electricity
Of the big light show in the soft blue haze of daylight sky
After today's big explosion.
It is only for the spectacle of living eyes.
It is the smug look of a guiltless man
Who stands all smiles and no fear
In front of the firing squad
On tonight's televised execution.
For the guiltless man,
Death Be Only A Payday In The Sky
And this transcends the mortal late-nights
Of fear and pain.
To miss this light show,
Be your own wretched living denial
Of the reality of colors.
A crimp in the way of progress
Be best explained by good Intentions.
13. Somewhere Between Halloween & the 4th of July
Poems from small-town USA by Brandon Thorpe
SUPER-RETRO LOVEBOMBER RADIO
If she breaks his boy feelings
but then turns around and says she believes in them
and wants everyone to come out and see him,
staring from the floor to the ceiling.
Your father's cooking food in the kitchen,
they resent you because you took away their freedom.
Your mother is arguing with bill collectors
in the other room.
Tonight the sky is black,
there are no stars or moon.
I get scared driving back from things that are
meaningful. It feels unreal
like you could fall through the ground
get sucked into the sky
or just disappear.
I was just in a movie about me
I kissed and confessed
she had wavy brown hair
and wore scars from the nest.
She told me about it for the first time
so we had to talk
in whispers,
because it was about them. We could
hear their TV
she cried a few times
and wiped makeup on the sheets
we talked for a few more hours
and I left at 2 or 3.
A blanket of clouds smothered the stars
and bright lights from the town made them
glow in the dark.
Just a few shades lighter than
the trees
by the roads.
I’m all by myself, and no one else knows.
No people on the sidewalk,
no cars on the road
and the houses look fake
as you drive by the homes.
But you see other people
out on the interstate.
Trucks, roaring into the darkness
with black driverless windows.
When I was little I didn’t know
what that sound was
the mournful whining drone
whooshing and vibrations
from the tires on the road.
You could hear it in town
anywhere you’d go.
When you make it home,
it’s still the same
you’ve not turned nothin on
it feels quiet and strange.
There’s food in the kitchen your mom
always cooked,
all your covers and pillows and books.
You’re warned of a future of working and bills,
but that wouldn't be expected for another two years
You’re safe and you’re positive true love can not end,
it’ll just be 10 hours till you see her again.
⚘
HOTDOGS
I’d love to meet your mother but I'm tired
too
and still, the halls are full of violence
and I don’t want to get killed. We stole
a box of danger and we spilled it on the floor
the box was full of wicked things
weapons, lies and war
we tried to wipe it up with books
tore out every page, but
was what written on the paper is
what caused the bombs to rain.
Things discussed in passive tones
as bullets fly, we’re safe at home.
We see faces covered in dust
and blood
through the buffer of the screen
we hear their cries
In a foreign language
and still know what they mean.
I’d love to meet your daughter
but I’ve got to get some rest.
I gotta walk home in a bullet
proof vest. I’m gonna
steal some heaven’s gate
from the miracle desk, and
if it doesn’t get resolved, by god,
then it’ll get addressed.
We’re filling our plates in the United States,
We bought a 100-pack of hotdogs
and we locked up all the gates.
Then we lit up some
fireworks, it was time to celebrate.
My uncle blurred a slur and said
“It’s heritage, not hate”
the inmates watch the sky flash from
the window of their cell
and celebrated independence
from the laurel county jail
The animals are frightened still, quiet
as the sparking
light fades.
The children point
their fingers like guns, and slam the
hammer down just as the explosion
comes, they try to get their
timing right, like everyone else
who came that night
to waste some food
and drink some booze
If only out of spite
14. We’re Coming to the Scary Part
Poems from the Campfire by Kenneth Barclay
Hold tight my little ones.
Hold tight to your hearts.
Hold fast and stand tall,
We’re coming to the scary part.
Every fall, every year,
terror walks the woods.
Streetlights dim and shadows creep,
from the culverts, from the hills,
as they should.
Whispers of madness float out of the hollers,
creek beds and caves.
Mocking laughter amidst screams and moans
drive a person insane.
Creatures crawl, leap and run.
To your dwelling, pounding on your door,
surrounding the neighborhood.
They get one night a year,
to make you fear, and cower upon your floor.
Their hunger knows no end as they take everything
with their tooth-filled grins.
Leaving nothing but wrappers and chocolate stains
as they rush the next house to begin again.
