SHORT STORY WINNERS

Three Central High School students and a seventh-grader from Nell Holcomb School have been named winners of the Cape Girardeau Public Library 1998 Short Story Contest.

They were among 91 students who entered the first-ever contest.

The winners are:

-- Cody Farrow, 13, whose parents are Alan and Faye Farrow.

-- Sara Little, 16, whose parents are Jim and Melba Little.

-- Jared Snell, 17, whose mother is Cindy Snell.

-- And Julie McGowen, whose parents are Jim and Marsha McGowen.

Receiving honorable mention certificates were:

-- Pierce Yates, a Nell Holcomb seventh-grader whose parents are Margaret and Ted Yates.

-- B.J. Babb, a Charleston Middle School seventh-grader whose mother is Sheila Babb.

-- Shawn Steger, a Nell Holbomb eighth-grader whose parents are Carolyn and Kevin Steger.

-- Melissa Mack, a Nell Holcomb sixth-grader whose parents are Jerry and Jeannie Mack.

-- And Becky Tompkins, a home-schooled 10th grader whose mother is Judy Tompkins.

The library provided the students with three drawings to use as inspiration for their stories. One drawing was of a small open door in a basement, another of wallpaper with doves on it, the third of an open book covered by a vine.

Nell Holcomb had the largest number of entries, with Jefferson School a close second, L.J. Schultz School third and Clippard School fourth.

Judges for the contest were Betty Martin, head librarian; Marilyn Hutchings, an English instructor at Southeast; and Sam Blackwell of the Southeast Missourian.

The contest was coordinated by Bree Owens, a Youth Services library assistant.

The Third-Story Bedroom

By Sara Little

My momma always used to read me a story about a little angel who wanted to fly, but she couldn't learn how until she earned her wings. Momma wrote that story for me, and that's exactly what she called it: "Angel's Story." My name is actually Angela, but Momma never called me that. Anyway, she always told me that I'm just like the angel in the book. Just as she couldn't fly, I couldn't walk. That's because I was born sick; my life has just been one fever after another, and I'm paralyzed from the waist down. The doctors said that I'll never be able to walk, but Momma told me not to listen to them. She said that I'm just like the angel in my story, and when I get my wings, it won't matter anymore if I can walk or not, because then I can fly.

I remember one day when Momma was reading me my story while I drew pictures with the new crayons she gave me for Christmas. I was just getting over another fever, and Momma had left the window open. She said the fresh air would help me feel better. When the story was over, Momma patted my head and she said, "One day, you're going to be just like that little angel. Just because you can't walk, that doesn't mean you can't fly. When you get your wings, nothing's going to hold you back and you can do anything." I loved when Momma talked to me like that; she was the only one who believed in me. She leaned over and kissed my forehead. "You feel cold, Angel. Maybe your fever's breaking.

She crossed my small room to close the window, but she stopped before she got there. She must have seen something outside because she froze and stared out the window. She turned to give me a panicked look. I had never seen her look like that before. She was tense, and scared, and she was shaking all over.

"What is it, Momma?" She didn't answer."Momma?" She crossed the room and sat on my bed.

"Angel, do you remember what I told you about your daddy?" I did; I remembered everything she had told me. Daddy left when I was three years old. He always seemed to be mad at me because I was sick. Momma said he was basically a good man; he just had a few problems he needed to work out.

Momma looked like she was about to say something else, but she was distracted. She walked back to the window and started pacing in small circles. Finally, she looked at me and said,"I need you to be real quiet Angel, just like a little mouse. Can you do that for me?" I nodded. "Okay, sweetie, don't be scared now." I couldn't help being scared by the way she was acting.

I could hear heavy footsteps on the porch outside, followed by a loud bang on the door. Momma looked pale. She stood up and walked to the door. She turned back and said,"Remember, Angel, just like a mouse," and she left. I heard her turn the key in the lock behind her before she walked down the hall. I listened to the click of her high heels on the stairs. Soon, I heard two muffled voices downstairs. They talked for a long time; then it got really quiet. A few minutes later, I heard a loud crash in the kitchen and Momma screamed. The screen on the front door slammed.

I tried to push myself up enough to see out the window. I saw Momma crying as a man shoved her into our old car. I hated to see my momma cry. I wanted to do something to help her, but I remembered to stay quiet. When the man turned around, I recognized him from pictures I had seen. It was my dad. He was yelling at Momma, but I couldn't understand what he said. He got in the car, and I watched them drive slowly down our long driveway.

That night, I couldn't sleep. Not just because I was scared for Momma but also because I was so cold. It was freezing in my little room with the window still open. I had nothing but a small, worn out quilt to protect me from the December wind and I was shivering violently.

Finally, around three o'clock in the morning, I decided to try to close the window myself. That was definitely easier said that done. I groped in the dark for something to grab on to. At last, my fingers brushed the wood of my small bedside table. I got a firm grip on the table leg and pulled myself to the floor.

