Young Jordan Hutchins did not want to be ghost hunting, and especially on a school night. Ryan and CJ, both scabby-kneed and SnapBack wearing, were practically foaming at the mouth to catch a glimpse of the elusive Rebecca Water. Any teenager who entered The Clapboard movie theater knew the legend of Rebecca Water, and even if it was not their main goal of the evening to search for her ghostly figure, they would keep an eye out for her. Just in case. Anyone who lived in the town of Redwood knew the legend of Rebecca Water. Hell, anyone who drove through Redwood and stopped at the gas station in the center of town would come to know the legend of Rebecca Water. Teenagers from the local high school would swap spit and swap stories about Rebecca Water’s death. They would talk about how Rebecca Water died in 1965 while watching The Sound of Music. She was sitting alone in the balcony section when she got up to go to the bathroom. Apparently it was dark, the floor hadn’t been properly cleaned, and when the employees of the theater went in after the showing, they found her body, having slipped and fallen over the balcony and into the seats below.

Jordan wasn’t sure if he believed in ghosts, and doubted Rebecca would appear for the likes of them, even if she did exist.

“Don’t be such a pussy, J.”

“I’m not a-”

“Shut up, someone’s coming!”

The three boys scrambled with their long legs and pointed elbows into an empty hallway. Every teenager who took the time out of their week to investigate The Clapboard theater knew that the employees who worked there did not take break-ins lightly, especially if it was something as ludicrous as looking for the ghost of Rebecca Water. If a person wanted to see her ghost, they could pay $15 for the ghost tour that was held every Sunday like the rest of the customers. Footsteps grew louder, louder, louder, and then quieter, quieter, quieter, until the unidentified employee walked straight past the boys.

“Seriously, this is so not worth it. They banned Kelsey and her friends the other day because they were caught using a fucking Ouija board in the theater instead of watching Toy Story 4. I cannot get caught because of this,” said Jordan.

“Again, don’t be such a p—“

“Hey, a Ouija board is a good idea. We should get one—“

“God! Jesus, fine. Let’s just get this over with.” Jordan pushed past Ryan into the other hallway while CJ, wearing his obnoxious, highlighter yellow basketball shorts, took the lead. It was a mystery to Jordan how they hadn’t been caught yet. One by one, the boys crept along the wall, narrowly avoiding the security cameras and slipping into the theater.

The Clapboard was not by any means a small theater. It opened in 1922 and was deemed a movie palace, a place where upper class citizens would go see films at least once a week. The building itself was sprawling, magnificent, and old. Original velvet seats, beautifully designed arches and doorways, and a larger-than-life movie screen at the very center of it all. The only way to access the balcony section was to enter the theater and go up the staircase that was located at the left side of the seats.

As expected, the boys were drowned in darkness as soon as the door closed behind them. Digging out cell phones, three pale flashlights illuminated the space soon after. No one dared speak a word, for fear of ruining the carefully cultivated silence. Jordan barely breathed. They ascended the staircase to the balcony, gingerly placing their feet on each step. Once they reached the top, they surveyed their new perspective of the theater as if it were their kingdom. They filed into the front row of the balcony, right where Rebecca Water would have sat.

“Did you know—” CJ began.

A chorus of shushes ripped from the other boy’s throats. CJ shut up immediately. It was so still, not even the traffic from the road next to the theater could be heard. The boys’ facial features were both elongated and crumpled by the flashlights’ movements. Shadows twisted viciously at the walls while the boys held their breaths.

Ryan smiled a creepy little smile and said, “Rebecca Water, are you here?”

“Jesus Christ, Ryan.” Jordan slumped down into his seat and ran his hands over his face. CJ snorted, looking highly entertained.

“What? You didn’t have to come.”

“I know, but you shouldn’t just start off like that. You have to introduce yourself first.”

“How the fuck would you know? You do a lot of ghost hunting in your spare time?”

“Dude, I just think—”

And that’s when their flashlights went out. All three of them. If someone were to ask the boys later that evening what their reactions were, each boy would deny to the ends of the earth that they screeched like banshees when they were sent hurtling into the darkness.

A beat of silence, and then a faint tune began playing. The boys held their breath, and the tune began growing louder. Jordan swore it sounded like “Sixteen Going on Seventeen” from The Sound of Music, but he couldn’t be positive. The lyrics began, murderously slow, and, yes, the song playing was indeed “Sixteen Going on Seventeen.”

“Motherfucker!”

