Young Writers Society

Welcome to MCA, a support group for mythical creatures such as yourself, to discuss the complications we often face in our daily lives.

The support group is for ages 14-22 and is located in the small town Ligonia, Pennsylvania, population: 1,560. Ligonia is a charming town that belongs mainly to mythical beings, but the population of the mundane is steadily rising.

Support group isn't just fun and games, it's also there to teach you how to conceal your powers, and how to protect yourselves. Ligonia might not seem like much, but it hides mystical beings, secrets of the mundane, and a secret organization that might not have the best interests of the magical at heart.

Much of this storybook will take place in support group, but not exclusively so. We all know how much I adore high school storybooks, so much of this storybook may take place in high school. However, high school is not the main focus of this storybook, and I would really like to have some older characters who might possibly be attending college. This storybook will focus on the sometimes humorous struggles of the daily lives of our characters, but also on the developing conflict between the mystical beings, and the sinister organization that could be targeting them. That conflict will be discussed later on and I want everybody to help brainstorm, but I wanted this SB to be a bit different from my normal ones because I want it to have a more focused plot if at all possible.

Please join, I really don't have a concrete idea or plan for where I want this SB to go, so if you have some cool ideas, I'm totally open to them!

Jake Harrison

He could see fire.

It was everywhere.

From the skyscrapers to the leaves of the trees. The fire just continued to spread and grow. It consumed everything. The cars. The houses. He kept tell himself to wake up.
He repeated it like a mantra as he watched the hellish landscape only grow.

The fire seemed to be coming from him. Somewhere deep inside, and it just wasn't stopping. No matter how much he tried to bottle it up, the fire was clawing its way out of him and rendering everything to ash.

There stood his parents. Ever judgmental. Ever disappointed in him. The fire slowly surrounding them as he cried out. He begged for them to help him - to save him. They slowly turned their backs on him as the fire enveloped their bodies and they burned to ash.

From the smoke that arose, came a massive shape. Wreathed in fire. Two bright, burning gold eyes were staring at him from the fire before it gave a horrifying screech and lunged at him.


Jake awoke screaming.

His body was covered in a sheen of cold sweat and his body felt like he was boiling. He closed his eyes and took deep breaths he noticed the smell of something burning. His eyes open he quickly began to pat down the blanket that has burst into flames. He groaned as he tossed it to the floor.

"Fire proof my foot," Jake said. Sitting up he rested his face in his hands.

The room he was in was painfully bare and solid cement. Only the metal bed and the fire retardant mattress and sheets. It was safer that way. Kept him from burning down the building.

That feeling of something trying to pry its way out of him was still there. The fire was always trying to get out. To be set free. It had grown stronger in the years that he had been at Ligonia, Pennsylvania.

Getting up and stepping out of the bare room into the partly furnished living room of the apartment that he was renting. Though...renting was a loose term. He lived there and he would do odd jobs for the owner, but when it came to actually paying, Jake was broke. What could be expected of a seventeen year old with barely a part time job and school.

Getting dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans he got himself the super healthy breakfast of Pop-Tarts and began making his way to the school. Nearly five in the morning to a school that had only a single light on. He smiled as he came into the School counselor's office.

"Jake! Wonderful to see you again. How are we doing today?" The counselor said in his usual upbeat voice. He reminded Jake of an uncle that you would see around all the time.

"Hey, Mr. Garrison. I had another episode this morning," he said plopping down into the chair. He briefly glanced over the psychology degree on the wall as he rubbed his temple.

"The dream again? The one with all the fire?"

"Yeah, only this time there was a new aspect to it. The fire seemed....I don't know....alive. The fire gathered into this...shape with eyes and it lunged at me. I don't know."

"It seems like your episodes are becoming frequent again. It's been every day this week hasn't it?"

Jake nodded before releasing a sigh. "I just want all of this to end."

"I know it's tough Jake. You're the only case of a human with powers that I have ever heard of. I wish I had more answers for you." There was a long pause between the two of them before Mr. Garrison broke it. "I ask every week. But maybe you wouldn't have as many episodes if you started learning to control your power."

"I don't want to control it. I want to get rid of it. All of it."

"Jake you are special, to throw away a power like yours is not good for you."

"What's the point of being special when I will burn anyone who I have any sort of interest in?! My heart skyrockets and I ignite. Tell me how I am supposed to sustain any kind of meaningful relationship with a barrier of fire between me and them. This power drove my parents to the brink of divorce so much so that they left me here in this freak of a town just to get rid of me."

