Under the Strawberry Moon

Rising Anger

Danielle shook with an anger so deep, an anger she had never felt before. She stomped down the street, kicking at the rocks. The houses she passed just made her anger rise.

Why did these people get to live in houses with loving families? Where was her family? Christina had said she was her family, but what happened when Christina had her own life? Her own family? They weren't little kids anymore.

They weren't kids at all. Christina had been 18 for months, and Danielle’s birthday had been 10 days ago. 10 days and she hardly felt like an adult.

She heard a whisper that felt like it was echoing in her mind. It's nearly time.

Time for what? What was that? Was she going crazy?

She turned down a street, punching a tree in someone's yard. Danielle’s fist connected with rough bark, pain jolting up her arm. The tree barely felt it, but her knuckles split open, leaving behind a streak of red. She hissed, cradling her hand for a second before shoving it into her hoodie pocket. Stupid. That was stupid.

Why was she so angry? She never punched things. She'd never pushed someone. Seth. She'd pushed him. And it hadn't even phased him, he'd barely moved. He'd pushed her to this anger. This was him and his stupid crazy cryptic crap that had pushed her to this level of anger.

What did he know? He knew nothing. But her bones did ache. She rubbed at her arms. Her skin did feel itchy.

But the pain didn’t feel like it should. It was there—sharp, throbbing—but already dulling too fast. She flexed her fingers, expecting to feel the sting of raw skin, but it was fading, the cuts already sealing.

Her stomach twisted. That wasn’t normal.

No. She was imagining things. Adrenaline did that, right? Made injuries feel less painful. She forced herself to ignore the sticky warmth of blood on her fingers and kept walking.

She turned down another street. The houses were getting further apart now. She had almost forgotten about her knuckles but when she finally pulled her hand from her pocket, the cuts were barely scratches. Her skin was stained with blood, but her skin looked days into healing.

Danielle stopped in her tracks.

No. No, no, no. That wasn’t—

A whisper curled through her mind. You are mine. Her breath hitched. It isn't real. It isn't real. It isn't real.

The world felt too loud, too bright, too sharp. She needed to move. She needed to breathe.

A turn down another street. Where was she going? Why had she let a stupid guy with his stupid words get to her?

Off in the distance she heard an owl hoot, but it sounded so loud. Louder than it should have. She shook her head trying to clear it. She must have imagined the hoot. There's the answer. Her imagination is running wild.

She could feel his eyes on her again. She thought she had gotten away from him. Did he follow her? How else could he have found her? She could hear his footsteps running to catch up with her.

"Leave me alone!"

"I can't do that. Christina would kill me if I let you wander the streets alone."

Danielle let out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Because this is about Christina.”

Seth didn’t answer right away. His footsteps slowed as he matched her pace, staying just out of arm’s reach. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension.

She clenched her fists. Her skin still prickled, her blood felt too hot, and the echoing voice was whispering again. Come to me, my child. You are mine.

Was it the call of the moon like Seth said? No. No no no no no! Danielle squeezed her eyes shut, willing the voice away. Not real. Not real.

She took a sharp left down an empty street, hoping he’d take the hint and let her go. But Seth followed.

“I mean it,” she snapped, spinning around to glare at him. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

Seth’s expression remained unreadable, but there was something knowing in his eyes that made her stomach twist. “I think you do,” he said. “You’re shaking.”

Danielle crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Because I’m pissed.”

“That’s not the only reason.”

She scoffed, turning back around and walking faster. The town felt eerily quiet at this hour, the streets washed in silver light. Her ears picked up everything—the rustle of leaves, the hum of distant traffic, the faintest scurry of a mouse in an alleyway. It was all too much.

“Tonight's moon is called the strawberry moon, you know,” Seth said casually.

“Shut up!”

Her heart pounded as she reached the boardwalk leading to the beach. She didn’t even know why she came here—maybe because it was the last place she’d felt normal. Maybe because the moon had whispered for her to. No, that wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

She stepped onto the sand, feeling the cool grit beneath her sneakers, and exhaled. Okay. Okay, just breathe.

But it didn’t help.

The whisper curled through her mind again. Come to me.

Danielle’s pulse pounded. No, this wasn’t where she needed to be. She needed to go. Away from Seth, away from the pull of the moon, away from the voice that wasn’t real. Her muscles coiled, and before she could second-guess herself, she bolted.

The boardwalk disappeared behind her as she sprinted toward the trail leading to Muddy Creek. It was familiar, safe. If she could just make it there—

A hand closed around her wrist, yanking her back before she could reach the trees.

Danielle twisted, yanking against Seth’s grip. “Let me go!”

Seth didn’t budge. His hold was firm, not painful, but strong enough to keep her in place. His eyes burned into hers, steady and knowing.

She wrenched her arm free and took a step back, chest heaving. “Why are you really following me?”

His gaze flicked to the sky, to the full moon above, then back to her.

“Because you’re about to change.”

Her breath caught. No.

She shook her head violently. “That’s not—”

Pain lashed through her spine, stealing her words. She gasped, stumbling back, her knees nearly buckling. It was like something inside her was breaking free.

The moon pulsed above her, heavy and commanding. The voice echoed in her head again.

It’s time.