[INTRO MUSIC PLAYS]
ELENA: Hello and welcome back to Hoo’s at the Writing Center! I’m Elena
KARISSA: I’m Karissa
SARAH: I’m Sarah
KIMBERLY: And I’m Kimberly. A month ago we asked the SU community to send us their spookiest stories and after much deliberation, we’ve chosen three stories to share with you all. So sit back, relax, and prepare to get spooked!
ELENA: “A Matter of Perception,” by Josephine Whittock.
The house on the end of Chaucer Drive was haunted. Everybody knew that.
It was the kind of urban legend that started out the same as all the others, though the details changed with every retelling. Someone important had died there, or multiple people had been murdered, or it was used as a home for the terminally ill. Nobody was ever clear on the details, aside from the advice to stay the hell away from it.
Of course, teenagers had almost patented the idea of disregarding that kind of thing.
It was for this reason why Mira was currently standing in front of the aforementioned address. She hadn’t thought that her classmates were serious about the dare, given that it sounded like it had been ripped straight from the pages of a bad young-adult novel. Yet, the look in their eyes had convinced her that, yes, they were indeed goading her to stay the night inside the suburban neighborhood’s resident creepy house. She felt like she had read about this exact scenario in every horror novel marketed to her age bracket, but she couldn’t exactly un-hear the words once she had registered them. Mira’s social standing was already terminally low among the other tenth-graders in her class, and she had been afraid turning them down would mean becoming permanently ostracized. Against her better judgement, she had agreed.
Her footsteps sounded dull against the stone steps leading to the front porch, the wood of the patio complaining as it bore her weight. Mira turned to look at the five girls who had trailed her to the fringes of 1847 Chaucer Drive’s overgrown front garden, waving.
“Come back to Darcy’s house in the morning if you’re still alive,” Serena, the ringleader of the group, said in a flat tone. “We won’t have too much fun without you.”
Mira recognized this attempt for what it was - a way to separate her from the group without arousing too much of a fuss. Nevertheless, she nodded her head, picked up her sleeping bag, and headed inside without saying a single word. She’d always prided herself on her practicality.
The brass doorknob felt slick and cold against her flushed palms, moist from the condensation that had built up over years of neglect. She wasn’t surprised that the place smelled disgusting, but the house’s odor was different to how she had imagined it. She had expected the musty smell of dust, decay and decomposition, moldering wood and wet paper. Instead, the wind blowing through the broken windows smelled strangely sweet, the smell of overripe fruit and wet rot. Mira pressed her thumb into her closed fist to keep from gagging and pulled out her phone, activating the flashlight.
She appeared to be standing in what had once been the living room, the only remnants of which were a large brick fireplace and a moldy couch, leaking stuffing onto the pockmarked floor. The walls lacked any kind of decoration, other than peeling floral wallpaper in a nauseating shade of yellow. Anything valuable had been stolen or relocated a long time ago, when the old Victorian house had lost its final tenants. Mira already knew she didn’t want to use any of the furniture as a makeshift bed, and she had her sleeping bag with her anyways. The hardwood would be a much safer bet. The only question was whether or not to explore the rest of the house, or settle for bunkering down here.
She opted instead to move into the dining room, which had less broken windows and a table she could crawl under in case the upper floors had any leaks. It was no less ominous, but at least here she felt the tiniest bit sheltered. The doors to all the cabinets had been opened and emptied; the dining table lacked any chairs. The air here was much more choked with dust, and even her best efforts couldn’t save her from a coughing fit.
At least the wallpaper here isn’t yellow, Mira thought as she unfurled her sleeping bag and tucked it under the table. True, some would say decaying mint green isn’t any better, but I am not one of them. Christ, yellow is disgusting.
Her internal monologue was interrupted by a peculiar sound. It was not the kind of sound that immediately signaled her fight-or-flight response, something that indicated her circumstances were about to take a dire turn. Rather, it was simply unusual. Mira’s eyes darted to the dining room door as she became aware of a very slight whistling noise, slow and almost pulsing in its rhythm.
It’s just the wind. She knew it was there, for she felt the chill of it slip past the hems of her pajamas, slowly but surely cooling her adrenaline-hot skin. The wind makes noises like that all the time. Don’t freak out. They’ll mock you forever if you freak out. She slid into her sleeping bag and tried to ignore the feeling of accumulated grime on the floor, instead focusing on the ambient noise of the late evening.
It wasn’t exactly like the whistle of the wind she was used to, though, Mira mused; not quite similar enough to the slow crescendo of the night wind outside of her second-story bedroom window. That wind rustled the identical trees in every backyard around her cul-de-sac, something she had grown to associate with the slow descent into sleep. This was more alternating intervals of light breezes and heavy gusts, slow and uncanny. It shouldn’t have put her at ease, yet somehow she wasn’t met with as much resistance as she expected as she surrendered herself to unconsciousness. She couldn’t put her finger on what the wind reminded her of until she had almost entirely dropped off.
It’s almost like the house is breathing.
As soon as this thought entered her mind, Mira felt a very strange sensation flit across her now-open eyes. It was impossible to describe, but the closest she could approximate was the feeling of peeling a plastic sheet away from a fresh sheaf of binder paper, the cling of the static electricity as the two were separated. It could have lasted anywhere from two seconds to an hour, yet it seemed to be over before it had even begun. For the first time since entering the house, Mira felt a glacial shudder travel down her spine.
Mind over matter, Mira. It’s just a house. It takes more than this to frighten you.
Yet her mind never seemed to settle as easily as it had before this alien feeling, pupils flicking back and forth across every shadow that snaked its way across the seafoam walls. She shivered, a feeling akin to television snow buzzing and settling in her limbs like dead weights. Something unknown seemed to be crawling around in her skin, prickly and foreign. The paranoia lasted a good hour before her body, eventually, shut itself off for the night.
Mira honestly couldn’t tell if she expected to awaken the next morning unharmed. Logic can only do so much in the face of fear, and she was relieved to find none of her limbs missing and her skin unmarked. The only casualty was her clothes, which had collected a fair bit of dust overnight, and even that was easily brushed away. The house seemed so much less terrifying in the daytime, and it was with only a little spark of fear dwelling in her stomach that Mira packed up her things and headed back to Darcy’s place.
The walk back felt so much longer than it had the first time, and a lot more confusing. Her phone had given up the ghost of its battery overnight, and without any kind of map the winding roads of the suburb seemed so much more complicated. Mira’s head felt slightly swollen, her mind disoriented and even a little dizzy. She traipsed down avenues, then roads, then lanes, trying her best to recall the path back to the house of her so-called friends. The homes all looked so similar now, painted varying hues of eggshell and cream, or even yellow if the resident was especially daring. The sun felt so hot, beating down on Mira’s back like a watchful eye.
I can’t keep walking in circles, she thought eventually after passing one of the houses she was sure she had seen before. Let me ask someone for help. Everyone’s so nice here, I’m sure they’ll understand.
