Stone Soup Magazine for young readers, writers, and artists

An update from our twenty-sixth Writing Workshop! A summary of the workshop held on Saturday October 24, plus some of the output published below This week our founder William Rubel and Stone Soup contributor and Writing Workshop member Liam Hancock, 13, led a workshop designed to get everyone ready for Halloween–on horror writing. We talked about the differences between the merely scary and the truly horrifying, and discovered that our members are uncannily good at writing fiction that can keep us all up at night! Read on below for some chilling examples (and you would be well advised to read them on a sunny morning, not immediately before bed…). The Writing Challenge: Write a terrifying piece of horror fiction! The Participants: Nami, Charlotte, Madeline, Margaret, Anya, Emily, Lina, Samantha, Janani, Lucy, Tilly, Gia, Olivia, Jonathan, Enni, Juniper, Charlotte, Rithesh, Ma’ayan, Nova, Liam, Lena, Maddie, Tegan, Ava, Hera, Lena, Nico, Peri, Elbert Ava Angeles, 12Chicago, IL The Dream Ava Angeles, 12 It started out as a regular day. The sun was shining and a cool breeze was blowing. It was a perfect day for a spring festival. But this would not last. I remember—for some reason—that there were tables, round tables, with tablecloths that draped over their sides, standing there in the green grass. For another unknown reason, there were also white plates, napkins, and glasses set upon the snow-white tablecloth. It was like a restaurant, but outdoors. As we set up the last of the chairs, people began to arrive. They found their seats. It was a picture-perfect setting. I remember going into the building. It had a canopy in front, with a single step leading up to the door. Inside this particular building, there were mats—long, colorful tumbling mats—lining the walls and the floor. I played with the rest of the children on these mats, hopping and jumping, knowing that the mats were there to cushion our fall. But we didn’t get to play on them for very long. Suddenly, clouds rolled in, and it began to rain lightly. I watched the adults take the tables and chairs into the building, while sitting on the single step below the door. Some people began to leave, seeing that the festival was cancelled. I remained on the step, watching the rain gather into puddles around the canopy. Then, I suddenly heard crying. It wasn’t a baby crying, but a child, desperately crying, as if crying was its last hope. I turned my head to the right, where the sound was coming from, and felt shivers come over me. There—in front of another building with many gigantic steps—was a younger version of myself. Its face was blurred and distorted, and I could not tell whether it was where the crying sound was coming from. I saw its clothes clearly—it was wearing a gold coat that my mother had bought for me, as well as a light blue pair of pants. Its hair was in ponytails—my usual childhood hairstyle, with blue bows at the roots. It looked normal—like me—but something was wrong. As I stared at it, frozen, terror struck me. The uncanny feeling of staring at your own, younger self, but knowing that it wasn’t your own, younger self washed over me like a wave. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it, and my mouth opened to form three words—“Who—are you?” My horrified whisper must have been heard, because the creature shook its head slowly. As I realized that I wasn’t going to get an answer, feeling came into my legs, and I ran, ran away from the mysterious, uncanny creature that I thought I once was. The mats inside the building were gone, replaced by a wide marble stairway that I dashed down, not feeling the tips of my toes touching the marble, just running, running, running— I woke up, staring at the plaster ceiling. It was just a dream, I reassured myself, just a dream… As I lifted myself up from the bed, I came face-to-face with that same creature from my dream, standing just a few inches away from the side. As I froze with petrified horror, the creature’s mouth broke into a maniacal grin, and it said, in a high-pitched, chilling voice, “Who are you?” The House Lena D., 12 I was going on a hike in the forest by myself. The skies darkened. Rain clouds appeared. Wild rain poured down. I had to turn back, but it was too dark. I wasn’t afraid. How could I be afraid? The dark deep forest. Nothing scary. Just dirt and trees. Then I saw it. There it was. A house. I walked towards it. I knocked on the door. But nobody answered. I waited and waited. Nothing. I had to find shelter. Fast. I shivered. It was so cold. I opened the door. CRRRREAAKKKK! I entered, my hands shaking wildly. The floorboards moved. “Huh?” I gasped. Rats skittered across the floor. “Whew, those were just rats, of course, this is not haunted,” I said, nervously. I stepped on the stairs. CREAK! CREAK! CREAK! I opened a door. It was a bedroom. It looked like it belonged to a girl from long ago. There was a broken bed. It had stuffed animals on it and a pillow that was ripped. One of the stuffed animals looked right at me. I looked away. How odd, I thought. It’s probably not looking at me. Stuffed animals don’t move anyway. I heard some walking. I turned around. The stuffed animal fell off the bed. That’s weird, I thought. It was in the middle of the bed, not hanging off. How could it fall off? I looked away again. The stuffed animal moved towards me on the floor. It smiled at me. Not a happy smile, a scary one. I shrieked. I grabbed my flashlight to defend myself from it. “Back off!” I shouted at it. The stuffed animal’s thread came off. Stuffing was spilling all over. Yet, it was still walking. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” I