A

LITERARY & ARTS

JOURNAL

CLOAK REVIEW

EDITORS’ NOTEReaders,

At the start of our Literary Editing and Publishing class at Wash-ington State University, the four of us came together as strangers, embracing the mystery of creating a literary journal and working with unknown possibilities. Come mid-November, the Cloak Review turned into a full-fledged journal, a product of all of our dedication and ideas. The title, fonts, website, social media, advertising, layout, and everything in between has been a successful collaboration among all of us.

The Cloak Review is a journal whose purpose is to explore the suspense and mystery of this world in both literary and art forms, and seeks to share these portrayals with others. The journal and its goals came about from our culture’s current obsession with mystery and suspense, as demonstrated in popular shows such as “Game of Thrones,” “Sherlock,” and “The Following.” The stories and artwork that lie beyond this page have been approved as exceptional works of mystery and suspense by all of us, and embody the qualities of great storytelling.

We would like to thank everyone that helped make this journal possible. Without the Avery lab and its supervisor, Lynn Gordon, we would have been unable to create and print out the journal, and with-out our professor, Bryan Fry, and his assistant, Alison Mand, we would not have had the opportunity to create the Cloak Review in the first place. And, of course, a special thanks to our contributors for making the mystery of this journal into a reality.

From, The Editors

Darcy MalbergLisa Gaviglio Alexandra GraffPaisley Peterson

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Cover photo “Chaos” courtesy of Amber Larks

TABLE OF CONTENTSFICTION 5 “Pandora’s Box” by Chris Lanphear 6 “Decisions” by Christopher Heatherly 12 “Wake” by Aubrey Warnick 14 “Against Nightmares” by Cassandra Mehlenbacher 21

ART 24

“Affliction” by Hannah Ray Lambert 25

“Gaining and Losing” by Allissoon Lockhart 26 “Fear” by Cassandra Mehlenbacher 29 “Roots” by Cassandra Mehlenbacher 30 “Raindrops” by Amber Larks 31

POETRY 32 “I Killed a Boy Once” by Hannah Ray Lambert 33 “A Personal Ad” by Chelsea Wing 34

PHOTOGRAPHY 36 “Shrapnel” by Allissoon Lockhart 37 “Woman in Black” by Ellen Yancey 38 “Untitled 1” by Andelyn Bindon 39 “Untitled 2” by Andelyn Bindon 40 “Owards” by Amber Larks 41 “Watching” by Katie Malberg 42 “Searching” by Amber Larks 43 ARTIST & AUTHOR BIOS EDITOR BIOS 47

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FICTION

5

“Decisions” by Christopher Heatherly

“Pandora’s Box” by Chris Lanphear

“Wake” by Aubrey Warnick

“Against Nightmares” by Cassandra Mehlenbacher

Page 6

Page 12

Page 14

Page 21

“Pandora’s Box”By: Chris Lanphear

AUTUMN: Have you ever loved someone so much… so much that when they are gone you are phys-ically incapable of doing anything? I am not talking about that Bella Swan Twilight shit, I am talking about true feelings… ones that people in real life feel. That is how I felt about Pan-dora…

(PANDORA enters and stands behind AUTUMN at a distance. Close yet far. SARAH looks up and notices her. This is obviously not the first time this has hap-pened to SARAH so she lets PANDORA watch the session. It is SARAH’S job to help others understand and cope with loss in both the real world and beyond.)

SARAH: These feelings are normal after losing someone Autumn. That is why we are here. We are going to help you feel better.

AUTUMN: Feel better?! I’m not sick though! What do you mean feel better?!

SARAH: I know, Autumn. What I meant was that I’m just here for you to talk to, to be here for you.

AUTUMN: I know. I’m sorry… I’ve been like this, just kind of lashing out at people for no real particular rea-son.

SARAH: It’s okay. It happens a lot in my profession. Now tell me, why were your feelings for Pandora so strong? She obviously meant a lot to you.

(SARAH looks at PANDORA suggesting that she might want to pay attention.)

AUTUMN: Well… Pandora and I were friends since freshman year of high school. We just kind of… clicked when we met… you know?

(PANDORA starts to walk closer to AUTUMN and eventually sits on the ground next to her looking up at her with intrigue. She obviously wants to hear more.)

AUTUMN: I thought she was going to just be another girl who would act like my friend and turn out to be a total bitch like all of my other (Uses air quotes) “best friends,” but she was different. Pandora actual-ly cared for me… and now she is just… gone…

(PANDORA looks down, saddened to see her best friend so hurt and in so much pain.)

PANDORA: (When PANDORA talks only SARAH can hear her) I’m sorry

(Scene is a therapist office where two people, AUTUMN, the patient, and SARAH, the therapist, sit across from each other discussing why AUTUMN is there. The room is small and cozy with a fireplace burning across from two leather chairs. In between the two chairs is a small end table with some books, two glasses of water, and a small lamp. As the fire flickers the two discuss the events going on in AUTUMN’S life. )

“Pandora’s Box”6

Chris Lanphear 7

I put you through this, Autumn. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone… espe-cially you.

(SARAH glances over at PANDORA, takes some notes, and then looks back at AUTUMN. All the while AUTUMN sits in silence thinking about PANDO-RA.)

SARAH: Well, what type of feelings are you experiencing?

AUTUMN: I’m hurt … and … con-fused. Like, why would she do this? You know?

PANDORA: But Autumn, you couldn’t even begin to understand…

AUTUMN: I wish I could have been there when it happened … seen it with my own eyes. I just wish I had been able to do something to stop her…

(PANDORA looks at AUTUMN, hurt by what she just said. Then she looks at SARAH indicating that she wants to hear no more.)

SARAH: There is nothing you could have done, Autumn. Pandora made up her mind about what she want-ed to do. There is nothing you could have done to stop her.

(AUTUMN puts her head in her hands and begins to sob quietly.)

