"The Forgotten Memories" by Ishanvi Rajput: November 2025 1st Place

The town of Rosenbury always had something weird happening. A screaming dog, a spontaneously combusting tree, et cetera. Just a typical week.

But this was different.

Why was it so cold?

Auburn groaned, opened her eyes and went to the kitchen.

What she saw convinced her that life was a joke.

Christmas lights danced across the marble kitchen island. Decorations were everywhere.

“Mom?” Auburn called.

Auburn’s mother turned and said, “Good morning! Don’t you love Christmas, dear?”

“But it’s November!” Auburn cried. “Thanksgiving! School breaks! Everything that matters in life!”

Then something happened. A feeling. It felt awful, like her soul died. But wait—what was she talking about?

Then the thing subsided.

Her mom looked confused. “What’s a November?”

*

Snow was everywhere outside. Snow on the trees and the driveway. People were having snowball fights.

It never snowed, Auburn thought once she was outside. Not unless…

She checked the date on her phone. The words “DECEMBER 24,” flashed on her screen. The wallpaper was wrong, too. It was a Christmas party from last year. Auburn had fallen over a pile of tinsel that night. Her friends never let her forget that.

But her friends would never have let her forget the Thanksgiving dinner two years ago—where Auburn ate a piece of possessed pie and threw up—either.

Auburn dialed Leah, her best friend.

“Hello?” Leah’s voice asked.

“November,” Auburn stated matter-of-factly.

Long silence.

The strange feeling came again. Auburn disregarded it.

“Um…” Leah said.

Auburn hung up. Then she heard a whisper.

“You are one of us.”

Auburn jumped. “Who are you?”

The creepy person was barely visible behind her, like a spirit.

“I come with a warning,” it said.

Auburn frowned. “What kind of warning?”

“Do not remind people of the forgotten month.”

“Why?”

“Look at your hands.”

So she did. Auburn gasped.

She was see-through.

“Do not continue, or they will forget you as well,” the spirit said. It chanted something inaudible.

Auburn was about to retort, asking why she was transparent, who would forget her, but the spirit—no, the memory—was gone, fading out of her mind.