Freedom is like eternal satisfaction: to those who ponder the concept, the realization of the idea lays forever on the horizon of their vision. Total freedom is unknown, because we are always constrained by the ropes of other people’s opinions and ideas. They limit us from achieving a world in which we may do anything we choose with no repercussions, sheltering us from the anarchy of limitlessness.

We are protected by laws, which give us the ability to live our lives in relative safety, but limit those who, purposefully or not, may do us harm.

We are encaged by social constructs, which provide guidance for our choices in action, words, and presentation, yet prevent us from fully allowing ourselves to run free without the threat of social condemnation.

Even if the laws encroach themselves upon our freedoms, it is not their content which may give them the facade of being just, if such a concept even exists. How we view our state of being free is purely a result of how these decisions of what freedoms we should be granted are made. How we view our state of being free is a result of decisions made by people, those who rarely include us. If we are not able to make choices for ourselves, without the interference imposed upon us, can we ever be free?

But a world with true freedom, is a world in which we must also worry about the decisions other people make, decisions that may possibly bring us harm.

It is for this reason that, while we cannot be free without anarchy, but in anarchy we are not free, freedom is like the horizon. Its true form lurks out of sight, and often out of mind, and it is from a great distance that we do not have the clarity to see what truths it will hold.

Chapter One

Hot, sticky air pressed against my skin, creating a feeling of nostalgia for days in May, when the air was on the borderline of hot and cool. Long, chestnut hair was tied back in braids, and dangled down my back. The cool dirt was refreshing against my bare feet and the blades of grass tickled my ankles. I would much rather be inside with a glass of lemonade and a mystery novel in front of me, transporting me into a world of adventure, than out in the impenetrable heat. I looked wistfully behind me, where a forest of towering trees stood like soldiers. The shade would chase away the heat, but I knew I must not step a single toe inside. Stories about the forest by Spruce Lane always seemed to lurk at the back of my mind like a shadow, and I wouldn’t have been so close if it wasn’t for my brother.

“Harriet!” My brother, Will, yanked me from my daydreams and dunked me headfirst into reality. “Kick the ball already!”

I grumbled under my breath, but kicked the soccer ball across the field. Will was two years my elder and saw it fit that those two years should give him superiority over me. He was on the soccer team, starting this season, and decided to drag me outside to practice at the hottest time of day in July.

“Can’t we practice somewhere else?” I asked quietly, petrified by a rustle I heard behind me. When I saw Will staring at me in confusion, I repeated my question louder. He only scoffed and sent the ball up the field and over my head - right to the edge of the forest.

“Go get it!” He called.

“You kicked it!” was my only response.

“You’re closer!” When I stayed in place, Will called again. “What? Are you scared?”

At that, I had no choice but to inch closer to the forest. I couldn’t tell Will that I was, in fact, scared of the forest.

As I got closer, I froze, a strong breeze at my back, propelling me forward. I wouldn’t have thought it strange, but instead welcomed it with open arms, except the leaves on the trees stayed still. The wind whipped around me, forming a strange sort of cyclone. The distinct smell of the aftermath of a thunderstorm reached my nose - a mix of soggy leaves and rain accompanied by a feeling of uneasiness. I knew right away that something unusual was going on. I didn’t know how right I was.

“Did you feel that?” I asked Will, referring to the strange wind. He looked at me in a way that hinted that he thought I was crazy.

Finally, I reached where the ball was submerged halfway into some shrubs. I bent down to get it, then, as I rose, came face-to-face with a pair of glowing red eyes. The pupils were like a black hole, and they had a manic, malicious glint to them. Just a single glance sent a shiver down my spine, like someone dumped a bucket of ice-cold water down my shirt (which has happened many times thanks to Will). I dropped the ball in surprise and spun around.

“What was that?” I screamed, sounding more like a kindergartener afraid of thunder than a twelve-year-old, fresh off her first year of middle school.

“You’re imagining things.” Will rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Now get the ball already!”

With my eyes closed, I reached down to get the ball. I groped around the shrubbery for a minute before opening them-only to find that the ball was gone.

And so were the eyes.

