Table of Contents
Poetry and ProseWeird Circumstances, Niharika Thuppanna quietly content, Abby Lu Never Looking Back, Dugan Lentz sounds, Liane Ma Finding a New Normal, Laya Nair home, Abby Lu A New Reflection of the Women in Our Stories, Dana Dew together, Aida Guo A Lesson in Friendship, Dugan Lentz Vertebrae, Dana Dew 
Mario World 5, Aaron Chao
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Draconid’s Terror, Payton Kustka
Art and PhotographyDraconid’s Terror, Payton Kustka Mario World 5, Aaron Chao Grainy Details, William Wang Ride to Dusk, Aida Guo Winding Serenity, William Wang Scattered Sunsets, William Wang Blue Hour, William Wang a blur of orange, Nethali Padmaperuma Earth and Fire, Jaya Nadella Clouded Thoughts, William Wang rifts, Kelsey Bohn |
Weird Circumstances |
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Niharika Thuppanna
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Grainy Details, William Wang
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Who would have thought that I would end up here, It seems so surreal. My life as middle schooler whisked right by, I think that it’s unreal. I realize I’ve lost touch with many old friends Now that I have new ones. My back aged from 14 to 60 through perilous online school Because my old routines I shun. And things are slowly returning to normal, But it feels like nothing changed. Yet everything seems much more different now, More patience I have gained. A bizarre pandemic that halted so much of my life, Yet sped it up real quick. I dealt with the unfortunate circumstances as best as I could, But I saw the better half of it. |
quietly content
Abby Lu
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i look at you delicately,
like my gaze could break you; like if i stared hard enough you'd shatter into a thousand shards of stained glass i listen to you intently, like you speak for the world; like if i miss a single syllable it would be a million thoughts lost in an exhale i touch you gently, like you curl around my fingers; like you could disappear under my fingertips if i pressed down with the slightest too much pressure i speak to you hushedly, like i could scare you off; like you could be startled away with the raising of a single decibel i love you quietly, like i'm content at a distance; because i am- always happy if you are too, even if that's without me. |
Ride to Dusk, Aida Guo
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Never Looking Back
Dugan Lentz
It was a magical autumn day, but Jack Sawyer saw none of his beauty. He watched his long, business clad legs sweep across the cracks in the city sidewalks, over discarded sandwich wrappers and squashed soda cans. The same breeze that tugged at his fedora swirled the litter around the sidewalk and onto the street. The sight only worsened Jack´s mood. Litter! Hadn't he spent ten years working with the city's environment protection committee?
¨To what end?¨ Jack muttered into his overcoat´s collar. He drew instinctively back to the sidewalk´s left hand side as a taxi screeched into the nearest lane to avoid a changing yellow. Jack scowled at the taxi´s tail lights.
He quickened his pace in an effort to honor a punctual arrival at the firm. The little things that could slow a person down in a city like this...This homeless person for example. Jack handed the guy a few bills without making direct eye contact and hurried ever forward. He returned his hands to his pockets, his right hand playing with the marble stuck in the fabric folds; it was a shooter. A young boy had gifted it to him only the other day... After he had agreed to take his family’s case. It would be a fruitless effort, Jack knew; the prosecution’s story was more than convincing. Jack supposed the single reason he had accepted to investigate further was the boy. The boy’s hopeful eyes, the way he stayed by his mother’s side when Jack told it to her straight, despite being below the age of comprehension. But Jack knew the case to be already won. The next two to three months would be tedious detective work, an investigation that was sure to dot the i’s and cross the t’s on what was really a solid case.
Why bother? Jack asked himself as he passed a delivery boy on his way into a local pizzeria. The lad was pushing a trolley of pizza boxes–probably empty–stacked almost to his chin. Jack glanced his way, skeptical, as the boy prepared to take the steps, then sighed when the trolley’s wheels inevitably missed the last step. Cardboard pizza boxes tumbled down the stairs, skirted along by the wind. Jack sighed again when a box settled almost on top of his neatly polished dress shoe. A generic name for a pizza place over a colored sketch of a dough-spinning chef stared up at him. Bending down, Jack took the box and walked it halfway up the store steps to the red-faced kid. He hardly heard the mumbled thanks as he doubled his pace down the street.
