Local-news.ca is thrilled to unveil an exciting addition to our repertoire —the launch of a captivating serial novel titled Party of Misfits. In a nod to the literary traditions of the Victorian era, where renowned authors like Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins captivated readers with serialized narratives, we bring you a modern twist on this classic form. Our talented contributor, Mia Greene, a Burlington high school student and one of last year’s Burlington Public Library short story contest winners, will take you on this fantastical journey. Set in the contemporary world, Mia’s monthly installments promise to whisk you away into a realm of enchantment and intrigue. Join us on this literary adventure as we unfold the pages of Party of Misfits exclusively on Local-news.ca, where tradition meets the digital age, and storytelling takes on a whole new dimension.
Party of Misfits, Part 1
Autumn’s Kiss
The promise of autumn’s kiss sweetening the city did nothing to halt the five o’clock hubbub of people leaving work and their accompanying sour attitudes. It did nothing to compel any New Yorker to stop in their tracks and take a moment to breathe in the crisp, autumnal air. In late October, the trees had already faded to shades of light ochre and burgundy; the breeze whispered carefully, though its voice was powerless against the blaring noise of Midtown Manhattan. Shriveled leaves crunched under the shoes of pedestrians racing to catch their cabs. A bundle of tourists moved around the crowd in a daze, antsy to reach Bryant Park, what with Times Square bursting just beyond.
For Aarwyn Tate, it was merely another dreadful day in the city. Shoving her body into the circular panoramic elevator, Aarwyn couldn’t wait to leave Manhattan Media’s headquarters and tumble into her bed at her tiny one-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village. Her black ankle boots clicked against the pavement as she tugged her once-ivory, now coffee-stained blazer closer around her body, seeking some semblance of warmth against the wind. Earlier that day, just after being informed by her manager, Dina, that the story she wanted to report wasn’t interesting enough, Aarwyn had thought, “How could this day possibly get any worse?”
After all, she had experienced quite the morning. Her alarm hadn’t gone off, despite her vivid memory of enabling it the night before, and her last piece of bread burnt to a crisp upon accidentally turning on the highest setting of the toaster.
Unfortunately, the day did get worse. As Aarwyn was returning to her desk to sulk, a co-worker bumped into her, his cup full of watery coffee flying out of his hands and splashing across Aarwyn’s favourite blazer. Alright, so maybe it was her only blazer. But that only made her all the more upset. That, alongside the fact that she’d stayed late—really late—to file a story yet again made her fantasize about quitting her job.
Aarwyn was determined to get home, take a shower, and sleep her troubles away, though she was unable to extinguish the thought that she’d have to face her job and Dina again tomorrow. The worry of tomorrow felt like a sizzling batch of flames right in the pit of her stomach. Aarwyn soon turned at the corner of 5th Avenue. Bryant Park was bustling with people to her left. Skyscrapers surrounded the park, reflecting the setting sun and preparing for the silver light of the moon to arrive in a few hours.
Reaching 42nd Street–Bryant Park Station, Aarwyn entered the building and headed towards the terminal where she waited for train D every day after work. She slumped down on one of the cold metal benches sparkling with rust, her brown hair tumbling out of its greasy, disheveled bun as if her hair were done with the day, too.
Fruitlessly toying with the splat of dried coffee on her blazer, she stood upon hearing the unmistakable chug of the train zooming through the tunnel. When the train came to a complete stop, Aarwyn and too many other people to count stepped inside the train, into the muffled stillness that public transit seems to have even with many passengers on board. She found a seat across from a man in a suit and dress shoes, typing on his computer while simultaneously on a call with someone. She noticed his eyes move towards the coffee stain, the corners of his mouth falling into a frown. When his eyes met hers, she gave him a glare. The train doors dinged shut, the man looked back down at his computer, and the train began to move southwards.
Aarwyn breathed out a long sigh, content to be making her way home, but still upset by the words her manager Dina had spoken to her earlier today.
“Listen to me, Aarwyn,” Dina had huffed. “I know you want to choose your own stories, but our top reporters are the only ones who do that. They’ve earned their spots as top reporters by finding interesting material.”
Dina hadn’t outright said that she thought Aarwyn’s ideas weren’t good enough to write an actual piece on, but it was certainly insinuated. How was Aarwyn to fulfill her dream of being a journalist if she couldn’t figure out a single great story idea? She was sick of Dina turning down her ideas. Sick of working at Manhattan Media and chasing after the opportunity to be one of the top reporters every day. Working for a real media company had always been Aarwyn’s number one dream in life, and it saddened her to think that now, even though she had a life living that dream, she never woke up happy to experience it.
Some twenty minutes later, the train stopped at West Fourth–Street Washington Square Station, and Aarwyn got up, leaving the frowning man and his furious typing for whoever he was on the phone with to bear. Exiting the station, Aarwyn was met with a slate-darkened sky on the verge of nightfall. She walked through the tree-lined streets, past cafes, bars, and restaurants. She loved the welcoming atmosphere of the Village, adored its unique, lively energy. Her home had become the only constant pleasure in her life, the Village something she knew she’d never tire of.
Aarwyn turned down W. 10th Street, into a neighbourhood of tall brick townhouses, all stuck to each other, each with the same onyx porch railings enclosing chipped stone steps. The night had come far faster than it typically did, falling over the Village in dark layers, seeking out silence, yet only gaining the cheers of some already-drunk party-goers in return. The pavement Aarwyn walked down was littered with fallen yellow leaves and samaras, the peanut-coloured, winged seeds that fall off maple trees like nature’s helicopters.
She could hear the commotion of people from other streets, though 10th was fairly quiet. Most people who lived there already had their lights off, likely getting ready for bed. When she turned down the corner and was met with another row of buildings, she noticed one looked particularly out of place.
It was hers.
It wasn’t out of place because it looked different from any other house on the block. It was out of place because the lights were on. The lights were on and she could hear music blaring out of the windows, freezing her in her tracks. Something about the energy in the air heightened Aarwyn’s anxiety. It was an energy that pulsed from the house in waves, invisible to the naked eye, and sent shivers down Aarwyn’s spine. Though nervous, Aarwyn forced herself to move forward. Maybe it was the building beside hers? Maybe she had just forgotten to turn the lights off when she left that morning? Surely there was a reasonable explanation.
As she crept closer and closer to the strange building, her strange building, as was clear as she came closer, the music got increasingly loud. Confused, Aarwyn stood a couple of doors down, listening to a chorus of shouts of whoever was inside her building. The abnormal energy had seemed to pulse faster the closer she came. Before she could try to comprehend what was happening, her front door burst open, and something stumbled out.
Something, not someone, because the creature, which let out a wild, high-pitched laugh as it nearly fell down the steps, was not human.
Aarwyn watched in horror as its lanky body stumbled down the steps, then let out an “Oof,” before standing up and running back inside her building, its pale green skin illuminated for the smallest fraction of time by the enthralling light of the moon.
Hi! My name is Mia and I’m a high school student at Dr. Frank J. Hayden Secondary School. I love all things to do with writing, especially coming up with short stories and poetry. My other hobbies include acrylic painting, reading (books are among my favourite objects on planet Earth), and spending time with my family and friends.