All of the houses looked like fair game, so she picked one at random and staggered over to the doorbell. It was answered by a lady who looked like she was approaching her mid-30s, with a brunette bob and earrings that drooped downwards in metal spirals. Her visage swam in front of Mira’s eyes, distorting her ever so slightly. Her limbs appeared too long, her eyes too large, her waist unrealistically pinched.
“Hello, how can I help you? My goodness, you look positively unwell.”
“Sorry, can I ask for directions. I don’t mean to impose, but I’m trying to find...” Mira racked her brain for Darcy’s address. “Clarion Street? I think?”
“You’ve overshot a bit, I’m afraid.” The woman’s eyes glimmered, shining and undulating like a mirage in the desert. “It’s just to the left, a few blocks that way. Head left, then take a right once you reach Shelby Lane. It should be just there.”
Mira thanked the woman, who smiled and gave her a friendly, if curt, goodbye. When the door closed, Mira could have sworn she saw the woman’s face contort into disgust behind the bubbled glass, as if Mira gave off the aura of someone with a contagious disease.
Maybe I smell funny after spending the night in that house, Mira reasoned. Her directions should be sound, at least.
Mira followed her advice and headed left, but stopped after reaching a cul-de-sac after just two blocks. She backtracked, but Shelby Lane was nowhere to be seen.
Okay, maybe the woman got the street names wrong. I’ll go back and ask.
She tried to head back to where the woman’s house was, but to her surprise, the house she had chosen was nowhere to be seen. Or, worse, maybe it was, and she had no way of distinguishing. They all looked identical to her, and she couldn’t even remember the flowers planted in the front yard or the stained-glass designs on the front door.
“Maybe I’m just remembering wrong,” Mira said to herself, sweat beginning to drip down her forehead. “I’m probably just a block off. I’ll check, and she’ll be there, and it’ll all be fine. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
Internally, Mira was panicking. Something got into me, she couldn’t help but think, something burrowed into me, under my skin, into my brain, back at the house. It’s messing me up.
She couldn’t find the woman’s house again. Nor Shelby Lane, nor Clarion Street. Everything twisted and blurred together, but as she walked and walked and walked, the dizziness began to abate, her vision clearing.
This would have been comforting, but the clean lines of the streets continued to stretch onwards.
She lost track of how many houses she knocked on, pleading for directions. Every door was answered by a middle-aged woman, every one of them distorted and friendly and disgusted by her appearance. She can’t remember where she put down her sleeping bag, and she hadn’t come across it again in her endless repetition of the suburban sprawl. Her vision remained stubbornly clear, and when she couldn’t blame the women’s appearances on her dizziness, she blamed the tears filling her eyes and dropping to the hot pavement.
What did it do to me? Why does everything look so weird? Why doesn’t my head hurt anymore?
The final woman she thought to ask was the worst of them yet, limbs stretched to the point where it couldn’t be blamed on heat exhaustion. Her skin was the chalky white of fresh milk, her wasp waist so thin she resembled an hourglass more than a human. Her eyes loomed, unblinking, fathomless.
“Are you lost, dear?”
Mira wanted to nod, but her whole body felt like it had been filled with cement. She rubbed at her eyes with a closed fist, skin clammy and cold. The woman leant down to touch her shoulder with fingers as long as pencils, but recoiled once meeting her skin.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s something terribly wrong here, my dear.”
Mira bit her lip, trying to hold back a sob and failing miserably.
“I, I know. I just spent the night in, in the abandoned house, my friends dared me to, and I think a ghost got inside of me or I inhaled something poisonous or-”
The woman made a noise of understanding, clucking her tongues.
“That explains it. Why, you must be frightened out of your mind, dear.”
Mira nodded again. At least someone seemed to understand what was going on. Maybe this woman was a scientist, or someone who studied toxicology. Maybe she had answers.
“Why, that house is the only place we haven’t been able to stretch a veil over. Nobody’s supposed to go there, you know, it gives your system an awful shock. Reboots everything, in a sense.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but what do you mean?”
The woman smiled, teeth filling every nook and cranny of her multifaceted grin. Her face seemed superimposed, somehow, on her body, like the two existed separately and somebody inexperienced had tried to cram them together.
“It isn’t anything of your concern, my dear. Poor thing, you must be so confused.”
Mira sniffled.
“I am. I’m sorry.”
The woman chuckled, and Mira gaped as the area around them seemed to shift, bending and warping until their surroundings appeared flat as paper. A backdrop, a stage set, nothing real.
“Don’t worry. It’ll all seem like nothing soon enough. That’s just the way growing up works around here.”
Mira could no longer see the woman in front of her, only a shifting blur of colors that spun and writhed and pulsated in time to her voice. Her head felt as clear as day, her mind sharper than she had ever felt it before. It seemed like before this, her head had been filled with cotton wool, and it was just now beginning to dissolve away into something newer, something stranger.
“Let’s see... you’re fairly close to growing up already, and your limbs already look so prehensile! Good teeth, nice sharp bones, and a very logical mind. It’s a shame someone as promising as you underwent veilshift so soon; usually that only happens to the foolish ones. Ah, well. I don’t think anyone will object to me turning you. Not with the extenuating circumstances. Oh, yes. No objections at all.”
Nothing meant anything anymore, and yet she was seeing this nothing with a vision that had snapped into impossible focus. Mira could only feel the sweet sting of her tears as they hit the backs of her hands, the steel-wool edge of this woman’s voice as she caressed her cheeks with vague concepts of fingers that felt more like razor wire.
“I don’t understand,” Mira whispered. “The house-”
“Silly girl,” A laugh like an optical illusion, spiralling and twisting inwards on itself until it encompassed everything. “You’d think you’d have caught on by now, considering that wonderful, practical brain. You’re merely seeing what was right under your nose all along. There was never anything wrong with the house.”
“Is it me? Am I sick?”
“In a way, my dear. If anything, you’re seeing too clearly. But not to worry, I’m sure we can get you all fixed up in no time.”
And there was the woman again, mid-30s and artsy, soft palm cupped against Mira’s cheek. The garden around them was blooming, and Mira recognized the flowers in her window boxes as petunias.
“This is my house,” Mira said aloud. “Am I home?”
The nice woman smiled, and Mira felt for a second that something was slightly wrong about it.
“Of course it is, dear. Come inside. We have a lot to talk about.”
SARAH: "Ghost Reunion," by Verna McKinnon.
A radiant full moon threw shadows over the old cemetery, boughs of deep-rooted trees created dark dances on the path and chill winds made eerie song.
Sophia paused, wrapping her cloak tight around her body. “It feels more like December than October. Even with moonlight’s too dark to really see anything. Even the street lamps can’t give off enough light this deep into the cemetery.” She shivered, “This witchy cloak is too thin too.”
“Well, you suggested a graveyard stroll,” Noah grinned, rubbing his gloveless hands. “You thought a cemetery on Halloween night would be romantically spooky?”