I felt a shooting pain in my head and I could taste blood in my mouth. I lay there for a few minutes and tried to regain my senses. I had hit the floor harder than I thought, and the pain was dizzying. Slowly, I extended my arms and tried to pull myself toward the window, but it was much harder than I had expected, especially since I was still weak from my last fever. I managed to move a few inches, but that was all.

I worked all night, crawling then resting. By morning, I had reached the wall. The sun was just rising and my room was flooded with pink light. I could see my fingers, which were now grey and blue, and had lost all feeling hours ago. I was shivering so much now, it was a struggle just to catch my breath. I looked up and saw my reflection in Momma's antique mirror. I almost screamed at the sight of it. There was a huge gash on my forehead and my hair was matted with blood. My skin looked pale and grey like marble.

I struggled to reach up for the window ledge, but I just didn't have the strength. I rolled onto my back and stared at the wall. I had to squint my eyes to focus on the pattern of the wallpaper. It was dark green with large white flowers. Momma said it reminded her of her old house when she was a girl. All day, I stared at those white flowers and after a while, they began to change shape. The patterns began to transform, and in the early evening, the petals had become a thousand snowy doves with their wings spread to the sky.

The sun was setting and my room was growing dark. I was very tired and weak. I couldn't feel the cold anymore, but I still couldn't stop shivering. I wanted this to be over so I could sleep. In the dim light, I thought I saw something move. It was one of my doves. It began to flap its snowy wings and left the wall. It flew around the room twice before in perched on the floor by my head. It cooed softly in my ear. I remembered the words Momma had said and I could almost hear her soft voice in my head.

"Angel, just because you can't walk, that doesn't mean you can't fly." The dove spread its milky white wings again and just before I closed my eyes, I saw it soar out the window and into the sunset.

The Hidden Door

By Cocy Farrow

It was a beautiful Autumn day on Water Street in 1934. The birds were chirping and all the children were outside playing in the leaves, except one small boy. Five-year-old Tommy Withers played alone in the basement of his father's mansion.

He liked to play in the basement because his cat Roxy had just had kittens there. The door of the nearby wine cellar was unlocked and some of the kittens were wandering off. Tommy knew he was not allowed in the wine cellar because some of the rafters were falling in. But he followed one of the kittens in without hesitation and he slammed the door behind him.

The slam of the door was all the old cellar rafters could take. An avalanche of dirt and rock smashed his frail body in an instant. Tommy's family was torn by the loss of their only son. They left the mansion vacant and moved far away from the house where their young son was killed.

No one ever went in the Withers mansion until the summer of 1997 when an architect and his son moved there from New York City. Robert Herbst, the new owner, renovated the house completely as his son Adam, a very intelligent 8-year- old boy, explored every nook and cranny of the old house.

On the third day at the house, Adam saw that some of the stuff had been moved in the basement, uncovering a small door that he hadn't noticed before. The phone rang and his dad told him to answer it. "Hello, yeah, Dad it's for you!" As Adam handed his dad the phone, he heard a noise in the basement. He ran down the basement steps and just saw the door barely move. Then he noticed that some wooden blocks~~ were out like a kid had been playing with them.

The next night the same thing happened except he saw the door shut. He looked around. Nothing had moved except the blocks and the door. As he walked upstairs, he noticed that it was the same time as it was yesterday, 6:02.

As he and his dad sat down for dinner, he said, "Dad, have you been moving stuff in the basement?"

"No, why."

"Well, something is down there, and it's moving stuff and opening doors."

"Now, what did I tell you about that imagination of yours?"

"But Dad."

"I don't want to hear it!" Adam walked disgusted up to his room and went to sleep.

The next day, he sat the whole day at the top of the stairs waiting to see anything. At 6:02, he saw a small boy come from nowhere and start playing with the blocks. Out of curiosity, Adam walked down the stairs. The boy that looked about five or six was sitting there stacking the blocks one by one. He was very pale and thin and wore shorts, suspenders and a billed cap.

"Hey, who are you? How did you get in?" The boy sat with no reaction. "Are you hungry?" Again the boy sat silent. Adam ran up the stairs and got a cherry cookie tart and ran back down.

"See, food, do you want it?" The boy looked up and took the cookie from his hand and ate it with haste. He smiled at Adam, but his smile turned to a frown as he got up and went to the door, opened it, turned around, and went in. When Adam got there and opened the door, he was surprised to see only a wall of dirt. As he turned and shut the door, he heard something fall. He picked up the flat board that fell. It read "WINE CELLAR."

Adam wanted so badly to run and tell his dad about what just happened, but he knew he would dismiss it as soon as he mentioned it.

The next morning he asked his neighbor if he knew anything about the mansion's history. "Why sure, I know lots about it. What do you want to know?"

