Martha’s Biscuits

Martha has done this a million times before. Flour, water, whisk. Eggs, butter, whisk again. Martha Slipped into a familiar tradition, one that was almost second nature to her at this point. 

Set the oven, put them in and wait till her flakey biscuits were baked to perfection. Martha was hoping she’d have everything done by 9. She had a busy day tomorrow. It was the first day of classes at her new job. Lenox Heights Pre-School for the gifted and Talented. It sure was a mouthful but Martha could not care less. She had moved out to Utah from New York because this was the opportunity of a life time. No way she was going to let a name that didn’t exactly roll off the tongue stop her. Not a chance!

Soon the kitchen began to fill with that familiar smell. Her grandmother had passed this recipe down, just as her grandmother before had passed it to her, and as she hoped to eventually pass to her granddaughter.

Another few seconds passed and Martha began to get lost in her thoughts.

“What will my students call me? Maybe they’ll call me Ms. Garner.” She thought. Not even a few seconds after that thought another one sprung into her mind. “Maybe I should have them call me Ms. Martha”

Martha began to get nervous that the first sentence her students would hear would not be a sentence at all, but her stumbling over her words. Then she realized that she was teaching preschoolers and decided it would probably be best to not worry about it.

Martha then sat down at the TV and turned on the news. She had about 10 minutes before the biscuits would be ready so she decided this would be the prefect time to catch some news. 

“And tonight, it is reported that another person has been killed outside of Salt Lake City. We have no suspects but we know that the Killer seems to be going after people in that area. Please be cautious and remember to lock your doors.”

“Well now I regret turning on the news!” Martha thought. 

*Knock Knock Knock* 

“Who could that be? I’m not expecting anyone this late.”



The Memory that Haunted Her

Greta kept walking through the forest taking in the view. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath

The smells reminded her of a time from her past. She could see her Mom sitting in the field with her dog Chewy. 

Suddenly her eyes shot open. What was this weird sensation on her cheek? She raised her hand to her eye only to recoil almost immediately. Was that water? Was it raining? Or was it a tear?

Was Greta crying? She hadn’t cried in years. Ever since that day. She tried hard not to think about it as she walked through the forest, but the memories kept rushing back to her. 

“Fuck” she thought. “This is happening, I guess I have to accept this”.

She remembered something her mom said to her countless times. Greta played the words in her head over and over again. 

“If you have something bothering you, find a dark quiet place and meditate. Find the source of the anxiety and let the possibilities play out in your head. Find the possibility you like the most, and follow that one to the light”.

Greta meandered quietly through the forest, constantly playing those words in her head. As if her mom was directing her from beyond, she came across a rock formation. There was a dark opening in the rocks that intrigued her.

As she walked towards the opening she said a silent thanks to her mom, for always guiding her the right way. 

Greta walked into the opening and a musky, dank air brushed past her face. She walked forward and took a seat on the floor of this mysterious cave. She opened her bag and took out a book.

A quiet incantation snuck out of her mouth. 

“Incindious ignitium …”

A small fire appeared, Greta closed her eyes and got lost in her thoughts.

Mateo (A Collection of 15s Series)


*Ring ring ring ring*

Mateo heard the sound of his grandfathers music box from his bed. It sounded louder than normal. Maybe it was all in his imagination.

*Ring ring ring ring*

There it goes again. This time he was sure it was louder than the time before. Then Mateo sat straight up. ‘Wait a second’ he thought ‘that music box has never gone off by itself before…. what the hell is going on?’

Mateo bolted up out of bed and immediately recoiled in shock as his feet hit the cold hardwood floor.

As he creeped towards the window sill the music box on it began to get louder, almost as if it was beckoning him towards it.

The sun was beginning to rise, giving the situation an even more eerie feel. Mateo stopped at the window sill, waiting to see if the music box would sing to him again. Seconds were passing by but it felt like an eternity. He decided he should open the window. Maybe some fresh air would snap him out of this trance.

Upon opening the window a gust of fresh sea water from the Mediterranean basin blew into his room and he remembered how peaceful this time of the morning could be.

Then the music box started singing to him again.


Singing actually doesn’t begin to describe the affront to Mateo’s ears. It was like a blood curdling scream at that point. Mateo knew he wasn’t dreaming now. Whatever was going on, was real.

He began to open up the music box and he heard what sounded like a faint whisper.

“It’s not real. None of it. Get out while you can”

Then the singing stopped.