Welcome to the recognized work of our latest call for submissions, "We Were Neighbors!"

Our 18th series came with submissions of supportive neighborhood communities, dangerous and suspenseful horror tales and even the "neighborhoods" of thoughts within our minds!

We were blown away by our submitters and thank them for their hard work. It was the greatest pleasure to be able to review and provide feedback for these wonderful pieces of art and writing. 

Featured:

Our Global Neighborhood, a community anthem by Katie Ching. 

Old Man Sith, the tale of a close escape by Vihaan Agrawal.

Whispers Beyond the Fence, a deep dive of generational secrets by Allison Li.

We Were Neighbors, art + writing about two unlikely friends by Bonnie Chen. 

You and Me, an inside look to a girl's thoughts by Serena Wang. 

Thank You my Neighbor! a heartwarming art of appreciation by Mika Ching. 

It Starts With Me, a message about building the community by Enchi Kuo. 

We hope to see such great works again in our next Call for Submissions. This series has truly been a joy to experience. 
​
Sincerely, 
The Youth Review editing team

It was the super whiffle, the ball that curved, slid, split and even rose. That’s what it said on the advertisement and that’s what happened. It was like magic. At-least that’s what I felt about it. You would too if you saw it. Somehow wherever you threw the ball, it seemed to be attracted to the chalk strike zone I drew on the fence. But the one time it’s magic failed, boy, did it get me into trouble. ​

The ball went over the fence into our dreaded neighbor Old Man Sith’s house. Old Man Sith was a neighborhood legend with his ratty features, humped back, rotting teeth and his red eyes. He had white hair, sallow cheeks. He was nothing but a bag of bones. His thoughts though were worse than his looks if that was possible. He was known for being particularly sour, mean and cruel to little kids. If any toys or balls were in his yard even by a centimeter he was guaranteed to come hobbling out of his house to take it and destroy it in front of your eyes, and that is exactly why I was so alarmed at my ball going over the fence.

I sprinted and dove to a tiny crack in the fence separating our yard. The ball was not far away. I could probably scale the wall and get back quickly. As I started to climb the fence Old Man Sith came running out of his house and saw me trying to get the ball. He gave a wicked cackle seeing my attempts and roughly picked it up and threw it across the yard into a tangled blueberry bramble.
“Guess, you won't be getting that thing now!” He said in a raspy voice.
“We’ll see about that!” I mumbled at him
“Yes, we will.” He replied 

Immediately after going home, I told my dad about what happened and tried to persuade him into
having a talk with The Old Man. My dad gave a bleak no and reasoned that it was my fault for playing on that side of the yard. I asked my mom and she too said no. So I went to bed that night with the resolution that if no one would help me I would get my ball myself. Early the following morning, I snuck into Sith’s yard. His yard was a mess, it was overflowing with weeds, thorny bushes and blackberry brambles which never had any blackberries on them. I tiptoed across the barren yard until the point where I could see my ball and almost reach it. I bent under the bramble with my fingers wrapping around it. I withdrew my hand and stuffed the ball into my coat and turned around to run out of this wasteland. But as if he was a ghost, Sith was standing right there with a horrible, nasty grin.
“Well doesn't that just take the biscuit! Trespassing into my property, then stealing my stuff!” Sith exclaimed in mock shock.
“Well, technically it’s my ball.” I countered
“Eh, whatever.” He says as he reaches out to grab me.
“What are you doing! Get away from me!” I screamed and ran away. I would have gotten back home safely if it wasn’t for a loose rock sitting on my way. 

The loud thud was the noise of me face-planting after tripping on a rock. I tried getting up, but my ankle gave out. I looked behind me and Sith was there. He dragged me into his house. His house was dirty and smelled like a prison cell. There were broken dishes all over the place and there were rats inhabiting the kitchen. He dragged me up the creaking stairs into a musty and damp room. He threw me in and locked the door. I sat in there trying to figure out what to do for hours. There were no windows in the room except for a tiny one almost at the ceiling. I knew that if I found a way to get out of that window, I would be free. I looked around the room for tools that would help me. There was nothing in the room except a big brown bag. I peered into it hoping for rope of some kind. I only saw clothes in the sack. I took them out with a plan to tie them together into a giant rope. But after a few minutes of extracting clothes, I unearthed a rustic old cell phone. I gazed at it in awe. Here it was as if God heard my prayers, an answer to all my troubles. A cell phone.