Three blocks away from the executive building, Jack took the marble from his pocket and rolled it between thumb and forefinger. He could have been working on a high-profile study; hadn’t his partner just called to tell him how brilliantly things were going overseas? He could have been advancing his own career. But no. He had tasked himself with a futile case because a child of no relation had wanted him to. Jack observed the hypnotizing blue and yellow swirls inside the milky cloud. It reminded him of a fortune-teller’s crystal ball. He kicked another piece of litter off the sidewalk with the side of his shoe. I try so hard, he thought. But to what end?
Jack approached a corner–the only corner in his walk to the executive building–and let the marble slip from his fingers. He heard it clack to the concrete, heard it begin to roll, but then turned the corner, and the marble drifted from his head.
The marble–a shooter–rolled steadily down the street for a long while. It passed the generic pizzeria; it passed a jogger and her dog; it passed many taxi-cabs stuck in traffic; it passed the homeless man, who watched it go with deadened eyes. It passed the traffic lights as the yellow turned to red.
¨To what end?¨ Jack muttered into his overcoat´s collar. He drew instinctively back to the sidewalk´s left hand side as a taxi screeched into the nearest lane to avoid a changing yellow. Jack scowled at the taxi´s tail lights.
He quickened his pace in an effort to honor a punctual arrival at the firm. The little things that could slow a person down in a city like this...This homeless person for example. Jack handed the guy a few bills without making direct eye contact and hurried ever forward. He returned his hands to his pockets, his right hand playing with the marble stuck in the fabric folds; it was a shooter. A young boy had gifted it to him only the other day... After he had agreed to take his family’s case. It would be a fruitless effort, Jack knew; the prosecution’s story was more than convincing. Jack supposed the single reason he had accepted to investigate further was the boy. The boy’s hopeful eyes, the way he stayed by his mother’s side when Jack told it to her straight, despite being below the age of comprehension. But Jack knew the case to be already won. The next two to three months would be tedious detective work, an investigation that was sure to dot the i’s and cross the t’s on what was really a solid case.
Why bother? Jack asked himself as he passed a delivery boy on his way into a local pizzeria. The lad was pushing a trolley of pizza boxes–probably empty–stacked almost to his chin. Jack glanced his way, skeptical, as the boy prepared to take the steps, then sighed when the trolley’s wheels inevitably missed the last step. Cardboard pizza boxes tumbled down the stairs, skirted along by the wind. Jack sighed again when a box settled almost on top of his neatly polished dress shoe. A generic name for a pizza place over a colored sketch of a dough-spinning chef stared up at him. Bending down, Jack took the box and walked it halfway up the store steps to the red-faced kid. He hardly heard the mumbled thanks as he doubled his pace down the street.
Three blocks away from the executive building, Jack took the marble from his pocket and rolled it between thumb and forefinger. He could have been working on a high-profile study; hadn’t his partner just called to tell him how brilliantly things were going overseas? He could have been advancing his own career. But no. He had tasked himself with a futile case because a child of no relation had wanted him to. Jack observed the hypnotizing blue and yellow swirls inside the milky cloud. It reminded him of a fortune-teller’s crystal ball. He kicked another piece of litter off the sidewalk with the side of his shoe. I try so hard, he thought. But to what end?
Jack approached a corner–the only corner in his walk to the executive building–and let the marble slip from his fingers. He heard it clack to the concrete, heard it begin to roll, but then turned the corner, and the marble drifted from his head.
The marble–a shooter–rolled steadily down the street for a long while. It passed the generic pizzeria; it passed a jogger and her dog; it passed many taxi-cabs stuck in traffic; it passed the homeless man, who watched it go with deadened eyes. It passed the traffic lights as the yellow turned to red.
sounds
Liane Ma
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the tinkling sound of tea
brewing lies beneath me, from the buried layers of my blankets I hear my father’s voice downstairs. 