SARAH: I’m sorry, Autumn, but that is all the time we have for right now. If you need anyone to talk to or any-thing else at all, please feel free to call me anytime. My number is on the card at the receptions desk.

AUTUMN: (Lifts her head up out of her hands and wipes the remaining

tears off of her face.) Thank you …

SARAH: I will see you again next week.

(AUTUMN exits the stage and SARAH writes some quick notes. PANDORA’S eyes follow AUTUMN out until she is finally gone. She then looks down at the ground and begins to sob. SARAH then looks up from her notes.)

SARAH: Pandora, come sit down and let’s talk about what we just watched. What did you feel from seeing your best friend in so much pain?

PANDORA: I wish she could have known what I was going through.

SARAH: Well, what were you going through?

PANDORA: I’ve heard a lot of peo-ple refer to depression as a black hole that drains everything in them. Energy. Creativity. Love. Passion. It wasn’t like that for me though. It was a fog. Everything became so dis-tant and hazy. The ones I wanted to be there for me weren’t; they were just lost in the thickness of the fog. I had no thoughts and nothing to say about anything. Some days were worse than others, and sometimes I had really good days where it felt like the fog had lifted … except it never fully did. It always lingered there; it stayed with me until it actu-ally was pure blackness.

SARAH: And what did you do then?

PANDORA: This overwhelming feeling of hopelessness came over me and nothing seemed to help. The medicine … the drugs … the drinks … nothing. It got to the point where

8 “Pandora’s Box”

I didn’t care if I lived or died. I was empty, and the only way to fix this was to kill myself…

(PANDORA gets up and walks to the other side of the room.)

SARAH: And that is what you did. Autumn is obviously very hurt.

PANDORA: I know...

(Both wait there in silence to represent the passage of time. SARAH takes notes. AUTUMN walks back in for her next session with SARAH.)

SARAH: Hey, Autumn. How did this last week go for you?

AUTUMN: (sighs) A little better … I guess.

SARAH: Well, what did you do?

AUTUMN: Um … well, Wednesday I actually tried to be normal and go to the mall with some friends.

SARAH: How did that go?

AUTUMN: They were acting all weird … like treating me all special and stuff. It was just kind of both-ersome because I know it wasn’t genuine.

SARAH: (Nods) It’s good that you’re taking steps in trying to establish a routine again. Your friends are going to act weird; it’s just human nature. They know you are going through a tough time and they just want to help you. (SARAH gets cut off by AU-TUMN)

AUTUMN: (Begins by yelling but calms down by the end) BUT THEY AREN’T! THEY’RE JUST… They

are just making everything worse.

SARAH: How are they making things worse?

AUTUMN: Well, being with my friends makes me think about how I found out about Pandora’s death…

SARAH: Well, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you find out?

AUTUMN: I mean ... I guess it’s okay.

(PANDORA sits next to SARAH and looks at AUTUMN as she tells her sto-ry.)

AUTUMN: I had just gotten back from a weekend at home for my dad’s birthday. I was in a pretty good mood, traffic wasn’t too bad on the way back, and I had just hit up my favorite coffee shop and picked up a drink for me and Pandora. I got to her front door and walked in to find Pandora’s mom sitting on the couch with one of Pandora’s favorite shirts in her hands. I was taken aback be-cause her parent’s lived on the oth-er side of the state. My heart sank when I saw her… I knew something was up. Her mom came up to me and hugged me, then sat me down. She had been crying really hard for a long time. Then she told me what happened … how she killed herself. (Her voice catches like she is about to cry.)

SARAH: (Listening closely while glanc-ing at PANDORA) Are you sure you want to talk about this?

AUTUMN: (Sniffles) Yes …

SARAH: Okay … keep going.

(PANDORA looks at AUTUMN, scared

9Chris Lanphear

to hear about what her friend was told)

AUTUMN: Pandora was found dead covered in her own puke and sur-rounded by open pill containers and bottles of alcohol. She had apparent-ly taken all of her medication and any other kind of pill she could find and put it all down with whatever alcohol was in her appartment.

(PANDORA begins to cry as she hears the description of her own death.)

SARAH: And when you heard about what happened, how did you react?

AUTUMN: Honestly … I didn’t believe her. I thought she was just messing with me or something. Pan-dora loved to play jokes on me.

SARAH: What made you realize something had actually happened?

AUTUMN: When I saw her dad walk out of her room with tears in his eyes. In all of the time I have known him, I have never once seen him cry. Not even at graduation …

SARAH: What happened when you knew the truth?

AUTUMN: I shut down … I had no idea what to do anymore. When I fi-nally saw her body at the funeral … I just … I … I can’t … (AUTUMN starts crying. SARAH hands her a box of tissues. This whole time PANDORA is looking at AUTUMN and realizing how sad her actions made those closest to her feel. Tears begin to well in her eyes. SARAH notices PAN-DORA’S reaction and takes note of it.)

SARAH: I can see that this was very difficult for you to do, and I am really

proud of you. It takes a lot of cour-age to do what you did today. I want you to keep making progress, even if they are just baby steps. I will talk to you again next week. (AUTUMN nods) Remember you can call me anytime you want.

AUTUMN: Thank you …

(AUTUMN again walks off stage and leaves SARAH with her notes. PAN-DORA gets up and tries to follow AU-TUMN out but is unable to.)

PANDORA: You just don’t un-derstand, Autumn. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I WAS GOING THROUGH! Maybe if you hadn’t left that weekend things would have been different. I could still be alive.

(SARAH looks up and begins her ses-sion with PANDORA)

SARAH: Why do you say that? Didn’t you and Autumn talk about everything?

PANDORA: Well, we did, but I just thought that she wouldn’t under-stand what I was going through.

SARAH: Well, what were you going through, Pandora?

PANDORA: Life was just so hard. Everything bad that could happen was happening. Everything was fall-ing apart. The bad grades, the high expectations set by my parents, the drugs, the partying, the failure I was becoming … my whole life was just falling apart piece by piece.

