MOONBOUND SECRETS

"Did you hear them last night?” I looked up from the basket of apples I was sorting for the market. My best friend, Lila, leaned across the stall with wide eyes, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Hear what?” I asked, pretending to focus on a bruised apple in my hand, though the way she whispered made my chest tighten. “The howls,” she said. “They came from the forest again. Mama swears she saw shadows moving by the edge of the trees.” The forest. Everyone in the village talked about it in hushed tones, as though the trees themselves might overhear and reach out to silence us. Children were warned never to wander past the outer trail. Hunters carried charms on their belts, muttering prayers whenever they crossed the border. And at night—sometimes—I swore I heard it too. That lonely, haunting cry that rose with the moon. I forced a laugh. “Probably just dogs.” “Dogs don’t sound like that,” Lila said, lowering her voice further. “And dogs don’t leave tracks the size of my hand.” She opened her palm and held it up for emphasis. I swallowed, pretending not to shiver. The basket in front of me was nearly full. I tucked the last apple into place and tied it shut. “Well, I haven’t seen anything. And I don’t plan to. You know how people exaggerate.” But the truth was, even as I said it, a small thrill of fear—and something else, something like curiosity—slid down my spine. By midday, the market square buzzed with chatter. Farmers bargained loudly, children darted between stalls, and the scent of bread and roasted meat filled the air. I moved from booth to booth with my baskets, greeting neighbors, trading smiles. It was ordinary, safe. The kind of life I’d always known. And yet, it wasn’t. Not really. Because in the spaces between voices, I caught it—the nervous undertone. Mothers tugging children closer when a gust of wind carried the smell of pine and damp earth from the woods. Men exchanging sharp looks when dogs barked for no reason. Everyone tried to keep busy, to act normal, but whispers of wolves lingered like smoke we couldn’t wave away. I finished my errands and slipped down the side path toward home. Our cottage sat near the edge of the village, where the forest pressed close. From here, the trees loomed dark and endless, their tangled branches forming a wall of shadows. I should have hurried inside. Instead, I paused at the fence, staring at the line where sunlight faded into gloom. What really lived out there? A sudden rustle made me flinch. A crow burst from the underbrush, wings beating hard as it soared into the sky. I laughed at myself, shaking my head. But even as I turned toward the cottage, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching. Inside, the warmth of the hearth greeted me. My mother knelt by the fire, stirring a pot. She looked up, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. “You’re late.” “The market was busy,” I said, setting the basket on the table. “And Lila wouldn’t stop talking.” Her mouth curved in a faint smile, but her eyes searched mine. “Talking about the forest again?” I froze. “Maybe.” Her spoon paused. “You shouldn’t listen to every story you hear. Fear spreads faster than fire.” “Then why do you keep the shutters locked at night?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. She stiffened. For a moment, the only sound was the bubbling stew. Then she set the spoon down, her face unreadable. “Because some fears are worth respecting,” she said quietly. “Go wash up. Dinner will be ready soon.” I obeyed, but her words clung to me like burrs. Some fears are worth respecting. That night, the village grew hushed. Doors bolted, windows latched, fires burned low. I lay awake in my small room, listening. And then it came. A long, low howl, rising through the stillness. It echoed off the hills, wild and mournful, nothing like a dog’s bark. My breath caught. Another followed, closer this time. And another. The sound curled into me, tugging at something I couldn’t name. I sat up, clutching the blanket to my chest, straining to hear more. The silence after was worse than the howls themselves—an emptiness waiting to be filled. I didn’t sleep for a long time. Morning brought sunlight and routine, as if the night hadn’t happened. But the unease stayed with me, coiling tight in my chest. By afternoon, I couldn’t resist it anymore. I slipped away from the cottage, following the dirt path that curved toward the forest’s edge. The villagers always warned us never to go too far. “The woods swallow people,” they said. “Step too deep, and you’ll never come back.” But I only wanted a glance. Just a little closer. The air grew cooler as I neared the tree line. Birds scattered overhead, their wings catching the light. Shadows stretched long across the ground, even though it was still early. I stopped at the last marker—a worn stone at the trail’s end. Beyond it, the undergrowth thickened, the forest waiting. My heart pounded. I told myself I’d just stand here, just listen. But then— A sound. Not a bird, not the wind. A c***k of a branch under weight. Heavy. Deliberate. I froze. The trees shifted. Something moved between them, just out of sight. And then, two eyes glowed faintly in the dark. Golden. Watching me. I blinked, convinced my eyes were playing tricks. The glow didn’t fade. It lingered—steady, unblinking—locked onto me. My throat tightened. Every sensible thought screamed at me to run. But my feet refused to move. I was rooted to the ground, caught between fear and fascination. The eyes shifted, lowering, then rising again, as if whatever they belonged to had crouched and was now standing taller. The undergrowth rustled, a low sound, too heavy to be a deer. I tried to swallow, but my mouth was dry. “Who’s there?” The words scraped out of me before I could stop them. The forest answered with silence. Then, a step. Slow. Measured. Deliberate. I stumbled back from the marker stone, my pulse hammering in my ears. The air felt sharper, cooler, like the trees themselves were holding their breath. Another step. I turned and ran. The path blurred beneath my feet, stones and dirt crunching as I fled. Branches whipped at my arms, snagging at my sleeves. I didn’t dare look back, though every instinct screamed that something was following. By the time my cottage came into view, my lungs burned. I burst through the door, slamming it shut and pressing my back to the wood. My mother looked up from the hearth, startled. “Aria? What happened?” “Nothing,” I gasped. My chest heaved. “I was just… running.” Her gaze lingered, sharp and searching, but she didn’t press. I forced a smile and moved toward my room, though my hands still shook. That night, I lay awake again, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment. Those eyes—bright gold, alive with something wild—were burned into me. Not a dream. Not a trick of the light. Something had been there. And it had seen me. The next days blurred together. Market. Chores. Village gossip. But beneath it all, I carried a secret no one else knew. Every time I passed the forest, I felt it. That same presence. Waiting. The villagers noticed too. Talk grew louder, fear sharper. Livestock went missing. Hunters swore they saw shapes moving at dusk. The whispers spread like fire: “The wolves are back.” At first, I told myself it wasn’t my problem. Stay away, and I’d be safe. But the memory of those eyes wouldn’t let me rest. Part of me wanted to forget. Another part—a deeper, reckless part—wanted to see them again. A week later, I made my choice. I waited until the sun dipped low, when shadows stretched long across the fields. Then I slipped away, leaving the village behind. My steps carried me back to the marker stone, the same place I’d sworn never to approach again. The forest loomed, dark and endless. My breath came fast, my heart a drum in my chest. “Just one look,” I whispered to myself. “Then I’ll leave.” The silence pressed close. I strained to hear something—anything. And then—there it was. A rustle. The snap of a twig. I stiffened. From the shadows, the eyes appeared again. Gold. Piercing. Unmistakable. This time, they didn’t stay still. They moved. Closer. Step by step, the figure emerged from the trees. My breath hitched. It wasn’t a man. And it wasn’t just a wolf. The creature was massive, its fur dark as midnight, its shoulders broad, every line of its body coiled with power. Its golden eyes burned like embers, fixed on me. I stumbled back, but the ground gave way beneath my heel. I slipped, hitting the dirt hard. Pain shot up my arm, but I couldn’t look away. The wolf lowered its head, lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth. A growl rumbled from deep in its chest, vibrating through the air. My body screamed at me to run, but fear pinned me where I was. I could only stare as it stepped closer, its paws silent against the earth. I opened my mouth to scream— But before the sound escaped, it lunged.