Winding Serenity, William Wang
the last minute piano practice,
a lively Scottish tale spun out of black on white and fingers on wood makes me want to get up and dance. the ever-creaking stairs, working A.C. and not-so-silent footsteps somehow beckon sleep. the rustling papers, typing keyboard and owl calls from my window, trying to tell me a secret. and then the loudest sound of all, the silence of the night seems to surround me in it’s embrace and I welcome it, as it takes me to my dreams. |
the door creaks every now and then with a pattering of light steps as Boy runs with leftover fish still on his whiskers. the walls seem to shake just a little bit, as a plane’s wings soar across invisible to the eye in the inky sky. the washing machine whirs up, knobs turning and water churning; Brother forgot to wash his swimsuit again. |
Finding a New Normal
Laya Nair
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Am I supposed to feel sorry for myself
That I feel at bliss when I embrace This lonely feeling, how should I When this action is usually frowned upon Am I supposed to feel sorrow For being with myself and myself only? Having no one with me To understand my true desires As if I have to attach my feelings To another individual like glue 
Scattered Sunsets, William Wang
At least after everyone went to school And saw existing lives in a hundred years Some of those questions have been answered Daydreaming and shower thoughts though Still remain, I can finally use them to my advantage Charcoal that sweeps through paper Pencil or typing that forms words that Articulates my fantasies and feelings That I want to share, hobbies that I now love The new normal that gives Loneliness a warm hug A way for me to grow my skills And truly express myself The small group of friends That has been with me throughout This journey of balancing life |
The world was at its turmoil That forced everyone to face Their inner loneliness in quarantine That ruined daily routines Bewildered that thirteen Became sixteen in the speed of light This is my new normal Half of what makes up my face Is now invisible to others Imaginations running constantly In my brain, thoughts, and feelings Erupting from my soul What do I truly enjoy? What should I do with my life? How can I be more productive? Those same questions that engulf me Into the drain, yet I keep ignoring them As I finished binge-watching the 100th show |
home
Blue Hour, William Wang
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Abby Lu
take me on long car rides that remind me how it feels to be alive, on the narrow roads where trees lean like the weight is nearly too heavy to bear take me on long car rides that remind me of the beauty of the world, the leaves that swirl in the dancing wind, painting a picture in the restless air take me on long car rides that remind me of the power of music, the chords of the ballad that pour from the car speakers singing in harmony with the chords in my heart take me on long car rides that remind me where home is, your smile, your voice, your touch, a place where my heart is safe- with you. |
A New Reflection of the Women in Our Stories
Dana Dew
a blur of orange, Nethali Padmaperuma
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You could not describe her as "soft” or “hardened" or "pale",
For those terms are far too simple for what she is. On the crisp, fresh-smelling pages of a book, It is disappointing to see her vivid colors and beauty watered down Between swirling coffee, dark chocolate, sweet milk, and caramel. You are not describing something that is delicate or bitter-sweet, like a product you buy at a little shop, Something that is consumed and discarded. So maybe, consider how that doesn't describe a rounded individual as much as you think. |
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What if
Instead of saying her skin was the color of dark chocolate, you describe how she has skin as dark as the sea? Rich, hospitable, yet unforgiving, deeper than the eyes can see, With strength and secrets that an outsider cannot comprehend. What if instead of having blue "orbs" the color of the sky or of water, you describe her eyes as being like the old bluebird in the snow? Beautiful, with wisdom for the ages, cold and piercing, Yet elegant, with intelligence far beyond the thicket of thorns and feathers and silent floating ice. Or maybe, they were as deep and warm and patient as the summer night sky turning to dawn? What if You said that her open palms were cracked and weathered like clay just before the kiln? Worked and delicately crafted, cared for and nurturing, yet strong, embracing with a sense of proud artistry? Is her hair simply thick and curly, or does it coil back on itself, over and over, like tropical storm clouds resting above a stilled mind? This, now, is a person. This picture, now, has character-- even though she hasn't said a word. Even though I never described what she was wearing. You never made an assumption, based on her shape or her color or her background. With these true words, we do a service to become better at imagining, To represent and uplift the women we are depicting. And we never have to describe one another as though we are two-dimensional again. |
Earth and Fire, Jaya Nadella
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together
Aida Guo
Clouded Thoughts, William Wang
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I thought when we returned
We could come back to sunrises and shared giggles together, But it seems that healing takes time: For the hallways are too crowded for me to see waking colors out the windows, While I make my way to my next class I push instead of stroll. When we sit in class I can no longer see the smile you shoot at me, Nor can you see mine, So the inside jokes are harder to laugh at, To be made at all. It’s like after all these months apart We’re still isolated despite being together. And often I feel to the want to leave This place That I longed for all last year. I guess recovery doesn’t mean returning, The routine we once knew is not something we can ever return to. It was inevitable, But it’s hard to move on when you never said goodbye When you have to say it in just a few months. I must confess: I miss the past you, But I know I’ll miss this you too, So let’s find one another amongst all these new crowds While the sunrises rays can still be found through the gaps, Exchange whispers and looks While we can still sit next to one another. Rant about our feelings of loneliness, fear, stress, Blink blearily in tiredness, Find this new normal together. |
A Lesson in Friendship
Dugan Lentz
Evan opened the door and walked into his preschool room. There was Mrs. Martin, smiling warmly down at him as she went to close the door he had left ajar.