SARAH: So you couldn’t take it any-more, could you?

PANDORA: No … I grabbed my

10 “Pandora’s Box”

booze, I grabbed the pills, and I went to the bathroom to make ev-erything go away once and for all. I had no idea it would cause so many problems for everyone else, though …

SARAH: Well you are getting a raw account of what happens to the people you leave behind, aren’t you?

(PANDORA nods. A week passes and AUTUMN walks in again and sits down in the same chair, next to AUTUMN.)

SARAH: Is everything okay?

AUTUMN: (Yelling at SARAH) NO! NO, I’M NOT OKAY! I LOST MY BEST FRIEND, AND I HAVE NO ONE TO TALK TO, AND I AM ALONE, AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO FUCKING DO ANY-MORE!

(SARAH acts quickly and tries to calm AUTUMN down.)

SARAH: Autumn, look, it is okay to be angry …

AUTUMN: I JUST DON’T UN-DERSTAND! (Yelling becomes sob-bing.) I was her best friend and she didn’t even talk to me about what was going on. I could have helped her! She didn’t even give me the chance to try and help her … she just fucking left me here.

(SARAH looks at PANDORA to see her reaction to AUTUMN.)

AUTUMN: What about me? What about MY problems? (Looking at the window.) You were the only one I could talk to about everything, and now you’re gone … you left every-one with more pain than you had.

When you decided to kill yourself you did the most selfish thing any-one could ever do … and your death has caused more problems than you can even imagine …

(SARAH lets AUTUMN vent her feel-ings and takes notes on how PANDO-RA is reacting. PANDORA is filled with pain from hearing AUTUMN’S true feelings.)

PANDORA: Please stop Autumn … I can’t listen to this anymore. Sarah, tell her to stop!

SARAH: This is good Autumn, keep going.

PANDORA: No it’s not! Stop it, Au-tumn!

(AUTUMN continues to express her feelings to the sky even though PAN-DORA is right next to her.)

AUTUMN: Why didn’t you just talk to me like you used to? (Begins yelling again.) YOU COULD HAVE CALLED ME OR TEXTED ME OR SOMETHING! YOU DIDN’T EVEN LEAVE A FUCKING NOTE! I THOUGHT WE TALKED ABOUT EVERYTHING! YOU … (Realizes something and stops yelling and starts to cry again.)

SARAH: What’s wrong, Autumn?

AUTUMN: She … she didn’t even say goodbye …

PANDORA: I am so sorry, Autumn …

(PANDORA stands up and walks away. She can’t stand to hear what AU-TUMN has to say about her and is full of regret. SARAH goes and sits next to

11Chris Lanphear

AUTUMN to comfort her.)

SARAH: Shhh … It’s okay, Autumn. (She puts her arm around AUTUMN.) It’s okay …

AUTUMN: I just wish I could see her one more time … the friend who was always there for me … the friend who made me so happy.

(PANDORA walks and stands behind AUTUMN. She nods at SARAH. PAN-DORA is then visible to AUTUMN. SAR-AH leaves the room to let the two be together again.)

PANDORA: I’m right here, Autumn. (She begins to cry as AUTUMN turns around to see the ghost of her best friend. AUTUMN is obviously surprised and scared. She thinks she is just seeing things.)

AUTUMN: What the fuck?! It can’t -

(PANDORA does not let AUTUMN fin-ish.)

PANDORA: I need to tell you be-fore I am actually gone forever.

AUTUMN: (Still confused as to what is going on.) What are you talking about?

PANDORA: I am sorry for what I did, Autumn. You have made me re-alize how selfish my actions really were. Leaving you has been more painful than living with my depres-sion. I should have talked to you … you were the one thing in my life that was always consistent, no mat-ter what, and I took you for granted. You were my rock. I need you to know that I am only full of regret. If you learn anything, I want it to be that suicide is never the answer. Be

there for those who will need you like you were always there for me. Okay?

AUTUMN: Okay …

PANDORA: I love you Autumn …

AUTUMN: I love you too Pandora … but … (Trailing off.)

(The two hug.)

PANDORA: I need to leave you, Autumn …

AUTUMN: Why am I not surprised.

PANDORA: What do you mean?

AUTUMN: Nothing. I guess it turns out you are that typical bitch who was my “best friend.”

PANDORA: I’m sorry, Autumn.

AUTUMN: No you’re not. I’m go-ing to make sure no one has to go through what you have put me through. Not because you told me to, but because I don’t want people to hurt like I do and have to suffer every single day of their lives. No one deserves to feel like this.

PANDORA: Goodbye …

(AUTUMN stands in silence as PAN-DORA walks off stage.)

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“Decisions”By: Christopher Heatherly

“Please, SYLVIA, give me a moment to think!” I shouted. For once, the on-board tactical computer SYnthetic LiVe Intelligent Assistant, or SYLVIA for short, held her tongue. I looked over my left shoulder at the rear of the aircraft. The formerly immaculate sky grey fuselage now resembled a Jackson Pollock painting. Jagged, irregular holes per-forated the wings and engines. Green-orange fluid streaked along the plane’s body. The mechanics had a long night ahead of them, if we made it home.

I focused on my breathing, forcing my body to rapidly recover from the rush of adrenaline that only multiple SAM missiles can bring. Eva-sive maneuvers and multiple Gs are murder on the body, even with a pressurized flight suit. I had been lucky. We were hit by just one of the five or six SAMS fired from well hidden bunkers. My wingman’s aircraft took a direct hit, leaving a cloud of vapor to mark the space former-ly occupied by a pilot and his $55 million airplane. SYLVIA’S smooth feminine voice interrupted the mental slow motion replay of the failed bombing run.

FIVE HOSTILE AIRCRAFT APPROACHING FROM NORTH WEST. ETA 2.3 MINUTES.

