The pieces in this collection are written by HFU students in the spirit of Halloween, and the Spooky Season! Be mindful that pieces of these stories may be disturbing for some readers.

Fertilizer

It was quiet on Simon’s walk home from school. It always was. The walk took him about 20 minutes, but there was one thing about the quiet that always made him feel uneasy. On a side street, not too far from the end of Simon’s journey, there was a small, red brick house that sat in the middle of a large unkempt field. The house itself was pristine: freshly painted shutters, polished railing, and a wrap-around porch that looked like it was swept daily (maybe even twice a day). The house had always stood out from its surroundings. The surrounding homes were all attached. No wrap around porch, no potentially beautiful lawn, just rows and rows of crumbling brick houses with tiny little gardens out front and a space to let the dog shit out back. 

Simon stared at the secluded house from the street. He always hated passing it on his walk home. Something about the brittle, dead grass littered with trash surrounding the sterile stand-alone structure left him wracked with anxiety. A sense of impending doom loomed over Simon, a sense that was usually there when he passed the house, but it was suddenly stronger than normal. He quickly spun around when he heard the distinct sound of a leaf being crushed under someone’s foot. A pang of fear crackled throughout his body. Wait… no… a pang of pain crackled throughout his body. His limbs felt numb and his feet felt heavy. Simon tried to run. His efforts were fruitless. His vision was speckled with black spots. Gravity felt three times as strong. Simon was unconscious before his head hit the ground.

He woke up in an unfamiliar room. A single fluorescent tube flickered above him. Low buzzing flowed throughout the room as if a swarm of mosquitoes was figure skating around Simon’s head. His head was throbbing and his body felt sore. A wet, moldy scent filled his lungs with every labored breath. There were no windows, only a set of dilapidated stairs that led to a splintered wooden door. One thought occupied his mind before Simon’s head felt heavy once again: his mom! She must be so worried. Walking home by himself, he was ripe for the picking of kidnappers, murderers, or traffickers. His eyes drooped slowly. He couldn’t keep himself awake any longer. All he could think about before the darkness took him was how sorry he was. Simon was sorry he didn’t walk faster or that he wasn’t more cautious. He was most sorry for his mom, for she was about to lose her only child.

It was hard to tell time in the room. It could have been hours or even days since he was taken here. As Simon slowly woke up, a new stimulus entered his senses. Above him, the creak of floorboards buckled underneath someone’s footsteps. He could hear each muffled thud as the person walked across the floor inching further towards the door that was keeping him safe and away from his captor. The doorknob at the top of the stairs rattled as if someone was testing to see if it was locked. Panic wracked its way through Simon’s nervous system. All his pain went away and the room became silent as adrenaline filled his veins. A single moment stretched out into forever. The shadow of his captor appeared in the doorway. Each of their steps was slow and heavy as they descended to the basement. Simon’s fight or flight kicked in. That’s when he felt it, or rather didn’t feel it. He couldn’t move. His limbs were still numb. The figure approached slowly and turned off the light and the room was swallowed by darkness. In that moment, he felt a spark of relief as the room finally quieted. His relief was short lived as he felt himself dragged across the floorboards, chair and all. He was brought upstairs hearing every thump of his makeshift, portable prison as they climbed the steps. 

Suddenly, he smelled fresh air for the first time in what felt like forever. A bright light filled his vision. His eyes adjusted to the light and he realized he was brought out onto a porch. Fear once again flowed through his body as he realized this porch looked horribly familiar. Without warning, a spoon full of liquid hit his lips and he was forced to swallow. A young woman’s voice hit his ears.

“Welcome home, Simon. It’s time to tend to the garden. It’s been dead for quite some time.” Simon could hear the smile on her lips as he was dragged off the porch and over to the corner of the field. She tipped the chair forward and Simon saw a ditch large enough to hold a cow. He looked to his right. There was a huge block of the field that was covered in luscious grass that began at the fence running all the way to the edge of the hole in front of him. His heart began to race. A looming sense of doom flooded its way through his brain. Simon thought of his mom again, everything he never said to her and everything he ever did that made her mad. He was in that phase of his life where saying “I love you” in front of his friends was embarrassing. Every morning, his mom dropped him off at school yelling, “I love you!” out the window. He would cringe each time and refuse to say anything in return. He regretted everything at that moment. All he wanted was to hear his mother say that she loves him one last time so that he could make up for every time before.

“Every day my field becomes closer to being just as immaculate as my home.”