The boys clambered over each other, over the backs of the seats, and ran. Jordan, being at the back of the trio, fumbled with his cell phone’s flashlight while CJ and Ryan booked it down the stairs. In an unsuccessful attempt at turning the light back on, Jordan dropped his phone beneath the seats. Deciding with very little time, he settled on leaving his phone in the darkness and running for it. He caught a glimpse of Ryan’s shadow moving down the stairs, and just as he made it to the stairwell, the door slammed shut. Jordan would have run head first into the door if his body had not been suddenly drenched in cold. Every nerve in his fight or flight system was screaming to take flight and leave whatever hellish nightmare this was.

“What are you doing here?” That was the moment Jordan promptly lost his shit. Standing behind him was a woman — no, a girl — who appeared to be about fifteen or sixteen. Right around Jordan’s age. Jordan whirled around and let out a punched gasp. The girl flinched and grimaced, and asked again, “What are you doing here?” Jordan did not say a word, his voice wouldn’t let him. The only thought that flashed across his mind was,

“You’re a lot younger than they say you were,” his voice cracked, “they said you were an adult!”

“Well, that’s quite rude.”

Rebecca Water stood a yard or so away from Jordan, wearing her hair in an updo that was long lost to the decades. The air around Jordan air turned frigid, and he could see wisps of his breath in front of him. This must have been some sick joke. CJ must be orchestrating all of this, Jordan thought. He’s really into special effects and he’s going to college next fall for movies and shit, so he must be doing this.

“Would you like to watch a film with me?”

“Notreallythankyou!”

“Well, I suppose you have no choice.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t like watching movies alone. I never have. You know, they say awful things about me,” Rebecca Water looked so real it was horrifying. In movies, ghosts always had a shimmering haze around them, or they looked transparent, but not Rebecca. She looked solid, like Jordan could reach out and touch the fabric of her yellow dress, “they say that I died when I got up to use the restroom. I certainly wasn’t going to the restroom.”

“What were you doing?” Jordan felt his heart was hammering through his chest.

“I was supposed to be on a date with Skip Sytulek. He stood me up. I was leaving the theater to check if he was in the lobby, but it was so dark in the balcony and I couldn’t see where I was going. That’s what they always leave out. Skip Sytulek’s parents owned this theater. They didn’t want to cause a scandal, so they just said I was going to the restroom.”

“Holy shit.”

“But now you’re here! Would you like to watch a film with me?”

“I should really get going. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this if you don’t want me to but I—”

“Jordan,” how did Rebecca know his name? “I don’t think you can do that.”

“Why?”

Rebecca paused. She looked like she was about to say something, and then cut herself off. “You know, I’ve always found comfort in the emptiness of movie theaters. It makes it easier to get immersed in the world of the film you’re watching.” As she said this, Rebecca Water peered over the edge of the balcony, a forlorn look etched into her eyes. Jordan followed her gaze and looked into the rows of seats below. Body contorted, arms and legs askew, head tilted, lay Jordan Hutchins’ body.

“I’ve been waiting so long for someone else to come along and share this with me.”

I didn’t mean to let the water to get to me so easily

I didn't mean to let everyone get ahead of me

I didn’t mean for the world to stop spinning so suddenly

I didn’t mean “maybe” when I said I wanted a life

I didn't mean to lie when I said I was fine

I didn't mean to bring the sarcastic comments along for the ride

I didn’t mean for the wind to leave the sky

I didn’t mean for the water to rise.

#poetry #writing #mywriting

We are scavengers of love,

We’ll take any scrap we can find

We are looters of love,

Shaking down and feeling up one another,

We are starved of love,

It was never given freely to us in our childhood

We are pioneers of love,

We’ve always been here and always will be

We are capable of love,

Despite all of it.

(Written June 2020)

#poetry #shortform #mywriting #pride

(NOTE: I wrote this story back in the spring of 2019 for my Creative Writing class during my senior year. I submitted this story to the Shoreline Writing Contest and won first place in the category of short story. I am very proud of that accomplishment and now I am posting this story for others to enjoy and read.)

Edeka supermarket is one of Germany’s largest grocery store corporations. Four-thousand one hundred stores all around Germany and of course Ida had been lucky enough to stop by the Edeka with absolutely zero Milch-Schnitte cookies for movie night.

Great, Ida thought.

Ida Weber was not an easily frustrated person. She got along with her friends, didn’t laugh at the expense of others, and was currently trying to find those damn Milch-Schnitte cookies for a movie she couldn’t even begin to remember the title of. Tasked with the job of finding suitable snacks and practically shoved out of Carsten’s house, she now stood in the middle of the long aisle with an expression akin to that of a lost puppy.