Jake's hands were squeezing so tight that his knuckles were turning white before they suddenly erupted into bright flames. Giving out a startled yelp he quickly patted the fires out before he set off any sprinklers.

Mr. Garrison stepped around his desk and set a hand on Jake's shoulder, which caused Jake to promptly pull away from Garrison. Fearful that he might burn the counselor if he got too close.

"I know Jake. I know that you see this as a curse. And, to be frank, you have a lot of evidence to support that claim. But you are seventeen. You are still coming in to who you are. Give it time. I am confident that once you figure out who you are and what you want to be that these episodes will be a thing of the past."

Jake gave out another defeated sigh. It had been four years since he had come to Ligonia. How much longer will it take? he thought to himself.

With the school bell he headed to his first class, sitting in his specially designed desk to be able to withstand the fires that he could ignite.

Cold, rhythmic breathing echoed down a dark alleyway. Seraphiel's boots splashed through puddles as he trailed his hand against the decrepit, mossy brick walls of the surrounding buildings. It was 2:00 in the morning, and Seraphiel had somewhere to be. He walked over to a T-section of the alleyway and kicked aside some empty wooden boxes, revealing a shambled entrance into a collapsed building. Seraphiel's phone went off, so he climbed one of the exposed support beams and answered it.

"Yes, I'll be over in a few minutes. I wouldn't worry too much about it Cornyx, you've still got another week before it bites you in the back. Oh, don't lecture me, I know perfectly well the hunger you worry too often about," conversed Seraphiel, one foot dangling off the beam. He could hear footsteps and a door creak open. "I'll call you back in a minute, I'm not alone..." muttered Seraphiel, ending his call and crouching on the beam. He gazed through the darkness, aiming to find whoever was with him.

The beam shook as someone landed behind him. Seraphiel whirled around, prepared to attack. He stopped short and saw a solitary pair of eyes glowing in the darkness. He snorted, shaking his head.

"Oh, it's you. You by far are the last thing I would expect to give me quite the scare," chuckled Seraphiel, looking at a shaft of moonlight hitting the beam between him and the stranger, who remained quiet. "Well, I don't believe we've completely met before, I've only seen you around town a few times. Perhaps we shall meet again, but I'm late for something important. See you around," waved Seraphiel, climbing through a mess of beams and pipes, reaching a trapdoor on the roof.

The air was clear and refreshing. Seraphiel looked on the horizon, seeing the first hints of light touching the corners of the Earth. He stepped to the edge of the building, breathing deeply. Cornyx always did worry about his true self coming out to play a little too much. Seraphiel stepped off the building, landing on the ground with an thumpf

"Now then, let's see what interesting events will take place today," sang Seraphiel, swinging from side to side as he walked along the hard cement sidewalk. The wind blew past him, kicking up dust as he headed towards his old friend's house. Seraphiel's footsteps faintly shifted to a heavier thud every once in a while. He stopped at a rather old looking door attached to a nicely lit house. He took a deep breath and then tapped his knuckles on the door.

Cornyx Blackthorne

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.

2:00 AM.

That's what my pocket watch said. I should have been tired and asleep, or at the very least in bed. Instead, I was sitting at my old, shabby, cheap kitchen table still in my clothes from the day before, wide awake and trying to suppress that hunger that gnawed at me. Not the kind that makes one's stomach grumble - rather, the one that ate me from the inside, the one that my conscience always battled with and the one it always lost to.

Feed, feed on the souls of the petty human lambs. Feed, drink their blood, feast in the night!

I shook my head, looking back down at the engraved golden pocketwatch in my hand, my most treasured possession.

2:01 AM.

Where was Seraphiel? If he didn't get there soon, I was afraid of what would happen.

I pulled out my flip phone and dialed Seraph's number.

Ring...ring....ring...

"Yes, I'll be over in a few minutes," his voice came from the other end of the line.

"Seraph, I don't know how much longer I can hold out..."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Cornyx, you've still got another week before it bites you in the back."

"Seraph -"

"Oh, don't lecture me, I know perfectly well the hunger you worry too often about."

"But -" I tried again.

"I'll call you back in a minute, I'm not alone." Bleep, came the sound as he hung up.

Not alone? Who would be out this late? I'd have to ask him when he arrived.

2:04 AM.

Tick, tock, tick, tock!

It was deafeningly loud to my sensitive ears, all the more so now that the call to hunt was strong and the night silent.

There was a knock at the door. Seraphiel.

I went to open it, slipping my watch into my pocket and my spectacles on my nose. My tie was loose and my collar unbuttoned for once; Seraph was really the only person I felt comfortable letting my guard down with.