His chair was then spun around and Simon was pushed in on his back. He felt helpless. He still couldn’t move. The liquid she gave him must have made his body limp. Specks of dirt began falling on his face. Then sprinkles. Then chunks. Then whole shovelfuls landed on his body. He tried to scream, but his voice was stuck in his throat. Simon was suffocating. There was nothing he could do. It was over.

(Amanda Knipe is a senior English major with minors in Business Administration and Creative Writing. She is currently working with HFU’s literary magazine, Folio, as Editor in Chief.)

***

The Mirror

Two months after my divorce, I open the creaky French doors of my mother’s old house, as it holds on for dear life with its last hinge. I was never fond of this big house, the one that sat at the end of the hill. Once I left at nineteen, I never turned back. That is until I realized my husband was sleeping with his best friend. Now ten years later, this house is just as eerie as I remember it being. But it was my sole inheritance so, can’t complain.

My mother left a stack of cardboard boxes behind, all of them unlabelled and messy. After my father went missing when I was nine, my mother began to just keep everything hidden away in boxes. She just thought it was “easier”. 

As I hit the last box two hours later, there is one thing left that I don’t recognize. I grab the dusty hand mirror, and I can’t help but admire it. While dusty, I can’t help but trace my fingers over the ornate golden carvings on the sides of the small frame, illustrating beautiful snakes. When I look into the mirror itself, it’s like I can’t move. I’m hypnotized by something, but I’m not quite sure what.

“Leighton”.

I drop the mirror, backing away quickly from it as I push myself across the floor. Where did that voice come from? 

I barely have time to think about it before the doorbell rings, and I hear a voice on the other side of the door, unlike the wispy one I had just heard. 

“Leighton? Are you in there?”

“Just a minute!” I say, as I try to compose myself enough to get up off the floor. I throw the mirror back into the box, and walk towards the door. Opening the door, I see my best friend, Carson, smiling right back at me, a bottle of wine in her hand.

“Happy housewarming!”, is all she says before she lets herself inside, and I close the door behind her. 

When I wake up, the morning light is spilling in through the large windows of the living room, as I make a mental note to buy curtains. That’s when I realize that Carson is no longer next to me. The only thing there is the empty bottle of wine and two glasses. 

“Carson?” I yell through the empty house, hearing my own voice echo back to me. I walk around the living room, and all of her stuff is still there. It was like she just vanished into thin air. 

I turn around and the hand mirror is sitting on my coffee table. Which is odd, because I know I didn’t touch it after putting it back in the box. I walk over to the coffee table, grabbing the mirror. When I look at the mirror again, it’s like I’m entranced again. I can’t look up, I can’t move. My eyes are glued to the mirror.

I hear something fall behind me, and it’s only then that I am able to move again. I see my mother’s favorite candelabra roll across the long hallway toward me, with no one in sight.

There’s a bang on the door, and that’s when I realize that it’s gone dark outside. Have I been standing here that long? No. Impossible. Right?

I peek through the door, and see my ex-husband behind it. 

“Go away,” I say through the door. “I don’t do charity work.”

“Real funny, Leighton. Open the door.”

“Sebastian, I thought I told you to fall down a ditch.” I say as I look him up and down.

“Yes, I know you’d love that Leighton. Now where’s Diane?” He says, catching me off guard.

“And why would I know where she is? Last I saw her, she was wearing my robe in our bedroom.” 

“Just let me know if you see her. It’s like she vanished into thin air last night.”

“Well I was here last night, with Carson.” I say, gesturing inside my house.

“Oh, Carson is here? Hey Carson-”

“She’s not here right now.” I cut him off when he tried to look inside the house.

“Oh, well, call me if you hear anything.” Sebastian says dully, turning back down the large porch of the house.

“Oh I won’t.” I exclaim, closing the door immediately. I turn back around, looking back at the mirror. As I get closer to it, I notice there’s something on it. I pick it up, realizing what it is. Blood. 

Blood that is now on my hands. Dropping the mirror, I expect it to shatter as it meets the hard floor. But it doesn’t, and when I bend down again to grab it, the blood is gone. But I hear that voice again. 

“Leighton”.

And then everything goes black.

I wake up what feels like hours later, but I’m not in my living room anymore. I push myself up against the cold, hard stone wall, realizing that I’m in the basement.

I refused to go into this basement my entire childhood. There was just always something off about it. Now being stuck in it, I understand why.