She had grabbed Spritzkuchen, Pick Up!’s, and Schoko Strolche, but the white and red packaging of Milch-Schnitte was nowhere to be seen. See, Ida had what most people would call a “crush”, on one of her friends but she refused to call it that. Refused to acknowledge it, even. She would roll her eyes at the glances of her other friends being weird anytime Sigi walked into the room. When the two had met almost a year ago on Ida’s first day back to school, she hadn’t noticed Sigi at all. Now, she couldn’t even look into Sigi’s big green eyes without them boring into her soul and rendering her a human disaster. This crush, ahem, “friend,” in particular just so happened to be the person who so desperately wanted those stupid white and black cookies. So, in turn, Ida was desperate.

She thought those cookies were a common snack in Germany, but apparently not. Had she been away from the country for too long? Having only moved back to Germany about a year ago, her German was rusty and the commonality of Milch-Schnitte cookies were the last thing on her mind. When Ida was born, she was born in America to Marianne and Ansel Weber. Not long after, the compact family moved to Ansel’s homeland of Germany for his job. Like a ping pong ball, she moved back to America when she was nine, but only with her mother this time. Her parents did their best to keep her in the dark about what was really happening, but Ida was clever and it wasn’t all that hard to piece together that her parent’s relationship wasn’t what it used to be. When Ida was sixteen, her mother put her on a plane back to her father’s house, where she now attended Munich International School for the Diploma Program.

Ida looked into the plastic shopping basket and sighed. It was going to start raining soon and she didn’t want to get caught in it if she stayed for too long. She had already picked out an assortment of other junk food for her friends that would have to suffice. Chips for Walli, popcorn for Marcos, cookies for Jeter, and some obscure pork-skin chip catastrophe for Becca. The yellow paper her friends had written the list on began to blot with sweat from her palm.

Still, a small part of her brain screamed, Find those fucking cookies! Ida was terrible at saying no to herself. Ida was terrible at saying no to others. Crap. She knew she would have to admit defeat at some point and find an alternate solution. She had seen Hanuta a few aisles back, so she just might have to make do with that. What if Sigi doesn’t even like Hanuta? What then? She stuffed her hand into her coat pocket and took her phone out and clicked it on. There were no notifications except for the clock blinking back at her. She quickly texted Marcos,

Can’t find Milch-Schnitte in this store. I’m probs gonna get Hanuta and Sigi will just have to deal.

She tapped Send and slid her phone into the safety of her back pocket. She turned the corner and skimmed the numbered aisles whilst narrowly avoiding a mother and daughter zooming past her. The young girl was sat in the front of the cart and she was wailing. A pang twisted in Ida’s gut and she looked back at the mother. She could not see her face but Ida knew she was stressed. If it was from the child’s crying or another matter, she did not know. Ida turned her attention once more to the numbers and her eyes zigzagged back and forth until she found the small square packages of Hanuta. She entered the aisle to the halfway mark and plucked one off the shelf and halfheartedly tossed it into the basket. The total price came to around 13€ and Ida was on her way.

The bus ride back to Carsten’s apartment was uneventful, besides the boy sitting at the end of the bus whose earbuds were playing music a tad too loud. Ida stared out the window, watching the night creep up on the day. Houses passed in a multicolored blur, the lights outside obscured by small raindrops starting to stick to the windows. Ida sighed and pulled her hood up and pushed the blonde strands of hair away from her face. When the bus came to a jerky stop, she moved her way down the aisle and got off. She stepped over the curb where rainwater was starting to gather in the gutter. She jabbed her finger against the buzzer for apartment 2C and waited. The faint sound of sirens blared in the distance and two girls stumbled against each other on the opposite side of the street, probably drunk, Ida guessed. The staticky tone of shrieking voices came in through the speaker. She heard what she thought was,

“Come on up!” The door audibly clicked and Ida let herself in. She squinted as the lights of the entrance overtook her senses. She took the lift, even though Carsten’s apartment was on the second floor because the stairwell always smelled of something new and rank. Kind of like a flavor of the week but less fun.

“-and speak of the devil herself! Ladies and gents, Ida Weber, late as always!” Ida opened the door to Jeter gesturing madly at something or another.

“How am I late, Jeter, you guys were the ones who told me to buy your shit! I could keep this all for myself if I wanted to! Anyway,” Ida took the plastic grocery bags that were starting to cut indents into her fingers and dropped them ungracefully onto the wobbly table. There was a flash as Jeter snapped a picture of the group.

“Oh, do not put that on your story! Please! I look dead,” Carsten wailed.