I opened the door to a man in his early twenties, in black clothes that hung loose over his tall figure and gloves over his hands. Stepping aside, I gestured for him to enter, closing and locking the door once more behind him.

"Good evening," I greeted, unwilling to dispense with the pleasantries despite the fact it was 2:04 - no, more like 2:06 now - in the morning and he was there to let me feed off some of his soul.

"Evening." The half-angel, half-demon man nodded. The room was dark, the only source of light from the full moon shining pure shafts of silvery white onto the creaking wooden floor.

"Who was out there?" I inquired, trying to block out the steady tick of my watch to no avail.

"Just someone I've seen around a few times," he answered vaguely. I didn't press him. I might have if I wasn't so preoccupied with keeping myself from going outside and preying on some innocent human.

Instead of answering, I went over and opened the window a bit, trying to clear my head.

"You worry about it too much, you know."

"I don't want to hurt anyone again. Besides, if I did, I don't know if I'd be able to stop myself or if..." My voice trailed off.

"Cornyx, has anyone died yet?"

"No."

"Then don't worry about it so much. It takes more than a week for you to completely lose control, friend."

I simply shrugged, wincing as the shrill cry of sirens pierced the night. I hurriedly closed the window - it was simply too loud.

The ticking of my watch, the beat of Seraph's heart, the sirens wailing outside, the creaks of the old house, the scritch-scratch of rats in the attic; the movement of a fly on the wall, Seraph's shift in position -

I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes.

A hand on my shoulder, the half-breed's breathing next to me, his heart beating, beating, beating...

Feed, the demon in me said.

And so I did.

"Cookies! Cakes! Cream-filled diabetes!."

Kirin smiled brightly at the people passing her by as she held out a tray full of brightly colored cupcakes, brownies, and rock candies. On a table behind her sat what could only be described as gothic kryptonite, and she paraded around it proudly.

She called it Pipinchi.

It meant Candyland in Swahili, and despite the cliche of it all, Candyland it was. Gingerbread people strode happily on top of cosmic brownie roads paved with buttercream icing. Some visiting the red-velvet and vanilla movie theater, others going home to a jello house, or to maybe hang out at the park - a spectacular creation made entirely of homemade candies, gummys, taffies, and willpower. Cotton candy trees and peppermint light-poles dotted the sidewalk. And that only took up half the entire piece.

It hurt Kirin's eyes if she looked at it for too long, but it was the first day of school and she had to pull out all of the stops.

"Come on people, free samples! I don't come for your money until tomorrow."

Kirin's smile turned devilish at that and she laughed gleefully as a small group of people approached her cautiously. She recognized the looks in their eyes all too well, could even read their minds, all asking the same thing



In stark contrast to her Pipinchi, Kirin stood dressed in hauntings and doom. A flowing black dress drifted around her, it's spidersilk material kicking up at the slightest breeze. Underneath it she wore only one fishnet stocking and on her feet black platform shoes. As usual, her hair was a curly mass orbiting her head, and sharp teeth shown behind blood-red lips.

One of the ladies in the group cleared her throat and smiled as she approached, the others followed close behind.

"You made that? It must have taken hours."

Kirin laughed and started handing out samplers.

"Hours? Try this whole weekend. Feel free to take a cotton candy tree, I spun them just a while ago."

"Oh, sweet. Thanks."

Kirin made a small courtesy before turning to address others as they came up to her stand.

"Free samples, all homemade! Come and get it!"

Whistling a cheerful tune on his lips, the seemingly human boy made his way down the street with a skip to his step. Though he had enjoyed his return to his childhood home over the summer, school brought with it opportunities that he had once only dreamed of. He preferred to think of those instead of the harsh reality of sitting alone at lunch and being avoided in the moments prior to class starting.

He readjusted his hoodie ever so slightly as the school building came into view. He had to make a good impression on anyone who hadn't heard of him. As his gaze swept across the road in search of fellow classmates, it landed on a group of people crowding around a stand. Curious, he made his way over to them.

He found himself looking at something absolutely spectacular. Giving a gasp of wonder, he fumbled for his phone and asked in a voice of breathless awe, “Can I take a picture of this?” Sarah would find it just as amazing as he did. He wished she was there; she always preferred seeing things in person.

The woman nodded, laughing at his excitement. Her laugh was boisterous, and he quickly decided that he liked it. It seemed so alive to him. “While you're at it, take one of the cotton candy trees – it's a free sample.”