I quickly booted it up and called 911. I recited everything to the police. The police told me they were on their way to save me, and sure enough they were here in under ten minutes releasing me, arresting Old Man Sith and explaining the situation to my parents. After the arrest of Old Man Sith, whose actual name I later found out was Sith Ramsey, his house was sold to a small family with a boy of my age, and I am glad to tell you that they improved the house, transformed the garden, and their son Luke is one of my best friends.​

In the center of a suburban neighborhood, two houses stood side by side, separated by a chain-link fence. The first house was a shabby mansion, its once grand exterior now crumbled in the shadows and secrets. The second, a cunning cottage surrounded with ivy. The mansion belonged to the puzzling Sinclair family, rumored to be descendants of distant royals with a dark past. They rarely left their gated property, their presence buried in mystery and speculation. The cottage, on the other hand, was inhabited by the Wilsons, a family of three who had just recently moved into the neighborhood in search of a fresh start. Since the Wilsons arrived, they couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of being watched. Strange occurrences became part of their daily life. The sound of footsteps echoing in seemingly empty rooms, objects moving on their own, and whispers in the dead of night. Mrs. Wilson brushed off these occurrences as fragments of her own imagination, but Mr. Wilson couldn’t shake the feeling that something lurked in the shadows. One night, as the fog started forming, Mr. Wilson spotted a figure standing at the edge of their property, hidden by the mist. He approached cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. As he walked closer, the figure vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but a chilling sensation behind. Determined to uncover the truth, Mr. Wilson dug into the history of the neighborhood, uncovering tales of forbidden love, betrayal, and tragedy. The Sinclair mansion stood out largely in every story, its dark past mixed in with the community. One afternoon, while exploring an overgrown garden behind heir cottage, Mr. Wilson stumbled upon an old journal hidden beneath a pile of leaves. It pages were filled with symbols and passages detailing century old curses that had dominated the Sinclair family for generations. With this new found knowledge, Mr. Wilson confronted the Sinclairs demanding answers. However, his inquiries were met with silence and suspicion, further encouraging his determination to solve the mystery. As days turned into weeks, tension started the build up between the two families, each having their own secrets and suspicions. As the truth slowly began to unravel, it became unclear on what was reality and what was myth, revealing the darkness that had long been buried beneath the surface of everything. In the chaos, a fragile friendship formed between Emily Sinclair and Thomas Wilson, the youngest members of their families. They both shared one thing, the desire for truth and redemption. Together, they embarked on a journey to uncover the secrets hidden within the walls of the Sinclair mansion, uncovering long forgotten secrets and the remains of an ancient era. As a storm raged outside, Emily and Thomas ventured into the depths of the mansion, confronting ghosts of the past and facing their own demons along the way. As the first light of dawn broke through the clouds, they emerged from the depths of the mansion, forever changed by what they had witnessed. They had discovered the true power of the curse that lay not in the darkness, but in the light that shone through it, a light that had the power to heal the deepest wounds and bring peace to those who had been haunted by the shadows. Eventually, the Wilsons decided it was best for not only them but also the Sinclairs to move out of the neighborhood. They never experienced any paranormal occurrences or heard from the Sinclairs every again. Generation after generation, the tale of the Sinclairs still lives on.

​Our 17th published series of art and writing brings the mysterious into the light, dealing with unexplained occurrences, haunted museums, lantern-lit forests, and a pair of lonesome wolves. 

With winter break rolling around for most students, this is a great time to sit down and enjoy some quality fiction and hand-drawn illustration.

Many of our artists this issue are new to the Youth Review. We're always grateful to have new arrangements of fresh and bold works to offer the readers of the Youth Review, from diverse backgrounds.

Featured: 

Midnight Mischief, an atmospheric nighttime drawing by Katie Ching, an eighth grader.

"The Ghosts of the Museum", a spine-chilling story by Salina Miao, an eighth grader.

"A Lonely Halloween Night", a festive, spooky, and imaginative story by Bonnie Chen, a fourth grader.

"Jazakee and the Serpent", a tale of adventure with an unforgettable titular antagonist by Serena Wang, a fourth grader.

"The Unsolvable: Five Minutes", a story of a hike gone suddenly wrong by Allison Li, a sixth grader.

Sincerely,
The Youth Review editing team