Nathan was staying there while his mother was out of town for the weekend. The boy had never really taken a liking to his grandmother, no matter how hard she tried. He had said nothing more to her than “Hi, Grandma,” since his arrival that morning, when he made a beeline towards her television set.

Curious, Marion walked slowly over to the couch. When she was standing directly over the boy, she looked up to see just what was so mesmerizing.

An MTV sign flashed across the screen. Four scantily clad girls pranced in front of her eyes, singing along to a track. Their pink fluffy costumes were nothing more than underwear. Marion found the entire display ludicrous and offensive. Hard to believe there was a time when Elvis Presley was never shot on TV below the waist on account of his infamous pelvic-gyrating dance moves.

“Music television, huh…? I think it’s pretty obvious that what’s going on there has nothing to do with musical ability,” Marion thought aloud.

She couldn’t help but reminisce on how much more dignity a girl used to have for herself. Women dressed themselves modestly; they acted like ladies, with grace and poise. Boldly throwing yourself almost nude across a stage was not sexy, thought Marion, it was obscene.

The old woman vividly remembered blushing every time her boyfriend would sing her favourite Beatles tune. Each time he sang the chorus, “I want to hold your hand,” Marion would go crimson, desperately hoping no one was listening. Everyone was so much more innocent then, she thought to herself.

Marion exhaled, discomforted. She found it unbelievably embarrassing to know that she was seeing this with Nathan, of all people. Did he know what he was watching? These days, would that even make a difference?

“Could you change the channel, please, Sweet Pea?” she asked politely.

Her grandson shot her a look of disgust; however, Nathan obliged.

After a few seconds, Marion’s eyes filled with tears. It was a gory gunfight in the parking lot of some sleazy Vegas casino. Profanities streamed from the mouths of angry pit bosses and other shooters. People were being murdered left, right, and center. Marion flinched involuntarily with every fatal bang.

If there was one thing she could not abide, it was violence. Senseless, bold violence. Since her own husband died serving in Vietnam, she had developed a cold fear towards everything and anything war-related. She couldn’t help but feel the intense reality of the TV program. In the real world, every one of those killing shots would take a man with it. A life. A family. A future.

Marion though it despicable to make light of murder. “The world must be coming to an end,” she thought. “They’ve found a way to make even massacres look appealing.”

She could not accept the fact that her own flesh and blood sat watching this, completely nonchalant. Emotionless.

“It’s hideous,” she remarked to her grandson.

Nathan jacked up the volume a few notches.

Respect, it appeared, was a thing of the past. “Things sure have changed, haven’t they, Nate?” Her opinion went completely unacknowledged. “Sad, isn’t it.”

by Becky Fleming

I’m falling.
Into darkness.
There’s nothing to catch me, no handhold to grasp.
I’m drowning.
Into darkness.
There’s no boat to swim to, no bottom to land on.
I’m alone.
In the darkness.
There’s nobody to hear my screams.
I have to run,
Or it will catch me.

by Adena Cahill

by Adena Cahill

My eyelids flew open and I breathed a sigh of relief when I registered my room the way it had been when I’d gone to sleep that night. It was still dark out so I checked the time on my digital clock. It read five-thirty in the morning. I sighed and wrenched myself out of my bed, grabbing my clothes for school.

In the shower, I relaxed as hot water flowed swiftly over my skin. Closing my eyes, I hoped for black oblivion. Instead I saw the face with bright ruby eyes and a devilish grin. I remembered the hard marble grip of the man, holding me tightly to him. I stared at him, frightened. He tilted his head slightly, just enough for his lips to touch my throat. I screamed.

My eyelids fought their way open once again. I stared, in shock, wondering why there was no sound of footsteps running to the bathroom. After a few seconds I realized that I’d screamed in my mind.

With a sigh, I stumbled out of the shower, quickly scrubbing myself dry and putting on my jeans, tank top, and sweater. Again, I checked the clock. It was still only a quarter after six. To distract myself, I took my binder out of my schoolbag and popped on the computer for an hour, working on my English outline. I became so absorbed with my research that I eventually forgot my nightmare.

Soon, I was rushing out the door so I wouldn’t miss my bus.

The day progessed as usual, but I was pretty edgy without consciously knowing why. When I went to sleep that night, I was cruelly reminded of the reason for my unease that day. The forgotten nightmare returned. Even though I now knew what was coming—the terror of that red-eyed fiend—I wouldn’t lift my lids in time to end the dream. It was almost like I wanted to scare myself witless.