“I just wanted to get away from the party,” Sophia confessed, moving closer to warm his hands with her own. “Damn, you’re freezing.”
“They’re always cold,” he grinned.
“You know, I don’t want you to think I’m easy. I normally don’t go off with strange boys, but I thought you were nice. I’ve never seen you at school though. Are you a private school guy?”
“Nah, I just moved here. My parents bought the house next door to Mark, and he invited me.” He stroked her arm tenderly. “Did that footballer ruin your costume?”
Sophia smoothed the folds of her sexy witch costume accessorized with a traditional pointed hat and flowing cloak dusted with silver glitter. “I think I’m okay. I jumped out of the way before the stupid jock threw up on me.”
He stroked her shoulders, smiling. “You’re shivering. Let me warm up the rest of you.”
She laughed as he removed her glittery black witch hat, then suddenly moved away to stand before an old headstone, brushing off brittle autumn leaves.
“Anyone you know?” he laughed, coming up behind and wrapping his arms around her waist. Sophia did not struggle as he fondled her body. His eagerness to taste her flesh swiftly turned to disgust when he tried to bite her neck. He hissed and jumped back, hands covering his mouth.
She calmly turned to face him. “You look uncomfortable.”
Noah stumbled back, holding his mouth. “Bitch! What’d you do to me?”
Sophia smiled, pulling out a glass bottle from her purse. “It’s my new cologne…holy water. A sprinkle a day keeps the demons away.”
Noah backed away, grabbing his eco-friendly water bottle. He drank quicky, then heaved and spat out his drink. He threw the bottle to the ground, spilling his supply of blood.
“Yeah, I spiked your blood bottle too. I know only blood can heal injured vampires, so I took precautions.”
He moaned, hands cradling burned lips, a dozen curses, some in English, some in old European dialects she did not recognize. He paused, trying to stand. “You’ll die for this!”
“Too late,” she replied, closing her eyes and from her body emerged another teenage girl, but out of time. An incandescent soul in a pony tail tied with pink ribbon, a poodle skirt, and saddle shoes. She touched the headstone tenderly. “This is where I’m buried, Noah, or should I say William? You were William when you killed me all those years ago. Of course, you’ve gone by many names. My name was Donna. I was eighteen when I died…when you killed me.”
Noah writhed on the ground in agony, “What the hell did you did you to do me?”
“It’s the holy water, idiot. Do keep up. How did you live so long? I needed you neutered for the next step.” She looked back at the young girl who fell unconscious behind her on her grave. “I didn’t want to sacrifice her for my revenge, but I wanted you to know it was me. My ghost eyes can see your raw and blistered skin around your lips. The little blood you swallowed is burning your insides too.”
He snarled, demonic face spoiling his human mask. “You’re a damned ghost! Ghosts aren’t real.”
“Have a little faith, vampire. People say the same about you. This is Halloween, when the veil between worlds is thin on All Hallows Eve. The old legends are happily true. I stepped through the mists between worlds to find you, because I knew you had come back. I possessed Sophia’s body, rude of course, but then this is my only chance. I had to bring you here, for myself more than you. Fortunately, she won’t remember anything. You killed so many before you left our town decades ago. Now you are back, wearing skinny jeans instead of a leather jacket. Just a different mask for the same monster.”
“You can’t do anything to me. Kid stuff. Poisoning my blood bottle with holy water? It’s only temporary. It’s hours until sunrise. I’m still strong enough to fight you off if you possess her again. I’m walking away! I’m leaving and you can’t stop me. Go to Hell, bitch. You’re dead! When you go back, I’ll kill this slut and you can’t stop me. You are already dead!”
She smiled. “I’m dead, but you’re the one suffering now, Demon. Hell is calling you. I know it exists too. So satisfying. In my day I would have said keen. What do they say now? It’s hard to keep up.”
He stumbled along the cold ground, desperate, fangs bared and eyes blazing red as the last remnants of humanity vanished.
Donna walked toward the vampire. “You cannot outrun us.”
“Us?” he croaked, panic burned in his crimson eyes as other guests from the Halloween party blocked him. Teens dressed in costumes from silly to heroic, the attire did not hide the hard vengeance in their stares far older then the children they possessed. Two young men dressed as superheroes blocked him and threw the screaming vampire to the ground. One of the girls dressed as a bunny rabbit pounced, showering him with more holy water.
“They were also your victims,” Donna said. “You killed a lot of people when you came through this town the last time. They decided to join me. Spirits normally do not interfere in human lives, but you’re not human…you’re a demon. Isn’t that keen?” she grinned.
Donna entered Sophia’s body gain to help her companion spirits. She stuffed the vampire’s mouth full of eucharist wafers. He writhed in agony as a werewolf costumed boy locked him in chains soaked in holy water, and staked his arms and legs to the ground. Once he was securely bound, a dozen costumed high schoolers stepped from their human hosts, who fell to the cold earth unconscious as the spirits went about their quest.
Then the ghosts stood around the bound vampire in a silent circle, holding ghostly hands and waiting with eerie patience. Hours faded the night until at last sunrise lit the sky. The vampire’s muffled screams were weak as light’s vengeance struck his body. The ghosts watched as the vampire burst into red flames and then smoked swiftly to a pile of black ashes, blown away by the frosty morning air.
The ghosts held hands in peaceful unity as they too faded with light.
The students woke in a daze, cold, terrified, and confused. They huddled together, wondering how they came to be in the old graveyard.
Sophia woke last, helped to her feet by her friends. She was groggy and oddly, not even cold! She should be freezing! She felt something soft in the palm of her hand, and saw pink ribbon. And oddly, she thought it was keen.
KIMBERLY (& KARISSA): This is Benjamin Colby’s spooky story contest entry.
**Kimberly is reading as Warren and Karissa is reading as Hald, Orange Prikelion, Justice Rider, Prophet's smile and Research Station 119372
03/18/3572
<Open Line>
<03:21>
<Warren has come online>
<Hald has come online>
Warren: Haldy, can you hear me?
Hald: Loud and clear, partner
Warren: Perfect. Let’s get you in and out of there.
Hald: Sounds good. Start feeding me line.
Warren: Just one second. *Ahem*, this is First Mate J.L. Warren of the CMS Dancing Corsair, in communication with Captain K. Hald of the same. Captain Hald is to do a spacewalk to see if we can repair our answerable communications antenna, which has been nonoperative for 5 days.
Hald: Satisfied?
<03:22>
Warren: Very.
Hald: Just feed it to me nice and slow, I don’t want to have to pack up more than I need when I get back in there.
Warren: Isn’t it the feeder’s job to pack up the tether?
Hald: Be that as it may, I’m always the one who does it, whether I’m in the spacesuit or not.
Warren: Let the record show he does this despite my protests every time.
Hald: *laughter*
Hald: I can see the antenna now.
Warren: How does it look?