"Did anyone ever die in the house?"

"Yes, I think it was the Withers boy. Tale has it that the wine cellar collapsed on him."

Adam said, "Thank you," as he ran to the house. He got some tart cookies again and waited at the top of the stairs. The boy was right on time. At exactly 6:02, he started playing.

"Do you want another cookie?" Adam said as he gave it to him. The boy ate it quickly and smiled. "Oooh another, come here," Adam said as he lured him away from the cellar door. The boy looked at the door and then at the cookie. The door swung open and something like a force of death seemed to try to reach out and grab the boy. Adam bravely threw himself onto the boy, knocking them both to the cold, hard floor as the cellar door shut swiftly. Everything went black and started spinning.

Adam woke up in a different room. Then he realized he was in a different house. As he ran outside to see what had happened he saw his house across the street. He ran home to tell his dad what had happened to him, but the door was locked. He knocked and an old man came to the door.

"Who are you?" Adam said, out of breath.

"Well, who are you, young man?"

"I'm Adam Herbst, and I live here. And where is my dad?"

"You must be confused. Did you get hit in the head? You live across the street. Why don't you come in and call your dad."

As Adam entered the house, he realized that it definitely wasn't where he lived! Adam was very confused. He knew that this was the same house he was in yesterday. He remembered the boy and the cellar but he couldn't get a grip on the moment.

"Do you like tart cookies?" the man asked.

"That's all right, my stomach doesn't feel good." About that time his dad came to the door. Adam was relieved to see a familiar face and was ready to go home wherever it was.

"I'm Adam's dad Charles and appreciate the call for my son.

As they started out the door, Adam said "Thank you Mr....?"

"Withers, Tommy Withers."

The Open Window

By Julie McGowen

It all started with an open window sucking in the blistering Georgia night. She lay perfectly paralyzed in her ruffled canopy bed. Dressed in her cuddly My Little Pony pajamas, she prayed, with all her eight-year-old intensity that God would shut her bedroom window. Jimmy-Joe, the class bully, swore he'd felt the ends of bony fingers brush his ankles from under his bed one night. Daddy had forgotten to change the burnt-out night light bulb again. Daddy has forgotten almost everything lately, even her. The door creaked and a crack of hall light filtered in. "Laurie baby, you OK? Hon, you can't leave the window open with the air-conditioner on." He crossed her wooden floor and gently shut the night air out.

Laura felt his weight on the bed next to her. Her little arms reached out for her Daddy. "I guess I haven't had much time for you since Mama died, huh? I love you Little-bit ~

Daddy's big hand stroked her hair then crept delicately inside her pajama top to slowly stroke her chest. When he was done, Laura curled into her usual sleeping position, happy her Daddy finally had noticed her. Her innocent eyes closed, and clutching a new bear, meant to help replace her mother, she was soon asleep. For that sweet little angel, it was the beginning of a ten-year hell.

"The votes are tallied and the decision is made. Your 1998 Westview High Homecoming Queen is ... Miss Laura Banks!"

Heavenly spotlights twinkled on the dark-haired beauty as she graciously floated forward swathed in the year's latest lavender creation. Laura looked properly tearful and cast a grateful look to the one crowning her. Laura's stunning blue eyes scanned the crowd until they caught those of her quarterback high school love, Greg. He bestowed her with a blown kiss.

Murmurs drifted through the crowd.

...Been in love three years now...

...sweet, tutors me in chemistry...

...gym locker by mine, never even sweats...

...so glad she let me make cheerleading squad...

...drives that black GTO...

...in charge of directing the next play...

...not an ounce of fat, never exercises...

...Have you heard her sing...

...Student Council, volleyball, track...

...1475 on her SAT's, any college she wants...

...seen that three-story house?...

One lone collective thought drifted through the Westview High student body" "God, we want to be her.

Time found Laura and Greg alone on the highest hill in the county. The same scorching air stirred tendrils of her hair not secured by her crown. Greg was celebrating in his own way, his usual bottle of Jack Daniels tipped back. His arms slid around Laura's silk-clad waist, and his whiskey-laden breath purred in her ear. "It's almost over, my queen. Now what will you do with your life?"

Laura continued to stare at the farthest away stars and replied, "I'm getting the hell out of here."

She was due at her farewell party soon. Her bags were stacked neatly in the trunk of her car ready to leave for college the next morning. The night before she left Laura's daddy stopped by her room for a talk. Her window was still open and he crossed the room to close it. "Wastin' my money still?" he joked. Laura swore daddy never aged. He was always there just the same.

"Laurie-baby, this will come as a surprise to you but I've fallen in love again. We're engaged and I know you'll love her. Don't worry, you two will be just like mother and daughter. Best of all, she's got a seven-year-old daughter. I'll have a little girl to raise and love all over again." He quietly shut her door.