The next morning in school, I was leaning against my locker with my friends Maisie and Felicia when our friend Josh jumped up with red eyes. I cringed against the locker and fought back a scream. With the red eyes—made possible with contacts—he looked exactly like the man in my dream.

Josh burst into laughter. I relaxed a little and gave a half-hearted laugh, but I was pretty shaken up. Instantly, Maisie and Felicia were concerned at my reaction: the last time I’d been like it was in third grade when my aunt had been really sick, but even that hadn’t been quite this bad.

“What’s wrong Ky? Don’t lie to us,” Maisie demanded.

I just sighed; a relaxed sound, though my mind was in a frenzy. “I’m not telling you, Maise. It’s too embarrassing.”

Maisie pursed her lips, clearly unhappy that I was hiding something, but Felicia had the guts to press the subject.

“Seriously, Kyla, don’t hide stuff from us. We can help you.”

My hand clenched into a fist. “Felicia, here is not the place to explain. I’ll tell you tonight at my place.” Instantly, I regretted my promise. As the bell rang, I groaned and went to class, ignoring the jibes that people were giving me about being scared at Josh. I didn’t have the energy to tell them to shut up.

Chapter 2: Explanation

In French, I’d been doodling without looking at what I was drawing. When I looked down, I saw the man from my nightmare. My eyes widened in horror. When I didn’t reply to a note Maisie passed me, she quickly looked at my binder and looked at me questioningly. I just shook my head and hid the drawing.

Too soon the day came to a close. As soon as Felicia, Maisie, and I got to my house, their questions started to flow like a tidal wave out of control.

“Who was that in the sketch that you drew during French?” Maisie asked.

At the same time, Felicia wondered aloud why I was so shaken up. “How the hell did Josh scare you this morning? You saw him coming; he was in your 20/20 vision. How did you not see him?”

I groaned as I led them to my room. “That man I drew in French class, he’s been in a nightmare I’ve been having for the past two nights. Scared me senseless both times. It’’s like I know when everything is going to happen but I just can’t seem to wake up before the part that scares me plays out. I always feel really jumpy once I do wake up. I know this sounds crazy, but I’m scared that it’s actually going to play out in real life.”

Felicia had another question. “What happens in this dream that scares you? Maybe then we could figure out something that could change it.”

Maisie nodded in agreement.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

Now they both were nodding. I sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time that week, and started into my explanation. “First, I’m in my bedroom sleeping and I wake up to the sound of my window creaking open. I look up to see a pale man with vivid ruby eyes standing in front of my window. He’s mesmerizing but I blink and then he’s in front of my door, making it so I can’t escape. He knows I wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and jump out the window. He’s a stranger, though, so I get up and try to scream, but my throat is blocked off by fear. Then he’s holding me in his arms and I can’t loosen the grip he has on me. I try to scream again, but I just can’t seem to find my voice. He gives me this creepy smile. I see my fear reflected in his eyes. He tilts his head slightly, enough so that his lips touch my throat. At that point, I can finally scream, so I do. That’s when I wake up, gasping for air, ready to scream my head off again.”

I shuddered. It was bad enough having the nightmare without having to describe it. I saw fear leak into their eyes as the images seeped through their minds.

Felicia broke the silence. “That is scary.”

Maisie joined in. “Yeah, I know. I’d be scared, too.”

Felicia shuddered once and fell onto the bed, fear clouding her beautiful baby blue eyes. Maisie became still as a statue. I opened my door to try and loosen the tension in the room. That’s when a bloodcurdling scream rang through my house.

by Jacquelyn Redmond

by Erin Vance

“Please,” she begged, her voice like sandpaper, “I don’t got much time. You’re D&D’s Detective Service, ain’t you?”

The woman was petite, very thin, and looked to be in her mid 60s. Despite her stature and attire, the twins felt quite intimidated by her as she stepped inside.

Dave began to lead her into the living room. “That we are, please, sit down. Tea?”

Although seemingly reluctant, the woman seated herself and accepted the tea. In a few moments, she spoke again.

“My name’s Belissa Craw, and I come to you ’cause I am, or was, the cook of the now late Lord Edward Carter. He died this mornin’, an’ though everyone else thinks suicide, it don’t make sense and the butler agrees with me. Lord Carter was left-handed, and the gun was in his right hand. I watch them mysteries on the telly, an’ I can be observant.”

“Have you told the police yet?” Dave asked

“The only way they’d listen to me say it was murder was if I confessed. I’m just the old cook.”

“Ms. Craw, please tell us everything.” Didi said, reaching for a pen and paper.