Chapter Two

At dinner, I picked at my food quietly, not making eye contact with anyone at the table. Will, as always, sat across from me. He didn’t speak, but wolfed down his food like an animal. He quickly excused himself and left, leaving his plate on the table. My parents didn’t stop him.

“Harriet?” Mom asked me. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing jeans and a navy shirt. Her blue eyes were the same striking shade as Will’s. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m just a bit tired.” I lied smoothly. Mom believed it and started up a conversation with Dad about Will’s soccer. For a second, a voice seemed to remind me that Will always seemed to be a priority to Mom. I almost wished she would not believe me when I lie, instead of just brushing off whatever suspicions she had. I almost wished I was the older sibling. I quickly shook the thoughts from my head, but they were replaced with those of the eyes.

Dad gave me a look, and I knew that he, unlike Mom, knew I was lying. He had my brown hair, my chocolate eyes, and hosted a special ability to be able to read me. He could tell when I lie, and he knew I knew he could tell. I think that he thought that it was a small thing I was lying about, one that would warrant the look instead of further investigation.

Suddenly I wanted to be alone. I ate a few hasty bites before getting up from the table.

“Harriet!” Mom called. “Put your plate in the sink!”

I turned towards the table abruptly before picking up my plate and making a big show of putting it into the sink. Again, I started towards the kitchen door before my mother stopped me.

“Harriet!”

“What?” I could barely keep the aggravation out of my voice.

“Can you put your brother’s plate in the sink, too?”

That night, the weight that came with seeing the eyes loomed over me like a storm cloud about to bring a torrent of thunder. I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing them. Ever since I saw the eyes, I felt the intense stare of someone who was up to no good. I have been unable to concentrate, looking over my shoulder constantly out of paranoia. I groaned as I flopped onto my bed and buried my head in my pillow.

I was walking through the forest, alone. I could hear the wind whistling through the trees, creating an odd hum that made my ears tingle. Trees towered above me, making me feel lost in the big canopy. I kept walking, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the trees were so thick and hosted so many leaves it blocked out all light, only letting down small shafts of filtered sun.

Something felt … off about the forest. Evil. Although I wasn’t quite sure why it felt evil, or how something could even be described that way, I was certain that evil was the best way to describe the shiver in my bones that only intensified.

For a second, the strange wind came again. I felt it whip around me; I smelled the scent of a thunderstorm. A shadow was cast over me. For a moment, I felt like a horrible doom awaited me, reminding me of when I saw the red eyes. I whipped around, fear clenching my heart, to find -

My eyelids snapped open, my heart pounding and my hands sweaty. I tried to reassure myself that it was a dream, but it seemed so lifelike, so real. I thought back to the eyes. So? I asked myself, You have a strange day, then a nightmare. You're just off today. It's just a coincidence . . . Right?

I stepped out of bed, checked on my family, and peered into every nook in the house, just as I did when I was little. In the hall, my bare feet made soft padding sounds that seemed to echo through the house and make my home feel eerily empty. First, I went downstairs, flashlight in hand. I shined the light into every room and glanced around. I climbed back up the stairs and looked into my parent's room. They were sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by my nighttime prowl.

Lastly, I came to Will's room. My heart rate had slowed down by now, and I was calm. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, relaxing.

Soon I wouldn't have that luxury.

I stood in Will's doorway. His dresser had open drawers, clothes spilling out, as always. His bookshelf was littered with ear buds and a few odd knick-knacks, as always. His bookshelf featured similar items, suffocating the few, unfinished books. His windows were open, unlike usual, wind blowing his curtains away, giving an outside view . My heart started to pound in a strange way, and I turned to face the bed, slowly, as if I expected something to be wrong. It was . . . empty.

Panic consumed me. I screamed loudly, not yelling any words. Later, I was certain that I sounded like a wounded animal more that a human. The noise brought my parents in, a mess of bedhead, pajamas, and slippers falling off their feet in the rush. My mother’s scream was that of a banshee, and shook me as much as Will’s empty bed. She and my father ran around the house for several minutes, dashing downstairs to look for Will’s shoes, upstairs to look for his phone, and downstairs again to look for his wallet. All were in their places. Their fears were storm clouds, growing darker as they darted across the house. Eventually, all storms conquer the baby blue skies. In my mind, it was already raining and thundering without lightning. The police were called, but I stayed at the doorway frozen in shock. Eventually, the police investigated the empty room that belonged to my gone brother and I was lead to bed. I didn't hear the scared, half-hearted reassurances my parents whispered to me. The words were that of liars, people who wanted to help someone when they didn't know if life would ever be all right again. I climbed into bed, but stayed awake, mulling over what I had seen out the window in Will’s bedroom.

