Tag Archives: creative writing

Student Creative Writing

How to Survive an Alien Invasion in 5 Easy-ish Steps

Leave a comment

By: Daniel Kendle

(This article is meant to be read after the Zombie Apocalypse Survival Guide).

So let’s say that you, likely a high school student, have woken up one uneventful Friday morning. You’re happy about your 3-day weekend ahead, and head downstairs to fix yourself some breakfast. Popping 2 slices of bread into the toaster, you pour yourself a sip of coffee, and turn around towards your kitchen window to see a hoard of greenish-gray, maggot-ridden corpses limping around the street.

And then you wake up.

It was all a dream! You laugh and stretch your arms in a trance of hedonistic elation. The truth is: you’re fine. Zombies don’t exist, outside of that species of ant fungus you hear about on MPR. You throw off your covers, hop out of bed, and begin to remind yourself to check out the new season of ‘The Last of Us.’ That is, until your thoughts are cut short – just like your bedroom.

Half of your house is missing.

Your lips quiver in silent shock. Like a cake cut cleanly into 2, your 3-story home has had half of it seemingly vanish. You peer below the exposed floor beneath you, into the living room. The couch, TV, coffee table…once normal furniture now appears more akin to those of a sliced-open dollhouse.

But who did this? You find your answer soon enough: in the distance, a pair of flying saucers stiffly suck up a car in a lavender tractor beam. They do the same with a tree, a dog, and some geese before speeding away together.

Obviously, most people would cry, scream, wail at this sight. A phenomenon only known to pop culture ideals, but now in real life? Oh, the horror! But you, no. You’ve read my zombie alien apocalypse survival guide, and now, you know exactly what to do. Because now, here is…

HOW TO SURVIVE AN ALIEN INVASION IN 5 EASY, UH…ISH STEPS:

. . .

#1: A BRIEF LESSON IN INTELLIGENCE

So: Aliens have begun an invasion of Earth. Now what? Well, unlike other kinds of apocalypses, aliens are functionally-different from other kinds of threats.

 The main differentiator between aliens and zombies (and most apocalyptic threats, really) is intelligence. Aliens, truth be told, are smart! I mean, they’d have to be to get those rinky-dink dirigibles off the ground, let alone across space. Zombies are the opposite: slow-moving, dim-witted creeps that skulk along the ground.

With this fact comes another soon after: while brains may be an alien’s strength, it’s also their weakness. For any species, increased intellect also comes with increased susceptibility; ergo, they can be outwitted. Say what you want about zombies, but an advantage of being stupid is defense against the cunning.

These 2 pointers will be referenced throughout this guide, for they’re among the most key points of any philosophy for surviving an alien attack. But with them out of the way, we can finally get down to the nitty-gritty.

#2: YOUR FIRST DAY

To begin, let’s establish your goals to accomplish by the end of day 1: you’ll want food, water, and at least a temporary shelter of some kind. Simple, right? Well, it would be, if not for the giant flying vacuum cleaners outside.

By the time you wake up, it’s more than expected that most surrounding infrastructure will be in ruins. Thus, you’ll want to be able to rely on your own 2 legs for transportation; cars, bikes, and even scooters won’t be able to adeptly traverse the wreckage around you. Pack a small bag of tools, toiletries and a few personal items, and set off into the hostile world.

You might initially find yourself not knowing where to start. Aliens pose a deep threat to Earth, yes, though will be more focused on mass extinction of the human race rather than just little, old you. Unless you’re a narcissist, this is great news! Having your opponents fixate on a large group of individuals actually helps your chances of survival. It’s a study of Darwinism at its finest, though now replacing “finches” with “Uncle Mike.”

All of this is to say that there probably won’t be any aliens randomly strolling around. If you’re swift, stealthy and able to keep an eye on the sky, you probably won’t face any issues looting small shops and market stands. With the limited space in your bag, prioritize preservables and seeds, along with bottled water. If you ever find yourself filling fast on food, take a second in a hidden cavity to sort out your most important goodies. Then, cache your leftover items for later.

Now we just need to find a good shelter. This is pretty simple: you’re gonna want to find an area that’s already been pillaged, to a noticeable extent. That way, any UFO’s probing the area won’t bat an eye at where you’ve set up camp. If you leave no traces, any enclosed ruins will provide good cover – for now.

#3: ALIEN COMBAT 101

You’ve done well thus far: you have sustenance, a temporary home, and some scavenged supplies for your journey ahead. But there’s another question that some may already be wondering: what happens if I actually encounter an alien?

Well, sorry to burst your bubble, ‘E.T.’ sympathists: it turns out that a meeting with one of these suckers won’t exactly be a walk in the park. I’ve already said it’s unlikely to meet an alien strolling around, but it’s never unheard of, either. So in preparation for such a scenario, here’s “Combat Wombat™’s Fun-tastic Fightin’ Guide!”