“All right. Accordin’ to the police, Lord Carter died at about one o’clock this mornin’, from a bullet through the head. Last night, the rest o’ the household an’ the guests—there was three of ’em—retired between ten an’ ten-thirty, save fer me an’ the maid, Annie Shale. We washed up the brandy glasses an’ went to bed. That was at eleven, an’ milord was still in the drawing room, gazin’ at the ashes. He must ‘ave left soon after though, acose when I went back down to get mi ring, he was gone.

“I went to bed an’ woke in the night to a bump on the stairs. I thought nothing of it at the time. I should have checked.” Her eyes began to water.

She sniffed, was quiet for a few moments, and then haltingly continued. “This mornin’ at seven-thirty sharp, I brought breakfast to milord’s room. ’Is bed wasn’t slept in, so I went lookin’ for him and found him…face down on ’is desk in a pool of blood.” On the last few words, she broke down and began to sob quietly into her hanky.

“Was there a suicide note?” Didi inquired when Belissa collected herself.

“Yeah. All it said was that he left everything to his son. As if he’d leave it all to that good-fer-nothin’ arse of a boy.”

By this time, the tea was cold and Ms. Craw had to get back to the estate. Dave and Didi made arrangements to arrive there before noon the next day and bade good-bye to Ms. Craw.

The next morning the twins received a telephone call from the butler that gave them even more incentive to solve the case. Ms. Craw was in a coma. The cause was poison, or more specifically, weed killer. D&D Detective Service did not give up so easily. Although they were apprehensive about their own safety, they packed, and to the obvious dismay of the late Lord Carter’s son, now Lord Henry Carter, arrived right on schedule.

When they arrived, the butler—who introduced himself as Wadsworth—agreed to speak with them and led them quietly into the library.

“Is there any news on Ms. Craw?” Didi asked hopefully.

“Unfortunately not, ma’am. We all hope she has a quick recovery, but there’s been no change since last night. Now, what can I help you with?”

“Could you tell us about the three guests? What was their connection to Lord Carter?”

“Lady Charlotte Kane was cousin to the late Lady Carter, who succumbed to a terrible bout of pneumonia many years ago. Lady Kane and Lord Carter stayed friends after Lady Carter’s death, and she was here for a visit.”

“What of the other two guests?”

“Well, Sir Charles Jackson is a friend of Mr. Henry Car—I mean, Lord Henry Carter—from boarding school years ago, and he was here to ask about a business of some kind. I believe he wanted to ask Lord Carter to be his partner. I don’t like him, but he’s never led the young master astray.”

Wadsworth paused here, moving to the window. “Dr. Philip Kennedy is an old navy comrade of the late Lord Carter and a kind gentleman. He lost his wife and two daughters in a car accident a short time after Lady Carter died. I think grief brought the doctor and the late lord closer together.”

Dave and Didi thanked the butler and split up to search the house and moorland. Dave turned up two sets of footprints in the mud below the study window, one a man’s boot and the other a woman’s slipper, along with a small piece of torn blue cloth on the vine climbing the side of the house. Didi searched the house, including the rooms of the three guests, the rooms of the maid and the butler, and finally, the suite of the son. In Sir Charles’ room she found a pair of mud-caked boots in the bottom of a trunk at the foot of his bed. The maid’s closet revealed a torn blue cotton dress hidden at the very back. Lastly, a single slipper was found in the room of Lady Kane.

Finally, the library came under observation. Didi sat in the old desk chair and began searching through documents in and on top of the desk. The desk was huge, with drawers on either side, but when Didi opened the drawers, she found them to be smaller than they seemed and in the bottom she found a few threads of string, colored to match the desk stain. Pulling at one of the strings, Didi heard a sickening crack, and the bottom of the drawer split down the middle and lifted to expose a small hollow filled with scrolls of paper. With an excited cry, she called to Dave and together they read through deeds, bank statements, stock certificates, bonds and finally, the legitimate will of the late Lord Edward Carter.

By this time night had fallen. They delivered the will to the police and hurried back to the Carter estate to expose the murderer and accomplices before another night of danger.

After supper, D&D’s Detective Service called the household together in the drawing room for brandy. They told everyone about their investigation and discoveries, including the gun in the wrong hand, the boots, slipper, and the dress, but they left out the finding of the will. They watched as horror grew steadily in the eyes of three people; they watched as these three squirmed in their seats and finally, they became triumphant as one of them leapt up.