<03:23>
Hald: Normal. Nothing seems wrong. Let me get inside and I’ll tell you how screwed it is.
Warren: You got it, boss.
<03:24>
Warren: Well?
Hald: I’m opening the outside latch. Give me a second.
<03:25>
<03:26>
Hald: I got inside. All lights are on, everything seems ok. Structurally it’s ok.
Warren: Maybe a hard reset?
Hald: That’s what I was thinking. Do you have the main computer logged in over there?
Warren: Yep, let me power the comms computer down.
Hald: Perfect. I’ll flip and flip again the switch over here...Perfect. Flip switched.
Warren: Mealy-mouthed today are we?
Hald: Shut up!
Warren: Ha-ha. You mind getting the panel back on so I can get you outta there?
<03:27>
Hald: Sure thing.
Warren: And you’re sure there wasn’t anything wrong structurally?
Hald: No.
Warren: Very well. The panel back on yet?
Hald: *Labored breathing* Uh, yes.
Warren: Man, that was fast. I’ll wait a bit to start reeling you in.
Hald: *Labored breathing* No need. Reel now.
Warren: What? What the hell are you talking about? You want me to drag you back in?
Hald: Yes. Reel now! Oh…!
Warren: Are you alright? Did you pinch the cord when you closed the panel?
Hald: *labored breathing/static* I can hear trumpets. Is this everyone?
Warren: Damnit, damnit. I’m reeling you back in.
Hald: No need. Gone already. I see everyone else. Goodbye.
<03:28>
Warren: Hald, where the hell are you? I’m just getting more and more tether. Hald, where are you?
<03:29>
Warren: If you’re out there partner let me know. I see your comms light is still on on the computer. Stop messing around, I’m not laughing.
<03:30>
Warren: Why is the cord getting soft? It’s like I’m reeling in sausage casings.
<Hald has gone offline>
Warren: Oh. Why is your suit empty?
<Close Line>
03/19/3572
-
<Open Line>
<14:45>
<Answerable communications with Orange Prikelion Station established>
Orange Prikelion: This is Answering Computer Number 01 of the Orange Prikelion. There are no responders available presently, you may communicate with this terminal until a responder arrives.
Warren: This is First Mate J.L. Warren of the CMS Dancing Corsair. Yesterday, the Dancing Corsair’s captain went missing while performing a spacewalk to repair our answerable communications antenna. I am requesting coordinates to Orange Prikelion to refuel and request an investigation into his disappearance.
Orange Prikelion: Coordinates currently unavailable.
Warren: What the hell do you mean?
Orange Prikelion: Due to the rotation of the Milky Way around the Galactic Center, it is necessary to update a station’s coordinates every 48 hours to ensure proper station-vessel spacing post-hyperjump. Coordinates have not been updated in 138 hours.
<14:46>
Warren: Then feed me your coordinates over the past few weeks and I’ll figure it out.
Orange Prikelion: Past coordinates log requires station crewmate consent to access for security reasons.
Warren: When was the last interaction with a crewmate?
Orange Prikelion: Last crewmate interaction was 132 hours ago.
Warren: Are you serious?
Orange Prikelion: Affirmative.
Warren: Patch me to another computer.
Orange Prikelion: This is Answering Computer Number 02 of the Orange Prikelion. There are no responders available presently, you may communicate with this terminal until a responder arrives.
Warren: Last crewmate interaction?
Orange Prikelion: Last crewmate interaction was 132 hours ago.
Warren: Well screw you too.
<Close Line>
<Open Line>
<15:07>
<Answerable communications with Justice Rider Depot established>
Justice Rider: This is Answering Computer Alpha of Fuel Depot Justice Rider. Please correspond with this computer until a crewmate is able to pick up the call.
Warren: This is First Mate J.L. Warren of the CMS Dancing Corsair. Yesterday, the Dancing Corsair’s captain went missing while performing a spacewalk to repair our answerable communications antenna. I am requesting coordinates to Justice Rider to refuel and request an investigation into his disappearance.
Justice Rider: Coordinate access requires crewmate interaction for security reasons.
Warren: Last crewmate interaction?
Justice Rider: Last crewmate interaction was 137 hours ago.
Warren: Patch me to another computer
Justice Rider: This is Answering Computer Beta of Fuel Depot Justice Rider. Please correspond with this computer until a crewmate is able to pick up the call.
Warren: Last crewmate interaction?
Justice Rider: Last crewmate interaction was 137 hours ago.
<Close Line>
03/21/3572
<Open Line>
<19:35>
<Answerable communications with HIMS Prophet’s Smile established>
Prophet’s Smile: This is Responding Computer A of His Imperial Majesty’s Ship Prophet’s Smile. Communicate with this artificial responder until a crewmate picks up.
Warren: Please tell me you’re there.
Prophet’s Smile: Identify yourself.
Warren: This is First Mate Warren of the CMS Dancing Corsair. My partner has been missing for three days, please tell me there’s someone there.
Prophet’s Smile: “CMS Dancing Corsair” is registered as a ship under the Most Noble and Mandatory Commonwealth. Your communications will be monitored from this point onward to be reported to the Ministry of Intelligence of the Jovian Empire.
Warren: When was your last crewmate interaction?
Prophet’s Smile: Last crewmate interaction was 156 hours ago.
<Close Line>
09/28/3572
<Open Line>
<05:46>
<Answerable communications with Research Station 119372 established>
RS 119372: This is Answering Machine 1 of Research Station 119372, devoted to zoological discovery. There are no researchers around, please leave a message!
Warren: Please in the name of God, I haven’t talked with anyone but computers in half a year, my partner is dead, I’m out of fuel. I haven’t left this ship since Hald left, I’m not going outside I don’t want to disappear too. Please pick up.
RS 119372: Message received. Our last message was answered 6584 hours ago, so we’ll get back to you in no time! Would you like to see a livestream of our zoological exhibits? Type “Yes” to view the livestream.
<05:47>
<05:48>
<05:49>
<05:50>
<05:51>
<05:52>
<Connection lost. Please try again>
<Close Line>
KARISSA: Well those were some ~SPOOKY~ stories! Thank you again for all who submitted and those we got to read. We had such a hard time choosing just one, but we're so grateful for everyone who participated. Reading these stories was definitely the highlight of our Fall quarter, and as a podcast team we want to encourage everyone who did or did not submit to keep writing because especially now, sharing stories like these are special and can bring joy. We had so much fun doing this episode and we hope that it continues!
ELENA: We'll attach the Google Doc in the description box so that you can take a look at these stories and share with your friends or give a shoutout to those who wrote them!
SARAH: Check out our awesome Writing Center BLOG at suwritingcenter.weebly.com (which will also be in the episode description) for posts from our very own consultants and OAs alike.
KIMBERLY: Thank you again for joining us for a very ~spooky~ episode, With that, be sure to stay safe, take care of one another, and this has been another episode of,
ALL: Hoo's At The Writing Center.