“And the hits just keep on coming.” I muttered. I banked the jet to the south east, and pushed the throttle forward to increase power to the engines. I immediately regretted the decision. Instead of the reassuring roar of the afterburner, dubbed the “sound of freedom” by the lowly infantry, I heard a harsh metallic grinding. An explosion in the number one engine followed like an exclamation point. I looked back at the oily trail of black smoke marking the jet’s flight path. On the off chance I failed to notice my aircraft’s devolution from 6th generation fighter to recycling bin, SYLVIA set off several jarring alarm tones. I slapped the master alarm switch with my left hand. Immediately, SYLVIA’s unwel-come cacophony of alarms ceased. “SYLVIA, give me a rapid system scan and status check.”

ENGINE ONE, OFFLINE. NO RESTART POSSIBLE. ENGINE TWO,

“Decisions”

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41% POWER. FUEL, 74%. HYDRAULICS, CLASS III LEAK. AVIONIC SENSOR SUITE, 63% FUNCTIONAL. STRUCTURAL DAMAGE, LEFT WING, RIGHT WING, FUSELAGE, LANDING GEAR...

“I got it SYLVIA, we’re in trouble,” I interrupted. “Weapon status?”

FOUR AIM-120 AMRAAM MISSILES FUNCTIONAL. ONE CBU-87 COMBINED EFFECTS MUNITION BOMB FUNCTIONAL. 20MM M61 VULCAN MAIN GUN, 452 ROUNDS REMAINING.

I glanced at the radar image on the heads-up display. The five lumines-cent green dots rapidly closing from the northwest looked harmless enough in theory, but the reality of their arrival would be far differ-ent. Turning and running with one partially functional engine was not an option. The hardpan desert 20,000 feet below offered nowhere to hide. Only once choice remained. I turned the aircraft back to the northwest and glory. Perhaps today is a good day to die.

Perhaps today was a good day for fries. I looked away from the radar display and back at the fast food menu. I focused on the twenty-some-thing waitress in the paper hat. Her nametag read SYLVIA.

“Sir, hello? Sir, can I take your order?”

Decisions, decisions, onion rings or fries? “Why yes, yes you can. Su-persize me, Sylvia.”

Christopher Heatherly

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“Wake”By: Aubrey Warnick

The city is burning. It makes Mia’s whole kitchen smell like smoke, but she’s pretty much stopped noticing.

The fires have been going for months, maybe half a year, a few buildings at a time. Mia hasn’t been so good with time lately, with no school or work and living alone. It’s past summer at least, so the fires and smoke have stopped making it impossible to breathe.

The crisp autumn air means it’s getting colder at night though, and she’s not sure how she’s going to get through the winter with how there’s no electricity anymore. She’ll do something. She doesn’t know what, but there has to be something.

She sighs and sits back from the mindless groove she’s carving into the kitchen tabletop, dropping the now-dull kitchen knife. It’s a little sad, she knows, but she doesn’t have anything else to do. There’s no homework, no jobs, just semi-regular governmental food rations and the quiet ever-present panic on the edge of everyone’s voice. And it’s not like Mia can eat away the boredom, really, there’s not enough food for her to do that. She’s lost a lot of weight, an unhealthy amount.

Maybe she’ll move in with her friend Kirkland, he comes by every few weeks to make sure she hasn’t been bitten yet, and he always nags about how he’s got room in his little basement apartment. Or her aunt, Alice; last Mia heard she was doing pretty okay for herself out in the suburbs. Or maybe, maybe Gavin will show up.

She’s not expecting Gavin; he hasn’t been heard from in weeks.She doesn’t think she’s going to leave though. Mia doesn’t know; she gets a little kick in her chest when she thinks about leaving, gets a little breathless and panicky. She tries not to think about it much.

In the evening she goes to bed and pretends like she’s not flinching at every creak settling into the foundation of the house. There hasn’t been a zee sighting in the city limits in a long-ass time; she’s probably as safe as it’s possible to get anymore.

-o-

The knocking happens in the late afternoon, someone pounding on her door like they want to politely knock it down. It scares Mia pretty bad

“Wake”

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because no one good knocks on doors anymore. Kirkland and Alice and even Gavin knows where the spare key is, and no one else really bothered to stick around.

The thing about the apocalypse that the movies didn’t really prepare her for is finding out who her real friends were. Which, whatever okay, she doesn’t need many people, but it’s a little bit of a stab in her gut when she thinks about everyone who’s gone, the ones that got bit and the ones that left and the ones that just… couldn’t hack it.

Either way, the knocking freaks her out so bad she can’t get up for a solid minute. She had been sitting by the living room window, trying to read in the dim evening sun. It’s the only entertainment she really has anymore.

She had torn the page she’d been reading in half at the first muted thud, twitching and tensing up hard.

The knocking trails off in a few seconds but she holds her breath and waits. It starts again, sounding more desperate now, louder and less rhythmic.

As silently as she can she gets to her feet and creeps to the window by the door, peeking out.

The glass is frosted, and the sun is casting the shadow of the house out across the front yard, but she can make out a flash of dark hair and a black hoodie she knows better than anything. The jolt of recognition is enough that she’s bouncing to her feet and unlocking the door before the thought gets all the way through the haze of Gavin, Gavin, Gavin’s here that Gavin should know where the spare key is.

“Gavin, what’re you-?”

She gets about halfway through the sentence before the words die on her lips. Something in her chest crunches and buckles like two tectonic plates crashing together. It’s not pain. It’s something in her giving way. Her whole chest is a subduction zone, everything in her going down.Gavin grins at her, stares at her dazedly, blood in his teeth and on his mouth and all down his front. It’s hard to tell if it’s his own blood. His eyes look red and swollen like he’s been crying.

The black of his hoodie had hid the worst of it in the frosted glass, but he’s dribbling on the cement of Mia’s doorstep. There’s a little trail of blood spatters on the sidewalk.

