Young Writers Society

Amy knew which spot was hers as soon as they walked into the cabin. She took off her coat and boots and hung both old up. There was a roaring fireplace that she left her wet socks, boots, coat and the rest of her winter gear to dry on. It was so warm and cozy in here, she never wanted to leave. All of the agitation she'd felt outside seemed to magically melt away.

Everyone else's eyes were fixated on five chairs, with individualized plates and mugs. The Irish shortbread she knew was hers. It had been one the recipes her mother had brought with her when she'd moved. Her mother hadn't been Irish of course, but being from Liverpool was practically the next closest thing. And hot chocolate in a Wizard of Oz mug. Just like the she'd had growing up.

Beside the seat, wrapped neatly in a bow, were pajamas. They had to be hers. There was an oversized Nirvana shirt, and blue plaid pajama pants. Fleece. Moccasin slippers. A big wool cardigan. A big blue scrunchie to tie her hair.

"I'm going to change," she announced, making a beeline for the nearest bathroom. The bathroom was about as nice as the rest of the cabin, but there was something off. In a framed needlepoint on the wall was a quote from Marcus Aurelius. "Everything we hear is an opinion, not a fact. Everything we see is a perspective, not the truth." The same one her father often used. It could be a coincidence, but then there were the pajamas.

She'd needed new ones for a while, as her current pants had a big hole in the crotch where a seam had torn only a week and a half after she'd bought them. She had no idea how to sew and figured, with Scott being gone, that she lived alone so she wasn't in any hurry to get a new pair. It was best not to think about it now.

These were so nice. Once they woke up from whatever this fever dream was, she hoped they could keep them.

She walked out of the bathroom and joined her new friends for cookies and hot drinks.

Hablex walked through the cabin's door, instantly reminded of the houses that her friends lived in, complete with wooden walls with all sorts of reds and browns blended together. She stroked along a piece of wood, feeling unsure about her situation with the other girls, but at least this felt familiar.

Looking at the chairs, she walked straight towards what had to be her seat, complete with a mug colored with the first painting she ever made, a simple tadpole water-smeared canvas from quite a few years ago. Hablex would recognize that any day, especially cause she still felt a little embarrassed by how juvenile it looked, but then again she was an actual child.

The cookies set by the mug made her smile, a thought right back to when she had been growing up surrounded by her family, and they all pitched in to make those delicious berry sweets, all picked from near their house.

She dismissed the clothes for the time being as she was feeling quite tired and didn't feel like doing much for a little while. Incidentally, her eyes came across a curious set of five books along a small case by the fireplace. That couldn't be a coincidence, so Hablex crossed the room and ran her fingers along the spines of the books, stopping at one written in light blue: A Scarf or Gloves.

A chill ran down her spine. No one else knew about the wars, about the conflicts, so this must be something meant for her, but she dreaded to hear about what could be going on back home. Perhaps if everyone read their books though, there might be a clue as to what happened to them, why it happened, and how they could go back to their previous lives.

Alaska's eyes popped. She'd never been inside a cabin before, but already she loved this place. The wood seemed to be Cherry dyed, Ceader and a fire blazed in a fire place, illuminating the room with a soft yellow glow.
She spied a set of chairs, and walked toward what must be hers. It had a red, rather fashionable looking pairs of sweats, complete with the name Alaska. Her heart stopped when she saw a framed, embroidered, piece of cloth with the words-''Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.'' Her mother made a framed cloth with that quote, every year for her birthday. Could the be a coincidence? Or something else...

Wilson watched with great joy as the table magically expanded, her eyes transfixed and widening as a smile spread across her face. She let out a giddy squeal as she bounced over to her seat with a spatula in her hand.

As she plopped down in her seat, she looked to Wren, her expression still wearing a wide-eyed, frantic sort of excitement.

"Yeah. Okay! So I didn't make them. But that's what you like, right?"

"It's almost like they knew exactly what we needed," Amy said, taking a bite of shortbread. It was heavenly, just like her mom always used to make it. Then, she took a sip of hot chocolate out of her mug. Perfect. "I had one just like this when I was growing up."

Just then, Amy noticed a record player. She wasn't sure if it always been there and she just hadn't noticed it or not. She eagerly walked over to it. There could be music in here for sure. She hadn't seen a record player in at least ten years, and it brought her right back to the days she and her mom used to dance to "Don't Stop Me Now".

