Creative Center

Mysterious Happenings

By: Kristen F. '17

            Red hot flames pierced the black starless night sky like shooting daggers as smoke engulfed the small town of Fallbrook. The rampant fire, the crashing buildings, and the dreadful smell of dead bodies filled Lucille’s lungs.  Her apartment building was nothing but a hollow shell of charred bricks.  The small town of Fallbrook was completely crushed and demolished leaving only a barren wasteland behind.  The morose scene of crying children and whimpering dogs burned Lucille’s eyes with a sudden shock of reality.  Trepidation welled up inside of her as she frantically searched for her mother and brother.  Screaming their names, straining her voice in the hope of finding a sign, Lucille remained adamant in her belief that they were still alive. 

            Everything was gone.  Lucille’s home was indiscernible as its burnt structure stood among a carpet of soot like a mound of rubble in the middle of a scorched desert. The search to find her family was all that consumed her thoughts. Tearing through the broken bricks and splintered wood like a hungry bear searching for food, Lucille did not waste any time.                

“Ouch!” exclaimed an anonymous being.  “What was that for?”

            Lucille anxiously looked around for the source of the voice only to find an innocuous little white rabbit sitting beneath all the rubble.                                                                                      

           “Hello,” it said, “I’m Tumpy!”

            Lucille jumped back in astonishment at the site of the talking bunny and hid beneath her hands. “This can’t be happening!” Lucille thought aloud. The little white bunny hopped about and wiggled its nose anxiously at the frightened young girl.                         

Tumpy was a young rabbit in search of his missing mother. “I am looking for someone too,” explained the young rabbit.                                                                                                               

Tumpy; illustration by Kristen F. '17

Lucille slowly uncovered her eyes and took a good hard look at the rabbit.  His fur was a coat of ash caked up against his once fluffy, white hair, and his bright, blue eyes bulged out of his head.

“I am Tumpy,” he said once again, “I am a lost bunny in search of my missing momma. Do you think you could help me?”                                                                                                         

 Lucille still sat there bemused and shocked, unable to think or move.                                                            

“I am also frightened,” he stated as he drew closer to Lucille slowly and gingerly, “so will you help me if I help you?”

Lucille took a long hard pause and thought: So when a talking rabbit comes up to you and offers you a deal, do you take it? The answer was yes.  Lucille took the rabbit up on his offer, and they began their journey together in the search of their missing family.

Tumpy turned out to be the most exasperating yet lovable little rabbit Lucille had ever seen. The temerity of this bunny was unbelievable as he so boldly hopped about merrily amongst the ruins of the once beautiful small town.  His constant raucous singing and ridiculous prancing about made it impossible for Lucille to think properly or even remember the point of their journey.  He was one big ball of happy; a stark contrast to the atmosphere around them.  At times, Lucille would become depressed and incredulous as she feared of never seeing her missing family again.  Nonetheless, Tumpy’s loud cheerful songs always made her laugh and forget her troubles. There was something about his total lack of competence to sing that always made her chuckle. Together Tumpy and Lucille comforted each other and soothed each other’s open wounds.

“Time to wake up,” someone yelled from afar. “Come on! We are going to be late for school, Lucille!” She sat up dizzy and confused. “Come on!” the voice came again as Lucille’s brother Thomas stormed into her room.Their eyes met, and Lucille ran out of her bed and squeezed her brother in a warm loving embrace.                                              

“You’re alive!” she screamed. “Where’s Mommy? Is she okay? Did she escape the fire?” Lucille questioned.                                                                                                                    

“What the heck are you talking about, silly?  It is Monday! We have to go to school in five minutes, and there was no fire! Get dressed!” he shouted as he slammed her door shut behind him.

 Had she imagined it all: the horrible nightmare of losing her house and searching for her family?  Rubbing the last remnants of sleep from her eyes, Lucille jumped off her bed.  As she made her way to her closet, the sounds of rustling leaves were heard outside.  Quickly, Lucille hurried to the window and peered down.  Below she beheld the most mysterious sight.  Sitting quietly upon the grass sat a young abandoned white bunny. “Tumpy,” she whispered.  Could it truly be the rambunctious rabbit from her dreams?  As if reading her thoughts, he turned his head up towards her and melted Lucille’s heart with those big, blue eyes.  He hopped eagerly in the grass and wiggled his nose inviting Lucille to play.                                       “Mom,” Lucille yelled as she bounded down the steps, “can we have a pet rabbit?” 

Check out the previous story!

