Young Writers Society

“Finnley—

I’m taking your advice. The only way I’m going to stop this nightmare is to confront it. Don’t worry about me unless I’m not back by tomorrow morning. Check the forest. If I’m right about this, then you’ll know where to start looking.

—Mia”

Finnley read the note, and though he wanted to crumple it up, he merely folded it and pocketed it. Mia had gone into the forest. Why had she done it? Did she see it as the end of all things, as the solution to her problems? Just because her family had a history of monster hunting didn’t mean that it was the answer to everything, especially not to her nightmares.

Monica looked at him solemnly. “I can check a few places — Mr. Vaughn’s shop, Mia’s house, your house — while you’re at school, but that’s about all I can do. If she’s not home by tonight, we need to meet up again. I don’t like the idea of her spending the night out in the woods by herself. It’s not safe there.”

“Me neither,” Finnley admitted, but he had to agree that, at least for the moment, there was nothing that either of them could do. Monica disappeared into thin air and Finnley ran to class just as the bell rang. The teacher glared at him disapprovingly, but Finnley could care less. He hadn’t expected such a foolish move from Mia — he hadn’t believed she would be so reckless. But maybe, despite how closely he had been watching her, the dreams had affected her in ways that he hadn’t seen.

After school, instead of going to his own locker, he went to Mia’s. She’d shared her combination with him earlier in the school year, allowing him to put his things in there on occasion, though he didn’t use hers as often as she used his. Now he opened it up, hoping to find some sort of clue. What had pushed her over the edge?

Finnley clicked the lock open and held it one hand while he opened the locker with the other. Without her backpack or sports gear in it, Mia’s locker was oddly empty. At the bottom, however, was a solitary folder. Finnley picked it up and flipped it open. He hadn’t thought of Mia as much of an artist before, but the drawings inside told him that she’d had at least a class or two in the past.

The folder was filled with drawings of a horse. A burning horse. It peered out from the paper with fiery eyes in a way that almost made Finnley shiver. Though the drawings were well made, the pencil strokes were hard and thick, layered over and over again to make the form of the horse. The first word Finnley could think of to describe it was desperation.

Mia’s nightmare. That had to be it. She had to have been dreaming of a burning horse. Not only were there the drawings, but Finnley suddenly remembered that day by the edge of the forest. Mia had come running to find him, but had only the hoof prints to show him. He’d thought that she was creating monsters for herself, that she was seeing things in the woods that weren’t there, but what if she wasn’t? The nightmare. The mysterious force Finnley had felt. What if the burning horse was real? And Mia had gone after it.

Finnley stuffed the folder of drawings in his backpack and shut the locker. As soon as he left the school, Monica materialized beside him. “She’s not anywhere,” she said without preamble.

“I’m going back to Mr. Vaughn’s shop to talk to Henry,” Finnley said. He lengthened his stride, quickened his pace. Monica matched it with ease.

“Mr. Vaughn isn’t back — it’s still just Henry,” she informed him. “What do you really think he’s going to say?”

“I don’t know. He’s got to have some sort of advice. Maybe he was able to reach Mr. Vaughn the other day.”

“And if he doesn’t have advice? If he hasn’t talked to Mr. Vaughn?” Monica challenged.

Finnley didn’t want to think about how the situation would look if Monica was right. It left him in a perilous position with the terrible power of choice. He wanted to help Mia, but was doing the very same thing she had — plunging into the forest without any form of defense — really the right option?

“Maybe it’s the only option,” Monica said quietly, as if she had read his mind. She waited outside while Finnley pulled open the door, the shop’s bell sounding merry even in this dark situation.

“Henry,” he said, stalking towards the desk. Henry stood up instantly, as if sensing that something had changed.

“What is it?” he asked, and Finnley wordlessly handed over the note from Mia and the folder of drawings. Henry examined both, flipping quickly through the folder. “She’s gone?”

“I can’t find her anywhere,” Finnley replied. Despite Monica’s ominous words, he watched Henry with a kind of painful hope, an expectancy. He wanted so badly for there to be an easy solution.

Henry eyed the note, eyed Finnley. “I’m not Mr. Vaughn. I trained with him, but I’m still an amature. This is too far out of my realm, and it’s too far out of yours too. The safest thing would be to wait until this is over. Tell the girl’s parents. Alert the authorities. Let them do the searching they can. Mr. Vaughn will be back soon, and he can deal with the magical aspects of it.”

“Thanks Henry,” Finnley said quietly, then turned on his heel. Of course that was his answer. He should’ve expected it.

“Finnley,” Henry said, calling his attention back to the young man. He at the desk, looking through the drawers. He pulled at a sharpie and gestured for Finnley to come closer. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Confused, Finnley pushed up the sleeve of his sweater. “Sometimes,” Henry said, looking Finnley in the eye, “rebel youngsters don’t do what they’re told. I don’t need to read minds to know what you’ll do. May as well be safe while doing it.” Henry began to draw a spell on Finnley’s forearm, and he could sense what it was about before it was even finished. It was a defensive spell. It was one more intricate than the spells Finnley had seen, and it looked to be more powerful, too.

“It doesn’t look like they normally do,” he said to Henry.

“It’s a bit too advanced for you,” he replied with a slight smile, then began drawing something on his own arm. “It’s got a special part on it, a joint spell. It will allow either you or I to activate it, to cut it off. It will draw on both of our energy reserves, so be careful. The spell only covers so much, so don’t get into something you can’t get out of.”

“I… thank you,” Finnley said, astonished. He pushed his sleeve back down.

“If you really wanted to thank me, you wouldn’t go,” Henry said, but waved a hand at him. Monica was waiting outside.