My eyes fall to a large freezer at the end of the room, and I immediately feel pulled to it. I can no longer control my own body. I don’t recognize this freezer, I’ve never seen it before. Sure, I didn’t frequent this basement as a child, but I think I would have remembered if my mother had a fridge large enough to sit inside. 

I just walk toward it, where I find the hand mirror, sitting right on top of the chest. The gold of the frame shining brighter than it ever had before. I don’t remember walking down to the basement, much less, bringing the mirror with me. 

“Leighton”. The wispy voice calls to me again, but this time, I recognize it. This time, I realize who it is, as a shiver runs down my spine.

“Mom?”

“Haven’t you heard me? I’ve been calling to you, Leighton.” I watch my mother say, as she moves closer towards me. But she doesn’t look quite like my mom. No, there’s something off. 

“But you’re dead.” My words don’t quite match the level of disbelief that I feel.

“Yes but, I couldn’t leave you yet. Not without seeing the fabulous work that you’ve done.” She gestures toward the giant refrigerator. 

“Work? What work?”

“ See for yourself. Oh! Can’t forget this.” My mother picks the mirror up in her hands, which is when I realize she’s damn near translucent. 

“Mom, what is this?” I feel my heart beating out of my chest. “What’s going on?”

“The mirror helps us when we have obstacles. Take a look.” She gestures towards the fridge. 

I look back towards the fridge, opening it up. That’s when my blood runs cold. Staring right back at me is Diane, but completely frozen.

“What the hell is this? What did you do?” I look at my mother in horror. “How could you do such a thing?”

“Me? Darling no, this is all your handy work.” My mother gestures towards the freezer. “And I must say, Diane looks much better this way.”

“What is going on?” I look at the frozen body of my ex husband’s mistress in horror. Sure, I hated her guts, but I didn’t want to find her as a popsicle in my mother’s freezer. 

“You, Leighton. This is your handiwork. And you did quite well, might I say.”

“No, I didn’t do that. I could never do that.” I shake my head, walking away from her as I reel the past few days over in my head.

“What did you think was happening each of those times that you blacked out? This is all you, Leighton.” My mother shuts the freezer door carefully. 

“I think I would remember this.” I gesture towards the freezer in disbelief. “That wasn’t me.”

“No Leighton, it wasn’t completely you. The mirror helped you. It just gave you a little push.” She pulls the mirror back out, and holds it out towards me, waiting for me to take it.

“I’m not touching that thing, you’re crazy.” I back further away, but my mother continues to move closer towards me. 

“Leighton, this mirror is a blessing. Now you’ll have nothing standing in your way. No one to bring you down.” She moves closer, backing me into the cold, dark corner of the room. 

I look around the room now as I attempt to plan my escape. That’s when my eyes fall to an unassuming brown wooden door in the corner of the room. It appears to be a normal door, until I see it open by itself with a loud and slow creak.

“What the f**k is that?” I ask, horror lacing my every word.

My mother looks behind her, but she is completely unfazed. “Oh, that? It’s just my little gift to you.” 

She walks over to the door and twists the handle open. The remains of Carson stare back at me, as the color leaves my face.

“Carson?” I attempt to squeak out, but my throat is dry.

“Of course. I couldn’t let her ruin your plan. Consider this my housewarming gift!”

“You’re insane!” I shout, as I run around her towards the basement door. But when I get to the door, there she is again.

“Leighton, this is all for you. Now you’re completely free! No one is holding you back!” My mother exclaims, opening her arms towards me.

“No one was holding me back! I’m perfectly fine!” I shout as I attempt to dodge her. 

“That’s what I thought, Leigh, before the mirror helped me realize your father was holding me back.”

I freeze in place, unable to move.

“What did you say?” I manage to slip out, even though it feels like I swallowed saw dust. 

“The mirror. When I found it in this very basement, it spoke to me. It told me your father was holding me back. After I got rid of him, I had never felt more free.” The smile on her face made my stomach twist.

“No, Dad went missing. That’s what the detectives said.” 

“That’s what they believed. But Leighton look, you can be so much more now. You could even get Sebastian back!” She grabs my hands and I pull out of her grasp.

“I have never wanted him back!” I back away slowly, before my attention is caught by the doorbell upstairs. It echoes throughout the house, making its way down the stairs.

“Leighton, don’t go upstairs.” My mother pleads. “Stay down here with me. Please.” 

“You’re insane!” I go to push the basement door open, but it won’t budge.

“Leighton, it’s not worth it.” My mother tries to grab my hand, but it’s futile. 

“Let go! Let me go!” I shake the door, trying to push it open, but it doesn’t budge. 