[OUTRO MUSIC]
ELENA: Hello and welcome back to Hoo’s at the Writing Center! I’m Elena
KARISSA: I’m Karissa
SARAH: I’m Sarah
KIMBERLY: And I’m Kimberly. A month ago we asked the SU community to send us their spookiest stories and after much deliberation, we’ve chosen three stories to share with you all. So sit back, relax, and prepare to get spooked!
ELENA: “A Matter of Perception,” by Josephine Whittock.
The house on the end of Chaucer Drive was haunted. Everybody knew that.
It was the kind of urban legend that started out the same as all the others, though the details changed with every retelling. Someone important had died there, or multiple people had been murdered, or it was used as a home for the terminally ill. Nobody was ever clear on the details, aside from the advice to stay the hell away from it.
Of course, teenagers had almost patented the idea of disregarding that kind of thing.
It was for this reason why Mira was currently standing in front of the aforementioned address. She hadn’t thought that her classmates were serious about the dare, given that it sounded like it had been ripped straight from the pages of a bad young-adult novel. Yet, the look in their eyes had convinced her that, yes, they were indeed goading her to stay the night inside the suburban neighborhood’s resident creepy house. She felt like she had read about this exact scenario in every horror novel marketed to her age bracket, but she couldn’t exactly un-hear the words once she had registered them. Mira’s social standing was already terminally low among the other tenth-graders in her class, and she had been afraid turning them down would mean becoming permanently ostracized. Against her better judgement, she had agreed.
Her footsteps sounded dull against the stone steps leading to the front porch, the wood of the patio complaining as it bore her weight. Mira turned to look at the five girls who had trailed her to the fringes of 1847 Chaucer Drive’s overgrown front garden, waving.
“Come back to Darcy’s house in the morning if you’re still alive,” Serena, the ringleader of the group, said in a flat tone. “We won’t have too much fun without you.”
Mira recognized this attempt for what it was - a way to separate her from the group without arousing too much of a fuss. Nevertheless, she nodded her head, picked up her sleeping bag, and headed inside without saying a single word. She’d always prided herself on her practicality.
The brass doorknob felt slick and cold against her flushed palms, moist from the condensation that had built up over years of neglect. She wasn’t surprised that the place smelled disgusting, but the house’s odor was different to how she had imagined it. She had expected the musty smell of dust, decay and decomposition, moldering wood and wet paper. Instead, the wind blowing through the broken windows smelled strangely sweet, the smell of overripe fruit and wet rot. Mira pressed her thumb into her closed fist to keep from gagging and pulled out her phone, activating the flashlight.
She appeared to be standing in what had once been the living room, the only remnants of which were a large brick fireplace and a moldy couch, leaking stuffing onto the pockmarked floor. The walls lacked any kind of decoration, other than peeling floral wallpaper in a nauseating shade of yellow. Anything valuable had been stolen or relocated a long time ago, when the old Victorian house had lost its final tenants. Mira already knew she didn’t want to use any of the furniture as a makeshift bed, and she had her sleeping bag with her anyways. The hardwood would be a much safer bet. The only question was whether or not to explore the rest of the house, or settle for bunkering down here.
She opted instead to move into the dining room, which had less broken windows and a table she could crawl under in case the upper floors had any leaks. It was no less ominous, but at least here she felt the tiniest bit sheltered. The doors to all the cabinets had been opened and emptied; the dining table lacked any chairs. The air here was much more choked with dust, and even her best efforts couldn’t save her from a coughing fit.
At least the wallpaper here isn’t yellow, Mira thought as she unfurled her sleeping bag and tucked it under the table. True, some would say decaying mint green isn’t any better, but I am not one of them. Christ, yellow is disgusting.
Her internal monologue was interrupted by a peculiar sound. It was not the kind of sound that immediately signaled her fight-or-flight response, something that indicated her circumstances were about to take a dire turn. Rather, it was simply unusual. Mira’s eyes darted to the dining room door as she became aware of a very slight whistling noise, slow and almost pulsing in its rhythm.
It’s just the wind. She knew it was there, for she felt the chill of it slip past the hems of her pajamas, slowly but surely cooling her adrenaline-hot skin. The wind makes noises like that all the time. Don’t freak out. They’ll mock you forever if you freak out. She slid into her sleeping bag and tried to ignore the feeling of accumulated grime on the floor, instead focusing on the ambient noise of the late evening.
It wasn’t exactly like the whistle of the wind she was used to, though, Mira mused; not quite similar enough to the slow crescendo of the night wind outside of her second-story bedroom window. That wind rustled the identical trees in every backyard around her cul-de-sac, something she had grown to associate with the slow descent into sleep. This was more alternating intervals of light breezes and heavy gusts, slow and uncanny. It shouldn’t have put her at ease, yet somehow she wasn’t met with as much resistance as she expected as she surrendered herself to unconsciousness. She couldn’t put her finger on what the wind reminded her of until she had almost entirely dropped off.
It’s almost like the house is breathing.
As soon as this thought entered her mind, Mira felt a very strange sensation flit across her now-open eyes. It was impossible to describe, but the closest she could approximate was the feeling of peeling a plastic sheet away from a fresh sheaf of binder paper, the cling of the static electricity as the two were separated. It could have lasted anywhere from two seconds to an hour, yet it seemed to be over before it had even begun. For the first time since entering the house, Mira felt a glacial shudder travel down her spine.
Mind over matter, Mira. It’s just a house. It takes more than this to frighten you.
Yet her mind never seemed to settle as easily as it had before this alien feeling, pupils flicking back and forth across every shadow that snaked its way across the seafoam walls. She shivered, a feeling akin to television snow buzzing and settling in her limbs like dead weights. Something unknown seemed to be crawling around in her skin, prickly and foreign. The paranoia lasted a good hour before her body, eventually, shut itself off for the night.
Mira honestly couldn’t tell if she expected to awaken the next morning unharmed. Logic can only do so much in the face of fear, and she was relieved to find none of her limbs missing and her skin unmarked. The only casualty was her clothes, which had collected a fair bit of dust overnight, and even that was easily brushed away. The house seemed so much less terrifying in the daytime, and it was with only a little spark of fear dwelling in her stomach that Mira packed up her things and headed back to Darcy’s place.
The walk back felt so much longer than it had the first time, and a lot more confusing. Her phone had given up the ghost of its battery overnight, and without any kind of map the winding roads of the suburb seemed so much more complicated. Mira’s head felt slightly swollen, her mind disoriented and even a little dizzy. She traipsed down avenues, then roads, then lanes, trying her best to recall the path back to the house of her so-called friends. The homes all looked so similar now, painted varying hues of eggshell and cream, or even yellow if the resident was especially daring. The sun felt so hot, beating down on Mira’s back like a watchful eye.
I can’t keep walking in circles, she thought eventually after passing one of the houses she was sure she had seen before. Let me ask someone for help. Everyone’s so nice here, I’m sure they’ll understand.