  1. Be ready with what you have equipped. If you stumble upon an alien, you don’t want to leave yourself vulnerable by shuffling through your items looking for a weapon. It’s recommended to always carry some kind of melee weapon on you at all times, though in the case you forgot, your fists are gonna have to do the job.
  2. Know the enemy. Examine a diagram of the alien invading your planet, if possible. What weak points are visible? What body parts look the most dangerous? Understanding who you’re fighting is the greatest tool a brawler can have. That and, y’know, mercy (bleugh).
  3. Acknowledge your arena’s design. In the case of a sudden battle, having a grasp on the space you’re in is always handy. Whether it’s a tree, a boulder, some sheets of metal…anything can be helpful in a scrap.

Alright, those are some good general pointers, but what about moves? Well, here’s a couple that I’ve employed once or twice.

  • “The Tentacle Twist.” If your alien assailant has at least 2 tentacles, grab them while they’re distracted, double-knot ‘em, and use the Martian like a jump rope. Extra brownie points if you and a buddy Double Dutch.
  • “The Whip Lash.” Some aliens rely on their long tongues for combat. If so, grab theirs mid-stretch and use it to treat their body like a whip, slamming them onto the ground repeatedly.
  • “The Glory Kill.” This one’s especially brutal, and not for the faint of heart. Use that survivalist strength of yours and rip out one of their long Sabre teeth, then stab them with it. Just like ‘DOOM!’
  • “The Hawk Headslam.” If facing a winged alien, harness your inner pigeon and grab them by the legs mid-flight, slamming both of you to the ground. This maneuver combos well into The Glory Kill.
  • “The False Surrender.” This is easily my favorite. If you’re in a corner, feign defeat and grovel in front of them on your knees. During their victory dance, quickly perform a forward roll into a kick with both legs. Then, as you’re catapulted and thrown onto them, twist their neck around. This also pairs nicely with The Glory Kill.

I have more, but hopefully these are enough to satiate your bloodlust. Have fun, and don’t die!

#4: HOME RENOVATIONS & THE DIFFERENT LIGHT SPECTRUMS

You’ve done well to make it this far, but by now you’re probably outgrowing home amongst the abandoned ruins. In an alien apocalypse, you’ll never want to be too settled in an area at the risk of a sudden raid. But for those nonetheless looking for a place to call home, I’ve got you covered.

I’m limited in my Home Economy know-how (and college credits), but I can safely say that camouflage is a must-have when building a new shelter. But how so? Well, not only do you have to account for your home’s physical form, you also have to deal with alien vision.

Popping on my scientist glasses for a sec, aliens see in different light waves than humans, and most animals for that matter. Unlike us, they’re able to see not only our colors, but also either ultraviolet or infrared spectrums, depending on their species’s frontal lobe development.

But here’s the problem: if we can’t see what aliens can, then how can we efficiently blend in with our surroundings? At first this may seem like an inconquerable “2 steps ahead” question, but I do have a solution: mirrors.

Humans are the only species in the universe to have invented mirrors, due to us getting the winning bid for silver manufacturing in the Universal Economic Bidding Event of 13,800,000,000 BC. Us humans won over the Gorgulocks with a bid of 43 Zeptocoins (in the event the Gorgulocks are the ones invading Earth, then this is likely the reason for it).

But I digress. Since aliens don’t know what mirrors are, building an igloo-like structure out of them is a sound idea. When they look down upon your base they’ll see themselves, probing shock, then confusion, then a philosophical quandary, then self-combustion. Awesome!

#5: YOUR MISSION

So far, you’ve learned to scavenge, fight, build, and thrive in this dystopian world. That’s all fine and dandy, but you can’t ride out an alien invasion indefinitely. No, you need some kind of end goal to fend off these parasites, and restore Earth to its former glory.

*Sigh.*

I guess there’s no point in hiding the truth any longer.

My name is Maeve Doherty. I’m an FBI terrorist crimes operative who’s been temporarily assigned to a project involving bioengineering. As of writing this, my team and I are knee-deep in work on a, uh…device meant to be used by the US military.

Earth is currently set to exceed healthy population density by 2055. We here in Area 51 have known about this for some time, and have spent the last 3 decades attempting to find a fix. None have presented themselves, however, so we’ve decided to pull the trigger on our last resort.

This device, nicknamed “Charlie Beetle,” is a 43-ton hypernuke filled with a newly-invented element: Mutonium. This element was first discovered in the Russian steppe, sampled by blood-draining a 5-legged mountain goat corpse. The result? An element that, when mixed with plutonium, can produce an explosion capable of ending all sentient life – at the absolute minimum.

