A Clock in Time
By: Esther Kaoum, Maguette Diop, Mischa Gaju, Nihal Theodore
In a forgotten village nestled between two silent mountains, an old clock tower stood, its hands frozen at 3:17. No one knew why—until Mira, a curious child with a knack for questions, climbed its spiral stairs.
At the top, she found a dusty journal beside the gears. It belonged to Elias, a watchmaker who once loved a woman named Alia. She vanished one rainy afternoon, and Elias, heartbroken, stopped the clock at the exact moment she disappeared, vowing never to let time move without her.
Mira, tears in her eyes, wound the clock gently. As it ticked forward, wind swept through the valley, bells chimed, and the village stirred with something long forgotten—hope.
Downstairs, an old woman with silver hair entered the square, whispering Mira’s name.
“Alia?” Mira asked.
The woman smiled.
“Time keeps us waiting, but love always finds its way.”
The clock chimed again.
The Prince That Never Became a King
By: Mamady Keita, Funsho Arikawe, Samuel N’Guessan, and Andrew Muzigo
“But I’m supposed to be the king!” screamed Noumar, tears welling up in his eyes while watching his father’s emotionless face. “Say something! Tell me why!” said Noumar.
His father could not look at his son for he felt disgust in his face. “ You will never become a king, you are the most ignorant child I have ever met. I would rather let this kingdom perish than to see the day you rule”; said his Father.
Filled with rage, Noumar clenched his fists and stormed out of the throne room saying, “ Watch me father, I will be king and there is nothing you can do about it”. His father remained silent, knowing his son was an incompetent child.
The next day, Noumar thought of different ways he could be the king, and the only way he could think of was to murder his father. So the next day, Noumar returned to the throne room, and with each step, he felt the air get heavier. Deep down, Noumar knew he could not bear the guilt of killing his father, even if it meant becoming king.
So as he dropped to his knees, sword clattering on the floor, he heard his father saying: “Just as I thought, you were always too weak willed to become king, always unable to make a decision, which is why I will make it for you.” So to Noumar’s disbelief, his father slit his own throat, saying: “There is no need for a prince in a kingless kingdom.”
The Mirror Knows
By: Aida Senghore
Cassie hadn’t wanted to go to the old house. The one at the edge of town, the one everyone avoided. Her grandmother had always warned her about it—told her that something was wrong with that place. But when her father passed away and the lawyer handed her the key, she had no choice but to confront the truth.
The house was silent when she stepped inside. Dust swirled in the air, disturbed by the creaking of the wooden floors beneath her feet. The smell of mildew and decay clung to the walls. She could feel something in the air—an oppressive weight that made her chest feel tight.
She pulled a flashlight from her bag, its beam flickering across faded wallpaper and empty rooms. The place was a wreck, but there was something oddly familiar about it. The photographs on the walls, the furniture, the design… it all felt like home. It felt wrong.
Cassie found herself drawn to the basement door. She didn’t know why—something in her gut told her to avoid it, yet her hand reached for the cold knob, twisting it slowly. The door creaked open, revealing a staircase that descended into darkness. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to know.
Her foot hit the first step, the wood groaning under her weight. The air grew colder as she descended, the beam of the flashlight trembling in her hand. The basement was as barren as the rest of the house, except for one thing.
The mirror.
It stood in the center of the room, framed in black iron, its surface smooth and unnaturally clean compared to the rest of the room’s filth. Cassie’s breath caught in her throat. There was something about the mirror that pulled at her—something magnetic and insidious.
She walked toward it, compelled. As she gazed into the glass, her reflection stared back at her, but there was something wrong with it. The figure in the mirror wasn’t quite her—her eyes were too wide, her mouth too stretched, as if mocking her. Cassie stepped back, her pulse quickening. The reflection, however, didn’t move. It just… watched.
Then, it smiled.
Cassie stumbled back, the flashlight clattering to the ground, and before she could scream, the reflection of herself in the mirror raised a hand—her hand—and pressed it against the glass. But as it did, it wasn’t just her reflection anymore. The thing behind the glass reached out, its fingers stretching unnaturally long. The glass rippled, as if the mirror itself was alive, a living, breathing entity.
Her heart skipped a beat, and before she could turn to flee, the reflection in the mirror stepped forward, pulling itself through the glass. It wasn’t her. Not anymore. The creature that emerged was pale, with sickly, skin-clad bones, eyes too wide, teeth far too sharp.
Cassie backed away, her breath catching in her throat. “W-What…?”
It grinned, a grin too wide to be human. “Everything you believed was a lie, Cassie,” it whispered, its voice a rasping echo of her own. “You were never supposed to find out, but now you’re here, and it’s too late.”