“Doing it anyway!” he announced and raised his phone higher. Ida rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.

“Hell yeah, you found my Schweinekrusten!” Becca shrieked.

“I don’t even know why you like those things, dude, they smell disgusting.” said Marcos.

“Yeah, well, you like sweet popcorn and that’s an abomination in itself.” Becca ripped the bag open and Marcos took a precautionary step back. Ida pulled the Hanuta from the bag and tried to ignore the way her hand brushed against Sigi’s when she handed the package over.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find any Milch-Schnitte. I know those are your favorite but I think I went to one of those smaller Edeka shops where they don’t have as many good products and I kept -”

“Hey, it’s chill. I don’t even like Milch-Schnitte all that much and Hanuta is honestly better in my opinion even if it’s more expensive. Thank you.” Ida pulled her hand back without another word. Verdammt, those green eyes again, boring into her own. She cleared her throat and looked about the room. Carsten’s living room was small and dimly lit. Shadows moved frantically along the green walls and the distinct smell of plasticky cheap food was in the air. Marcos and Jeter were already settled on the couch, Sigi was sitting by the table, Walli was sprawled out over the floor with his head pillowed on a pile of blankets, and Becca was curled up on a stiff chair that didn’t look all too comfortable by the way she kept rearranging her position every two minutes. Ida dropped the final bag of chips onto the coffee table before throwing herself into the corner of the couch and pulling her legs up under her. She let herself look back at Sigi. Sigi looked unnaturally comfortable as always, unbothered by the fact that the kitchen chair was the last seat left after everyone else had claimed theirs. Ida looked for a bit longer, letting herself be fascinated. She only then realized that Sigi had just started to stare back. She blinked and looked away.

Well, she thought, that’s what I get for being a people watcher.

Sigi smiled.

The End.

#shortstory #prose #highschool #mywriting

Bringing the world to its knees

Should not be as easy as it seems.

One wrong comment

Or earth-shattering tragedy

Will put us all on edge.

The world will be underwater soon

But we will look outside

And sip through our metal straws

And call it saved.

(This poem was written during high school in March 2019)

#poem #highschool #mywriting

It feels like an instinct, a safe place.

Cover and cower away and pull into the dark.

No longer a human in this space.

Pick at the sleeves and at the face,

jump at the inkling of a spark.

It shifts into a home, a safe place.

This is not a race, not a race.

I cannot pull into park,

and find myself in a safe place.

If I must, I will give chase,

look away from the dark,

and find a safe place.

Pack my features in a suitcase,

nothing more than a punctuation mark.

The pauses are the safe place.

Scream and shout with a straight face,

You’ll only be shouting to the dark,

This should not be an instinct, this safe place,

for you are a human in this space.

(This poem was written during high school in April 2019).

#poem #highschool #mywriting

Someone, somewhere, is dying.

Maybe it’s your cousin. Maybe it’s the stray cat you always see prowling around behind that old gas station. Maybe it’s a firefighter with a drinking problem. Maybe it’s a little boy. In any case, something is always dying. Constantly, irreplaceably, dying. No one likes to talk about it, so that means everyone loves to think about it. Whenever you’re in a high place and that one percent of you thinks about doing the unthinkable and launching yourself from that high place, it means death is near. Death is a constant. It runs underneath everything everyday. For a lot of people, not all, but a lot, it’s their main motivator for getting out of bed every day.

My sister can see dead people.

I don’t, my mother doesn’t, my father doesn’t, the dog doesn’t. But she does. More often than not, I’ll find her in uncommon places, sitting and staring at nothing. In an empty bathtub. Under a teacher’s desk at school. On top of the roof. Never moving, never blinking, just staring, staring, staring.

In these moments, these guaranteed moments, she tells me that’s when she sees dead people. Spirits. Ghosts. Entities. Beings. Souls. What have you.

The girls at school call her a psychic, squawking over themselves at lunch time. The boys at school call her a witch, groaning under the mufflers in the parking lot.

I’m not sure what I call her. I just tell the boys and girls to fuck off and get a life. Sometimes it works and other times they call me a witch, too, except replace the W with a B and you’re well on your way to understanding the kinds of people who go to our school.

I once read in a book that being able to see dead people is like remembering an old friend. It’s more of a feeling than a physical object. You see the person, spirit, ghost, entity, being, soul, and it’s like recalling a memory, except you’re looking at their future where they’re completely dead.

My sister says that’s bullshit.

Well.

She would know, wouldn’t she?

Probably.

(This short story was written in May 2020).