He saw the table at once. Saw the tables on either side where Steve and Johnny were discussing the playground incident and a trio of girls were picking sullenly at the remains of their lunch.
But his table was empty.
Evan blinked. He stared around the room, shuffling his feet in a slow circle, checking to make sure Danny wasn’t hiding in a corner. He wasn’t. Evan dropped his lunchbox. He sank into a chair near the table-the empty table.
Danny wasn’t here. Danny had said he would. Danny had promised. But Danny wasn’t here.
Evan started to cry, and didn’t stop in the slightest when Mrs. Martin asked him what was wrong.
Danny had left him.
It was a long time before he stopped crying. The other children had gone to build blocks with the purple lady, but Mrs. Martin had kept Evan back, and for that he was glad. Trying to get enough grimy, multi-colored blocks away from the infamous Rick Stevens was the last thing Evan felt like doing.
Mrs. Martin asked him if he was upset about Danny’s absence, and Evan said he was. She asked him if it would make him feel better if she said Danny had left him a note. Through sniffles, Evan said it might. His head cocooned in his arms atop the table, he waited in the blackness of his own thoughts as Mrs. Martin’s loud shoes clacked across the room.
Why would Danny do that to me, Evan thought. Why would he break his promise?
Evan remembered the cartoons he had seen on television where one of the good guys would only pretend to be nice to the hero until the very end. Then he would turn on the hero and join the bad guys. Evan didn’t know who the bad guy was in real life, but Danny had turned on him; that he knew for sure.
Mrs. Martin returned with a folded piece of notebook paper in her hand.
“Have you read this, Mrs. Martin?” Evan asked. His teacher nodded, smiled sadly, and asked if he wanted her to stay. Evan said he didn’t. Although it took him a while to read, he didn’t want any help from Mrs. Martin.
When he was alone Evan smoothed the paper on the table. Following along with his finger, Evan read Danny’s note slowly, making sure he read every word correctly. When he finished he looked up, a funny feeling in his stomach. He began to feel bad for what he had thought before. Evan read the note again.
He saw the table at once. Saw the tables on either side where Steve and Johnny were discussing the playground incident and a trio of girls were picking sullenly at the remains of their lunch.
But his table was empty.
Evan blinked. He stared around the room, shuffling his feet in a slow circle, checking to make sure Danny wasn’t hiding in a corner. He wasn’t. Evan dropped his lunchbox. He sank into a chair near the table-the empty table.
Danny wasn’t here. Danny had said he would. Danny had promised. But Danny wasn’t here.
Evan started to cry, and didn’t stop in the slightest when Mrs. Martin asked him what was wrong.
Danny had left him.
It was a long time before he stopped crying. The other children had gone to build blocks with the purple lady, but Mrs. Martin had kept Evan back, and for that he was glad. Trying to get enough grimy, multi-colored blocks away from the infamous Rick Stevens was the last thing Evan felt like doing.
Mrs. Martin asked him if he was upset about Danny’s absence, and Evan said he was. She asked him if it would make him feel better if she said Danny had left him a note. Through sniffles, Evan said it might. His head cocooned in his arms atop the table, he waited in the blackness of his own thoughts as Mrs. Martin’s loud shoes clacked across the room.
Why would Danny do that to me, Evan thought. Why would he break his promise?
Evan remembered the cartoons he had seen on television where one of the good guys would only pretend to be nice to the hero until the very end. Then he would turn on the hero and join the bad guys. Evan didn’t know who the bad guy was in real life, but Danny had turned on him; that he knew for sure.
Mrs. Martin returned with a folded piece of notebook paper in her hand.