Below the player itself was a giant collection. There was everything. Nirvana. No. She'd give Kurt her heart any day, but not know. Then she saw. Queen. Perfect for a snowy day like this.

"I hope you all like Queen," she said. Then, she put it on.

It started with Somebody to Love. As it started, she walked back to her seat, letting herself get absorbed in the music.

"I still can't believe he's gone," Amy said. "Freddie Mercury. He was one I always wanted to see live."

All that Wren could do was manage a nod. Something about this situation felt wrong. Amy's comments were one issue; the cabin making things magically appear was another. After eyeing her cookies and drink one last time, Wren got to her feet and started pacing around the room. She fiddled with her glasses, too.

She couldn't help it. She had been honing her instincts for years, and this situation was making all the warning bells go of. She just wished she was here as someone other than herself. Someone who could take charge, and someone who would seem more of a threat than Wren Carter.

She stopped in front of a closet with a sliding door. She wasn't sure what she expected to be inside, but she opened it anyways.

And saw a very familiar outfit hanging on a hanger. She recognized the red and the black of the fabric, the mask dangling around the hanger, and the size of the outfit.

It was the Actor's costume.

Eyes widening in horror, Wren slammed the door shut and pressed her back up against it. The Actor's outfit wasn't even a separate thing to be put on!

Hablex opened A Scarf or Gloves, running a finger down the table of contents. Her mother spoke plenty about the different groups of people that lived in their homeland, but none other were more important than two separate communities. The Scarves and the Gloves.

Despite it sounding far more dramatic than it should, her heart shuddered looking over the words. She didn't want a reminder of the evil her home could bring, even to a foreign land. All she could hope was that Malker kept up with his studies and actually made sure the town was circling alright.

Instead, she sighed and sat back into one of the chairs around the dining table. Hablex wanted to draw more on her whiteboard if that was the only thing she could really do for the time being. The cabin slowly started to appear on the cheap device, while she glanced randomly around what she assumed was the dining room.

Amy bit her lip a the lack of response from the others. They didn't like her, that much was clear. They thought she was weird and antisocial. What her mother had told her once played in her head now.

"Amy, you have to think before you speak. You can't just say whatever's on your mind all of the time."

Maybe that was true, but she was trying to be better. But her mother had continued.

"You sound like your father when you do that. He took up the life in the room too. Never let anyone else get a word in."

That had been low, even for Claire Fox.

"Are you saying I'm like him?"

"I'm saying you can be like him."

The conversation had occurred nearly two years ago, before Amy had even found out who her father really was. All her mother had ever told her was that he was a bad man who'd taken advantage of her when she was young and vulnerable, and that she'd left upon finding out she was pregnant. For Amy's own good. Still, it was worse in hindsight now that she knew everything.

Amy cupped her face in her hands, no longer hungry. She walked away from the table and took a seat next to the fire.

That was warm at least, and she didn't want anyone to see her cry.

Oh. Oh no.

Things were quickly beginning to unravel, all while Queen was still playing in the room. It felt strangely cinematic, but in a very odd, the-music-doesn't-fit-the-mood sort of way. Maybe if things were happening in slow motion it would work better, like some kind of dramatic montage where everyone was having a meltdown.

Hablex looked lost, but at least she was just sitting and reading or something. Wren apparently found something ungodly in the closet. And poor Amy was crying.

She started by approaching Amy slowly, reaching out a hesitant hand to rest on the woman's shoulder. She sat down next to her by the fire.

"Hey, hey, don't worry. It's gonna be okay. I wish Queen was still with us too. He was a legendary musician," she said gently, trying to keep her words as soft as possible.

While still patting Amy's shoulder, she looked up over at Wren on the other side of the room.

"You okay over there, buddy? There's not like... a dead body in the closet, is there?"

Radio Ga Ga was playing now. The song that Amy and her mother were dancing to one summer afternoon in 1986, lip syncing, pretending they were part of a musical duo called The Vixens.

Amy had come up with the name, a flashier version of their own last name. "It'll be like The Ardens, but better," she'd said.

"Be nice," Claire had replied.