Halloween Edition:
"The Curse of  Morley Estate"

By: Caitlin F. '14

Thick fog hung in the air like a massive blanket, constantly shifting direction with the current of the bitter wind.  Rustling leaves scurried along the deserted cobbled stone path leading to the grand Morley Estate.  The once white and well manicured structure now stood desolate, shrouded in a dark, grey cloak with wiry vines crawling up its outer walls.  The overgrown and severely unkempt shrubbery was surrounded by rows of desiccated grass.  There was no laughter, nor the consoling echoes of children at play; not even the methodical rhythm of wood chopping could be heard. Silence! Silence everywhere.  A silence as deafening as the chiming of the Town Hall’s clock tower enveloped this haunted ground.  It has been said that the Morley Estate suffered a most terrible tragedy many years ago: one that no one cares to reminisce. People say the house is cursed-cursed to all who dare enter...

            As if a plague had descended, the Morley house slowly became infested with a series of misfortunes. Tragedy first struck in 1866 when Mr. and Mrs. Charles Morley lost their only child, Pearl.  It was on Halloween Eve that Pearl met an untimely death at the age of three when she fell into a lake and drowned.  The loss was so unbearable for Mrs. Morley that she was unable to leave her bed for months.  Distressed over his wife’s mental state and grieving deeply over his daughter’s death, Mr. Morley commissioned several doctors to  find a cure.  Not one of them was able to break through his wife's silent reverie.  It was not until a rather eccentric individual was hired as his wife’s keeper that Mr. Morley began to see a change.  Her name was Miss Bancroft.  Although she was well spoken and exemplified all the qualities of a proper lady, there was an air of aloofness about her which, to a small degree, unnerved Mr. Morley.  Nevertheless, Miss Bancroft tended the grieving mother with such solicitous care that Mr. Morley gradually acquired a certain respect for his new employee and permitted her to spend countless hours by his wife’s bedside.  During that time, Miss Bancroft became not only Mrs. Morley’s caregiver but her sole confidant.  Gradually, the lady of the house became more lucid and aware of her surroundings, until one day she was able to return to her former life before Pearl’s death...                                                                                                               
          Or so everyone thought. There was an unusual glimmer in her eyes like that of a child keeping a trusted secret.  Often times, Mr. Morley would find her staring out the window as if in a trance.   Every day she would pray by Pearl’s grave and place orange gladiolas in a circle while chanting a bizarre song. And then there was Miss Bancroft, always lurking in the shadows, a haughty smile across her alabaster face.  Tension and unease rippled through the air, as if two opposing currents were about to collide.  Unfortunately, Mr. Morley was called away on an emergency business trip and was unable to address his concerns with his employee before his departure.  He was expected to be absent for three weeks and he prayed fervently that he would find his wife in a much improved state of mind upon his return.

            The autumn landscape was warm and comforting, bathed in soothing hues of yellow and orange, save for the blood red leaves that left a trickling path. Bare from shedding their summer coat, the trees appeared to be stretching their crooked arms upward to capture the ever fading warmth of the sun’s rays.  The days came and went; three weeks passed. It had been one year since Pearl died in the cold lake.  Mr. Morley was on his way home.  He knew his wife would be mourning the loss of their daughter, and he just had to get back.

          Dusk's shadowy tendrils were steadily creeping towards the estate by the time Mr. Morley’s carriage arrived. The warmth of the day had now become chilly and damp.  A thick mist hung in the air and clung to his coat like fine beads of sweat as he made his way up the long winding path.  The house was dark except for one glowing light that flickered from his wife’s quarters in the upper left wing.   As he entered the main hall, he called his wife’s name.  Looking around, he thought it odd that the fireplace was cold and had not been kindled for hours.  Where was Miss Bancroft and why was she not attending to her duties?  Just as Mr. Morley was about to ascend the stairs, he heard a loud wail coming from the rear of the house.  Immediately he sprinted towards the source of the sound, but found it unoccupied and in seemingly good order.  However, the door was left ajar and in had blown the most unusual crimson colored leaves. With a growing sense of dread, Mr. Morley noticed that the leaves had left a trail like wet footprints on a dry floor. Another wail, this time louder, shattered the still night. Almost tripping on his way out the door, Mr. Morley was not only greeted by the frigid night air, but also by a sight too terrifying to behold. 