“Have you read this, Mrs. Martin?” Evan asked. His teacher nodded, smiled sadly, and asked if he wanted her to stay. Evan said he didn’t. Although it took him a while to read, he didn’t want any help from Mrs. Martin.
When he was alone Evan smoothed the paper on the table. Following along with his finger, Evan read Danny’s note slowly, making sure he read every word correctly. When he finished he looked up, a funny feeling in his stomach. He began to feel bad for what he had thought before. Evan read the note again.
Dear Evan,
I fell off my bike yesterday and broke my leg. I know we were supposed to start working on our castle today. I’m sorry. I’m going to be in the hospital for a while. I asked my mom to tell Mrs. Martin to give this to you. So you would know where I was. I’ll be okay.
I’m your best friend, Evan.
--Danny
I fell off my bike yesterday and broke my leg. I know we were supposed to start working on our castle today. I’m sorry. I’m going to be in the hospital for a while. I asked my mom to tell Mrs. Martin to give this to you. So you would know where I was. I’ll be okay.
I’m your best friend, Evan.
--Danny
Vertebrae
Dana Dew
Consciousness followed dreamless sleep with a start.
On this night, rest came more like limbo-- I was barely under before, slipping in and out of drowsing, feeling hot and sick each time I came to. Now, I was awake in my bed once again, soaked with sweat.
My room was plain and small-- still dark, even now. The only source light was the old clock which spread a dim green light across the walls, accentuating the shadows more than anything else. The face read quarter-till four-- it seemed I had come awake at the witching hour.
I had one window and two doors-- one to the bathroom, which was open, and its closed counterpart to
the hallway adjacent to it. The window was next to me, and was unusually closed-- the source of the room’s feverish state.
On this night, rest came more like limbo-- I was barely under before, slipping in and out of drowsing, feeling hot and sick each time I came to. Now, I was awake in my bed once again, soaked with sweat.
My room was plain and small-- still dark, even now. The only source light was the old clock which spread a dim green light across the walls, accentuating the shadows more than anything else. The face read quarter-till four-- it seemed I had come awake at the witching hour.
I had one window and two doors-- one to the bathroom, which was open, and its closed counterpart to
the hallway adjacent to it. The window was next to me, and was unusually closed-- the source of the room’s feverish state.
rifts, Kelsey Bohn
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The sheets clung to me like desperate hands as I pried myself from their grip, overheating, but too overwhelmed with sensations of exhaustion and vertigo to try to leave the mattress yet. My skin-- my face and the back of my neck and shoulders-- were slick and salty, and I tried to wipe the moisture away onto my undershirt. It was unsuccessful. Slowly, I stacked myself to my feet and stumbled across to the wall, grabbing the sill and dragging it upwards with a squeal of protest. Instantly, the space seemed to cool significantly, giving me an almost overwhelming sense of relief. Air that smelled of rain drafted through, that dampness being what had driven me to close the window in the first place. The storm had stopped now- although its heavy, almost peppery smell still lingered in the air, thick with the aftermath of lashing water and lightning. I couldn’t see anything in the distant countryside; the distant white-capped mountains of Sisters were set far eastward, but not even moonlight shone through now. |
In the distance, I could hear the sigh of rain and the rolling of thunder, however now its angry rumbling felt more like an old grandfather clock through the floorboards. If it was pushed back in my direction, it wouldn’t be for a while. Not long enough for me to want to close the window, anyhow.
As I came to rest back into the fabric of my bed, I returned the covers to their place over me, wrapping them across my torso like a soft tangle of limbs. I adjusted my position, taking care to make sure the folds of the comforter were aligned to my liking, before finally settling down to attempt my return to sleep.
Only then did a second gaze meet mine. It took me a moment to pick the thing out of the darkness; requiring a double take just to recognize something was there. I felt my heart drop suddenly-- as though it missed a beat, the same way a person feels tripping down a stairwell. It was that moment of sudden panic right before you catch yourself, needing then to sit down to soothe your frantic pulse. That sensation was as close as I’d been to the sudden, paralyzing panic I felt at that moment.
This couldn’t have been real, right?
