I was lucky enough to get to work with these fabulous girls for a second semester. Once a week was never enough for them to write everything they wanted to write! They created stories, poems, and graphic novels. We laughed a ton, and they never failed to amaze me with the breadth of their imaginations.
Hermione the Dream Catcher
by Evan Allbritton
My name is Hermione Granger. I am a witch at Hog––I mean, I was a witch at Hogwarts. Until the day I kissed Ron Weasley in the Chamber of Secrets. That special day I kissed him was also the terrible day that Harry came into the chamber and cursed me.
He had been watching on a magic mirror in the girls’ lavatory. When he came down he was so infuriated and angry that he slaughtered Ron and turned me into a dreamcatcher! I had no idea what spell that was but a dreamcatcher?! How low can you possibly be to turn your best friend into a dreamcatcher of all things!!
My skin shrunk, following my bones and organs into a wooden dreamcatcher for a child. For years, I have been stuck in front of Malfoy’s son’s bed, plotting a way out. I’m forced to use the spell protego every night to repel his nightmares. I’ve tried to get out of it many times and haven’t successfully gotten out. But I do know one thing for certain: I will get my revenge, and Harry Potter will die!
Lizzy the Mango
by Helen Randle
Sally the Frog Boy
by Sonia Randle
Hi y’all. My name is Sally and I’m a frog boy. I don’t like lizards. I am only 12, but I drink beer daily. Have to go help my dad with his current mission, kicking the toads out of town. Ain’t the lizards, the toads. My dad gives me the lame jobs like getting him water cause he don’t trust me. I don’t like to eat dead things like flies and my dad thinks I should like them but I don’t. I ought to go help him stay cool.
I’m going down to practice so dad can see how good I am.
“Come in. Why you using the gun?”
“Before you get mad, watch,” I said. Bang.
“You got a bullseye.”
“See, Dad. I’m a good shooter.”
“You’re right, son. Now go get me my wallet and we’ll go get you some gear.”
by Pippa Sims
Ella had the most awful dreams. She never could seem to escape the clutches of fear, for this young girl wasn’t ordinary. She could see the nightmares. She could be in the horrid dreams. Every night she fell asleep she wouldn’t stay in her bed. Her eyes would open in a new world. For every time, she had the same dream. A child with black bright eyes and silky dark hair would be standing in her doorway. These nightmares were real. This black-eyed girl would say the same thing every time: “Come to the willow tree.” And everyday, the girl would come, but the child would be gone. She knew not to follow the child at night.
Her grandmother always told her to never leave the house after 12:00am. One night after coming home from school, Ella ate a small dinner before resting in her small attic room. Tonight was different. Something was different about the child. Something she said was different. Without thinking, Ella stood up and silently followed.
“She’s waiting,” the child had whispered. Her mother. Her mother was there. Ella ignored the warnings that swarmed her head. She crept out the door onto the bare grassy fields that surrounded her village. The grass was cold and bare on her feet. Sweat stung her brow. Monster they called her. Maybe she was because it seemed so real once she reached the willow tree just outside of town.
The girl held out a rope that was attached to one of the branches. “For her” she whispered. Ella nodded, tied the rope along her neck, stepped onto the branch nearby. She kicked the stool away. She would forever hang there by the tree. Now she could be with her mother forever. When the village found her they would notice that she was a monster no more but a dreamcatcher.
By Vivian Quinn
Hello. I am a bandit. I am a raccoon. I seem to have misplaced my door. It turned invisible, okay? I walk along the moonlit alley in search of the door, which leads to sacred lands of trashcans and mice to chase, without brooms and feet to be hit by. As I tiptoe from shadow to shadow, the occasional smell of trash wafts up my nose. It is extremely tempting, but I must stay focused on the task at hand. The door must be around here somewhere. Is that a handle in the wall?
Bandit leaps across the back street to a brick wall. He is searching for something. As he passed me, not noticing the body in the shadows, he was muttering something about a door. I stalk out of the shadows and leap beside him. He looks startled for only a moment. He blinks and starts to scuttle up the wall. I follow.
“Can I be of any assistance?” I purr, swinging onto the top of the wall.
Damora swings onto the top of the wall with strong grace.
“No,” I say.
She pads over to the handle before I can get there. “Why? Can’t I come with you?” she questions.
I walk over to the door and open it, gesturing a paw for her to go before me. She leaps in with a perfect, balanced swing.
I hear the door close above me and see Bandit falling overhead. He forgot to flip with his paws facing the ground. He lands on his back like a complete moron, while I gracefully fall onto four paws. I stride over to him and flip him onto his stomach with one paw. He gets up and walks away.
This place is different. I walk forward. The smell of trash fills the air. Bandit is already inspecting some piles of trash when I reach the field. The scent of freshly thrown out steak leads me to a bit of delicious unrotten meat in a trash can. I fling out half a steak with my teeth.
“How did you find that?” Bandit asks.
“My nose only gives me the best,” I reply. I gobble down the steak before he can get one bite. “Find you own,” I say.
by Lucie Young
I’ve been living in a cave for a month. It’s not exactly a 5 star hotel; the roof drips and bugs come in at night. It’s not like I live in it full time; I’m usually out in the village of Fensharrow, collecting knowledge from the locals about the legendary shadow door. Shadow door is a rift between worlds that transports you into a different realm. The escapees, refugees, thieves, and murderers come there and leave without a trace. Each is usually running from an accusation of stealing. I’m no different.
I won’t say what I did, but I should die for it, and I know that full well. Going through shadow door is the only way I can escape the authorities and myself. The daylight brightens outside, and I climb down the rocky slope to Fensharrow. The village is small, but no one really cares about me; I’m another traveler in their midst.
I see a woman and her daughter sitting on a bench under a tree. The daughter, probably about 7, is tying her shoes.
“Excuse me!” I call.
They look up.
“Do you know anything about the shadow door?” I ask.
The woman blinks. “No. Why would I?” she asks.
The girl, however, points down the street. “I do.”
“What?” I ask.
“There’s a seer’s shop down there,” she says.
“Elizabeth!” the woman scolds. She turns to me. “Hocus pocus, I know. Elizabeth is convinced of some gossip from her friends.”
“Oh,” I say. Hocus pocus it might be, but it wouldn’t hurt to poke around for trouble.
The shop, unfortunately, is abandoned. The windows are smashed and the shop sags. I poke open the door but dust has collected on everything and the chairs and tables are broken against the walls. One cracked, empty picture frame hangs above the door to the second room. I go through the door, finding it clear. The only piece of furniture is a door-like mirror with gilded edges. Could this be . . . ?