His Silent Luna

Her hands were covered in the viscous blood that dripped down her arms and pooled around her. This was wrong, so very wrong. The two slaughtered forms beside her had been so lively and cheerful only a few moments ago, but now they were nearly unrecognizable, flesh torn open, bone exposed.

She shook them again, and then drew back, unsure. Her heart thudded violently against her ribs. She wanted to cry and lay down beside them, but she knew the danger still lurked nearby. She reached over and felt around in the shredded shirt pocket, surprised and relieved to find the palm sized pocket watch still there. She put it carefully in the pocket of her shorts. She reached over to the other figure and tried not to look at the deep gash across the neck, where blood slowly trickled, as she struggled to unclamp the necklace there. It was sticky and difficult to undo, but she persisted until she held the delicate gold chain in her hands. She clasped it around her own neck and twisted it until the charm dangled over her pink shirt that was now stained crimson.

Hurry. There’s no time! her inner voice urged her. Her mother had always told her to listen to that voice. She stood on shaking legs, her shoes squishing in the blood congealed mud. Which way?

To the woods! Quickly!

She took off running. Any other day she would have been grinning ear to ear, her father chasing her as she tried to move silently and quickly over the damp earth. But today her parents were dead and whoever massacred them was still nearby.

Even the birds were quiet from their perches, entranced as the little girl jumped over limbs, stumbled on roots, and pushed back the branches that stretched out to grab her. The hairs on her neck suddenly stood up, a shiver running down her spine.

We’re being hunted!

The air in the forest shifted, as if everything was suddenly shrinking in on her. She shook her head and vaulted forward off a large boulder. She was fast. She always had been. It had been increasingly difficult for her father to catch her in his human form. But what was hunting her now was not human. She was leaving traces of blood everywhere, it oozed out of her socks with every step. Her predator would soon catch her scent.

No sooner had she formed the thought when a howl echoed through the forest.

It’s coming! You must run faster than you’ve ever run. Be brave!

She knew what the voice wanted her to do. They were one and the same. She lengthened her stride as much as she could. She was eight now, just today, and eight year olds should run faster than seven year olds.

Just ahead she could see a clearing opening up through the trees. She could feel her heart nearly bursting in her chest. There was a snarl to the right. She dogged a branch. She could hear something rustle through the grass. The wind, she hoped.

And then she was beyond the tree line. She could almost feel the snapping of teeth. She took one, two, three more steps and then threw herself over the edge of the cliff. She fell, twisting in the air to look behind her. The wind whipped her hair around her face as she peered into the eyes of a massive wolf, its mouth red and frothing.

The image shrank further and further as she fell, until she hit the icy cold water, and then she saw nothing but darkness.

Ten years minus one day

Winnie

I could feel my bones as consciousness crept over me. They ached, down to the marrow. I groaned and curled back into my lumpy pillow, desperate for a few more minutes. It was never enough. It would never be enough. Not until I was dead. And I had thought about it so many times over the years. I honestly didn’t know why I didn’t succumb. Maybe it was fear of the unknown. Maybe it was uncertainty over how to go about it. But it wasn’t anxiety over the possible pain. My life was pain. A deep ache that never left, filling body and soul.

The warmth of the sun touched my cheek, despite the cold gripping the rest of my body.

Shit, the sun! I sprang out of bed, glancing at the clock. It blinked its apologetic red blurred lines, evidence that the power had gone out yet again. I was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t an electrical issue at all but rather a big hairy issue with pointed teeth, that went by the name of Alpha Brock.

I jumped into the shower, a decaying little wooden room off the bedroom. The floor was beginning to rot and I tiptoed my way under the cold spray for a minute before grabbing my threadbare towel and wrapping it around myself. I brushed my teeth with one hand as I combed down my tangled auburn hair with the other, then spit in the sink and looked in the mirror.

Lifeless, dull, sallow. The only words that I could muster in my head to describe my appearance. I raced to my bedroom, threw on a baggy tee shirt and a loose pair of legging and jammed my still wet feet into a pair of sneakers. I scooped all my clothes off the floor, shoved them into a pillowcase and opened the bedroom door. I shut the door behind me, leaving the sagging little shack behind as I shuffled quickly down the stairs and stepped onto the narrow worn path that led from my “apartment” over the garage in the woods that housed decrepit old lawn gear.

I immediately regretted not throwing on a pair of socks, even though mine had holes in them. There was still a light layer of frost on the ground, despite spring being only a few weeks away. I hurried as quickly as possible, the goosebumps rising across my bare arms as the pillowcase of clothing thumped on my back.

I saw the pack house rising through the trees. By mid spring the woods would be thick and lush and green and it would be hidden from view, despite its large size. I hated the sight of it, but still I made my way towards it, not stopping until I was at the back door.

I twisted the knob and pushed it open, and immediately a bath of warm air wrapped itself around me, followed by a wave of delicious smells. The kitchen workers were already deep into their chores, stirring vats of oatmeal, scrambling eggs, flipping pancakes, and cooking large griddles of bacon and sausage. Fresh cinnamon rolls were cooling on a butcher block and fresh fruit had been piled high into bowls.

I made my way quickly to the industrial sized coffee pots and poured myself a mug. I grabbed an apple and stuck it in my teeth before picking up my mug once again, making my way towards the swinging kitchen door.

Whap! The door swung inward just as I reached it. Hot coffee sloshed over my arm and shirt as I went sprawling to the floor, landing hard on my tailbone. My cup clattered away, and the apple lay bruised in my lap. I gasped at the pain of searing heat soaking in to my skin, and looked up.