There is a loud banging on the door upstairs, followed by a voice.

“Leighton Foster, open the door. You have one minute before we bring the door down.” Panic sets in when I realize who is at the door – the police.

“Leighton, don’t open that door. Stay here with me, admire your work.” My mother gestures to the horror contained in this basement, a serene smile decorating her face.

“No, no I can’t. This is wrong, all wrong.” I push the door as hard as I can, pushing all my body weight onto it at once. 

“They won’t understand you, Leighton.” My mother grabs for my shoulder, at the same time as the door finally gives out. I stumble out the door, making my way to the front door. 

“Leighton Foster, this is your final warning. Come out with your hands up.” The voice says on the other side of the door, where I can now see police lights shining through. 

“No no, you don’t understand.” I plead through the door. “This is all a big misunderstanding.”

“You’re under arrest for the murders of Diane Hayes and Carson Sinclair. Come out with your hands up and no one has to get hurt.”

“I didn’t kill them! I’d never kill anyone! No, it wasn’t me, it was the mirror. You have to understand it was…” I put my hand into my pocket, and my heart drops when my hand traces the ornate gold carvings of the small mirror frame. The frame of the mirror that I know I did not pick back up. I gasp, dropping the mirror to the ground, at the exact same moment as the police begin to break the door down.

“It wasn’t me! It’s the mirror and my mother-” But when I look back towards the basement door, my mother is no longer there. She vanished into thin air. That is the last thing I think about, before the door crashes down and I lose my vision.

“Yes officer, I was just coming to check on her. And here she is, just sitting there on the floor, muttering about some mirror. I’ve never seen her like this before.”

“Well Ms. Sinclair, thank you for your cooperation. We’re gonna take Ms. Foster in here for some questioning. She might know something about Ms. Hayes’ disappearance.” The police officer says, walking away from Carson as Sebastian approaches her.

“So you just found her here like this?” He asks, hands resting in his pockets.

“Yeah, she’s been locked up in the house for days. Wouldn’t answer my calls or anything. When I managed to break down the door, she thought I was gonna arrest her or something. It’s like she didn’t even realize it was me.”

“That’s odd.” Sebastian looks around the scene. “She was just on the floor?”

“Well yeah, and she was muttering something about Diane. And crying about how sorry she is to me, but we haven’t spoken since I left her house the other night. We drank a bottle of wine and then I left.” Carson explains, trying to catch a peek of Leighton through the police that she called.

“That’s all?” Sebastian asks, confusion lining his expression.

“Oh, well, and this.” Carson pulls out a gold hand mirror from her pocket. “This was right in front of her, and she was staring at it with this terrified look. It’s quite pretty.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll just keep it safe for Leighton. It might be important to her.” Carson pockets the mirror, and her and Sebastian walk off. 

As the police begin to clear out, they load Leighton into the back of the squad car. Leighton stares at the open front door of the house, staring, as if something or someone was staring back at her. Then the door slams shut, without a breeze in sight. 

(Savanah Hannigan is a second year Interdisciplinary Humanities student, with a minor in political science. She is treasurer of Writers’ Bloc. Savanah’s interests include theatre, sewing, literature, baking, and writing.)

***

Oh, The Truth Hurts

I opened the door and saw the devil

She told me a truth, information I never knew

A revelation not even John would’ve seen the emotions I wrestle with now

The devil not the son of man holds a double edged sword in her mouth 

She talks in a tongue of lies, and lays deaths kiss

With her tongue of knives she french kissed the fatal fallen finch 

If every dog has it day it doesn’t leave time for the birds

So only the earliest ones get a word 

And while she sings songs that must be heard some canaries just cry 

A bay window on the beach, the devil has ocean eyes 

Its easy to see through the pain 

I tried to bribe the devil but I’m as poor as rain 

So I watched as the distance between us became a few steps more

Each moving forward, for better, for worse, for rich, for poor. 

In sickness and in health until death do us meet again.

Fallen angel, Devil, my fallen friend

(Taurean Jewett II is a second year English major at Holy Family University. They work on the Folio team and they are Vice President of Writers’ Bloc. Their interests include poetry, fashion & music.)

***

Dinner in Spirit

Danny never knew what to answer when people asked what he did for work. He didn’t have a “real” job, strictly speaking. Rather, Danny was a salesman—of sorts. Mostly, he sold to pawn shops, maybe the occasional independent buyer. Saying that out loud, though? It wasn’t a very attractive thing to say while on a first date.