“Gavin,” Mia says, voice stark and broken and almost startling in the

Aubrey Warnick

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buzzing silence of the evening.

There’s a gaping bite wound on Gavin’s upper arm, the shape of a human mouth sickeningly familiar. It’s bleeding sluggishly, too slow for how much ripped-up flesh is on display. The whole left sleeve of his hoodie is torn and hanging down from his shoulder, blood-soaked and stiff. It stinks of blood and the peculiar rotted vegetation smell of a zee. Vaguely, Mia wants to throw up.

“Mia,” Gavin says, voice confused and pained and childish, and takes a stumbling step toward her. She jerks back without thinking, away from Gavin’s bloodstained, grasping fingers.

“Mia,” he repeats muzzily, and passes out at her feet.

-o-

They call it the Z-virus because it makes fucking zombies, duh.

Mia appreciates that, when she has a spare thought to be bitterly phil-osophical about the whole thing, no one tried to be fucking facetious and pass it off as like, rabies. It was a disease that killed you in one two-day fever and then brought you back to something that made a decent attempt at looking like life. Pretty straightforward zombie stuff.Except it wasn’t quite that simple. There were ... messy details. Mia hadn’t had any reason to think about it until now, and now she wishes she had because she knows absolutely nothing that would help.

Mia lays Gavin out in the guest bedroom and stares at him for a few minutes.

Gavin’s still breathing, which is good as far as she knows. On the other hand, Gavin’s also worryingly flushed and running a high temperature when Mia hovers a hand over his forehead. He’s sweating hard as well, and he’s by no means still. He keeps shivering, nearly convulsing, and mutters incoherently every once in a while. Mia wonders abstractly if he’s dreaming, and if so, about what.

If Gavin’s bit, which seems like what happened, he’s going to die. No survivors, that’s the last official word Mia had gotten. Gavin is going to die in Mia’s guest bedroom. Mia wonders if she should be feeling something more.

She doesn’t really feel anything but vague disappointment, but she hasn’t really felt anything much for weeks now other than blinding terror and numbness, so. It’s not out of the ordinary.

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She goes and gets a wet cloth to put on Gavin’s forehead because it seems like the thing to do.

-o-

All public and civil institutions were cancelled so long ago Mia doesn’t even really remember them, so she doesn’t have anything to distract her from Gavin dying in her guest bed. There’s a ‘mandatory commu-nity meeting’ every few days - an excuse for a rough neighborhood headcount, trying to tally the dead and the runaways - but Mia’s neigh-borhood is pretty lax about it.

She’s heard some shit from Kirkland, about the inner-city ‘civil leaders’ and how they’re more like governmental warlords, but Mia lives out in the edge between the city and the suburbs and it’s not so bad. Not so bad she’s worried about anyone coming looking for a while, at least.

The night passes without much of a change, just a steadily rising tem-perature under Mia’s hand when she presses it against Gavin’s forehead and the decreasing volume of his feverish rambling. If she were feeling things like normal Mia’s pretty sure she’d be feeling awful but she’s not.All she can think about is the faint memory of the last time she and Gavin had hung out, before the Z-virus. A party, not a very good one, and Gavin had struck out a couple of times so he’d come to sit with Mia. He’d been burning hot against Mia’s side when she’d fallen asleep on the shitty basement couch.

Mia makes herself one of the military meal rations the government passed out and eats it beside Gavin. It seems like the thing to do. Hold a vigil of some kind. It’s a little soon. She’s got probably another day before Gavin-

Before he dies, Mia guesses.

In the early morning, she finally rouses herself from sleepless dozing to wander out onto her doorstep. There’s a little pool of tacky, brown-ing blood and a trail of it leading directly to her house, and she really doesn’t want to answer questions about it.

In the end kicking a rug over the worst of it and wasting some precious water gets rid of enough. It feels safe to head back inside and for the first time she’s grateful that her neighbors on all sides are dead or moved away. It’s unlikely anyone saw anything.

She goes back inside and sits down beside the guest bed and folds the edge of the blanket back and forth absently until the fabric starts to fray under her fingers.

Aubrey Warnick

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-o-

Gavin stops breathing sometime in the early hours of the morning, and Mia doesn’t even notice. She’s sleeping, finally, out in the living room.She notices the next morning when she goes to check Gavin’s tem-perature and his wrist is cold and still beneath her fingers. She sits back and wonders how she’s supposed to feel. If she’s supposed to feel. If she should scream and cry or shrug and carry on.

She wonders if she should be doing something about this, but when she tries to imagine what she should do her vision starts to tunnel and her heart goes too fast. Recommended procedure according to the government is very clear, but Mia can’t pick up a gun or a shovel or anything like a weapon. Not like she’s supposed to. Not against Gavin.She sits beside the bed and stares blankly at Gavin’s slack face. She doesn’t even know when someone’s supposed to wake up from this, fuck.

She hyperventilates for an hour, but eventually the silence and the stillness become so loud that she just stops.

-o-

There are messy details and the little bit she does know is this: some-one bit doesn’t come back wrong, not in the beginning.

That’s the part that had kept it from being a full-blown zombie-plague panic at first. Someone who dies of the Z-virus comes back just like before, if a little slower and a little more impervious to mortal injury. It’s only later, as they start to rot, that they start getting hungry. Hun-grier, and hungrier, and stupider and meaner until they’re just feral animals.

Crazed.And starving.

-o-

Death for the Z-virus apparently lasts about half a day.

Mia spends every moment with her fingers on Gavin’s wrist, searching mindlessly for a pulse she’s never going to feel again. When she catches herself the first time she forces herself to stop, but when it happens again and again she gives up and just presses her fingers too tightly into Gavin’s cooling veins.