“I did it! I’m the murderer, but I didn’t want to!” screamed Sir Charles. “I only did it to marry her,” he said, pointing to Annie, who sat with a surprisingly serene expression. “Really! I killed him, for money from him.” He was shaking now and turned his accusing finger upon the new Lord Carter. “But did I stage it? Nay! And neither did I poison that dear old cook, Ms. Craw!” He sat down again and tears began to fall on to his lap.

“Yes, I staged the murder,” Annie said softly, almost to herself. She seemed more admitting than scared. “I thought that maybe the police wouldn’t investigate so thoroughly, and Charles and I would be able to escape.” She looked up at Didi. “Do what you like with me. I don’t care. My life isn’t worth living for I’ve no chance of clear conscience.” A single tear rolled down her cheek and she lowered her face.

“I suppose I may as well confess too, since these idiots have lost their heads.” Lord Carter snarled at them. “Both of them being so ridiculously in love and equally poor, I struck a deal with them: money for their wedding in exchange for ridding me of my stupid father who loved everything in his idiotic little world. I should have had him locked up! Oh, and yes, I poisoned dottery old Ms. Craw, blast her. Anyway, cart me off in handcuffs, I don’t care. I’ll buy my way out. I have money now.”

“Actually,” Didi replied, “we found the real will. You only have about a quarter of the amount you thought you were getting. Your father split most of the money up between trusted hired help, charities, and friends.”

The story came out. Henry Carter had promised Charles and Annie 5,000 pounds if they killed Lord Edward Carter. The night of the murder, Annie unlatched the study window before bed, then crawled down the vine. Charles sneaked out the door. They met outside the window. Charles leapt in and shot Lord Carter. He exited through the door and Annie quickly staged the scene by putting the gun in the dead lord’s hand and locking the window. On their way to their rooms, Charles fell on the stairs, making the thump that Belissa had heard. On her morning cleaning rounds, Annie placed the muddy slipper under Lady Kane’s bed. When they learned that Belissa had gone to Dave and Didi, Henry went to the kitchen, sent her on an errand to the store, and poisoned her evening meal with weed killer.

A few phone calls by Dave had the three culprits headed to the police station in handcuffs. Sir Charles and Annie were given their wish and married before being tossed into the clink. Henry Carter was stripped of his title (it was given to his second cousin) and sent to prison, where they made sure he couldn’t buy his way out. Belissa Craw recovered, promptly retired, and is now living in a small cottage in the country.

by Adena Cahill

Josh, an acquaintance of mine who wears his love for music on his sleeve, told me that I just had to listen to the new Panic at the Disco CD. I was quite skeptical at first; personally I like new bands fresh off the assembly line as I find that most bands’ music falls apart or becomes repetitive after the first CD. So you can understand why I didn’t fully believe my friend’s claims of perfection for Pretty. Odd., the second album released by Panic at the Disco.

After a few songs I realized how far they’ve come from their catchy, broken hearted pop tunes. Pretty. Odd. sounds like the Beatles’ second coming, chiming lyrics and metaphors that can really resonate with today’s youth. For example, “When the day met the night” is a classic love song in which the sun, depicted as a young man, finds the moon, seen as a classy young woman sipping tea in a garden. In “Northern Downpour(.),” a broken hearted young man is so depressed he doesn’t want to see the sun again and he begs the moon to “forget to fall down(.)”

While the CD is typical in its use of metaphorical love songs, it’s innovative in the way it puts the message to new and old music styles; a lot of the tracks sound like the revolution songs of the 1960s, the burlesque songs of the 1920s’ night scene, and 1980s’ techno rock hybrids. It offers multiple sounds for your multiple moods, as well as giving listeners a taste of the classics contemporized with 21st century logic. I find it a perfect balance of all the things great music should be: art, communication, history, politics, and the human spirit.

by Lisa White

Twilight by Stephenie Meyer is the first novel in the “Twilight” series. Bella Swan, a 17-year-old girl, goes to live with her father, Charlie Swan, in the small town of Forks. After the mysterious Edward Cullen saves her from a car crash that should have killed them both, Bella realizes that Edward and his family are not what they appear and she becomes determined to know who, and what, the Cullens really are. From that moment on, Bella is plunged head-first into a whirlpool of secrets, adventure, near-death experiences, and love.

While the book is filled with dark imagery and emotions, it contrasts that darkness with lighter moments—including snappy, humorous dialogue—and the ever-growing bond between the two protagonists. From the very first moment I read about Bella, I could relate to the shy and clumsy girl, as I’m sure most girls could. This book perfectly mixes the natural with the supernatural (not an easy task), successfully suspending disbelief for the reader. I think this book will become a favorite of readers of all ages and a classic in its genre.

by Katie Fleming