“I usually work nights,” Danny said, hoping his date wouldn’t notice the blatant attempt to dodge the question. He was sure she did, though, and had just refrained from pointing it out. Danny would be the first to admit that Ana, his date, was out of his league by several orders of magnitude. While he knew he wouldn’t end up on the cover of any magazines, Danny didn’t think of himself as unattractive; still, he never thought a girl like her would show him the time of day. She was tall and slender, showing off lustrous shoulder-length black hair that complemented a face so objectively pretty that Danny was shocked people hadn’t turned their heads as they were led to their table by one of the restaurant hosts. There was an allure to her that Danny couldn’t quite place, something drawing his eyes back to her every time he tried to look away.

“Is that so?” Ana asked, playful skepticism clear in her voice. “Well, whatever it is must pay a lot to be able to afford a place like this.”

“I’m a friend of the owner, actually,” Danny said. In truth, he hadn’t worked a conventional job in quite some time. The restaurant, a steakhouse, was one of the more upscale places in town, and although it was no five-star experience, he was only able to afford it because of the fact that he had helped the owner some months ago and was owed a favor. It wasn’t enough to get around the dress code, though.

“Friends in high places, then?” Ana asked jokingly, and Danny’s heart fluttered.

“Something like that,” Danny said with a chuckle. He had just begun to flip through the menu, of which the hostess had only given them one—he’d have to ask the waiter for another—when Ana put her hand on his to get his attention. Her hand felt like ice on his skin, leeching the warmth from his body. Danny instinctively flinched away, but before he could apologize for his reaction his stomach began to growl. Embarrassed, he buried his face further into the menu. Ana, for her part, did not seem put off in the slightest by his reaction to her touch, nor did she comment on his “loud” appetite, which Danny was silently grateful for.

“The whole mysterious act might work on other girls, but you’re going to need to give me something to work with here,” Ana said while looking into his eyes. She gave him a coy smile that sent butterflies through his stomach. Her smile was playful and warm. Danny couldn’t help but stare at her, as creepy as it probably made him look. Her expression was inviting in a way that he only noticed once his absolute attention was drawn away from her face and onto Danny’s hand, as she caressed it with an icy thumb.

“Aha…right,” Danny said, pulling his hand away from hers. The whole mysterious act, if you could call it that, did not work on other girls. If it did, this wouldn’t have been the first date he had been on in, well, longer than he’d like to admit. There was only one other date he remembered going on after coming into his current line of work, and the look on the girl’s face as he tried to explain how he made a living was something he did not want to see again. He decided he would keep avoiding the question, at least until the second date. “It’s kind of a long story. And a weird one. I think I’d bore you with it anyway.”

“I’ve got all night,” Ana said, effortlessly giving Danny butterflies once again. “You said you work nights, right? Why don’t you show me? That ought to be a little less boring.” She looked into his eyes, and Danny’s response came out of his mouth before he even had time to think about it.

“Uh, sure. Just… I know I already said it’s weird, but I meant weird,” Danny said, stammering. Why was he agreeing, and agreeing to show her, no less? He already decided to wait until at least the next date to broach that subject, so why did the words that were coming out of his mouth not match the ones in his head? At this rate, there wouldn’t even be a second date. “As in, I mean, you’ll probably think I’m crazy once you see.”

“Think so? Try me,” Ana said with her signature wry tone.

“I—okay. I’ll take you after dinner, then,” Danny said. He looked back down and began flipping through the menu again.

“Actually…” Ana said. Her tone was sheepish, or at least that’s what Danny assumed she was trying to make it come across as. Instead, it came off as insincere and derisive. Wry. At first, he had thought her playful mocking was endearing, but had she actually been mocking him? She started speaking again before he could dwell on it any longer. “Do you think we could leave now? I don’t have much of an appetite.”

Danny was hit with another wave of hunger. He really didn’t want to leave. Not only was he starving, but they were eating for free at a place he wouldn’t be able to afford otherwise. To her credit, Ana wasn’t aware that he used up some of his already meager social capital for this date. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse about the current situation. Ana must’ve seen something on his face because she spoke again before he could think of a response.

“Sorry, it was really sweet of you to offer to pay,” Ana said apologetically. Either she got better at masking her faking it within the past few minutes, or she really was being sincere. “This place just isn’t my kind of food.”

“You haven’t even seen the menu,” Danny said with a laugh, deciding not to correct her notion that he was paying anything. He passed her the single menu they were given. “Here, at least take a look. I’m sure they have something you’ll like.” 