The US government has spent a fortune on subterranean bunkers meant to be leased out to the 0.001%. Unfortunately, the high cost of rent for these places means that there’ll be barely enough genetic variance amongst the dozen or so billionaires in each to create even 1 new generation, let alone repopulate the Earth. To make matters worse, they probably nickname their offspring “Gen Tesla” or some dumb crap like that.

This nuclear fallout, one unavoidable for most, is the reason I made this safety pamphlet. Actually, it’s why I made the zombie apocalypse guide as well. If we’re to hope that someday, somehow, society can be rebuilt, we’ll need to insure our species’s survival until then. These 2 guides are to aid you in combatting any subsequent apocalyptic threats that may threaten that dream.

To whomever may read this: live long. Live well, happily, and craftily. If you survive this bomb and live past the gaseous effects, tell your children what you’ve learned here. Have them tell their children. Have those children tell theirs, and them theirs, and on and on until our world is safe again.

I know I likely won’t live to see this utopia, but as long as someone somewhere can…

…it might just be worth it.

  • The Survivors

. . .

(P.S: If you’re wondering why I wouldn’t just write a nuclear fallout guide… er… s-shut up.)

Student Creative Writing

The Ballad of Fozzie Bear: The Need for a Sequel

Leave a comment

By: Daniel Kendle

People lived in fear of the world outside, threatened by all that rattled and moaned. Creatures of the dark kept us towards the light, though they still didn’t aid in our separation from one another. Villagers were scared, not just of monsters, but of their own kin.

Their greatest fear, however, was of an nameless entity. This being, an amorphous force, would come upon unsuspecting folk and …take control of them, for lack of a better term. It’d force their limbs to move, as if a hand was puppeting them from inside. They’d move erratically, strangely, all to kill and consume anything near them. This being was what scared people most of all, the reason why they hid away.

And yet… times change. The cryptid eventually disappeared to who-knows-where. Inventions of weapons and rudimentary transport lessened fears of nighttime monsters enough to become manageable. The world, while still scary, was now met with people ready to defend their kind.

And yet, if you ask someone old and weathered, they’ll still remember the horror. The beast. The parasite. Fear has a way of doing that; lasting with you till the end of time…’

“Did all that really happen, Unca’ Fozzie?”

Robin and Fozzie sat stagnant by the campfire. Robin popped another beetle into his mouth while staring at the latter expectantly.

“Wha-! Yes, that’s how a backstory works,” Fozzie said, flustered. He kept stammering for a bit whilst Robin dazed off, munching on beetles.

“No, no, it’s just that …y’know, it all seems a little far-fetched. Like, body snatchers? Mind control? Really?” Robin questioned.

“Well, ‘mind control’s’ a bit of an oversimplification, Robin, but still, it’s all real. My father had firsthand experience with the time, being among those to first become part of my village’s defense corp.” Fozzie stretched, rolling his jowls. Robin had started shish kabob-ing beetles onto a stick, holding it out to the fire.

“Huh. Neat,” Robin lazily replied.

The pair sat silent for a while, content with the warm glow in front of them. The smoke rose in a straight tower above it, swirling around before disappearing into the infinite black of the starry night. The pines around them seemed to creep ever closer by the hour.

Fozzie yawned, before quietly unpacking a modest rucksack. He pulled out a few supplies: a pair of blankets and pillows, a lantern, a thin dagger, and a metal flask. He moved the flask to his lips, paused, then shrugged and set it down beside him. The two then began unfurling the wool coverings, nestling into the grass beneath them afterwards.

“Uncle Fozzie?” Robin asked.

The bear turned his head slightly and grunted.

“Did …did you ever see the creature?”

Fozzie thought for a moment. He grabbed the flask again and took a swig.

“Yes.”

He took a bucket of water and quickly doused the flame, which sizzled in anger as the pair were enveloped in darkness once again.

In the morning, the adventurers had already well-begun their path once again. Winding through the deep forest, they trudged in small conversation as the trees thickened around them. This went on for a while: meandering small talk that diverted them from the quest at hand. That was, until they reached the maw of the cave.

Fozzie unlatched a small satchel from his hip, rummaging around whilst small knicks and bobs were shuffled around in his palm. He finally pulled out a handful of glowing red balls, like burning metal.

“Take a few,” Fozzie said, holding them out to the frog. Robin hesitantly took a pair, quickly stashing them away. They both paused for a moment, looking at the ground, then nodded at one another. They made their way inside the cave.

The cavern was really more of a tunnel: the opening soon narrowed into a catacomb-like corridor, with bones acting as replacements for your stereotypical stone and granite deposits. Candles dotted the floor at first, part of miniature shrines and zealot altars. These small setups became scarce the further into the cave Fozzie and Robin traveled. The latter preferred this, with the candlelight’s disappearance now masking the skulls that shrieked in bitter silence.