His eyes lit up. He glanced at the faces of the other people standing around the stand, trying to confirm the statement. From the smiles they had, he guessed she was telling the truth. He eagerly grabbed one of the cotton candy trees. “Thank you!” he said before turning his attention back to the school.

As he walked down the street, he lifted the small tree to his mouth. He almost took a bite of it. But then he remembered how much Sarah loved cotton candy, and he lowered it. He was sure that he had a spare plastic baggy in his pockets from the other day. A quick search through them proved his point. He carefully slipped the tree inside it and sealed the bag as he reached the school's steps.

The mound of rocks began to move, animated by an unknown will. It levitated in the air before slowly but surely taking a roughly humanoid shape: squared arms, segmented by four rocks with different shades of brown; jutting shoulders keeping said arms together, both bound to a pyramidal head, with a much larger inverted triangle below to shape a torso. Then finally, more rocks rose from mound to shape legs and feet. On the creature’s face appeared a strange pattern composed of dots.
Dotliger rose from the ground and stretched. His creation was complete.

“Name: Tibarroy.” Dotliger stated. “Function: Throw. The details of this function reside in the place I put inside of your body. I thank you in advance for your assistance. Let us get started.” With that said, Dotliger walked towards one of the shelfs of the giant garage and put on his favorite workout music, after which he walked back to his previous position, ready to test out his brand new legs.



For the following hour, Dotliger and Tibarroy played a simple game: Tibarroy was to throw conjured rocks at his master, while the later would kick them back at the wall behind him. The goal was for Dotliger to test the durability of the new material used for his legs, and also to see the many effects he could use to throw back the rocks at the target sheets placed on the walls. His martial training had brought him to study the use of kicking, and after watching several videos on football – or soccer, as the Americans preferred to call it – he realized that he could also influence the trajectory of simple projectiles in various, fascinating ways. A big smile on the face, he had left to his garage to design his next training sessions.
And here he was, Freshly woken up by his morning alarm, smashing rocks on wall like the madman he’d be certainly treated as by anyone he’d tell his exercise about.

Except maybe Nazo. Dotliger thought to himself. She’d probably just ask how many bull’s eyes I got on these targets.
The thought had been distracting enough for Dotliger to miss a rock thrown at him. Frowning, he asked Tibarroy to throw another, but upon shooting it with his left leg, Dotliger had the surprise of seeing his leg being thrown away along with the ball, to his mild astonishment.

“…Oh.” Dotliger commented as he fell on the ground. “The limit has been reached.” he gazed at his unmoving Golem. Of course, the poor creature hadn’t been programmed to act precisely in such situations.

“…Tibarroy? Emergency Contract. Help me repair my leg, please.” Dotliger let one of his rare amused chuckle come out of his lips. “I’ll probably be late for school if I leave like this.”



Thanks to his adoptive mother – Dotliger had yet to understand why she was so adamant on wanting to keep the nickname “Nazo” – Dotliger had somehow managed to arrive to his school unharmed, on time, and ready to introduce himself to his new class. His slightly-larger-than-average blue shoulder bag perfectly complimenting the rest of his favorite attire, Dotliger began a confident march towards the second floor of the educational building he was supposed to find his place in.
Once his destination reached, Dotliger checked that the number on the door was indeed the good one, knocked twice on the door and opened it. He scanned the entire area, realizing that everyone had already taken their seats.

“Ah, there he is!”

Dotliger’s head turned towards was he could only guess was the teacher, a pale-skinned man with round glasses, brown pants and a plain white shirt with black buttons.

“Yes.” Dotliger confirmed in a monotonous tone. “I have indeed arrived. I apologize for being slightly late: my caretaker and I had to deal with a few, how d’you say, last second administrative issues.”

“Ah, no worries.” the teacher replied with an appeasing gesture of the hand. “It’s your first time here, so I assumed this would happen. Since we were about to start introductions anyway, why don’t you do that with the rest of the class?”

Dotliger slowly nodded, then gazed back at the class with his eternal, slightly wide-opened eyes. “Greetings to all. I am Dotliger Lidekao. Pronounce it like I just pronounced it. If you still have trouble, then you may call me Dot. I am nineteen years old, and have moved here mostly because of my interest with this establishment’s Support Group. The whys and hows of that interest are personal. I like music, rpgs, and martial arts. My main fields of study are language and archeology.”