Ana glanced at the menu on the table and put on a smile. Looking back to Danny, she said, “You’re right, sorry. I’ve been meaning to start trying new things. In that case, I’ll just have whatever you’re having. Order for me?”

“Sure,” Danny said, and a smile grew on his face, too. Maybe he had been too quick to judge before. As he pondered, a waiter came over to the table and looked toward Danny.

“What will it be for you today, sir?” the waiter asked. Danny took one last look at the menu before flipping it closed. 

“Are you the waiter, or are we?” Danny asked. After a few seconds of silence, he added, “the, uh, waiters, I mean.” Neither Ana nor the waiter laughed, and Danny’s face heated. Ana wore her trademark playful smirk, which said nothing of whether or not she actually found the joke funny, and the waiter just gave him a look of pity. Eager to change the subject, Danny jumped at the chance to order once the waiter took out his notepad, ordering for both Ana and himself.

“And are those for here or to go?” the waiter asked.

Why had he asked that? The restaurant wasn’t easy to get reservations for and was usually booked months in advance. What would be the point in getting their food and leaving with it? Half of the experience of dining out was the atmosphere. “For here,” Danny said, and it pained him not to add a snarky “obviously” to the end. 

“Alright, is there anything else, sir?” the waiter asked. Danny had written it off before, but that made the second time their waiter had specifically addressed him when speaking without even acknowledging Ana’s existence. He was a little annoyed at the rudeness, but he opted not to make a scene in the end. Dismissing the waiter, he mused over the idea of leaving less of a tip, but he didn’t want to ruin his shot at any future free meals.

During the wait for their food, Danny continued having small talk with Ana, and over the course of their interaction, he noticed his hunger becoming increasingly harder to ignore. He tried to hide his discomfort, but he was sure he’d just ended up making it look even worse. At least his stomach wasn’t growling.

Finally, the food arrived, but it had all been placed on a single plate, presumably for a single diner. Was this a joke? Danny was about to say something to the waiter, but after dropping off the food with a hurried “enjoy” he quickly went off in the direction of another table. Danny looked back at Ana apologetically. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure why they’re doing this,” Danny said. “Let me go get someone, I’m sure—”

“No, no, it’s fine, just eat,” Ana said. She looked into his eyes like she had done several times already. “I’m sure you’re hungry, but I’ll just have mine to go. You don’t need say anything.” She was right, he was hungry. Danny had been trying to ignore it, but the gnawing emptiness in his gut was becoming unbearable now. He’d eaten earlier, hadn’t he? He tried to think, but the hunger clouded his mind.

“Oh, okay,” Danny said. “Are you sure? It feels rude eating in front of you.” 

“I insist,” Ana said, and a smile returned to her face.

Danny hadn’t even waited for her answer, his question was as empty a gesture as his stomach felt. He dug in, famished as he was, eating as fast as he could without looking like an animal. Ana just watched and waited. 

When Danny was finished with his steak, he was met with an odd sensation. He couldn’t quite describe it; physically he was as full as he could be, yet he felt the pangs of hunger come and go. They were muted, now, as if in anticipation of a feast. He did his best to ignore it, which worked fairly well while he spoke to the waiter about taking the other steak to go. The waiter rolled his eyes, making Danny consider the idea of not tipping for a second time. The owner informed the staff in advance that Danny didn’t have to pay, so there was no need to wait for a check.

They stood, and Ana took Danny by the hand, her icy grip leading him away.

Danny drove down an empty road, Ana in the passenger seat. Danny’s hunger had lessened considerably. Now, he was just excited to see where the night took him. At the same time, though, a cold uneasiness pervaded the air. Or maybe it was just cold—he turned the heat on.

“You know,” Ana broke the silence. “You never told me where we’re going. You aren’t a serial killer, are you?”

“No,” Danny laughed. “But now I’m afraid what you’ll think when I tell you we’re going to a cemetery.” Now that he thought about it, that was totally a place a serial killer would take an unassuming victim. To his relief, Ana only giggled.

“So, a creepy groundskeeper, then?” she said.

“Not exactly, he does know who I am, though.”

“You’re friends with the creepy groundskeeper?”

“More like he caught me trespassing one night and threatened to call the cops.” Up ahead, the wrought iron fence marking the perimeter of the cemetery came into view as they crested a hill. “We’re just about here.”

Ana looked up at the cemetery in the distance. “Whose grave are we visiting?”