Happy Halloween!
⚘
The hollers run deep and dark,
there are strange things in the caves,
and everyone around here knows,
you don’t follow sounds at night,
you don’t stray far from the porch,
and you keep your curtains closed.
Something stalking through the corn rows.
Something creeping through the fields.
Eyeshine to the left, a growl to the right.
Gotta make it back to the safety of the light.
Sinister stirrings, amidst the murmuring
voices, just at the edge of hearing.
Heavy thumping of footsteps running,
just past the shadow that wasn’t there before.
You strain to see, what you don’t want to believe,
as your pulse races you to the safety of your door.
Halloween Creeping,
kids trick or treating,
monsters prowling,
stomachs growling,
refills in hand,
you make your final stand!
Don’t be the one with an empty candy bowl.
⚘
Moonlight claws and gashes the clouds, wrapping
the world in its evening shroud.
Shadows shuffle and twist beyond the edge of light.
Eyeshine glints amongst teeth that bite.
Something wicked this way comes!
The fallen leaves dance and play on this chilly,
cloudy, windless night.
A branch breaks and shatters the peace.
A gasp of terror, a moan of fright forces the choice
of fight or flight.
Something wicked this way comes!
Devils and demons, witches and wolves.
Creatures from the darkest caves, from the forests,
from the graves.
They gather just outside my door and dwell within
my mind.
They are hungry, they are starving, they are here
and they are Legion!
Trick or Treat! comes their Battlecry!
Something Wicked Has Arrived!
⚘
I tear my fingers on the coffin roof, Bloody strips of
skin hang where my nails used to be, I scream and
yell and pound, But you do not hear me.
I use my splintered hands to pry away the wood, And
Suffer the moldy dirt as it fills my space. Foul air and
Insects fill my mouth as I fight for breath, I keep
clawing my way upward just to be with you.
Just a few feet to go, I can feel the night air, Smell the
sweet scent in the darkness, I try to remember the
sight of the moon, All fat and bloated, Laughing at
the darkness below.
I am just inches from freedom, I can feel the life
around me stirring, I hear the others as they struggle
to escape, I think I am the first to break into the
damp night, I am coming, I am coming.
You better run and hide, Because I need to feed, And
this is the only night, Just one night, Just one more
bite!
15. Was it a Dream, or Was it Real?
Poems from Halloween Night by Mark Hargis
THE SEASON OF HALLOWEEN
A full moon lurks behind the scattered thick and dark clouds
A wolf howls towards the heavens.
Black cats yowl as they scurry across the road.
Vampires seek fresh new blood.
Witches summon spirits.
Zombies feed from the souls of many.
Aww, ‘tis the season of Halloween!
⚘
DARKNESS
The sky is dark.
The clouds are thick.
Sound of a dog bark.
A lock went click.
Meow of a black cat.
As the door opens slowly.
In scampers a cat.
A sign of something holy?
A sinister laugh so eerie.
The room filled with coldness.
Even makes a strong person leery.
But, I remain full of boldness.
Until, I see a thick fog.
An image is coming clear.
A huge giant with the head of a dog.
I fainted from so much fear.
Next morning, I woke up in my bed.
A strangeness around me I could feel.
So many thoughts roaming through my head.
Was it a dream, or was it real?
16. The Haunted Pen
A Halloween Story, written & illustrated by Elijah Ayers
Click the arrows to flip between pages & read the story! The full text appears below in transcription:
THE HAUNTED PEN
by Elijah Ayers
One day…
There was a guy named Steve. Steve loved to write stuff, haunted stuff. But he didn’t use pencils, crayons, none of them. Steve just loved the pen. It was always about the pen. Only the pen. Why, do you ask? Well, Steve does not like markers. When Steve was three, he loved to taste new foods. Of course Steve put carrots in his nose when he was two. But one day when he was three, Steve did not know markers weren’t a food, and when Steve put his tongue on the marker, it tasted like dry cement! And pens were very new to him. And now Steve knows not to eat pencils, markers, and crayons. And of course Steve would never eat a pen. At least a twelve-year-old wouldn’t eat a pen.