“Oh, archeology!” the teacher exclaimed, visibly interested. “Is it a passion of yours?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. My caretaker specializes in it as well, so, I always thought it was, how d’you say, cool. Oh, that reminds me.” Dotliger raised a finger. “Some of you most certainly noticed that my speech patterns are about as peculiar as the wide-opened stare I tend to naturally give all of you. Since none of that is meant to be a bother but will be a bother anyway, allow me to excuse myself with, how d’you say, enjoyable things in the form of home-make cookies.” Dotliger fumbled through his back and pulled out three plastic bags full of cookies, all of which were decorated with tiny chocolate nuggets posing as tiny sunglasses.

“Cheers to you all.” Dotliger concluded as he passed by the seats, distributing cookies to all his classmates until he reached for his teachers, giving him the last pair.

the teacher giggled. “Thank you, but… Are those sunglasses on the cookies?”

Dotliger shrugged. “My caretaker is, how d’you say, kind of a mad gal.”

Arden Walsh

I threw my worn messenger bag over her shoulder, left my small bedroom, and made my way into the tiny kitchen which belonged to the apartment above the store.

Aunt Vimla was already in the kitchen. "Do you want some cereal, hon?" she asked me. She was wearing a long skirt, a blouse, and a shawl draped over her shoulders. Her arms were covered in rows and rows of beaded bracelets, and random necklaces were strung about her neck. Her dark hair fell in curls down her back, and her spectacles were perched on the bridge of her nose, as usual.

"No thanks," I said, giving her a small smile, "I'm not hungry."

"You're never hungry," she said affectionately. "My grocery bills are almost exactly the same since you came to live with me."

"Yeah, yeah," I teased, and I smiled. Aunt Vimla looked at me, a little surprised, I was not one to smile easily.

"You better get to school," she said, pointing at the clock.

"I don't get why I have to go," I muttered, "People go to school to go to college so they can get a job. I already have a job. It's just skipping a step. Can't I drop out?" I asked, not for the first time.

Auntie Vim threw up her hands in frustration, "Absolutely not. You have a brilliant mind in there. One day when you decide to do something with it, you're going to be glad to have a high school diploma."

She used the same excuse every time. "Look at the clock, you better get moving," she reminded me.

I stopped at the mirror to tuck a raven black lock of hair behind my ear and to examine my chalky white complexion. Thus far, I'd been lucky enough to avoid the battles of acne. Probably because I didn't eat anything, I mused. With one last nod at Aunt Vimla and a tug of the strap of my messenger bag, I was out the door.

I walked through the streets to school and saw vendors out and about. I did sometimes tire of the small town feel, but now it was peaceful. I made my way up the stairs to the old school building with the washed out bricks and into the ever familiar hall of the small school. It was one of those schools that had grades from kindergarten to high school, and I could see the little ones clutching their bookbags and running to their teachers. One little girl in a pink dress with braids almost as black as my hair looked up at me and gave me a shy smile. I raised the corners of my lips and gave her a little wave, but she giggled and quickly scurried to the end of the hall for her first grade class.

Up the stairs I went, until Mr. Garrison, the guidance counselor, stopped me.

"Hello Arden."

I regarded him curiously.

"Yes, well, I'd like to see you in my office." I silently followed him in and sat myself down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, my messenger bag resting in my lap and beat up converse shoes planted firmly on the floor.

"I wanted to ask how things were going, this being senior year and all. Are you applying to any colleges?"

"No," I said shortly, glancing at the clock. I didn't want to miss English, it was my favorite class.

"Well, Arden," he cleared his throat and I got the impression my inquisitive gaze made him uncomfortable, although he was the one who had wanted to speak to me. "As you know, there are those of you at this school who have special abilities, abilities the rest of the students here are unaware of."

"You're telling me something I already know," I stated.

"I'm getting to that. a few of you are having more difficulty blending in than others, whether you all are having issues controlling your powers, you have disciplinary issues, or are having difficulty finding your footing socially, I've decided to create a support group."

"So you want me to go to therapy with a group of people I don't know and have no interest in knowing?"

He didn't respond.

"Do I have a choice?"

"If you can get a note from your Aunt excusing you from this, then you do have a choice. But I know your Aunt and I have a feeling you'll have difficulty acquiring such a note from her. Am I wrong?"

I stayed silent, glaring at him from behind my inky hair.

"Arden, I think this could be beneficial for you, if you make an effort. You may even make some friends."

I exhaled, crossing my arms as the bell rang. I really did not want to miss English class.

"Wonderful. I'll see you in my office this afternoon at 3 o clock sharp. With the others."

I glanced at the clock and then at the door, my leg bouncing in impatience.

"You can go back to class now. Do you need a note?"

Without answering him I jumped from my seat and left his office, the door shutting firmly behind me as I stormed down the hallway.