“Nobody in particular,” Danny said. “This is just where I do most of my work. Although the husband of the owner of the restaurant we were at is buried here.” Danny glanced over at her to gauge her response, and she just looked back with that playful smile of hers. It was like she already knew the answer and was just asking to make conversation.

Without losing her smirk, she asked, “Aren’t you going to tell me what exactly it is that you do?” Danny suddenly became acutely aware of that same cold feeling from before that reached down to his bones. The heat was still on.

“I, uh,” Danny started. He wasn’t sure if his growing unease was because he was about to tell her something that might make her think he was crazy, or if it was because of her. The last thing he wanted was for Ana to lose interest in him, especially after she seemed to open up a little more during the drive. Still, he didn’t know why, but a part of him wanted to tell her. How bad could she possibly react? She had said she wanted to try being more open-minded at the restaurant, after all. “I’m just going to come out and say it: I talk to spirits.”

Ana didn’t react how most people he told reacted, not that the sample size was very large in that regard. Still, he expected something, anything else, but it could hardly even be called a reaction. She was just staring at him, her eyes into his, with that smirk that seemed to be her resting expression. And in that playful tone, she finally asked, “Like, for a living?”

The rest of the ride lasted only a few moments, Danny knew, but it felt like hours. Danny’s feeling of hunger returned in full force, but it was the last thing on his mind. As they parked on the side of the road and exited the car, he finished explaining to her how he managed to make a living off of talking to spirits.

“So, yeah, I don’t get paid in actual money, not by the spirits anyway. They just know things. Useful secrets, where to find lost jewelry, stuff like that.” Danny looked at Ana, hoping she’d respond like a human. As usual, though, she just smiled playfully. 

“Think you could talk to one for me?” Ana said without a hint of skepticism. As they walked through the cemetery gate, Ana held Danny by the hand, leading him through the maze of graves with her uncomfortably cold fingers and smiling the whole way. Looking out at the graves, he felt a pit form in his stomach. Still, as if through some unseen force pushing him forward, he kept walking.

“It doesn’t really work like that,” Danny said. “I can’t really talk with them so much as I can feel them. If I feel long enough, I can start to put together what they really mean. It also works better if someone they’re familiar with is close by. Do you know anyone buried here, by chance?” As if responding to his words, some of the spirits in the area reacted to his presence, but instead of giving him faint impressions of whatever message they wanted to get across, the pit in his stomach only grew deeper. The pair stopped walking next to a large tree that loomed over a group of graves.

“Can’t you, though?” Ana asked as she turned to look him in the eyes. “Talk to spirits, I mean. I think we’ve been having a wonderful chat so far.” 

Ana’s smirk twisted into a wide grin and Danny suddenly felt a hunger like no other. It was like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, longer even. He wanted to run, but he was overwhelmed by pure, primal fear. Slowly, Ana closed the already short distance between them, leaned in, and whispered in his ear.

“Thanks for dinner.”

(Connor Barclay is a third-year secondary education major and a transfer student currently in his first semester at Holy Family. He enjoys reading, writing, gaming, and going to concerts. Connor is also a part of Writers’ Bloc and a prospective member of the folio team.)

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The Final Entry

TW: Self harm, Mental Illness, Suicide 

The following excerpts are journal entries written by Rebecca Schofield, found nearly a year after she tragically committed suicide from jumping from her third floor apartment window. Recently disclosed from the Police Department, these entries are being used in further investigation of Rebecca’s death. 

22 years old when she died, there was no suspicions of Rebecca’s internal struggles in the months leading up to the night she died . After her death, however, a few of her friends reported being worried about her in the couple previous weeks – noting that she was seeing things. A man. They said she called him “the shadow man”. Rebecca’s journal provides insight into the last 13 days of her life. Even up to the last few minutes – in the final entry. 

Day 1: The Shadow Man

I just saw a man. From my window I saw him standing under the streetlight wearing nothing but black: looking very shadow-like. He just stood there. Looking at me. I couldn’t look away, mesmerized by him like he was trying to reach me. An odd kinship I felt made me walk outside, but when I got there he was gone. 

Day 3

I found myself back at my window tonight. This man stands again, under the street light, in the same position. All black clothing. Pretty tall. I will call him the shadow man. I can’t see his face but I can tell he is handsome. I can feel his presence deep in my bones. I can’t quite explain it, but I can somehow feel him getting closer. Which is weird, because physically he is always standing in the same exact place. 