“Do we have a game plan, Uncle Fozzie?”

Fozzie turned, giving his companion a warm smile.

“I do, actually – it all depends on those balms I handed you earlier.” They stopped, once again pulling the molten marbles out and examining them.

“These are Flame Incendiaries, though most knights of the Muppet Kingdom just call em’ Hotshots. All you gotta do is throw one…” Fozzie tensed up, then threw an explosive down their path. Meters away, a miniature explosion created a loud BANG, with star-shaped sparks sprinkling around the blast zone.

“…and the rest is self-explanatory.”

Fozzie chuckled, but then knelt down before Robin with a slightly-more somber expression. He placed his paws on the squire’s shoulders.

“The creature’s susceptible to fire – as are we. Keep this in mind when we face it together; in the middle of battle, you don’t want to be tossing these around all willy-nilly.”

Robin nodded swiftly, and Fozzie’s face softened again. He got up, and they started their march down the cave’s throat again. But then, after rounding a slight corner, they emerged from the spanning black into a dimly-lit clearing.

The two slowly walked into the room. The bone walls here eventually did reduce into familiar dark stone, stalactites acting like the teeth of an angry beast. Flesh-covered bodies served as a cushioned floor, maggots and ticks included. Both tried hard not to vomit as they shuffled into the stone-floor center.

For a minute, they stood there, alert and battle-ready. Yet silence was all that met them, aside from the stray fly buzzing lazily around the corpses.

“Weird,” Robin said. “I thought we’d be plunged right into a fight, not …this.”

Fozzie didn’t answer, instead looking around the room more intently. He could now make out a pile of dried grasses against one wall, nestled behind a small barricade of rocks and stalagmites. He squinted, attempting to infer any little detail about the scene. A bone …a couple scales …another bone …he shook his head and kept peering around the den.

Water dripped. Candlefire danced. Robin inched even closer to his uncle. It was as if the world itself watched in anticipation.

‘Could the map have led me wrong? Baron Gonzo isn’t the untrustworthy sort, so perhaps the beast abandoned this territory long ago. But still …what’s up with this place?” Fozzie held a fist to his chin, stroking it while contemplating. He dazed off into speculation, rarely fidgeting with a trinket on his belt as he thought about the mission.

He was so deep in thought that he only noticed the readied tail’s stinger before it was too late.

CRACK! The whip tail struck the adventurers like a bull charging a paper bag, sending them flying forwards. They hit the wall and sunk to the floor, bodies slack in shock. The paralysis was short-lived, but they still struggled in confusion to spot where the attack had come from.

The creature emerged from the darkness with insectoid and crocodilian legs both plodding in sync as it circled the duo. It was gigantic, around the size of three elephants, with its whiptail five in length. It ended in a blood-stained stinger that was reminiscent of a hornet’s – only now a meter long. This would’ve been its most notable feature if it hadn’t been for the large white mask adorning it, visually-akin to that of a theatre’s stereotypical “happy” mask.

Its growl was like an overlay of a snake’s hiss and a child’s laughter, ominous as it was curious. The taunting sound continued as the adventurers finally regained their composure.

“U-Uncle Fozzie, is that th-!” Robin began, just as the monster launched its tail at them again. Fozzie launched himself at his nephew, knocking them both down. The tail crashed into the wall, sending small bits of rocky debris falling around it.

“Yeah, Robin. It’s …bigger than from when I last saw it!” They stood up again, the beast recoiling its tail back into a tight coil. It roared in rage at their dodge, and charged them again.

The pair split up, running left and right in an attempt to confuse their assailant. Focusing on the bear, the cryptid pounced towards him. Fozzie quickly threw a Hotshot at the beast before it was able to land on him, causing it to rear up and back. Robin let out a cheer as he too found his two pellets again, leading to a monkey-in-the-middle with the heroes trading explosions against their foe’s green hide.

But then Robin suddenly felt weird. The monster had begun to snarl and brace itself, a strange purple aura surrounding its mask. The soot and ash covering it disappeared while the light grew stronger. Buckled down, the beast was shaking in anticipation, while Robin and Fozzie, both clueless as to its intentions, could only watch in slight fear. Has the fight already been won?

Then, the beast screamed. The cave was lit in white light.

Robin screeched as he felt among the sharpest pains known to man erupt in his head. He flattened to the floor, curled into a ball as images were projected into his mind. He saw many things in what seemed like minutes, but was really only a split second.

Robin saw pictures of plants, animals, cities, and people. He saw wars, famine, love, hate, and emotion. He saw death, and life, castles and dragons, the young and old. He saw everything in the universe while his head spiraled. It was as if claws were scraping against his brain, a hand piercing through his back, up his throat, and into his head.

