Young Writers Society

With a shriek and a flurry of sparkles, Joe transformed into a carrot.

“They’re my bones, thank you. Can you kindly get out of them?”

"Did I tell you all about how I managed to parallel park the car yesterday? The neighbor's new Toyota didn't even burst into flames and slide down the hill this time-- wait."

"...So you know what a plantation is," Matthew said, slowly, "but you don't know what chinchillas and Renaissance fairs are?"

Well, out of all the ways to die, flirting with the wrong person seemed like a pretty cool way to go, at least. Maybe they wouldn't walk away thinking, "Beckett was a lesbian," but instead, "Beckett was a player."

Internally, Karter winced. His first instinct had to stop being "pelt the scary thing with tomatoes."

But no student came out of the bushes. Instead, the bushes stood up.

"Let's get back to pasta and revolutions, shall we?" Oliver said.

Sadie nodded, satisfied. "They are pretty phish-y. Chaos goblin. But does good work."

You think being a ghost protects you from the Nightman? You're corporeal and the Nightman is a demon. You're getting yeeted.