Day 4

I saw the shadow man again today. Not from my apartment window, but standing on the platform outside of the train I take home from work. Out the window of the train he stood. I wanted to approach him but it was too late. By the time I saw him the train had begun to move. The funny thing is, when I got back home and looked out my window – there he was. Under the streetlight. After a long day at work I found myself relieved to see him there, his existence has become comforting.

Day 6

My roommates keep insisting that I am crazy! Rolling their eyes and scoffing at me that there is no “shadow man” and that I am just seeing things. “Bex, you watch too many scary movies” they chide. But I KNOW he is real. I’m not crazy! If they can’t see him, how can they understand? 

I am beginning to think he is the only one who does understand me. I have grown accustomed to sitting by my window looking out at him. Even though we don’t talk – his presence has become my favorite part of the day.  Before him, I had no outlet. He is the only one who listens to me and grounds me from all the bullshit (like my roommates) around me.

Day 7

The shadow man looks sad tonight. I can feel his grief through the window. He needs me. With each breath I take, I inhale his desperate longing. It is loud. Deep. Echoing in my chest. I want him.

I thought, why not try to communicate with him? “Buzz in, come up! Room 3b” I wrote on a piece of paper in large letters for him to see. I held it up to the window. Still, he did not move.  He stood there, shrouded in misery. My heart started racing like it never has before. Why won’t he come to me? Can’t he see I’m here? Waiting for him?

Day 9

I am starting to realize that these nightly through the window interactions just won’t cut it anymore. If he won’t come to me, I’ll have to go to him. This anticipation is driving me up a wall.

If he makes me feel this way through a window; so alive, so exhilarated, so peaceful. I can only imagine what jumping into his arms would do for me. My heart and my mind are moving at a million miles a minute at just the thought. I can almost taste it. I need to be closer. I will be soon.

Day 10

I can’t take it anymore. My friends keep saying they are “worried” about me for so called “isolating” myself. But don’t they f**king get it? I’m not isolating myself if I am in the presence of my shadow man. He keeps me company, he keeps me sane! I am the happiest when I am looking out at him. 

Whatever! Who needs them?! All I need is him! The maddening noise of their concern means nothing in comparison to the calm he brings to the storm. I’m done with the judgments, it’s just going to be him and I from now on!

Day 11

I went shopping today. I want to have on the perfect outfit for when I go to him. I’m sure he is sick of seeing me through the window in a robe and a night gown. So, I bought 3 options. 

1. A black mini skirt and a white lace cami top (I would wear stockings and a creme cardigan).
2. A little brown dress with new leather boots. 
3. A chunky burnt orange off the shoulder sweater that I could pair with baggy jeans. 

Day 13: The last day  

I decided that today is the day. When I stopped answering my friends’ calls they started showing up at my door, and overstaying their welcome I must say. They were here all day and night yesterday. I couldn’t even look out at my shadow man. It feels as though it isn’t even my place anymore, with them coming and going as they please. I want to be with the one who truly makes me feel at home. 

I decided on the brown dress, momentarily. Then I panicked! What if he thinks it’s too much, so I scrambled into the jeans and orange sweater. I hated it. So I put the skirt on. Hated that too. I swore I liked all of them in the store!

I ended up back in the brown dress. 

With my robe on top. 

I’m sitting by my window. Waiting for him. It is 12:14 am. Normally he is here by now. I’m starting to get really antsy. Since he started coming to visit me he’s never been later than 11:30 pm. Where is he? Is he mad at me? Mad at me because I couldn’t see him last night? Even worse – Is he leaving me??? Bastard. I should have known he would leave me. What an a**hole. I don’t need him!

WAIT. There he is! I knew he would come, I didn’t doubt him for a second. Of course he came. He wouldn’t leave me. I can’t wait to see him. I hope he likes my dress.

If anyone is reading this, I may be gone for a few days. Don’t fright though! I’m sure that my shadow man is going to be so happy to see me that he will want to spend some time with me. I am excited to spend time with him too. I’m okay though! You guys are worried for no reason. He will keep me safe. He will make me feel better. He always does.  

Okay, my shadow man awaits! I can’t wait one more second – each one apart feels like an eternity. Off I go, stepping into the shadows and into his arms! Finally.

(Lily Marchiafava is a second year English Student. She is currently interning in her first semester as the Executive Editor of Tri-Lite. She is also President of Writers’ Bloc, a new found club and is on the Folio team. Lily’s interests include literature, creative writing, fashion, music, and thrifting.)

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Thank you for tuning into our 2024 spooky story collection!