“Robin? Robin?!” Fozzie cried. The beast had vanished, leaving him and Robin alone in the room. His accomplice was shaking in the middle of the room, now attempting to stand. “Are you okay?”

The frog quickly stood stiffly upright. His hands were straight at his sides, like a puppet. He then relaxed a bit, though his knocked knees made Fozzie a little uneasy.

“Look, Robin – the creature’s gone, you don’t have to keep-.” He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, turning him around.

Expecting his friend’s normal groggy face, Fozzie was startled and (literally) floored to see a demonic, contorted face in a perpetual scream. Purple light now shone from inside him, escaping through his eyes and mouth. He moved towards the now-grounded Fozzie, jerking his limbs around even more puppet-like than before.

His face now looked just like the skulls covering the den’s entrance.

“Robin? I-is that …you?” Fozzie’s mouth moved up and down some more, but no words came out. Robin’s face cracked and carved into a slit-mouthed smile. He simply screamed just like the beast had moments ago, unsheathed his glaive, and attempted to bring it down upon the bear’s head.

Fozzie rolled out of the way and quickly bounced back up, crossbow at the ready. Memories flood his mind of his mother, father, normal townsfolk, all under the same spectral influence. He now recognized the purple light; it was just like how those in his town looked that one fateful night.

“I know your tricks, demon,” Fozzie growled. “You came to my village, remember? Killed off half the population? Well, times have changed: I’m not going down without a fight.”

The demon laughed from inside Robin’s body. His demeanor quickly shifted as he flung a shuriken towards Fozzie. The bear blocked it, and the adversaries started trading blows.

Fozzie blocked a sudden slash from the glaive using a bone, then clubbed Robin’s body with it like a baseball bat. The demon was physically stunned, but twisted a webbed fist around the femur and flung it aside – Fozzie with it.

The bear leapt back up and charged towards Robin. They engaged in fist-to-fist combat, with Fozzie carefully making sure not to draw blood from his friend’s controlled body.

The demon was sent back a couple meters, feet sliding against the stone as dust kicked up around them. They sneered, head turning upside-down as he brandished Robin’s dagger. They launched themselves towards Fozzie, who met the blade with a knife of his own.

The two angrily pressed metal to metal for a moment. Fozzie scrunched his face while the demon made Robin’s cheeks stretch from cheek to cheek. Then, he maneuvered a swift side-sweep of Robin’s foot, buckling the bear before grabbing him by his fur. He giggled again, hissing like a serpent of death.

“YOU THINK I DON’T REMEMBER YOUR TOWN?” The demon spat, a mix of Robin’s voice and some deep rumble. He brought his mouth to Fozzie’s ear.

“I WATCHED YOUR PARENTS DIE RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU.”

Fozzie screamed, and flung the demon off of him. It stumbled back, looking up only to see a roundhouse kick from the hero hit him dead in the face. It was launched to the floor again, ricocheting-off as Robin and the demon split apart once again. Robin rolled towards a corner of the den, while the demon quickly grew back into its titanic size.

But Fozzie was prepared. Letting loose a war cry he leaped up, grabbing onto the whiptail as it tried to slash at him. The cryptid attempted to flee, but Fozzie’s rage catapulted him to its neck.

Billowing with anger, Fozzie roared. He swiftly wiped away specks of dirt on the demon’s forehead and plunged the tail’s stinger through it: past the skin, through the skull, and out the other side.

…

“Do you remember anything? The fight, the rambling, being kicked in the head?” Fozzie questioned.

Robin bit into an apple, chewing methodically as he thought.

“Nah, not really. Mostly all just a blur: one minute I was curled up on the floor, the next I’m rolling on the ground.”

Fozzie sighed, shaking his head. He turned back to watch the parade floats inch by. Robin climbed up the small stone wall.

“Still though, Unca’ Fozzie. That all sounds scary, but …did it really happen?”

Fozzie kept watching the floats turn the corner by Beaker’s Beakers. He thought about his parents for a second.

“Yes.”

The pair continued munching on apples, happily chattering as confetti filled the vast blue sky around them.

Student Creative Writing

The Bloodbacks

Leave a comment

By: Daniel Kendle

‘Seen far above, o’ frenzied prince, may the dagger pierce the heart of the enemy,

Trickling blood onto-us, the feeders, yes.

They’re coming, faster and faster, stags in rut…

Lucid serpents that want for the mere chance at substance,

Valhalla…

The blood is seeping. It’s coming quicker, faster

Fangs bared, so much so to deflect a silver “Bullit” 

May the gods see our fate, and envy it;

This night of naked lust and licentious frenzy shall be our curtain act.

Valhalla…’

– Unknown, ‘Vampyr Codos’ (1662, adpt.)