          Fire blazed upward towards the darkened sky in the private alcove where little Pearl was buried almost a year ago.  There stood Mrs. Morley, disheveled in her night dress with her hair wildly blowing across her face.  Her husband called out to her, but she could not hear him over the whipping flames.  He walked closer shading his eyes from the grey smoke that enveloped him.  With arms outstretched, his wife began frantically running closer to the fire as though desperately trying to reach something.  He shouted for her to stop.  She froze in her tracks, and stood there weeping with joy, and then she called her name, “Pearl…oh my baby Pearl!”   Mr. Morley was horrified by what he saw.  Pearl’s grave had been ripped open and was encircled with golden gladiolas.  The fire that raged within the circle was shaped like a five pointed star forming a pentacle, the symbol most often associated to witchcraft.   And then, his eyes caught hold of a beautiful woman dressed in a flowing violet gown holding his precious little Pearl.  But how could this be?  Pearl had died exactly a year ago. How could she be here looking as healthy as she did before her tragic death.  Catching his breath and finding his voice once again, Mr. Morley demanded, “Who are you, and what kind of trick is this?”

Before the stranger could answer, Mrs. Morley replied with a half-crazed excitement, “This is no trick, Charles.  This is magic.  Miss Bancroft…she taught me the dark arts. Together we conjured up a spell and brought our little girl back!  Look Charles …it is our baby.  Now we can be a family again.”  Mr. Morley was dumbfounded, but before he could reply the stranger answered.  

“Hello Charles.  Never thought you would see me again….did you?”

  The figure approached closer, and now he recognized her exquisite features in the warm glow of the fire. Dark raven hair framed a heart shaped face, and eyes glowing green like sparkling emeralds looked seductively into his eyes.

          “Theodora?   Is that you?  But, you are supposed to be….”

          “Dead…is that what you were about to say?  Oh my dear Charles!  How surprised you look.  It is simply priceless!”  Theodore moved with grace as she balanced the now sleeping child in her arms.

          “Charles, who is this woman and what is she doing with our child?” inquired Mrs. Morley.  She wheeled around to face Theodora, “Where did Miss Bancroft go?” she demanded.

          “Oh dear…where are my manners?  Let me introduce myself.  My name is Miss Theodora Winthrop, your husband’s former mistress.” 

          The look of shock on poor Mrs. Morley’s face revealed that she was unaware of her husband’s infidelity. Theodora looked down upon her triumphantly.

          “Charles, what is the meaning of this?  Do you know her…are you having an affair with this woman?” cried Mrs. Morley.

          “Do not listen to her Grace!” implored Mr. Morley.  “She is an imposter playing tricks with your mind.  I do not know who this woman is!  Where in the world is Miss Bancroft?”

          Theodora lips lifted into a seductive smile as she slithered closer to Mr. Morley.  And then she spoke in Miss Bancroft’s voice as she shifted into her likeness and said,

          “I am Miss Bancroft!  We are one and the same.”

          A scream escaped from Mrs. Morley, and her husband reached her side before she had a chance to lunge at the transformed stranger.

          “Give me my child!  Let go of my baby….you vile witch!” sobbed Mrs. Morley.

          “Now …now….there is no need for such foul accusations”, chuckled Miss Bancroft as she transformed back into the sensuous Theodora.

          “You tricked me….said you could bring my baby back … alive…to me!  You used me…used the love bond between mother and child…, between Pearl and I, to make the resurrection spell work. She is my little girl… my flesh and blood....”

          “SHE IS NOT YOUR BABY!” shouted Theodora.  “She is mine…my adorable baby girl stolen by your precious Charles!  Tell her Charles…tell her how our little liaison conceived a child.”

          “Theodora!  That is enough…stop your insolence!  Is this some sort of sick revenge;” shouted Mr. Morley, "why must you torture my wife?”

          “Charles, you do know this woman?” cried his wife.

          “My dear Grace… of course he knows who I am,” sneered Theodora.

          “This is simply ridiculous,” shouted Mr. Morley.  “Theodora Winthrop died three years ago after the loss of her baby.  It was all over the news…said she could not bear her life without her child.  She took her own life and drowned in the river.”

          “Ah… so that is how you live with your guilt…by filling your head with foolish lies!” yelled Theodora.  “Let me tell you my dear Grace how it really happened.  Your husband and I had an affair and we conceived a child.  When I told him the news, he suggested that I get rid of it.  You too were pregnant with child, and he told me that the affair had to end.  Your fragile state of mind was all he could think about, and he did not want to jeopardize his marriage.  But, I begged him to allow me to keep the child and I promised to keep quiet about our affair.  Charles agreed and the matter was settled, but he insisted in helping out financially.  So, once a month he hired a messenger to deliver a sum of money to help cover expenses.  Sometimes, we exchanged letters.  It was difficult to stay apart, you see.  Nine months later, I delivered my beautiful baby girl, Sage.  Your baby girl, Pearl, was born almost a week later.  Grace, you had complications and hemorrhaged profusely and were unconscious for days.  What you did not know was that your little girl was stillborn…..”