“Wake”

19

They chill to room temperature and remain stubbornly still as the hours go by and the sun starts to press against the window-shade. It feels like the whole world is tensing for impact, though she’s pretty sure she’s projecting. Inside, the air is still and silent; outside, all Mia can hear is the insistent hum of cicadas. It’s peaceful but feels dangerous. Mia doesn’t trust the silence anymore.

In the end, Gavin doesn’t start breathing. He just opens his eyes, and Mia would have missed it except for the way she’s been watching Gavin for any sign of change. She’s not expecting it, jumps about a foot in the air.

In seconds Gavin begins to twitch and makes a low, confused noise like he isn’t sure how to use his body. His movements seem stiff and Mia wonders if he’s fighting his way through rigor mortis or if it’s something else, some fundamental change, if Gavin is just a mindless zee now.

It takes her a second to regain control of her hands enough to pull Gavin into something like a sitting position.

When he’s finally somewhat upright Gavin makes a harsh noise, a groan that coughs its way from deep in his chest. It makes Mia jump, but it doesn’t sound like the ugly rattling hiss of a zee, so she doesn’t run. Not yet.

“You there, Gavin?” she asks, her voice cracking over the syllables. It’s a stand-in for so many questions. Are you aware? Are you in there? Are you still Gavin?

Gavin tries again, another hacking noise before he coughs and hauls in a big breath to cough more. Mia feels each one in her own chest, jagged and unpleasant.

“Hi,” he croaks. Mia exhales explosively and drops back into her chair by the bed, lays her head onto the blanket, pressing her face into the material and letting herself breathe normally for what feels like the first time in days. Tension is making her shake like a leaf and she flinch-es when she feels Gavin’s hesitant hand patting at her hair clumsily.

“You scared me real bad, Gavin,” she mutters into the blanket. Gavin makes a distressed noise and clutches at her hair but he doesn’t have any strength, not yet.

-o-

Mia gives Gavin a few more hours and a few careful sips of water be-

Aubrey Warnick

20

fore she lets him try talking again, worried about tissue damage and unsure how that even works with the reanimated dead. She naps a little, leaning against the bed, and Gavin works silently at getting his fingers to bend. It’s as peaceful as Mia can remember it being since the Z-virus started.

“How are you feeling?” Mia asks when Gavin’s coughing finally goes away entirely and he’s started to make impatient humming sounds to prove he’s still perfectly capable of making noise.

Gavin pauses for a moment, eyes sliding away and into the middle-dis-tance. He looks lost for a moment before he focuses again and gives Mia an unconvincing, lopsided smile.

“‘M’kay,” he grinds out, sounding like gravel is papering the inside of his throat. It makes Mia wince.

“All present and accounted for in there?” Mia asks, smiling big and fake, and hates herself for the question. But she has to know.

Gavin looks away, down at his hands. Hair swings in front of his eyes, shaggy and a little wild from months gone without cutting it. It keeps his expression hidden.

“Far as c’n tell,” he mutters, and it takes Mia reaching out and nudging his elbow to get him to look up. She smiles, real this time, and watches Gavin relax.

She’s not sure what she’s going to do. If there’s even anything she can do. But she has to try.

“Wake”

21

“Against Nightmares”By: Cassandra Mehlenbacher

Marc jolted awake when a hand tapped his blanketed shoulder. He heard the low whistle of breathing and saw the small, hunched figure crouched at the side of his bed. He raised his head off the pillow.

“Daddy?”

Marc squinted and blinked. “Ona,” he croaked. “Wha… what’s wrong, sweetie?”

The four-year-old’s chin rested on the edge of the mattress, and her small fingers pressed dimples into the sheet. The side of her face was tinged green by the light of the clock on the bedside table. Softly, she said, “Daddy, I had a nightmare.”

“Oh, you had a nightmare?” Marc rubbed his jaw before he pulled back his blankets and sat up. “C’mon, I’ll take you back and tuck you in.” He adjusted his T-shirt and reached for her hand.

“But I wanna sleep here. On Mommy’s side. Where she used to sleep.” Ona dashed to the end of the bed, climbed up, and crawled to the empty, neatly made up side of the bed. She sat on the backs of her legs and looked at her father expectantly.

Marc’s gut wrenched. “Okay then….” The blankets had remained most-ly undisturbed for five long months. Ona lifted and slid down between the sheets. Marc tucked her in when she was calm and settled. He put his arm and head on his pillow and faced his daughter.

“What was your nightmare about?” he asked. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ona stared at the ceiling, blinking. Her nose wrinkled slightly. She then whispered, “It was about Mommy.”

The muscles in Marc’s jaw and throat tensed.

“I was playing in the sandbox at the park, and I was building a castle, and it was almost night, so I wanted to find Mommy so she could look at my castle before we went home. Remember when she used to take

Cassandra Mehlenbacher

22

me to the park, Daddy?”

He nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

Ona sighed a little. “She wasn’t sitting on her bench like always. Always. I wanted to go home for dinner.” Ona paused and swallowed hard. “But Mommy wasn’t on the bench where she liked to sit. I looked at the other benches, but there were only other mommies and daddies. Not Mommy. And it was getting darker and darker and then all the other kids got to leave and I was all alone. I was scared and I di… I didn’t know how you’d find me and I didn’t know where Mommy went. I hid in one of the slides and cried and then I woke up… I miss Mommy. Can she see me? Like, could she be my guardian angel?”

“If anyone could be,” Marc said, “it would be your mom.”“Why’d I dream that she left me?”

Marc found her small hand and squeezed it. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s just because you miss her so much. She never would have left you at the park by yourself.” He tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “What I wouldn’t give for her to be with you right now.” Their shared grief seemed to thicken the still air in the room.

“I miss her so much, Daddy. I don’t wanna forget her.” Her eyes be-came glassy in the faint light coming through the white window blinds.Marc raised and stretched his arms. Ona rolled into her father’s em-brace. He patted the back of her dark-haired head and hugged her comfortingly.

“Ona, it’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here. I’m here for Mommy, too.”