Plunged through the heart of the man, he shrunk down to the floor once again, hand briefly hitting wool sheets. He slumped down further, coiling into a fetal position as he weakly attempted to clasp his neck.

Magnus stepped back a bit, then forward. He peered down at the man – Arthur, as he would soon learn – and prodded their head with his shoe, turning it over. It was still fresh, though quickly turning gray. From his mouth, his teeth still had hints of fuschia spittle, tongue shredded along the top. A thin red line dribbled onto the floor, inside the wood cracks, and below. 

His fangs were slowly turning black.

Magnus smirked, and pushed the head to face away again. He straightened himself, adjusting his frill and brushing down his coat. With his job done, he relaxed, silently rolling his shoulders for a few seconds. The moon’s ascent wasn’t any faster than normal; who needed to hurry?

“A bat-toothed lunatic, that’s who,” Magnus answered (he often answered his own questions; a egotistical relic from childhood). He snickered, poking the vampire’s arm with the blunt of his mace. It quickly grew into a loose laugh as he shook his head, leaving the bedroom.

The arm he’d poked had begun to melt into dust.

The castle’s labyrinthine make was of little difficulty to navigate when entering, but after the matter of the bounty, it seemed impossible.

Upon first trespassing, Magnus made note of the path to the duke’s room: 2 lefts, a right, down the under hall, and up the spiral steps. From there, accessing the sleeping chamber was a simple affair, all thanks to a hidden entrance just outside of the bedroom’s door. Yet now, only minutes after going inside the chamber, everything seemed scrambled.

“Bloody vampires,” he gritted, and started off down the hallway. To make matters worse, the secret entrance had disappeared too. “Even post-mortem, they make things hard.”

These grumbling continued for a while as the maze closed in around him (cussing inevitably following suit). A window here, a suit of armor there… but suddenly, they’re gone? Something wasn’t adding up for the mercenary.

Panic began to set in. Without a safe drop from a window, Magnus was stuck on the highest floor. He started to jog in laps around the halls, darting through rooms he’d already explored in search of something new. He began to hyperventilate, dancing between taking his chances with jumping through a window after all or staying put. He brushed these thoughts aside, continuing down a manic trail, rounding and rounding in circles.

Finally, he stopped. Before Magnus was a grand dining hall, one impossible to have missed earlier.

‘Wasn’t another hallway here?’ He thought, though nonetheless entered. At the end was a pair of diverting staircases leading to 2 exits upon a miniature second floor. Both were lit by hallowing red candlelight, but only the left door had –

“The rope!” Magnus said happily, fist pumping slightly. He’d fastened a white knot around one of the first doors he’d encountered when first entering. While he had doubted its use in navigating the corridors prior, Magnus silently thanked himself over and over while he ran to the final checkpoint.

Suddenly, just before him, smoke began to coil and build. A tower of navy mist spiraled up in front of the adventurer, hitting the ceiling and stretching outwards like a tree. It churned for a few moments, eyes of demons visible through the vortex’s cracks. They screamed in agony, briefly stabbing claws towards Magnus’ chest.

Then, just as soon as it started, the smoke started to adjourn, wafty puffs slowly dissipating into the warmly-lit room once again. Amidst the ruckus of knocked-over furniture from the wind’s appearance, Magnus’ eyes were soon acclimated to the world once again.

“Magnus,” a voice calmly said, “it’s been some time, I opine?”

“Dracula.” Magnus tightened his grip on his whip.

“You appear to be stuck, given your…less than collected bravado.”

“I’m fine. Really – there’s a door leading to the front gate right over the-!” He started, then gasped. The doors had disappeared, replaced with the same thick stone bricks that surrounded the rest of the castle. “B-bu… wha-?”

“This is a tricky set of corridors. Tsk.” Dracula shook his head. “Everyone knows a vampire’s lair becomes the bloodsucker’s tomb once slain. Not only theirs though, but anyone else’s who is found inside.”

“Never mind that!” Magnus roared. “Where’s the exit! You really can’t be telling me that-”

“You’re trapped?” Dracula replied. “Unfortunately, yes.”

At this point, Magnus began to panic further, eyes darting around the walls for a potential escape route.

“Please, Dracula. Is there any way to get out of here?”

“Well…Dracula trailed off, “there is…one way out.”

. . .

“Alright, so (oh, let’s see here)…er, do I jump with B?”

“No, n- here, you jump with A, and melee attack with B,” Magnus interjected, leafing through the manual. “Yeah, then switch your weapon with Y, and reload with X.”

“Oh, right. Uh…okay, I think I can…” Dracula paused, “I think I can do this. Give the magazine here, I wanna reference it.

“What? Dude, this, ahem, journal is vintage, 2001 vintage. You’re lucky I’m unsheathing it from my binder already.”