All of the houses looked like fair game, so she picked one at random and staggered over to the doorbell. It was answered by a lady who looked like she was approaching her mid-30s, with a brunette bob and earrings that drooped downwards in metal spirals. Her visage swam in front of Mira’s eyes, distorting her ever so slightly. Her limbs appeared too long, her eyes too large, her waist unrealistically pinched.
“Hello, how can I help you? My goodness, you look positively unwell.”
“Sorry, can I ask for directions. I don’t mean to impose, but I’m trying to find...” Mira racked her brain for Darcy’s address. “Clarion Street? I think?”
“You’ve overshot a bit, I’m afraid.” The woman’s eyes glimmered, shining and undulating like a mirage in the desert. “It’s just to the left, a few blocks that way. Head left, then take a right once you reach Shelby Lane. It should be just there.”
Mira thanked the woman, who smiled and gave her a friendly, if curt, goodbye. When the door closed, Mira could have sworn she saw the woman’s face contort into disgust behind the bubbled glass, as if Mira gave off the aura of someone with a contagious disease.
Maybe I smell funny after spending the night in that house, Mira reasoned. Her directions should be sound, at least.
Mira followed her advice and headed left, but stopped after reaching a cul-de-sac after just two blocks. She backtracked, but Shelby Lane was nowhere to be seen.
Okay, maybe the woman got the street names wrong. I’ll go back and ask.
She tried to head back to where the woman’s house was, but to her surprise, the house she had chosen was nowhere to be seen. Or, worse, maybe it was, and she had no way of distinguishing. They all looked identical to her, and she couldn’t even remember the flowers planted in the front yard or the stained-glass designs on the front door.
“Maybe I’m just remembering wrong,” Mira said to herself, sweat beginning to drip down her forehead. “I’m probably just a block off. I’ll check, and she’ll be there, and it’ll all be fine. It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
Internally, Mira was panicking. Something got into me, she couldn’t help but think, something burrowed into me, under my skin, into my brain, back at the house. It’s messing me up.
She couldn’t find the woman’s house again. Nor Shelby Lane, nor Clarion Street. Everything twisted and blurred together, but as she walked and walked and walked, the dizziness began to abate, her vision clearing.
This would have been comforting, but the clean lines of the streets continued to stretch onwards.
She lost track of how many houses she knocked on, pleading for directions. Every door was answered by a middle-aged woman, every one of them distorted and friendly and disgusted by her appearance. She can’t remember where she put down her sleeping bag, and she hadn’t come across it again in her endless repetition of the suburban sprawl. Her vision remained stubbornly clear, and when she couldn’t blame the women’s appearances on her dizziness, she blamed the tears filling her eyes and dropping to the hot pavement.
What did it do to me? Why does everything look so weird? Why doesn’t my head hurt anymore?
The final woman she thought to ask was the worst of them yet, limbs stretched to the point where it couldn’t be blamed on heat exhaustion. Her skin was the chalky white of fresh milk, her wasp waist so thin she resembled an hourglass more than a human. Her eyes loomed, unblinking, fathomless.
“Are you lost, dear?”
Mira wanted to nod, but her whole body felt like it had been filled with cement. She rubbed at her eyes with a closed fist, skin clammy and cold. The woman leant down to touch her shoulder with fingers as long as pencils, but recoiled once meeting her skin.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but there’s something terribly wrong here, my dear.”
Mira bit her lip, trying to hold back a sob and failing miserably.
“I, I know. I just spent the night in, in the abandoned house, my friends dared me to, and I think a ghost got inside of me or I inhaled something poisonous or-”
The woman made a noise of understanding, clucking her tongues.
“That explains it. Why, you must be frightened out of your mind, dear.”
Mira nodded again. At least someone seemed to understand what was going on. Maybe this woman was a scientist, or someone who studied toxicology. Maybe she had answers.
“Why, that house is the only place we haven’t been able to stretch a veil over. Nobody’s supposed to go there, you know, it gives your system an awful shock. Reboots everything, in a sense.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but what do you mean?”
The woman smiled, teeth filling every nook and cranny of her multifaceted grin. Her face seemed superimposed, somehow, on her body, like the two existed separately and somebody inexperienced had tried to cram them together.
“It isn’t anything of your concern, my dear. Poor thing, you must be so confused.”
Mira sniffled.
“I am. I’m sorry.”
The woman chuckled, and Mira gaped as the area around them seemed to shift, bending and warping until their surroundings appeared flat as paper. A backdrop, a stage set, nothing real.
“Don’t worry. It’ll all seem like nothing soon enough. That’s just the way growing up works around here.”
Mira could no longer see the woman in front of her, only a shifting blur of colors that spun and writhed and pulsated in time to her voice. Her head felt as clear as day, her mind sharper than she had ever felt it before. It seemed like before this, her head had been filled with cotton wool, and it was just now beginning to dissolve away into something newer, something stranger.
“Let’s see... you’re fairly close to growing up already, and your limbs already look so prehensile! Good teeth, nice sharp bones, and a very logical mind. It’s a shame someone as promising as you underwent veilshift so soon; usually that only happens to the foolish ones. Ah, well. I don’t think anyone will object to me turning you. Not with the extenuating circumstances. Oh, yes. No objections at all.”
Nothing meant anything anymore, and yet she was seeing this nothing with a vision that had snapped into impossible focus. Mira could only feel the sweet sting of her tears as they hit the backs of her hands, the steel-wool edge of this woman’s voice as she caressed her cheeks with vague concepts of fingers that felt more like razor wire.
“I don’t understand,” Mira whispered. “The house-”
“Silly girl,” A laugh like an optical illusion, spiralling and twisting inwards on itself until it encompassed everything. “You’d think you’d have caught on by now, considering that wonderful, practical brain. You’re merely seeing what was right under your nose all along. There was never anything wrong with the house.”
“Is it me? Am I sick?”
“In a way, my dear. If anything, you’re seeing too clearly. But not to worry, I’m sure we can get you all fixed up in no time.”
And there was the woman again, mid-30s and artsy, soft palm cupped against Mira’s cheek. The garden around them was blooming, and Mira recognized the flowers in her window boxes as petunias.
“This is my house,” Mira said aloud. “Am I home?”
The nice woman smiled, and Mira felt for a second that something was slightly wrong about it.
“Of course it is, dear. Come inside. We have a lot to talk about.”
SARAH: "Ghost Reunion," by Verna McKinnon.
A radiant full moon threw shadows over the old cemetery, boughs of deep-rooted trees created dark dances on the path and chill winds made eerie song.
Sophia paused, wrapping her cloak tight around her body. “It feels more like December than October. Even with moonlight’s too dark to really see anything. Even the street lamps can’t give off enough light this deep into the cemetery.” She shivered, “This witchy cloak is too thin too.”
“Well, you suggested a graveyard stroll,” Noah grinned, rubbing his gloveless hands. “You thought a cemetery on Halloween night would be romantically spooky?”