Tears rolled off her round cheeks and onto his t-shirt. Her shaky breath was warm through the material. Her small form shuddered. It didn’t matter how long she cried. He wanted her to let out the pain. She would let it out for the both of them. She was trying so hard to be strong for someone so young.

After a while, her muffled voice asked, “C-ca-an you t-tell me a st-sto-ry? Please? About her?”

“Well,” Marc began, drumming his fingers lightly on her back. He swal-lowed to steady his voice. “When you were very little, you liked to keep us up at night. We begged you to go to sleep, but you wouldn’t have it because you loved to look into our eyes and listen to our voices. Mommy and I could sit in a chair with you for hours and you’d

“Against Nightmares”

Cassandra Mehlenbacher

just look up at us. We were the most fascinating things in your world.” Marc sighed. “But the trick to make you sleep was to sing you lullabies. Lots of them. Like how you like stories now.

“One night, I was rocking you and rocking you, but you were wide awake—like it was already morning and not the middle of the night. I was so, so tired, and I was singing to you, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open. I just fell asleep. Sitting right up in that chair. When I woke up again, I heard singing. Good singing. Beautiful singing. You liked Mommy’s singing much more than mine—she wasn’t tone deaf like me. I sat there with my eyes closed. When I opened my eyes, Mommy was rocking you back and forth in her arms while she stood by the window. You were finally asleep. I remember how the moonlight shone on your beautiful faces…”

“What was she singing, Daddy?” Ona’s voice was calmer.

Marc had to think for a moment. “She was singing ‘Nights in White Satin.’ When she sang it, it was your kryptonite.”

Softly, Ona giggled and sniffed. “Like Superman?”

“Yeah. You’d be out before the end of the song.”

Ona was quiet for a moment. She then whispered, “I love you, Daddy.”

“Ona, I love you, too.”

“Can I have another story?”

Marc nodded. “Yeah.”

Ona listened to three more stories. She cried silently while Marc wait-ed patiently for her breathing to calm and deepen. His own eyelids grew heavy. Ona shuddered in her sleep and he held her tight until they were both stirred by the sun. The light brushed away the night and Ona’s nightmare.

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17

ART

24

“Affliction” by Hannah Ray Lambert

“Gaining and Losing” by Allissoon Lockhart

“Fear” by Cassandra Mehlenbacher

“Roots” by Cassandra Mehlenbacher

“Raindrops” by Amber Larks

Page 25

Page 26

Page 29

Page 30

Page 31

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“Affliction”By: Hannah Ray Lambert

Medium: Collage with newspaper on canvas board and painted over with acrylic.

26

“Gaining and Losing”By: Allissoon Lockhart

27

“Gaining and Losing” by Allissoon Lockhart continued

“Gaining and Losing” by Allissoon Lockhart continued

28

“Fear”By: Cassandra Mehlenbacher

29Medium: Markers on watercolor paper.

“Roots”By: Cassandra Mehlenbacher

30

Medium: Markers on watercolor paper with ink brushed over to create the watercolor effect.

“Raindrops”By: Amber Larks

31Medium: Watercolor, acrylic, salt crystals, and micron pen.

POETRY

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“I Killed a boy Once” by Hannah Ray Lambert

“A Personal Ad” by Chelsea Wing

Page 33

Page 34

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“I Killed a Boy Once”By: Hannah Ray Lambert

I killed a boy onceAnd nobody knewPaperwork signedBody buried Open and close

But it was my faultHis blood’s on my handsI didn’t stayDidn’t answerJust wanted free

I’m still in my cageIt just got smallerGuilty sadnessGuilty pleasureGuilty living

Because I killed a boy onceAnd only I knew

Hannah Ray Lambert

34

“A Personal Ad”By: Chelsea Wing

I’m searching for a stranger:you came into my café last night.It was weeping outside,lead-grayrain spattering the windows,red and blueflashing down the street—someone with little attention, speeding, or something.Anyway,it was warm inside.You ordered a coffeeand we talked about weatherwhile the register spit out numbers.Your coat was mottled with rainand when you reached for the changeyour sleeve slipped.I saw it.I can’t describe the thrill of fearthat electrified my bonesor the way my blood rushed

“A Personal Ad”

35

to my fingertips.You pushed the sleeve down,and we’d never met, butI saw it—my full nameinked on your arm.You left so fast,your coffeeabandoned,so I never had the chance to tell you thatyour name is on mine.

Chelsea Wing

PHOTOGRAPHY

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“Shrapnel” by Allissoon Lockhart

“Woman in Black” by Ellen Yancey

“Untitled 1” by Andelyn Bindon

“Untitled 2” by Andelyn Bindon

“Onwards” by Amber Larks

“Watching” by Katie Malberg

“Searching” by Amber Larks

Page 37

Page 38

Page 39

Page 40

Page 41

Page 42

Page 43

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“Shrapnel”By: Allissoon Lockhart

38

“Woman in Black”By: Ellen Yancey

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“Untitled 1”By: Andelyn Bindon

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“Untitled 2”By: Andelyn Bindon

“Onwards”By: Amber Larks

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“Watching”By: Katie Malberg

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Halloween Art & Photography

Contest Winner

“Searching”By: Amber Larks

ARTISTS &AUTHORS

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Andelyn Bindon

Christopher Heatherly

Hannah Ray Lambert

Chris Lanphear

Amber Larks

Allissoon Lockhart

Katie Malberg

Cassandra Mehlenbacher

Aubrey Warnick

Chelsea Wing

Ellen Yancey

Photography

Fiction

Art & Poetry

Fiction

Art & Photography

Art & Photography

Photography

Fiction & Art

Fiction

Poetry

Photography

45

ANDELYN BINDON

HANNAH RAY LAMBERT

AMBER LARKS

CHRISTOPHER HEATHERLY

CHRIS LANPHEAR

Andelyn Bindon is a junior psychology major from Bothell, Washington. Pho-tography is her favorite hobby. The works of photographer Édouard Boubat inspired “Untitled 1” and “Untitled 2.”