“I’d hardly expect the first ‘Halo’ game to garner such an occultist fanbase,” Dracula sniffed. He happily watched the Master Chief run around in circles, all while Jackal Snipers shot at him.

“See, this…this i-is fun, man!” He happily stammered.

“God, man…” Magnus groaned. Still, he grabbed a second controller.

And the two new friends played and laughed all day long.

Student Creative Writing

Slit-mouth woman (Kuchisake-onna)

Leave a comment

By: Seng Yang

Growing up in a small town in Japan, I always found comfort in the familiar routine of my life. My name is Emi, and I’ve lived in this quiet village for as long as I can remember. My parents owned a quaint little bookstore, and I spent most of my childhood lost in the pages of countless novels. The stories I read were my escape, my way of exploring the world beyond our serene surroundings.

As I grew older, I took a part-time job at a local convenience store to help with college expenses. The job was mostly uneventful, stocking shelves, ringing up customers, and occasionally dealing with the odd late-night shopper. But it was on one of these late shifts that my life took a turn into the surreal.

It was a chilly autumn evening, and the air had a bite to it that made me pull my jacket tighter around me. The streets were eerily quiet, the only sound being the rustle of leaves in the wind. I had just finished my shift and was walking home, lost in thoughts about an upcoming exam, when I saw her, a woman standing under a flickering streetlight, her face partially obscured by a surgical mask.

“Am I beautiful?” she asked, her voice soft yet chilling.

I hesitated, recalling the stories I’d heard from my grandmother about Kuchisake-onna, the slit-mouthed woman. “Yes,” I replied cautiously.

She removed her mask, revealing a grotesque, gaping wound that stretched from ear to ear. “How about now?”

My heart pounded in my chest. I knew the wrong answer could be deadly. Frozen in place, my grandmother had told me, “If she ever approaches you asking that, describe her appearances as average. It will then confuse her and she’ll leave you alone.”

“You’re average looking,” I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady.

She stared at me for what felt like an eternity before slowly putting the mask back on. Without another word, she turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving me standing there, trembling and breathless.

Since that night, I have never walked alone after dark. The legend of Kuchisake-onna is no longer just a story to me, it’s a terrifying reality I will never forget. Now, every time I pass that flickering streetlight, I can’t help but quicken my pace, my mind replaying that chilling encounter. The boundaries between legend and reality have blurred, and I live with the constant reminder that some stories are more than just tales. They are warnings.

Student Creative Writing

We’re Alive

Leave a comment

By: Daniel Kendle

*Note: The following story is a work of horror. It contains graphic imagery, and depictions of violence including self harm.

Vines coiled. Leaves flitted. The world was at pause, yet the jungle roared in praise at its newest creation: the very thing I watched in horror from across the garden sanctum.

It was tall, with the body shape of an average man, yet constructed from what looked like peat and various flora mashed together in an unholy amalgamation of death, one that looked an astral god in the eyes with malice. It was slightly bent, the bark and mud groaning from their new roles. It was a monster. It was alive.

My clothes, no longer splendid and clean from the garden’s chaotic innards, looked like rags compared to the creature’s rake-like claws. Huge and strong, they were the type of things one would expect out of an extinct animal, something ancient in look and primal in sound. Yet here we were, watching one another from opposite ends of the glass facility. What was once a folk story was real, breathing, eyes twitching. It was silent, but internally I could feel it screaming, hissing in a rage that could only emanate from a beast burdened by the eventual stroll of time.

It took a step forward. Plants rattled and shuffled, the flytraps adorning its left shoulder – or what could be seen as one – contorted ever so slightly. They were the creatures voices, part of a hive mind.

I was in a state of paradoxical stasis. I was afraid, like I imagined anyone would’ve been, yet I was also entranced. Delusioned, yes, but nonetheless intrigued by the immortal shape that skulked towards me. It was halfway across the garden’s square by now, its chrysalis now resembling a broken egg.

It reached me. Spores danced like angels in the aether. We stood, only feet away from each other, trying to make out what the other’s intentions were. Mine were of fearful lust. Their intentions, meanwhile, were something beyond this world’s mortal coil. Something beyond my stupid brain of a mangy ape.

I finally stepped back, then ran.

I didn’t leave my apartment for a couple of weeks. My fridge was full, but my stomach wasn’t. I couldn’t think straight, talk right, move like the hedonistic wretch I used to be a month ago. The monster plagued my mind. It was as if a demon had burrowed into my throat, then my stomach, and then my lungs. I wanted it out.

But even after a few hours, the feeling wasn’t gone, that emotion that called from inside me like a bat rising out of Hell. The fictitious demon continued to coil around me, its snaking body squeezing my neck like a python. I wanted to vomit in retort, but my lame throat forbade it. I curled up on the couch, breathing heavily. I finally tried to sleep.