It was just my paranoia, I assured myself. Oregon was wild and unpredictable; between the coyotes and the elk screams of the night-- and now my mind had wickedly convinced me that something had crawled in through the window after me. I closed my eyes tightly, blinking the image away, seeing stars behind my eyes from the strain. But as I opened them, the creature did not disappear. In fact, it almost seemed to solidify.
It was perched in the corner, part of its gangly, hunched form sticking over the threshold to the bathroom door. It was that outline-- that inconsistent shadow-- that allowed me to confirm that my fear was not irrational. Its eyes were like pits, as best as I could describe.
My room was enveloped in nightly darkness, but even so I could still pick out the details of the wood,
the spruce trims of my walls, and the engraving in the wood board at the foot of my bed. However, its eyes were different-- I couldn’t identify its gaze by the shape, but by the absence of it. Its body was like that of a giant and broken bird. Its flank was bony, what appeared to be a thin, dry, and almost shell-like layer of greyish skin stretched over it. Its legs-- two of them-- were almost devoid of flesh, bordering spider-like if not for the almost hooked hooves at the end. At its pectorals sat a pair of“arms”, like the plucked wings of a chicken-- ovular and bony, locked into a V-shape at the front of its
body.
But that wasn’t the scary part.
Its neck made up almost all of its body, long and sagging. It looked like it was composed of individual segments-- like a spine-- which were not interconnected by disks or ligaments. As a result, it moved freely, slowly and rhythmically moving back and forth, rotating and swaying. As I watched-- paralyzed with fear and confusion-- I became aware of a subtle cracking, a hollow scrape of bone against bone as those vertebrae rotated; one at a time. It was perfectly timed, each rotation from side to side seeming almost to align with the seconds of the clock-- or, I realized after a second; the beating of my heart.
Even as that horrible neck moved, its head-- which appeared remarkably like the bare, greyed skull of a horse-- stayed eerily in place. I still couldn’t place anything within that silent, piercing gaze, but I could swear that it was staring directly at me.
No, not at me, into me.
I spent so long staring right back at the Not-Horse that I had failed to notice the most terrifying revelation. When I had first gotten sight of it, the creature was crouched in the threshold of the bathroom. It was blocking the hallway door-- almost strategically-- perched in the shadows outside of my bedroom.
But now, after I had first closed my eyes, it seemed that it was closer to me than before; now hunched at the foot of my dresser, almost a third of the length of my hall closer as I had first seen it. A low groan escaped my lips-- the manifestation of my fear. There was nowhere to run. It was blocking the door, and the window wasn’t an option; three stories into gravel was not a fall I wished to take.
I closed my eyes once more-- blinking, and found the creature had once again moved closer. Only a foot or two, not by much at all, but just enough that I had noticed. Its body showed no sign that it could even move on its own, frozen in the same position as it had been-- it was almost as if a great, invisible hand
had wrapped around the Not-Horse and had placed it forward within that fraction of a second where my eyes were closed. The only sign that it was alive at all was that godforsaken neck, which still continued to roll and crack like a skeletal metronome. With little to do in my terror, I decided that I would do my best to keep my eyes open-- to keep it in my sights as long as I could. I tried to stare, locking eyes with the demonic creature and forcing myself not to
close my eyes. Almost immediately, I felt my eyes start to dry-- the wet salty film over them immediately beginning to sting and itch. It was about as effective as actively holding my breath; and within only a few moments, I was forced to blink.
Closer again was the creature; this time in the center of the room, making a clear beeline for my bed, where I still stupidly resided. With its size and stature, however, it still blocked any chance of escape. If I ran past it-- I wondered fearfully-- would it just attack me from behind, when I couldn’t see it?
I tried again, this time closing my eyelids one at a time, attempting to prevent the drying of my eyes whilst keeping the creature in view. It took all of my focus; carefully shutting one at a time, my vision blurring and a single, salty, tear beginning to run down my cheek. Unfortunately, that tactic only lasted for so long.
Just as inevitable as life is terminal, I was eventually forced to blink one last time. Just as quickly as my eyes fluttered open one last time, the creature was right on top of me. Its hooked legs perched on the foot of my bed like a sick bird; its horrible body looming over mine. Its neck was
coiled so that its head could leer over me, its dead, empty sockets watching me from just arms length
away.
