Episode 4: Beneath the Pines
1144 Words
Emma stood at the edge of her aunt’s property, where the trimmed lawn met the wild stand of ancient pines. The afternoon light filtered through the needles, painting ripples of gold and green on the damp ground. Everything was eerily still—no birdsong, no rustle of small creatures. Even the breeze seemed hesitant.
She inhaled, trying to calm the buzzing in her mind. The pull she felt toward the woods had grown stronger in the past week, like an invisible chord tightening in her chest. Tonight, she needed answers. Or at least an explanation.
Stepping through the old wire fence, Emma’s boots pressed into soft earth and past tangled underbrush. The scent of pine sap and moss filled her senses, grounding her. She closed her eyes, remembering the way her mother used to press pinecones into clay ornaments at Christmas, making the house smell like forest and firelight.
Her mother’s voice whispered in her memory: Be careful in the dark, Em.
Emma cracked open her eyes and moved deeper into the trees. Branches brushed against her jacket, and shadows danced on the forest floor. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the woods weighed her down with secret knowledge.
A sudden gust of wind sent a swirl of needles across her path. She paused, pulse quickening, as she heard it: a low, guttural growl.
It came from just beyond a cluster of ferns. Emma froze, heart pounding in her ears. The growl rose again, closer this time, soft and menacing.
"Hello?" Her voice trembled. "Is someone there?"
Silence answered.
Then, a blur of inky black fur rushed across the trail, so close she felt the backdraft of its movement. It was gone in an instant, but the impression it left was searing: it moved on hind legs, towering over fallen logs and leaping with unnatural grace.
Emma recoiled, stumbling backward. She screamed, a raw sound torn from her soul.
Silence.
When she dared to look again, the forest was empty.
Trembling, she turned and ran, branches whipping her face, roots snagging her boots. Adrenaline blurred her vision as she burst through the tree line and into her aunt’s yard. She slammed the gate shut, fumbling for the lock.
Once safely inside, she leaned against the door, chest heaving. Her hands were slick with sweat. She shut the door behind her and locked every bolt.
It was only when she was in the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, that she noticed the fine tremor in her fingers.
The next morning, Emma was exhausted. Dark circles framed her eyes as she stepped into Silver Hollow High. The morning bell was already ringing, and students swarmed through the halls.
Caleb loitered by his locker, backpack half-open, tossing a notebook inside. He glanced up and saw Emma. His confident grin faltered when he noticed her pale face.
"You look like hell," he said as she approached.
She offered a weak attempt at a smile. "Morning to you too."
"Rough morning?"
Emma folded her arms. "Just didn’t sleep well."
He nodded, seriousness flickering in his eyes. "Happens to the best of us. But if it’s the woods…"
"How do you know?"
Caleb’s jaw tightened. "Just... be careful."
Before she could ask more, the bell rang and he was swallowed by the crowd.
In biology class, Emma could barely concentrate. She kept imagining that blur of movement, the low growl reverberating in her chest. She doodled pine needles along the margins of her notebook, tracing patterns that felt impossibly familiar.
When the lunch bell finally rang, she packed her bag with more force than usual. She left the cafeteria and slipped outside, seeking the shade of her favorite tree. She settled against its trunk and closed her eyes.
A soft shuffle of leaves reached her ears. She looked up.
Adrian stood a few feet away, silent as dawn.
Emma’s heart twisted. "I told you to stop watching me."
He offered no apology. Instead, his gray eyes bore into hers with quiet intensity. "You went into the pines last night." His voice held no anger—only concern.
Emma’s lips parted, but she bit back a retort. "How do you know?"
"I heard you scream." Adrian stepped closer. "That’s not a scream a normal animal menaces." He paused, searching her face. "It’s a human scream. Panic. Terror."
She stared at him, words caught in her throat.
"Why did you go back?" he pressed.
Emma exhaled, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I... needed to know if it was real."
He crouched beside her. "And now you know."
She nodded miserably.
He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. "You shouldn’t be alone out there. There are... things in those woods."
Emma’s voice shook slightly. "What kind of things?"
He looked away, as if the answer pained him. "Not things you can ignore."
Before she could respond, Caleb’s voice drifted through the courtyard.
"Emma! Adrian! Lunch is over."
Caleb glanced over, noticing her seated with the pale-haired brother. His expression tightened; he walked over.
"I was worried about you," Caleb said, tone uncharacteristically soft.
Emma looked between them. "I’m fine."
Caleb’s gaze flicked to Adrian, then back to her.
Adrian rose silently, then turned and walked away. Caleb watched him go, shoulders stiff, before sighing.
"He means well," Caleb said quietly.
Emma gave a small nod. "I know. Thank you... both."
Caleb’s usual grin returned, but it was less certain. "We’re family. Kinda."
She blinked. "Kinda?"
He shrugged. "Loner families, Blackthorn edition."
Emma laughed softly, the tension easing for a moment.
That evening, Emma lingered in her room long after her aunt had gone to sleep. The house was silent but for the rhythmic hum of the heater. She sat at her desk, pushing aside schoolbooks to unwrap a small velvet pouch—her mother’s necklace.
The silver chain held a smooth, moon-shaped pendant. Emma ran her fingertips over its curves. It felt warm, almost alive, against her skin.
Reflexively, she tilted her head to get a closer look in the mirror.
The mark was still there.
A faint crescent in pale silver at the base of her neck. It pulsed ever so slightly—like a heartbeat beneath her skin.
She gasped and pressed a hand to her collarbone.
Who did this? And why?
A wave of memory washed over her—her mother’s last words as she lay in the hospital bed:
Forgive me, Emma. I tried to keep you safe. One day, you’ll understand why I had to leave you the moon.
Tears blurred her vision. She leaned forward, clutching the pendant, desperate for answers that weren’t coming.
She tried to sleep but all she saw were wolves—shadowy shapes, gold and white, howling beneath a blood-red moon.
And she.
Standing between them.
Her awakening had begun.
And there would be no return.
- Writer