Chris Heatherly is a career U.S. Army officer and part time writer. His previ-ous publishing credits include American Athenaeum, Blue Streak: A Journal of Military Poetry, The Journal of Military Experience (Volume II), Tom Ricks @ Foreign Policy, Armchair General, the Peoria Journal Star, the Austin Statesman Herald and Readers Digest.

Raised on a small farm in Canby, Oregon, Hannah Ray Lambert came to Wash-ington State University to study broadcast journalism. While she is passionate about reporting, in her free time she enjoys drawing and painting, reading and writing fiction, and spending time with her family and cats. One of her biggest wishes is to travel outside of North America.

Amber Larks is a Los Angeles, California, local who currently attends Washing-ton State University, where she studies business entrepreneurship, management, and fine arts. Photography and traveling are her greatest passions. She drew inspiration for her work in this journal from the beauty in her surroundings, hu-man emotion (and possibly ghost stories), and her fascination of historical eras.

From Alconbury, England, Chris Lanphear is currently attending school at Washington State University studying history and anthropology. He spends most of his time listening to music, blogging, and doing massive amounts of homework. The inspiration for “Pandora’s Box” is based on personal situations that have affected his life. Music is also another source of inspiration for most of his work. Music has played an integral part in his life, especially with the context of suicide, and it has helped him get through lots of things. From his own expe-rience, he wants people to know how selfish suicide is and that people who are contemplating it need to know that they can be helped. There is always some-one there who can be your light when you are stuck in complete darkness.

46

AUBREY WARNICK

ELLEN YANCEY

CHELSEA WING

KATIE MALBERG

CASSANDRA MEHLENBACHER

Aubrey Warnick is from Pullman, Washington, but currently lives in Bellingham, Washington, and attends Western Washington University. Her hobbies are pret-ty much reading and writing, with time for friends of course! The inspiration for her submission came a little bit from the movie “Warm Bodies,” but also really came from her desire to explore a situation with a bitten character, where there’s no way a transformation could be avoided, and the emotional reactions that would come from that.

Ellen Yancey is a Seattleite currently attending Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah, studying photography. She has a passion for landscape photography and hopes to one day be a successful fine artist. In one of her photography classes, she was asked to composite a photograph in Photoshop of her worst nightmare - which resulted in the creation of this image!

Chelsea Wing is currently a junior at the University of Iowa studying English/creative writing, but she hails from rainy Seattle, Washington. While she pri-marily writes fantasy and YA fiction, she is endlessly fascinated by stories of strangers and missed connections. Wing’s work has appeared in the University of Iowa’s “Ink Lit Mag” and Augnowrimo’s “Milestone” collections.

In 2014, Cassandra Mehlenbacher received her bachelor’s in creative and professional writing. She spends her waking hours writing, drawing, maintaining her Etsy shop, and watching movies. Disney movies have always inspired her, but she also loves psychological thrillers.

Katie Malberg is a digital technology and culture student at Washington State University. Her hobbies include photography, drawing, dancing, creative writing, and violin. Her inspiration for her work derives from her desire to capture a moment in its entirety ... the mood, the lighting, and the expression in one image.

ALLISSOON LOCKHARTBorn at the end of the grunge era in Seattle, Allissoon Lockhart, AKA Celt-icTampon, studies interactive media, animation, and Japanese at the University of Southern California. She is the human J-RPG. Currently, she paints, sculpts, draws, animates, designs, and colors, but is always looking for and experiment-ing in new art forms.

EDITORS

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Darcy Malberg is a creative writing major at Washington State University. She has written seven fiction novels, an autobiography, a compilation of short stories and various poems. She has also dab-bled in photography, plays the violin, and enjoys editing photos. She appreciates writing of all categories and genres, whether fiction or non-fiction, and appreciates art in any form. She aspires to be a cre-ative writing professor one day and inspire others to have the same passion for writing that she does.

DARCY MALBERG - Submission/Copy Editor

LISA GAVIGLIO - Website Editor

ALEXANDRA GRAFF - Layout Editor

PAISLEY PETERSON - Marketing Editor

Lisa Gaviglio is from Sammamish, Washington and is a current res-ident of Pullman as she works on her junior year at Washington State University. She is majoring in digital technology and culture with a minor in professional writing and business administration. Lisa has recently found a love of portrait photography and is con-stantly taking pictures of friends and family. This gives her a great opportunity to continue editing in her favorite Adobe program Photoshop CS6. Illustrator, InDesign, Lightroom, and Premiere are also programs that she has used before for various projects. She also has a passion for reading and writing, and has written some short stories herself.

Alexandra Graff is a junior multimedia journalism major from Bothell, Washington. Apart from studying journalism at the Ed-ward R. Murrow College of Communication at Washington State University, Alexandra has a minor in French and is pursing a cer-tificate in editing and publishing from the Department of English. Alexandra works as the Life Section Editor at The Daily Evergreen student newspaper on campus, where she has previously held the

positions of fine arts reporter and copy editor. Alexandra has always had a passion for both the arts and writing, and she hopes to combine both as a future career. One of the lonely few, Alexandra loves using InDesign to create layouts and is ex-cited to work as the Layout Editor for Cloak Review.

From Tacoma, Washington, Paisley Peterson is a senior at Washington State University majoring in digital technology and culture. With a minor in fine arts as well, Paisley intends on pursuing a career in graphic design and working with magazine companies. Having experience with many forms of art such as photography, printmaking, graphics, drawing, and web design, Paisley loves to be creative in all aspects of her life and has compiled multiple different graphics, websites, pictures, and drawings to show for it. In her spare time, she is apart of the University’s Spirit Squad on the com-petitive cheerleading team which consists of cheering at all football, volleyball, and basketball games, as well as competing at the national level in Florida.