Laura waited almost an hour before she entered her father's den drink in hand, sleeping pills

"Daddy I'm so happy for you, for me too. We'll be one big happy family again. I'll have a sister."

As soon as the drugs took their effect on her monster Laura walked to the shed and calmly doused the beautiful three-story Southern mansion with their surplus gasoline. The beautiful brunette tossed a lit match through the open window of her father's den.

"Daddy, you'll never touch another girl again."

A glorious orange glow lit her way as she climbed into her GTO and drove away. She was right on time for her party.

Hours later the sheriff came to collect the newly orphaned girl.

"Laura," he said, "I'm so sorry." She stared shocked at the charred remains.

"How?" was all she asked.

"Damn, faulty wiring in these old houses," was his only reply.

One of the town's most prominent citizens was dead but his poor shattered daughter still managed to leave for college the next morning. The distraught town marveled at her decision but tearfully she told them, "I'm doing it for daddy."

Mr. Linden's Library

By Jared Snell

To say the least, Amber was a good student in school. She had high grades with good conduct. Basically, the average student at Willow High School. There was only one problem. When she started reading a book, she would do nothing else until she had finished.

It was right around Christmas time and she had been receiving gifts in the mail all week. On Christmas Eve, she received a small oak box that had been held shut by a padlock. Her father, Rodger, looked at the box for a long time trying to decide whether to open it and where it had come from. With no return address on the package, they had no idea of the sender.

"But wait, here's something," her father said. It was what looked like some sort of tag stuck to the bottom of the box. Although it had been torn in half, one of the words could still be read. The word was library. To say the least, this little bit of information did not help much. It only left them more puzzled than before.

One day while her father was studying the box, her mother walked into the room. "Why don't you just take it to one of the libraries in town and see if they might know something about it. They might even have the key to that padlock." This, at the time, seemed to be their only option.

The following day, using the phone book, they looked up all of the libraries in the town of Willow. Of the two that were listed, only one was still open. They hopped in the car and headed for the library. To their disappointment, no one at the library knew anything about the box. Not knowing anywhere else to go, they started for home.

"Wait a minute, what's that?" said Amber. Sure enough, on the side of the road was a small sign that said, "Mr. Linden's Library." Under the wording was an arrow pointing toward a small building off in the distance. The road leading to the library was mostly grass and showed little use. As they arrived at the building, the lights suddenly came on.

When they opened the door, there standing at a desk was a man who looked to be in his late fifties. He was a short man with white hair and dark brown eyes. Suddenly, as though he had known them all of their lives, he said, "Well where in the world have you two been, I've been waiting for you."

Without saying another word, he walked to the back where he had a small safety deposit box sitting on his workbench. Taking the box from Rodger's hands, he placed it on the bench, opened the safety deposit box, pulled out a small key and opened the oak box. Inside was a small leather- bound book with the title "The Jungle' scored into the cover. Amber grabbed the book and immediately began to open it but the old man snatched it from her. "Why can't I read it", she asked? "Because", he said, "this book has powers that can't be controlled. Once opened, there is no telling what it could do."

Rodger, not believing the story, gave the man a fifty dollar bill for the book and walked out the door, book in hand. When they got home, Amber instantly took the book from her father and ran upstairs to her room. Locking the door behind her, she jumped on her bed and opened it. The pages had a greenish tint to them and the pages were not numbered, but that didn't stop her from beginning her new book.

By the time her father called for her to turn out her light and go to sleep, she was about one-third of the way through the book. Against what her father told her, she kept reading. While reading, she noticed that the book seemed to be getting longer every time she turned the page. Before long she was asleep.

All of a sudden, the book began to give off a dark green glow. Shaking violently, long forest vines started to grow from the pages. Within a matter of minutes, the whole room was covered in vines and other jungle wildlife. Hearing what he could have sworn was some sort of bird calling from his daughter's room, Rodger rushed upstairs only to find her door locked tight. After yelling frantically for a while and not getting a reply, he did the only thing he thought would help. With an ax from the barn, he cut through her door to see what resembled a jungle floor. Searching the room turned up no trace of his daughter.

Thinking that Mr. Linden might be able to help him, he returned to the little library. After telling Mr. Linden his story, he watched as the little old man turned and began walking into the darkness of the back room saying over and over, "NOT AGAIN, NOT AGAIN." Rodger ran after him, only to find himself in an empty room with no other exit. Mr. Linden was nowhere to be found!

Knowing that there was nothing more to be done for his daughter, he got in his car and began to drive away. Almost on instinct, he looked back toward the little library, only to see nothing but a wheat field. There was no sign of the library or Mr. Linden.

When he returned to his house, there was a big, ominous looking tree standing in the front yard. He had never seen this tree before and went up to get a closer look. Carved in the tree was the name "Amber."