It was an intentional dig at her ex stepfather, Larry Arden, who'd been a part of a musical duo with his sister Darlene. Together, The Ardens were been responsible for a string of number one hits, and several gold albums in the mid 70s. There was one song of theirs in particular that became their signature.

To Know Your Love.

It had started as one the many poems that Claire had wrote in the first year of Amy's life. She'd only agreed to have it set to music as long as she'd take no credit for it whatsoever. It first hit the airwaves in 1974 and became number one. And even though their marriage didn't last, they parted on amicable terms, and Larry not only made sure the two of them would never want for anything, he and Darlene made good on their promise to never reveal the song's true origins.

Amy had known for years that her mother had written the lyrics to To Know Your Love. Still, all she'd ever told her was that it was about an ex-boyfriend. Not her father. Not until recently.

All of the lies she'd told for so many years. All in the name of "protecting" her.

Amy took a deep breath and found herself present again in the room again. She caught Wilson's gaze. She seemed friendly enough. For now, she avoided Wren.

"That's not the reason I'm crying," Amy told Wilson. "Not because of Freddie Mercury. But you know, I actually don't want to listen to Queen anymore." She gave Wilson a tired smile and went to go the music.

Queen made her think of her mother. And she couldn't have that. ABBA? No, she wasn't in the mood for anything upbeat. There was Frank Sinatra, but knowing her father worshipped him kind of ruined that. Nancy Sinatra?

She sighed deeply. Whatever the universe was trying to tell her, she may as well embrace it. You Only Live Twice.

You only live twice, or so it seems
One life for yourself, and one for your dreams...

What a perfect metaphor for her life. She dried her tears and went back to sit down at the fire.

She wanted to tell the others about everything, but she didn't have the slightest idea where to begin.

Wren gave a hesitant, shaky smile.

"I'm okay," she quietly said. "There's not a body in the closet. There's...um..."

She glanced back at the closet she was still pressing up against. What could she say was in there? What would have made her be terrified of showing the other people present its contents?

"There's a spider!" she finished. "A hairy and big spider. And I'm, um, scared of spiders..."

Giving one last, nervous smile, Wren hesitantly began to pull away from the closet. She was still worried about someone discovering what was inside, but standing in front of it was only going to draw more attention to both her and the supposed spider.

Amy wasn't looking in her direction. Wren wasn't sure if it was because of something she had said or done; she wasn't even sure Amy wanted her around.

But the Actor wouldn't have let fear get in the way of helping someone out who needed comforting.

Wren took a deep breath.

She joined Amy by the fire, trying to find the perfect medium between sitting close and far from her.

"...If you need to talk about why you're crying, I can listen," Wren shyly offered, looking over at Amy. "And if you need to talk about something else, I can do that, too..."

Hablex looked up from the book, gazing at the other girls for a second.

She had tried to avoid them since she knew she couldn’t blend in with a crowd from the clear differences in her dress alongside her mild obsession with the whiteboard in her hands.

She wasn’t one to truly comfort others, mostly more in the form of drawing pictures to calm someone or to draw a brief smile instead of a frown.

Hablex had written that message for Wren when she didn’t or couldn’t say anything aloud.

She put the book back on the shelf, figuring she had enough reminders of home to last a lifetime. Instead, Hablex sat down at her designated chair, and willed herself to be able least somewhat social.

“Hi,” she more whispered than spoke, but it was a start.

So they were all gathering around the fire now. That was fine, she supposed. Wren seemed preoccupied with whatever was in the closet, but Amy chose not to broach it now. She'd go over and kill the spider in a minute.

But she needed to get this off her chest or she was never going to.

"Jay Whitman," she said, barely audibly. She started with the assumption that they already knew who he was and she wouldn't have to explain things to them again. But then again, before her mother had told her everything, she'd known nothing about him, and only had a vague sense of him as an infamous criminal from the recent past. "You know, the cult leader."

Amy took a deep breath and continued.

"He's my father. And my mom lied to me about it my whole life up until a month ago. I guess I'm just still processing so I'm sorry if... something's off."

Wilson gave a little wave of welcome in Hablex's direction. "Hey," she said back, before Amy started to speak up about what was really going on in her head.

Wilson's smile faded, and she nodded slowly.

"Oh. Wow. That's a lot to process, yeah. Don't worry about it, man," she said, patting Amy on the shoulder again. "Like, feeling off or whatever. You take your time, dude."