“I just wanted to get away from the party,” Sophia confessed, moving closer to warm his hands with her own. “Damn, you’re freezing.”
“They’re always cold,” he grinned.
“You know, I don’t want you to think I’m easy. I normally don’t go off with strange boys, but I thought you were nice. I’ve never seen you at school though. Are you a private school guy?”
“Nah, I just moved here. My parents bought the house next door to Mark, and he invited me.” He stroked her arm tenderly. “Did that footballer ruin your costume?”
Sophia smoothed the folds of her sexy witch costume accessorized with a traditional pointed hat and flowing cloak dusted with silver glitter. “I think I’m okay. I jumped out of the way before the stupid jock threw up on me.”
He stroked her shoulders, smiling. “You’re shivering. Let me warm up the rest of you.”
She laughed as he removed her glittery black witch hat, then suddenly moved away to stand before an old headstone, brushing off brittle autumn leaves.
“Anyone you know?” he laughed, coming up behind and wrapping his arms around her waist. Sophia did not struggle as he fondled her body. His eagerness to taste her flesh swiftly turned to disgust when he tried to bite her neck. He hissed and jumped back, hands covering his mouth.
She calmly turned to face him. “You look uncomfortable.”
Noah stumbled back, holding his mouth. “Bitch! What’d you do to me?”
Sophia smiled, pulling out a glass bottle from her purse. “It’s my new cologne…holy water. A sprinkle a day keeps the demons away.”
Noah backed away, grabbing his eco-friendly water bottle. He drank quicky, then heaved and spat out his drink. He threw the bottle to the ground, spilling his supply of blood.
“Yeah, I spiked your blood bottle too. I know only blood can heal injured vampires, so I took precautions.”
He moaned, hands cradling burned lips, a dozen curses, some in English, some in old European dialects she did not recognize. He paused, trying to stand. “You’ll die for this!”
“Too late,” she replied, closing her eyes and from her body emerged another teenage girl, but out of time. An incandescent soul in a pony tail tied with pink ribbon, a poodle skirt, and saddle shoes. She touched the headstone tenderly. “This is where I’m buried, Noah, or should I say William? You were William when you killed me all those years ago. Of course, you’ve gone by many names. My name was Donna. I was eighteen when I died…when you killed me.”
Noah writhed on the ground in agony, “What the hell did you did you to do me?”
“It’s the holy water, idiot. Do keep up. How did you live so long? I needed you neutered for the next step.” She looked back at the young girl who fell unconscious behind her on her grave. “I didn’t want to sacrifice her for my revenge, but I wanted you to know it was me. My ghost eyes can see your raw and blistered skin around your lips. The little blood you swallowed is burning your insides too.”
He snarled, demonic face spoiling his human mask. “You’re a damned ghost! Ghosts aren’t real.”
“Have a little faith, vampire. People say the same about you. This is Halloween, when the veil between worlds is thin on All Hallows Eve. The old legends are happily true. I stepped through the mists between worlds to find you, because I knew you had come back. I possessed Sophia’s body, rude of course, but then this is my only chance. I had to bring you here, for myself more than you. Fortunately, she won’t remember anything. You killed so many before you left our town decades ago. Now you are back, wearing skinny jeans instead of a leather jacket. Just a different mask for the same monster.”
“You can’t do anything to me. Kid stuff. Poisoning my blood bottle with holy water? It’s only temporary. It’s hours until sunrise. I’m still strong enough to fight you off if you possess her again. I’m walking away! I’m leaving and you can’t stop me. Go to Hell, bitch. You’re dead! When you go back, I’ll kill this slut and you can’t stop me. You are already dead!”
She smiled. “I’m dead, but you’re the one suffering now, Demon. Hell is calling you. I know it exists too. So satisfying. In my day I would have said keen. What do they say now? It’s hard to keep up.”
He stumbled along the cold ground, desperate, fangs bared and eyes blazing red as the last remnants of humanity vanished.
Donna walked toward the vampire. “You cannot outrun us.”
“Us?” he croaked, panic burned in his crimson eyes as other guests from the Halloween party blocked him. Teens dressed in costumes from silly to heroic, the attire did not hide the hard vengeance in their stares far older then the children they possessed. Two young men dressed as superheroes blocked him and threw the screaming vampire to the ground. One of the girls dressed as a bunny rabbit pounced, showering him with more holy water.
“They were also your victims,” Donna said. “You killed a lot of people when you came through this town the last time. They decided to join me. Spirits normally do not interfere in human lives, but you’re not human…you’re a demon. Isn’t that keen?” she grinned.
Donna entered Sophia’s body gain to help her companion spirits. She stuffed the vampire’s mouth full of eucharist wafers. He writhed in agony as a werewolf costumed boy locked him in chains soaked in holy water, and staked his arms and legs to the ground. Once he was securely bound, a dozen costumed high schoolers stepped from their human hosts, who fell to the cold earth unconscious as the spirits went about their quest.
Then the ghosts stood around the bound vampire in a silent circle, holding ghostly hands and waiting with eerie patience. Hours faded the night until at last sunrise lit the sky. The vampire’s muffled screams were weak as light’s vengeance struck his body. The ghosts watched as the vampire burst into red flames and then smoked swiftly to a pile of black ashes, blown away by the frosty morning air.
The ghosts held hands in peaceful unity as they too faded with light.
The students woke in a daze, cold, terrified, and confused. They huddled together, wondering how they came to be in the old graveyard.
Sophia woke last, helped to her feet by her friends. She was groggy and oddly, not even cold! She should be freezing! She felt something soft in the palm of her hand, and saw pink ribbon. And oddly, she thought it was keen.
KIMBERLY (& KARISSA): This is Benjamin Colby’s spooky story contest entry.
**Kimberly is reading as Warren and Karissa is reading as Hald, Orange Prikelion, Justice Rider, Prophet's smile and Research Station 119372
03/18/3572
<Open Line>
<03:21>
<Warren has come online>
<Hald has come online>
Warren: Haldy, can you hear me?
Hald: Loud and clear, partner
Warren: Perfect. Let’s get you in and out of there.
Hald: Sounds good. Start feeding me line.
Warren: Just one second. *Ahem*, this is First Mate J.L. Warren of the CMS Dancing Corsair, in communication with Captain K. Hald of the same. Captain Hald is to do a spacewalk to see if we can repair our answerable communications antenna, which has been nonoperative for 5 days.
Hald: Satisfied?
<03:22>
Warren: Very.
Hald: Just feed it to me nice and slow, I don’t want to have to pack up more than I need when I get back in there.
Warren: Isn’t it the feeder’s job to pack up the tether?
Hald: Be that as it may, I’m always the one who does it, whether I’m in the spacesuit or not.
Warren: Let the record show he does this despite my protests every time.
Hald: *laughter*
Hald: I can see the antenna now.
Warren: How does it look?