And then, it lunged.
Cassie stumbled backward into the corner, but it was too fast. The creature—it—was on her, its cold, skeletal hands around her throat, suffocating her. She clawed at its grip, but her fingers passed through its body like mist.
In the last moments of her consciousness, the creature’s voice echoed one final time in her mind: “You’re not real, Cassie. You were never supposed to be.”
The mirror, now reflecting nothing but blackness, stood silent in the corner.
Back upstairs, in the decaying house, an old photograph on the mantelpiece caught the light. Cassie’s face stared back, frozen in time, but in the background, another figure—pale and smiling—lingered just beyond the edge of the frame.
The Name She Never Knew
By: Nihal Theodore
Rain tapped softly against the attic window as Clara opened an old cedar trunk. The hinges creaked. Her grandmother’s house used to feel warm and safe, but today, after the funeral, it felt empty. Like something important was missing.
She dug through old photo albums and postcards until her fingers brushed against a sealed envelope. Her name was written on it in her grandmother’s handwriting. Clara hesitated, then opened it.
“If you’re reading this, I am gone,” the letter said. “But there’s something you should know.”
Clara held her breath as she read. The letter talked about a man named James Whitaker, her grandmother’s first husband. Everyone thought he had died in the war. But he hadn’t. Her grandmother had just let people believe that. The letter ended with a strange sentence: “What I buried in the garden will explain why.”
That night, Clara went out into the garden and knelt beside the stone angel. The ground was soft from the rain. She dug until she hit something hard. A tin box. Inside were black-and-white photos, a wedding ring, and a marriage certificate. Her grandmother had married James. Not the grandfather Clara had grown up with.
Her hands shook. Back inside, she looked through more old papers. On her birth certificate, there was a faded note: “Adopted, 1999.”
Two days later, while people whispered their goodbyes at the funeral, an old man walked up to her. He looked tired, but kind.
“You look just like your father,” he said.
Clara looked at him, confused. “Did you know my grandmother?”
He nodded. “I was her husband. James. She had left me to protect you both.”
Clara didn’t know what to say. Everything she thought she knew about her family had changed. One letter, one night in the garden, and one unexpected visitor had told her a story she never knew was hers.
There is a Monster in the Woods
By: Bruce Sauber- Schatz
There’s a monster in the woods. That was the spark that stoked the fire that ignited Mosier that early fall. Moiser is a small cozy town on the northern point of Oregon that rests neatly on the Columbia river and is just east of the more known town, Hood river. Mosier is one of those towns that you can drive past before you realize you’ve driven into it in the first place, but nonetheless it’s home to roughly 500 people. It was September 1st, the trees had just barely started to turn orange and yellow, the breeze blew cool that night and it was pleasantly overcast. A call came in that night, a call to the police station.
“Hood river police department, what’s your emergency?” The new hire spoke politely and was a bit too bubbly for this late at night. A raspy voice belonging to a young man spoke on the other end of the line, he sounded as if we were running. “Help! Police, this is Johnny Clarkson. 206 washington street in Mosier. I need help.” The new hire spoke still a bit too bubbly for the situation. “What seems to be the issue?” The line was cutting in and out and running was heard from Jhonny’s end. The only thing the new hire heard before the line cut was: “There’s a monster in the woods.”
That night an officer was sent, his name was Rick Headlong. Rick was woken by his phone and he slumped out of bed leaving his wife still fast asleep. He slipped into his uniform and was out the door. He drove to the house of interest, 206 washington street. Mosier was dead quiet and dark as usual, for a town with only five hundred people it was no surprise. He pulled down one of the few side streets and arrived at his destination. A crowd of 8 people stood outside the house. Officer Headlong pulled over and stepped out, the crowd looked at him with mixed expressions most with hope but a few with slight disappointment. The oldest of the crowd called out as the Officer approached “We were hoping they would send the army. I doubt that side arm could do much good.” The situation immediately tensed at the mention of the gun but the officer spoke clearly. “I wasn’t told much about the situation…what seems to be the problem?” A young man, no older than 17 stepped forward, his clothing was tattered and he had a tired and almost wild look in his eye. He spoke clearly, “My name’s Johnny, sir. There is a monster in the woods.”
Johnny was taken in for questioning that night, he spoke of a large beast that stood on all fours and had bright translucent white skin. The word had already spread in Mosier, there was a monster in the woods. It was spoken like a fact and only a few of the 500 of the townsfolk chose not to believe it. “It’s a bear,” Some said. “It’s a demon from hell” said others. “It’s a murder in disguise” said a few. By morning the town was already alive and buzzing with fear, suspicion, and distrust. An investigation was done by none other than Officer Headlong, the only one willing to take the case, but even with the help of the locals the case went cold. It was entirely inconclusive. The people of the town called a meeting with Officer Headlong as a “special guest” on the night of September 20th, when the wind blew cold and the leaves fell freely.