The glowing red eyes.

Chapter 5

The first time I saw the eyes I was terrified.

The second time I saw the eyes I was paralyzed.

The third time I saw the eyes I was calm.

I stood, Will’s soccer ball still in my hand, staring at the red orbs that appeared to be hovering in midair. The eyes stared back.

A beat.

Then they were gone.

I don’t know why I did it. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t smart. But I entered the forest.

The Forest by Spruce Lane was always the town’s ghost story. It was almost a tradition of sorts: every September, fifth graders would wrangle groups of first and second graders to tell them the stories. Some of the children already knew a story, warned by over-cautious parents as to keep their children from exploring alone, or scared by older (and mean) siblings. It was almost sweet in some strange, twisted way, the way the stories seemed to unite the school. In elementary school, kids of all ages would huddle together, listening to some new version of the story. In middle and high school, the stories were almost a joke, now that people were too old to believe them.

Will - Will - told me about the forest when I was about five years old. He came into my room one night and he told me. I slept in my parents bed for weeks afterwards, an overactive imagination not playing in my favor.

The stories seemed to change every time I heard them, a little bit being added each time to make the story scarier.

At first, the tale was that everyone who entered the forest would be found weeks, months, or years later hidden in the basement of the school, killed by a ghost (It didn’t help that our school loved Halloween decorations.).

Then, it was told that there were actually two ghosts, sisters who had been kidnapped and murdered in the forest by an evil creature - a witch, a wolf, or something no one had seen.

In third grade, Connor, one of my classmates, swore that he had met one of the ghosts in the forest. She wore a white, old-fashioned dress, an ax through her head. She swooped at him, but Connor ran out of the forest before she could kill him. After all, everyone knows that ghosts can’t leave the place they die. No one believed him. (I convinced myself that I found the idea preposterous as well, despite the part of me that clenched with icy fear.)

In fourth grade, I was playing with my friends, and we decided to have a contest to see who could get the farthest into the forest. Emily made it several paces in before dashing back. Maddie touched the bark of a tree. I made it to the treeline before I was petrified by fear.

Everyone believed that you shouldn’t go into the forest, even adults.

But here I was.

Title: The Forest

Genre: Fantasy

Age range: 12-18

Word count: 2158

Author name: Samantha Eill

Why your project is a good fit: It is an original take on a genre of book that already has been shown to be successful.

The hook: The hook to this story is that it introduces more mature themes than those which are most common in this genre, which most commonly focus on friendship and the triumph of good over evil. This makes it more appealing to teenage audiences that have outgrown other fantasy books.

Synopsis: Twelve-year-old Harriet Palmer loves mystery novels, but she never expected her life to turn into one. Stories about the forest by Elm Street have always lurked in the back of her mind, and Harriet starts to believe them when she happens upon red glowing eyes peering out from the forest. When Harriet's older brother, Will, disappears, Harriet stumbles into a new reality and finds herself in a world she never thought possible.

Target audience: Children and young adults who enjoy books such as Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, but are interested in a more intricate plotline and theme.

Your bio: Writing has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. The Harry Potter series served as an immense inspiration as I realized that I wanted to touch a child as much as J.K. Rowling has touched me. I attend the Baldwin School in the suburbs of Philadelphia and live with my parents, older brother, and dog. My friends and family are a never ending source of ideas, inspiration, and feedback.

Platform: None currently.

Education: I will be entering ninth grade this September.

Experience: I have been writing short stories, poems, and novellas since I was very young. I have had three poems selected for publication by the American Library of poetry and have completed three summer writing courses - two from West Chester University, and one through John’s Hopkins Center for Talented Youth.

Personality/writing style: My writing style is mysterious and magical, but with political undertones that reflect the real world around us.

Likes/hobbies: I love to write and read, and enjoy listening to music, rowing, playing with my dog, and running.

Hometown: Malvern, PA