<03:23>
Hald: Normal. Nothing seems wrong. Let me get inside and I’ll tell you how screwed it is.
Warren: You got it, boss.
<03:24>
Warren: Well?
Hald: I’m opening the outside latch. Give me a second.
<03:25>
<03:26>
Hald: I got inside. All lights are on, everything seems ok. Structurally it’s ok.
Warren: Maybe a hard reset?
Hald: That’s what I was thinking. Do you have the main computer logged in over there?
Warren: Yep, let me power the comms computer down.
Hald: Perfect. I’ll flip and flip again the switch over here...Perfect. Flip switched.
Warren: Mealy-mouthed today are we?
Hald: Shut up!
Warren: Ha-ha. You mind getting the panel back on so I can get you outta there?
<03:27>
Hald: Sure thing.
Warren: And you’re sure there wasn’t anything wrong structurally?
Hald: No.
Warren: Very well. The panel back on yet?
Hald: *Labored breathing* Uh, yes.
Warren: Man, that was fast. I’ll wait a bit to start reeling you in.
Hald: *Labored breathing* No need. Reel now.
Warren: What? What the hell are you talking about? You want me to drag you back in?
Hald: Yes. Reel now! Oh…!
Warren: Are you alright? Did you pinch the cord when you closed the panel?
Hald: *labored breathing/static* I can hear trumpets. Is this everyone?
Warren: Damnit, damnit. I’m reeling you back in.
Hald: No need. Gone already. I see everyone else. Goodbye.
<03:28>
Warren: Hald, where the hell are you? I’m just getting more and more tether. Hald, where are you?
<03:29>
Warren: If you’re out there partner let me know. I see your comms light is still on on the computer. Stop messing around, I’m not laughing.
<03:30>
Warren: Why is the cord getting soft? It’s like I’m reeling in sausage casings.
<Hald has gone offline>
Warren: Oh. Why is your suit empty?
<Close Line>
03/19/3572
-
<Open Line>
<14:45>
<Answerable communications with Orange Prikelion Station established>
Orange Prikelion: This is Answering Computer Number 01 of the Orange Prikelion. There are no responders available presently, you may communicate with this terminal until a responder arrives.
Warren: This is First Mate J.L. Warren of the CMS Dancing Corsair. Yesterday, the Dancing Corsair’s captain went missing while performing a spacewalk to repair our answerable communications antenna. I am requesting coordinates to Orange Prikelion to refuel and request an investigation into his disappearance.
Orange Prikelion: Coordinates currently unavailable.
Warren: What the hell do you mean?
Orange Prikelion: Due to the rotation of the Milky Way around the Galactic Center, it is necessary to update a station’s coordinates every 48 hours to ensure proper station-vessel spacing post-hyperjump. Coordinates have not been updated in 138 hours.
<14:46>
Warren: Then feed me your coordinates over the past few weeks and I’ll figure it out.
Orange Prikelion: Past coordinates log requires station crewmate consent to access for security reasons.
Warren: When was the last interaction with a crewmate?
Orange Prikelion: Last crewmate interaction was 132 hours ago.
Warren: Are you serious?
Orange Prikelion: Affirmative.
Warren: Patch me to another computer.
Orange Prikelion: This is Answering Computer Number 02 of the Orange Prikelion. There are no responders available presently, you may communicate with this terminal until a responder arrives.
Warren: Last crewmate interaction?
Orange Prikelion: Last crewmate interaction was 132 hours ago.
Warren: Well screw you too.
<Close Line>
<Open Line>
<15:07>
<Answerable communications with Justice Rider Depot established>
Justice Rider: This is Answering Computer Alpha of Fuel Depot Justice Rider. Please correspond with this computer until a crewmate is able to pick up the call.
Warren: This is First Mate J.L. Warren of the CMS Dancing Corsair. Yesterday, the Dancing Corsair’s captain went missing while performing a spacewalk to repair our answerable communications antenna. I am requesting coordinates to Justice Rider to refuel and request an investigation into his disappearance.
Justice Rider: Coordinate access requires crewmate interaction for security reasons.
Warren: Last crewmate interaction?
Justice Rider: Last crewmate interaction was 137 hours ago.
Warren: Patch me to another computer
Justice Rider: This is Answering Computer Beta of Fuel Depot Justice Rider. Please correspond with this computer until a crewmate is able to pick up the call.
Warren: Last crewmate interaction?
Justice Rider: Last crewmate interaction was 137 hours ago.
<Close Line>
03/21/3572
<Open Line>
<19:35>
<Answerable communications with HIMS Prophet’s Smile established>
Prophet’s Smile: This is Responding Computer A of His Imperial Majesty’s Ship Prophet’s Smile. Communicate with this artificial responder until a crewmate picks up.
Warren: Please tell me you’re there.
Prophet’s Smile: Identify yourself.
Warren: This is First Mate Warren of the CMS Dancing Corsair. My partner has been missing for three days, please tell me there’s someone there.
Prophet’s Smile: “CMS Dancing Corsair” is registered as a ship under the Most Noble and Mandatory Commonwealth. Your communications will be monitored from this point onward to be reported to the Ministry of Intelligence of the Jovian Empire.
Warren: When was your last crewmate interaction?
Prophet’s Smile: Last crewmate interaction was 156 hours ago.
<Close Line>
09/28/3572
<Open Line>
<05:46>
<Answerable communications with Research Station 119372 established>
RS 119372: This is Answering Machine 1 of Research Station 119372, devoted to zoological discovery. There are no researchers around, please leave a message!
Warren: Please in the name of God, I haven’t talked with anyone but computers in half a year, my partner is dead, I’m out of fuel. I haven’t left this ship since Hald left, I’m not going outside I don’t want to disappear too. Please pick up.
RS 119372: Message received. Our last message was answered 6584 hours ago, so we’ll get back to you in no time! Would you like to see a livestream of our zoological exhibits? Type “Yes” to view the livestream.
<05:47>
<05:48>
<05:49>
<05:50>
<05:51>
<05:52>
<Connection lost. Please try again>
<Close Line>
KARISSA: Well those were some ~SPOOKY~ stories! Thank you again for all who submitted and those we got to read. We had such a hard time choosing just one, but we're so grateful for everyone who participated. Reading these stories was definitely the highlight of our Fall quarter, and as a podcast team we want to encourage everyone who did or did not submit to keep writing because especially now, sharing stories like these are special and can bring joy. We had so much fun doing this episode and we hope that it continues!
ELENA: We'll attach the Google Doc in the description box so that you can take a look at these stories and share with your friends or give a shoutout to those who wrote them!
SARAH: Check out our awesome Writing Center BLOG at suwritingcenter.weebly.com (which will also be in the episode description) for posts from our very own consultants and OAs alike.
KIMBERLY: Thank you again for joining us for a very ~spooky~ episode, With that, be sure to stay safe, take care of one another, and this has been another episode of,
ALL: Hoo's At The Writing Center.
[OUTRO MUSIC]