Gooseberry High

[It's very quiet outside. It has been since yesterday. The animals you see appear tense and skittish, like they're waiting for something to happen, and the forest feels somehow a little less alive. A little empty.

After the sun's glow fades from the horizon, you open your journal to see a strange new entry. It has no name, and the heavy text looks as though it was burned into the paper. If you lean in close, you smell pine sap. Once again, it's the Anonymous Writer.]



( Anonymous Post Rules )

[The cold is bitter in January. Utah is dry, and the periods where it doesn't snow become miserable and gray. The snow freezes into immovable expanses of ice, and your nose hurts from breathing in the sharp air. Tonight, it starts to snow again, and it's a relief. It actually feels warmer somehow, but you no longer trust all the footprints in the fresh snow.

After the sun's glow fades from the horizon, you open your journal to see a strange new entry. It has no name, and the heavy text looks as though it was burned into the paper. If you lean in close, you smell woodsmoke. Once again, it's the Anonymous Writer.]



( Anonymous Post Rules )

When Roxanne Barringer wakes up this morning, she notices something new: three feathers, tied together by a leather cord, hanging from the ladder of her bed. The feathers appear to be from a red-tailed hawk, of unusual size, fullness and vividness of colour. The cord is tied so securely, it appears to be magic.

Aside from their prettiness and their mysterious appearance in her dorm, the feathers look unremarkable, just another trinket of the forest... and yet. Roxie can't stop herself from touching them with a gentle finger, marvelling at the subtle way they catch the light. She wonders how they'd look in the bright sunshine. Looking at the feathers, she feels unstoppable—like she could do anything, go anywhere, rise to the highest of heights and never fall. Her normal confidence, multiplied tenfold.

For an unexplained reason, Roxie thinks it would be a good idea to tie the feathers to her broom. No, a great idea. She's definitely going to do that now.

[Most of the students are home now, surrounded by the safe and the familiar. Urban sprawl, or rural expanses. You can't help but wonder, what's happening in that strange forest without you? With fewer of you there, it's impossible to watch everything. What walks down those trails when there's no one patrolling them? Who's in your cabin while you're gone? Who has noticed your absence? Who has noticed that you stayed?

After the sun's glow fades from the horizon, you open your journal to see a strange new entry. It has no name, and the heavy text looks as though it was burned into the paper. If you lean in close, you smell woodsmoke. Once again, it's the Anonymous Writer.]



( Anonymous Post Rules )

[Fresh snow has settled on the ground. It makes everything hushed, muffled. You are the loudest thing here in the mountains. It makes you feel like you're disturbing something whenever you go out into the woods.

After the sun's glow fades from the horizon, you open your journal to see a strange new entry. It has no name, and the heavy text looks as though it was burned into the paper. If you lean in close, you smell woodsmoke. Once again, it's the Anonymous Writer.]



( Anonymous Post Rules )

A week after the anonymous post, Christopher Park finally drags himself to class, despite a raging hangover and a new appreciation for how bullshit this rain is. For some reason, he finds himself stopping just before he crosses the Rainbow River to reach the lodge. Normally a pleasant little stream, the river's swollen with rainwater, and is rushing hard enough to keep shifting in size.

Chris can't explain what drives him to walk down to the water, but he spots a rock which washed up on the bank. It's reddish and heart-shaped, worn smooth by the river and just small enough to fit comfortably into the palm of his hand. When Chris picks it up, it's oddly warm to the touch. When he squeezes it, he feels a strange sense of relief, like everything is going to be okay.

(If he shares the rock with anyone else, they will just see a reddish river stone, with an asymmetrical, naturally-formed heart shape. It will not feel warm except from any absorbed body heat. It will not give them any strange emotions. It doesn't feel special to anyone except Chris.)

[Autumn has set in, and today it seems as though more trees and bushes than ever are naked of their leaves. You can see deeper into the forest than you've been able to for months. The trails are covered in a carpet of orange and gold, and your footsteps are loud as you crush leaves beneath them. There's no way that anyone could sneak up on you, right?

After the sun's glow fades from the horizon, you open your journal to see a strange new entry. It has no name, and the heavy text looks as though it was burned into the paper. If you lean in close, you smell woodsmoke. Once again, it's the Anonymous Writer.]



( Anonymous Post Rules )

Seven days after the anonymous post, Rosemary Stoker wakes up in Ribbonfin to see a large flower has bloomed in her cabin window. It has round orange petals and almost reminds her of a face peeking in to check on her; although oddly, there's a sense of comfort every time she sees it, like a reminder that she is not, and will never be, alone.

Across the school grounds, in Coppertale, Sylvester Stoker sees an identical flower in his window, and feels the same strangely reassuring sense of not being alone.

If anyone goes to investigate, they'll find that a plant has poked through a crack in the wraparound balcony, and climbed up the outside wall of the cabin to the Stoker twin's window. Other orange flowers have bloomed on the plant, but the biggest is still the one facing into their window. If they have some Herbology expertise, it's obvious that magic was used to get the plant to grow this way overnight, but there's no indication of who might've done it, or why...

[The sky is crystal clear, and the nights are chillier now. Stars fill up the great black expanse, but the moon is nowhere to be seen. It makes the grounds of Gooseberry ever so much darker. The trails seem more narrow, and you never feel alone, even when you wish that you did.

After the sun's glow fades from the horizon, you open your journal to see a strange new entry. It has no name, and the heavy-handed text looks as though it was burned into the paper. If you lean in close, you smell woodsmoke. The anonymous writer is back again this year with its strange greeting.]



( Anonymous Post Rules )