But one day, Steve walked by this old and creepy-looking house. Steve couldn’t believe what he saw. Steve closed his eyes and he saw a pen in a big void of nothingness. But then Steve saw a giant eyeball with arms and hands!!! Then Steve saw a soul!!! Then Steve saw a… a… well, Steve didn’t really know what it was… But the pen… Steve saw it grow arms and legs!!! And it grew bigger and bigger. Then. Then. Then. “Huh?!” Steve had a nightmare. So when Steve got to his table, right in front of him was a pen. And later at night the pen was gone. Gone. Gone!!! Steve was very scared but then Steve heard a whisper in his ear that sounded like the word pen, pen, pen… And when Steve looked behind him there was a floating pen!!!
Pen, pen, pen, pen, pen, pen…
And the floating pen said, Ep… Ep… P… P… P… Then the floor opened up with Steve falling in it!!! And what Steve saw in there was a white void of nothingness! Steve also saw a giant eyeball with arms and hands. Then Steve saw a creepy-looking soul!!! Then Steve saw something that he got no idea what it was… And Steve saw two other things as well. And those two things were Steve turned white!!! The second thing was there was a giant giant giant PEN! With arms and legs!!! The pen grew bigger and bigger!!! Steve thought it might be a dream… so Steve slapped himself in the face three times… until he found out it wasn’t a dream or a nightmare!!!
But then Steve saw an opened doorway, so Steve ran as fast as he could. Steve noticed the eyeball with arms and legs, the soul, and the something, and the giant pen. Then the pen ripped the skin off him!!!
It wasn’t a pen. It was a huge red zombie.
Then, “Huh?!” Steve said he had a nightmare. This whole book, Steve said. So when Steve went to brush his teeth, he looked in the mirror and behind him was a floating pen…!
The End.
17. Monsters Among Us
Poems from the Editors
THE MONSTERS IN MY HEAD (MADE A MONSTER OUT OF ME)
Dark clouds gathered
that beautiful Spring day
as I entered the world
Lightning flashed
a bolt in my eyes
in that car
the first time I heard
I wasn’t good enough
The earth rumbled
as they broke ground
on your grave
and your grave
and your grave
and your grave
and your grave
and your grave
and your grave
Each step along the way
hiding in the closet of my brain
haunting every thought
trying to kill me from the inside, out
The monster clutched pill bottles
and journals for the therapists
and all the doctors
for all the diagnoses
I have communed with the monster in me
That’s why I recognize the monster in you
That’s why I will haunt
I will scream
I will become a nightmare
to keep your monsters
trapped under the bed
–Cari Lynne King, from Ink-Stained Memoirs
⚘
No one ever bothered me
this much when I was dead.
No one ever thought to sweep
the cobwebs from the crevices
of the abandoned chisel marks
adorning stone walls of my heart.
No rose petals of regret
were laid in offering.
No empty promises or silenced prayers.
So, imagine my surprise at
the knock on the mausoleum door,
the necessary necromancy
by absolute divinity
& the sudden pulse in my chest.
–Amber Sparks, from Supernova Soliloquies
⚘
GENEROSITY
in the aftermath of her generosity, mother
hungers. the same beast
with a head full of teeth, closing
in for the kill
slowly turns the house to dust.
yes, she has a set of such
small hands –
picking and scraping
urging the crumbling
forcing the falling and fading away
faster than we can clean or reclaim
our own material. she –
shadow of ethereal
beings – perhaps just one
great entity –
with a million faces one
might call its own.
mother sits on her ancient throne
feeds on flesh, ingests the bone,
births herself a brand-new house –
no hide and seek! you can’t get out
when you’re already
in
her
mouth.
–Cheyanne Leonardo, from The Book of Abstractions
⚘
“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine
and rage the likes of which you would not believe.
If I cannot satisfy one, I will indulge in the other.”
–Mary Shelley, Frankenstein
A massively misunderstood monster
mercilessly marauding in moonlight
combing through villages
for a hill to die upon.
A borderline martyr
a demon, a daughter
looking for remnants of love
on which to feverishly feast,
for if I am not fed
fanaticism on a silver spoon,
I will lick it off pitchforks
pulled from my ribcages.
People prod desperately
to lock-pick a pulsating heart.
I am set ablaze by both
torch & touch,
in contradictions I find warmth.
I’ve lit fires from afar
with Cupid’s quiver,
quenched questions
with lighter fuel.
I am a martyr of both
methodical madness
& midnight romance
for what is rage,
but love overflown
with no place to call home,
becoming stagnant and poison
seeking shelter in bones?
–Amber Sparks
HAPPY HALLOWEEN
to our readers near & far!
With endless love & gratitude,