The cracking of its neck felt almost deafening now-- like the thunderous chime of a belltower as the hour strikes. I could feel my blood beneath my skin, my heart pounding with such desperate vigor that I thought it might just burst from my chest and roll across the floor like a severed head. I don’t know what drove me to do what I did next-- I didn’t exactly have time to think about it before I acted. But for a reason I couldn’t place-- some childish scramble for control of my fate, I threw my covers over my head. Darkness, true darkness, enveloped me as the covers settled around my trembling form. Tears, hot and stinging, streamed over my cheeks, and I clapped my hands-- one over my mouth and one over my ears--unsure of whether I wanted to drown out the cracking or my own whimpers.
But then, suddenly, the sound was gone.
That was enough to give me pause, even in my state of terror. For what felt like hours I lay still,contemplating the sudden silence around me-- the lack of presence I felt over my comforter.
Do I hear it?
Did it stop?
Like a prisoner awaiting execution, I slowly pried back the covers, only to find myself faced with... well, nothing. My room was as it had been-- hosting only one occupant.
My clock, as I looked, read 3:59-- one minute ‘till. Its eerie green glow found no empty eyes-- no godforsaken neck. Once more, the only sound was the rolling of faraway thunder-- accompanied by the strained beating of my own heart.
Had I imagined the whole encounter? Perhaps, there was no life in the eye of the darkness here-- I hadonly convinced myself there was. After all, I had been in a sleepless limbo for hours; it was all a wicked trick of the mind.
With great relief and an overwhelming sense of finality, I lowered myself to lay my head-- ultimately--back onto my pillow, waiting to be greeted by the rest of the dreamless night. My new position was once again found by the empty, skeletal grin of the creature, its head now directly above my own. And then-- with little reaction except an “Oh” and a sound like a bow being violently shorn across its violin-- the Not-Horse greeted me with open jaws.
As I came to rest back into the fabric of my bed, I returned the covers to their place over me, wrapping them across my torso like a soft tangle of limbs. I adjusted my position, taking care to make sure the folds of the comforter were aligned to my liking, before finally settling down to attempt my return to sleep.
Only then did a second gaze meet mine. It took me a moment to pick the thing out of the darkness; requiring a double take just to recognize something was there. I felt my heart drop suddenly-- as though it missed a beat, the same way a person feels tripping down a stairwell. It was that moment of sudden panic right before you catch yourself, needing then to sit down to soothe your frantic pulse. That sensation was as close as I’d been to the sudden, paralyzing panic I felt at that moment.
This couldn’t have been real, right?
It was just my paranoia, I assured myself. Oregon was wild and unpredictable; between the coyotes and the elk screams of the night-- and now my mind had wickedly convinced me that something had crawled in through the window after me. I closed my eyes tightly, blinking the image away, seeing stars behind my eyes from the strain. But as I opened them, the creature did not disappear. In fact, it almost seemed to solidify.
It was perched in the corner, part of its gangly, hunched form sticking over the threshold to the bathroom door. It was that outline-- that inconsistent shadow-- that allowed me to confirm that my fear was not irrational. Its eyes were like pits, as best as I could describe.
My room was enveloped in nightly darkness, but even so I could still pick out the details of the wood,
the spruce trims of my walls, and the engraving in the wood board at the foot of my bed. However, its eyes were different-- I couldn’t identify its gaze by the shape, but by the absence of it. Its body was like that of a giant and broken bird. Its flank was bony, what appeared to be a thin, dry, and almost shell-like layer of greyish skin stretched over it. Its legs-- two of them-- were almost devoid of flesh, bordering spider-like if not for the almost hooked hooves at the end. At its pectorals sat a pair of“arms”, like the plucked wings of a chicken-- ovular and bony, locked into a V-shape at the front of its
body.
But that wasn’t the scary part.
Its neck made up almost all of its body, long and sagging. It looked like it was composed of individual segments-- like a spine-- which were not interconnected by disks or ligaments. As a result, it moved freely, slowly and rhythmically moving back and forth, rotating and swaying. As I watched-- paralyzed with fear and confusion-- I became aware of a subtle cracking, a hollow scrape of bone against bone as those vertebrae rotated; one at a time. It was perfectly timed, each rotation from side to side seeming almost to align with the seconds of the clock-- or, I realized after a second; the beating of my heart.