          Mrs. Morley gasped and covered her ears as she shook her head back and forth and all the while shaking her head and shouting “No! No! This cannot be!!” Pearl is my baby…she is alive and well now.”

          “Theodora, do not do this ….not now!” implored Mr. Morley.

          “She needs to know the truth …what you did to protect your wife’s sanity.  You knew the loss of your baby would be too much for her to bear, so you hired your messenger to kidnap my Sage…our child!”

          “It was not like that… he was to offer a large sum of money in exchange for the child.  I know nothing of a kidnapping!  I am aware now that it was foolish and selfish of me to make such a request, but when he returned with the child in his arms, I assumed you had agreed to the bargain,” Mr. Morley explained defensively.

          “Well…my dear Charles, you assumed wrong.  I turned down the money and refused to give him my child, but it seems your most trusted messenger had other plans.  He killed me….stabbed me in my gut, threw my body in the river, absconded with your money and stole my baby!  THAT IS WHAT HAPPENED!” shouted Theodora.

          “If that is true, then how are you alive?   How can you be standing here with my baby…my Pearl who died last year…on this very same day?”

          “Oh Charles…there is irony in these bizarre chain of events!  How else could I be alive today with our daughter in my arms?  I was born a witch and so was your daughter.  When Pearl drowned in the river, the mother and child bond was broken; thus allowing my spirit to return to my body.  I have more than one life and so does Pearl. You see, when a mortal conceives a child with a witch, the child is most certainly to inherit magical powers.  With the help of your wife, I was able to conjure up the resurrection spell because she was the keeper of the love bond.  My love was passed onto Pearl the moment of my death and then handed over to your wife.  We have come full circle, my love, and now I have come to claim my child!”

          “No…No!” screamed Mrs. Morley.  “Pearl is mine…all mine! Now hand over my child!”

Wrenching free from her husband’s firm grasp, she ran full force towards Pearl.  Theodora waved one hand in the air and a great tower of flames erupted, forming an impenetrable wall that stopped Mrs. Morley in her tracks.   Her husband caught her by the arm once again and tried to pull her away from the raging fire.  Pearl awoke from her slumber and called out to the only mother she knew,

            “MOMMA… MOMMA,” she cried with tears as she leaned towards Grace Morley.

          “Mommy’s coming, baby…momma is coming…,” she cried as she tore away from her husband’s tight grip.  

          “NO!! STOP-OH MY GOD GRACE-GET AWAY FROM THE FIRE!” screamed Mr. Morley.  But it was too late.  Grace ran right into the soaring flame as if it were not there.  All she could see was her darling little Pearl…her baby…her only child.  There was nothing poor Charles could do.  The fire would have surely engulfed him too if he followed her.

          “GRACE!” he shouted hoplessly.  “Oh …why Grace….why?”

Tears rolled down his smoke covered cheeks as he choked down the gut-wrenching sob welling up in his throat.  Bitterly, he wiped his face on the cuff of his sleeve.  And then turning furiously in the direction where Theodora was standing just moments ago holding their child, he shouted her name, but no one was there.  She was gone. Pearl was gone.  There was nothing left but the smoke filled air, the dying embers and the burnt remains of his beloved Grace.  Charles fell down on his knees, covered his face with his trembling hands and shed heart-breaking tears of anguish.  The autumn wind whipped around dusting him with soot and ash.  A flutter of leaves whirled and landed ever so softly upon the burnt ground, forming nature’s tapestry in hues of brown, yellow, orange and crimson.  Off in the distance, looking back at the Morley estate, sat a black cat and kitten.  Slyly, the cat rose, turned and walked away; the kitten obediently followed closely behind.  Both never looked back.

           Charles Morley moved away six months after the tragedy.  The reminders were too painful to bear and his heart weighed heavily with guilt.  He tried to sell the house, but not a buyer was interested.   He then put it up for rent, but each time the boarders would pack their bags and leave before the year’s end.  And so, nobody came to live in the Morley Estate.  There were no heirs to inherit the property.  It remained unoccupied, year after year, until it became the property of the state.  Everyone in town swore that the house was haunted.  Even today, no one dares to enter. It has been rumored that on every Halloween Eve, one can see Grace Morley’s spirit looking for her baby girl and the echoes of her cries can still be heard amongst the howl of the chilly autumn wind.

~ The End ~