The Hidden Moon

The gravel crunched under the wheels as I pulled up to the cottage, the sound echoing in the quiet woods. It wasn’t much to look at—a small, weathered thing, surrounded by trees that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. But it was mine. My new start. My escape.

I turned off the engine and just sat there for a minute, hands gripping the steering wheel. The silence was almost unnerving after the constant noise of the city. I could hear my own breathing, my heartbeat steady but tense.

“Here we go,” I muttered to myself, finally pulling the key out of the ignition. The air outside was crisp, cooler than I expected for this time of year. I grabbed my bags from the backseat and headed for the front door.

The key stuck in the lock, of course. I jiggled it, cursed under my breath, and finally gave it a good shove. The door creaked open, and I stepped inside.

The interior was small but cozy—exposed wooden beams, an old stone fireplace, and a set of mismatched furniture that looked like it had been here since the 70s. Dust hung in the air, catching the light streaming through the windows. It smelled of pine and something else, something old and forgotten.

“Home, sweet home,” I said with a half-hearted smile, dropping my bags on the floor. The silence pressed in again. I walked over to the window, looking out at the thick woods surrounding the place. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, casting shadows that danced across the ground. It was peaceful. Too peaceful.

I shook my head, trying to shove away the unease creeping up my spine. “You wanted quiet, Ciara,” I reminded myself. “Well, you got it.”

But quiet wasn’t what I wanted. Not really. What I wanted was to forget. To erase the past. The toxic relationships, the constant pressure of the city, the… everything. This was supposed to be my fresh start. A clean slate.

And yet…

My gaze drifted upward, out of habit more than anything. The sun was still high, but I knew what the night would bring. I always did.

The dreams.

Every night for weeks now, I’d been haunted by the same vivid dream. A full moon, impossibly large and glowing, hanging over the treetops. And wolves. Always wolves, running through the woods, their eyes gleaming in the darkness. I could hear them, feel their presence, but I could never see them clearly. They were always just out of reach.

I tried to laugh it off. “Stress dreams,” I said aloud, as if saying it would make it true. “Too much change, that’s all.”

But deep down, I knew better. The dreams weren’t just dreams. They felt… real.

Shaking off the thought, I headed for the kitchen, hoping to distract myself. The cottage had come furnished, but I hadn’t had a chance to check everything out yet. I opened a few cupboards, finding mismatched plates and cups, then moved to the fridge. Empty. Figures.

“Looks like it’s gonna be pizza for dinner,” I said with a sigh, pulling out my phone to check for any nearby delivery options. The screen lit up, but there was no signal.

“Of course. Middle of nowhere, no signal.” I tossed the phone on the counter, frustrated. “Guess it’s cereal then.”

I was about to rummage through my bags for something to eat when I heard it. A soft rustling sound, coming from outside. I froze, every muscle in my body tensing. My heart started to race, and for a moment, I thought I could hear it echoing in the quiet.

“Probably just the wind,” I whispered to myself, but my voice didn’t sound convinced.

The rustling came again, louder this time. My eyes flicked to the window, where the shadows outside had grown longer. The sun was dipping lower, casting a reddish glow through the trees.

I took a deep breath and moved slowly toward the window, peeking out through the dusty glass. There was nothing. Just the trees swaying, the leaves whispering in the breeze.

But then… I saw something. A shadow, quick and low to the ground, darting between the trees. It was gone before I could even process what I’d seen.

“Probably just a deer,” I muttered, but my voice shook.

I stepped back from the window, wrapping my arms around myself. The cottage suddenly felt too small, too isolated. My stomach twisted with unease, but I shook my head, forcing myself to be rational.

“Stop it, Ciara. You’re letting the past mess with your head. This is exactly why you came here—to get away from all that. No more paranoia. No more looking over your shoulder.”

But I couldn’t help it. Every sound, every creak, every gust of wind made me jump. The city had trained me well—always be on edge, always expect the worst. And now, even in the middle of nowhere, I couldn’t turn it off.

I sat down on the couch, pulling my knees to my chest, and tried to calm my racing thoughts. “You’re safe here,” I whispered, trying to convince myself. “This is your fresh start. Nothing’s going to hurt you here.”

The words hung in the air, hollow and uncertain. Because deep down, I knew that no matter how far I ran, some things would always follow.

The shadows. The dreams. The wolves.

As the light outside faded into dusk, I closed my eyes and whispered to the empty room, “Please, not tonight.”

But even as I said it, I knew the dreams would come. They always did.

And so would the wolves.