Even as that horrible neck moved, its head-- which appeared remarkably like the bare, greyed skull of a horse-- stayed eerily in place. I still couldn’t place anything within that silent, piercing gaze, but I could swear that it was staring directly at me.
No, not at me, into me.
I spent so long staring right back at the Not-Horse that I had failed to notice the most terrifying revelation. When I had first gotten sight of it, the creature was crouched in the threshold of the bathroom. It was blocking the hallway door-- almost strategically-- perched in the shadows outside of my bedroom.
But now, after I had first closed my eyes, it seemed that it was closer to me than before; now hunched at the foot of my dresser, almost a third of the length of my hall closer as I had first seen it. A low groan escaped my lips-- the manifestation of my fear. There was nowhere to run. It was blocking the door, and the window wasn’t an option; three stories into gravel was not a fall I wished to take.
I closed my eyes once more-- blinking, and found the creature had once again moved closer. Only a foot or two, not by much at all, but just enough that I had noticed. Its body showed no sign that it could even move on its own, frozen in the same position as it had been-- it was almost as if a great, invisible hand
had wrapped around the Not-Horse and had placed it forward within that fraction of a second where my eyes were closed. The only sign that it was alive at all was that godforsaken neck, which still continued to roll and crack like a skeletal metronome. With little to do in my terror, I decided that I would do my best to keep my eyes open-- to keep it in my sights as long as I could. I tried to stare, locking eyes with the demonic creature and forcing myself not to
close my eyes. Almost immediately, I felt my eyes start to dry-- the wet salty film over them immediately beginning to sting and itch. It was about as effective as actively holding my breath; and within only a few moments, I was forced to blink.
Closer again was the creature; this time in the center of the room, making a clear beeline for my bed, where I still stupidly resided. With its size and stature, however, it still blocked any chance of escape. If I ran past it-- I wondered fearfully-- would it just attack me from behind, when I couldn’t see it?
I tried again, this time closing my eyelids one at a time, attempting to prevent the drying of my eyes whilst keeping the creature in view. It took all of my focus; carefully shutting one at a time, my vision blurring and a single, salty, tear beginning to run down my cheek. Unfortunately, that tactic only lasted for so long.
Just as inevitable as life is terminal, I was eventually forced to blink one last time. Just as quickly as my eyes fluttered open one last time, the creature was right on top of me. Its hooked legs perched on the foot of my bed like a sick bird; its horrible body looming over mine. Its neck was
coiled so that its head could leer over me, its dead, empty sockets watching me from just arms length
away.
The cracking of its neck felt almost deafening now-- like the thunderous chime of a belltower as the hour strikes. I could feel my blood beneath my skin, my heart pounding with such desperate vigor that I thought it might just burst from my chest and roll across the floor like a severed head. I don’t know what drove me to do what I did next-- I didn’t exactly have time to think about it before I acted. But for a reason I couldn’t place-- some childish scramble for control of my fate, I threw my covers over my head. Darkness, true darkness, enveloped me as the covers settled around my trembling form. Tears, hot and stinging, streamed over my cheeks, and I clapped my hands-- one over my mouth and one over my ears--unsure of whether I wanted to drown out the cracking or my own whimpers.
But then, suddenly, the sound was gone.
That was enough to give me pause, even in my state of terror. For what felt like hours I lay still,contemplating the sudden silence around me-- the lack of presence I felt over my comforter.
Do I hear it?
Did it stop?
Like a prisoner awaiting execution, I slowly pried back the covers, only to find myself faced with... well, nothing. My room was as it had been-- hosting only one occupant.
My clock, as I looked, read 3:59-- one minute ‘till. Its eerie green glow found no empty eyes-- no godforsaken neck. Once more, the only sound was the rolling of faraway thunder-- accompanied by the strained beating of my own heart.
Had I imagined the whole encounter? Perhaps, there was no life in the eye of the darkness here-- I hadonly convinced myself there was. After all, I had been in a sleepless limbo for hours; it was all a wicked trick of the mind.
With great relief and an overwhelming sense of finality, I lowered myself to lay my head-- ultimately--back onto my pillow, waiting to be greeted by the rest of the dreamless night. My new position was once again found by the empty, skeletal grin of the creature, its head now directly above my own. And then-- with little reaction except an “Oh” and a sound like a bow being violently shorn across its violin-- the Not-Horse greeted me with open jaws.