“Quiet everyone” called Mr. Williamson, he was a highly respected member of the small community and a natural leader ever since he was young. The crowd hushed immediately upon hearing his voice. Officer Headlong sat awkwardly up in front of everyone, all 500 townsfolk eyeing him. Mr. Williamson cleared his throat and addressed the crowd: “We all know why we’re here tonight, and I don’t have to say it. Officer Headlong here has been working hard to help us-” An angry murmur creeped through the crowd but Williamson continued. “Although some have addressed complaints about how he hasn’t well…found anything let’s still be respectful here tonight.” A light applause followed and Williamson rejoined the crowd as Officer Headlong walked up to the old wooden podium. A woman rose up and asked the first question “Are our children safe?” The crowd erupted into scared and angry murmurs showing they had the same question on their minds. Officer headlong cleared his throat and straightened his police cap out of habit. “I cannot answer that, ma’am. Neither I or anyone else have found any evidence of a monster or any other-” The crowd became a sea of angry yells. “What do you mean you don’t know?” “Are your little friends over in Hood river too busy to worry about us?” “Is there a monster or not?” Officer Headlong slowly calmed the crowd down and then the next question came, this time from the old man he met on the first night of the investigation. “You mean to tell us that a beast that almost killed a young man is now nowhere to be found?” Officer headlong merely nodded. The night went on and more and more people did nothing but ridicule and shame the Officer. He left the town hall that night in a dark mood.
On the way home he stopped at a bar and happened to come across Johnny, he was laughing and drinking although he was underage. We spotted the officer and waved him over and spoke in a slurred speech “Headlong! I missed you!”. Officer Headlong spoke “John. I didn’t see you at the town meeting tonight…” Johnny merely laughed “That’s because I was here! I didn’t think my story would catch on!” Officer headlong looked at Johnny critically “Story?” Johnny nodded. “You didn’t think the damn monster was real did you? I made it up obviously.”
That was the last thing the bartender saw before the Officer escorted him outside and according to the townsfolk Johnny didn’t return that night.
Johnny’s body was found mutilated and broken in the river 5 days later. Officer Headlong was questioned later because he was the last person seen with him. The officer said only one thing about the situation.
There’s a monster in the woods.
Checkmate
By: Arshiya Baheti
The scream came before the lights went off. That was the first play.
Earlier that day, the top floor of Mellington High’s library had the silent stillness of a chess match in its final stages. Four seniors: Monica, Tara, Chad and Jonah, occupied their usual table. They were surrounded by energy drinks, books and a lot of tension. ‘A study session’ but they weren’t studying.
They were circling around each other like players on a board, each one with an unexpected next move. “You always play the queen too early,” Chad whispers, nodding at Monica’s notes. “And you always underestimate her,” Monica answered smoothly, sliding a rook-shaped eraser into her pencil case. The storm outside roared. Ms. Stacy, the old librarian, appeared like a bishop out of nowhere. “Power’s acting up” she warned. “If it cuts, stay here. Don’t act stupid.”
At 9:56 p.m, the lights flicker
At 10:02, Ms. Stacy went to check it out
At 10:13, the scream echoed
They found her body near the staircase, a knife buried deep between her shoulder blades. No signs of an entry. All doors locked. Phones dead. And only 4 players left on the board.
“This has to be a joke,” Tara muttered. “We were just here, all of us.”
Jonah, pale, spoke in a cracked voice “One of us isn’t playing fair.”
Paranoia set in like a contagious disease. They argued, accused, split up, but not for too long.
By 11:40, Tara was found collapsed in the lost and found, her mouth hanging open mid word. At 12:04, Chad’s flashlight switched off. When they found him, it looked like he’d be surprised by an abrupt checkmate.
Only Monica and Jonah remained now. “Please,” said Jonah, backing away, and breathing shallowly. “You don’t think I- I—“
Monica stepped forward slowly, like a queen closing in on an empty, helpless king. “I never do” she said. Then she struck.
The knife slithered cleanly. Jonah gasped, crumpled to the floor. Monica knelt beside him, smiling, “You should’ve known. I’ve been playing this gambit since move one.”
She stood, blood on her hands, a shine in her eyes.
Outside, the storm died down. Inside, the lights flickered back on.
”They never suspect the one who screams first”
She yelled, terrified, trembling, sobbing.
Checkmate.