In my trance of anguish, I found again that sensual desire from my encounter with the creature. I was stunned at this rediscovery, and blushed. For the first time since that fateful night I smiled, bashful. I imagined the creature, now not under the umbrella of fear, but under one of compassion. This umbrella was one of lust, of an attraction towards this false human.

Just before entering my tired paralysis, I toyed with the creature and I like dolls in a house. I could imagine their thick vines and bark claws raking across my face. Embraced in celestial love, I dreamed of us together. I wanted, needed their touch. Why, in that moment I could almost picture the pair of us in their nighttime world again, vines allaying my worries as they ensnared my naked skin…

My world was slowly becoming one of flora and fungi. My cat was slowly morphing into a tiger; a beast that wanted to eat me alive. Its cries rang out through my concrete jungle, thick and drenched with sweat.

My mind was blotted with an incurable smog. The end was before me. Time was no longer on my side.

Days later, my fingernails were on the bathroom floor. Blood was shed, as were tears. They reminded me of its eyes: apricot, with hints of deep coral pink littered around the edges. The difference was red strewn about my hands – and the wall.

I wanted to scream. This apparition lurking inside me hadn’t left. The thing in the garden was the only thing keeping me sane, though at this point my love for it had blossomed, for lack of a better term. A name had been endowed onto it. I didn’t just crave it anymore; my faith in it had reached its climax. It was now less of a physical want, but instead a psychological fix that festered in me.

A parasite.

I bashed my head against the wall. My cat scratched at the door in a desperate attempt to calm me. It was an intrusion, and in response I continued bashing. Bashing and crashing and bashing until…

Red.
Blood.
Relief.
I was panting, smiling. For a moment, the parasite left me, abandoning my vessel that had become polluted with the deranged clouds of the deceased. Smoke filled my lungs. Acid filled my gullet. My brain was like a hurricane that had subsided, only to return in a new form.

The cat was becoming a distraction.

Desire balled up inside me. That longing for demise, that need for the creature ate me alive like animals to rancid meat. I was that meat. I needed to die by their hand.

My hands were laughing at me, snickering at me, jackals basking in the glow of a kill. My knife joined them. My blood joined them. My cat joined them.

The garden was my fix. My mind couldn’t take it anymore; I needed to return. By crawling across my apartment to the door, grabbing my coat and wrapping it loosely around my ragged body. I stood up, bent at the knees, joints knocked together, and left my home.

The walk was quick, even though it took a half hour. I couldn’t remember much after; my blurred vision made seeing difficult, memory impossible. Humans and humans walked past me, some staring, others more direct in their traveling. I was like a lost ship at sea, until I found my lighthouse.

The park where I’d found the garden was just ahead of me, who was flailing in desperation at the sight. I sprinted – or “hobbled,” to be accurate – towards a thicket near the eastern quadrant of the fields. There it was: a bramble of shrubbery that stretched high above the oak and aspen trees, a cloud of doom. My sanctuary.

I tore through the vegetation. My stumps of hands bled out once again, but at this point my mind was dulled enough to barely notice. My brain, burdened with evolution, was escaping its chains and about to be set free.

Breaking through the final wall of foliage revealed the garden once again. The same chain-link fence, derelict gate…it all came back to me. I ran into the sanctum a moment later.

It was relatively-simple finding my way through the garden again. A left, right, two lefts, then straight. The dead architects had done well in the maze’s design.

Finally I ran into the square. It was night again; the sky’s complexion was almost identical to the fateful night weeks before – just like the monster’s.

It rose. Bark snapped against other bark; vines knotted around other vines. An air of dread was exhaled by its green, meat-hungry servants. The beauty ascended, slathered in a coat of moss and love. I felt weak. The monster was awake.

My hands were fighting at my sides. I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed towards it, tears streaming down my cheeks, demons roaring in raucous excitement. I leapt towards it, hands outstretched, body wide.

As my life was sucked away, I began to resist. The vines around me began to prick my skin, and the leaves sliced through flesh. I struggled a bit, my mind free. The parasite was gone, only now, I was too. I began to scream; the forest as well. For once, the monster let out a cry of anger, of rage. It shrieked, desperate for me as I was once for it. We struggled for a moment, a cage of bones starting to encircle me. Now that I was with it again, the world had changed. The body of a human gave way to a thinly-veiled structure of mud and dirt. Thinking jaws of flytraps wilted, alongside the rest of its body.

The pair of us were sinking, down, down, into the soil below. I yelled, hoping someone special would hear and be my ally. In the moment, I felt that recollection of consciousness. My vision sharpened, and my trance was broken. I was alive again, the monster dead.

Embraced in eternal love and death, the plants and I sank into the Earth, silent as the forest night.