Echoes of the Moon - Book 1 in the Moonlight series

Friday afternoons always carried a weight I couldn’t yet define as a child. The drive to Nana’s house, though short, felt like a journey into the unknown. Her home, a relic of history, had a charm that should have been comforting—old creaking wooden floors and a garden that seemed almost enchanted. Roses the colour of blood and daisies impossibly white flourished in the soil, their petals catching the light in strange ways that made them shimmer like they were alive. Ivy clung to the walls with a determination that defied pruning, as if the house itself was trying to hide behind a green veil. Inside, the air smelled of lavender and something faintly metallic, like the air before a storm. The wooden floors groaned underfoot, but the sound wasn’t random. It followed me, as if the house were whispering secrets I wasn’t meant to hear. The old grandfather clock in the hall ticked loudly, each beat echoing in the silence and marking time in a way that felt unnatural—like it was counting down to something. At the edge of the garden, there was a willow tree whose branches swept the ground, moving even when the air was still. I avoided looking at it too long, certain it was watching me. Nana called the garden “enchanted,” but to me, it was anything but magical. It felt alive in a way that left me unsettled, like the plants were more than plants and the earth itself was keeping its own secrets. My mother, Alexa, sat beside me in the back seat, her delicate hands resting in her lap. They trembled ever so slightly, the only betrayal of her otherwise composed demeanour. Her hair, a deep, fiery red, framed her pale face like a halo of embers. Even at four years old, I thought she was the most beautiful person in the world. But if you looked closely, you could see the toll her illness had taken: the dark bags under her eyes, the weariness in her posture, and the bruises she tried so hard to conceal. My father, Shaun, sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel tightly. His face was a mask of stone, his silence filling the car like a storm cloud. “Why do we have to go again?” I asked, my voice small, though I already knew the answer. “For Mommy’s treatment,” he replied curtly. “You know that.” We did this every second week so they could give my mother her medication. My father and Nana always said she had a "horrible disease" that needed to be kept under control. “If we don’t,” they warned, “we could lose her.” But her illness wasn’t like the ones my classmates got. It wasn’t the kind you could fix with orange juice and extra naps. It was something deeper, darker—something that made the grown-ups whisper behind closed doors and exchange glances they thought I couldn’t see. Sometimes, when she was upset or exhausted, her eyes would catch the light in a way that made them look strange—like the colours in a puddle of oil after the rain. I didn’t understand it, but it scared me. I told myself it was just my imagination, but the memory clung to me like a bad dream. Their words about her illness felt heavy, but I didn’t understand their full meaning. I only knew that I hated these weekends. A creeping dread would slither into my chest as soon as I realized it was Friday. By the time we pulled into Nana’s driveway, terror coursed through my veins, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the crunch of the tires on the gravel Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling over like a never-ending waterfall. My small hands trembled uncontrollably. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to hear her screams again. “Oh, my sweet Bokkie,” my mother whispered, turning to hold me close. Her touch was soft, her voice a soothing melody. “Don’t cry, my love. It’s okay. Everything will be okay.” Her words did little to calm me. My father sighed impatiently, climbing out of the car and striding toward the front door, where Nana waited with a forced smile. “Scarlett, my sweet pea!” she called, her arms outstretched as though to welcome me into safety. “How are you, my little munchkin?” I hesitated, clinging to my mother’s embrace. Her hands lingered on my back for a moment longer before a soft nudge urged me forward. Reluctantly, I let go. Nana scooped me up effortlessly, spinning me around in her arms. Her floral perfume enveloped me, momentarily masking the dread settling in my stomach. “You’re getting so big!” she said with forced cheer, but my eyes wandered to my mother, who stood in the doorway, clutching her arms as though shielding herself from an invisible storm. A hushed argument between my father and Nana broke through the moment. Nana’s smile faltered as she gently handed me over to my grandfather. “Come, sweetheart,” he said softly, guiding me toward the lounge, his large, warm hand resting lightly on my shoulder. I glanced back over my shoulder, catching the sharp edge of my father’s words. “This isn’t sustainable,” he muttered, his voice low but tense. His eyes flicked toward my mother, who stood motionless in the doorway, her hands trembling. “We need stronger doses.” Nana’s expression tightened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Stronger doses?” she hissed back, her tone sharp but hushed. “Do you want to push her over the edge again? You remember what happened last time.” I couldn’t understand what they meant, but their words felt heavy, like the air before a storm. My mother stood silently, her gaze distant, as if she wasn’t even there. The floor creaked under my grandfather’s footsteps as he led me away, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing back again, fear twisting in my chest. Their whispers were quick and heated, but I couldn’t make sense of their words. All I knew was that they were about my mother. “Stay here, Scarlett,” my father instructed sternly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We won’t be long.” I watched helplessly as he took my mother’s arm and began to lead her toward the small treatment room in the backyard. I hated that room. It wasn’t part of the house—it stood apart, isolated, like a dark secret no one wanted to acknowledge. The windows were frosted, but the harsh fluorescent light inside cast eerie shadows that danced on the walls. The sight of it made my chest tighten, my legs trembling as if they wanted to run but couldn’t move. It felt like the room itself was watching, holding me in place. My grandfather still held my hand, his grip steady but hesitant, and remained with me in the lounge. The faint scent of lavender mingled with something sharper, metallic, that lingered in the air like a ghost of past storms. The television was already on, its screen flashing with bright colours and cheerful cartoons. The characters moved with exaggerated energy, their laughter unnaturally loud, cutting through the heavy stillness of the room. “Come on, sweetheart, let’s sit,” he said gently, lowering himself onto the couch and patting the spot beside him. I hesitated but climbed up next to him, my small hands gripping the edge of the cushion. The floor beneath us let out a slow groan, the kind that seemed to follow you wherever you moved in this house. It wasn’t just the floorboards, though—everything here felt alive, watching, waiting. I tried to focus on the television, on the bright colours and silly voices, but the characters seemed wrong somehow. Their laughter grated against my ears, sharp and jarring, mocking the weight pressing down on me. “Stay here with Grandad, darling,” Nana called softly from the hall, her voice kind but firm as she disappeared toward the back of the house. Her floral perfume lingered behind her, but even that familiar scent couldn’t chase away the creeping unease that wrapped around my chest. Grandad rubbed his hand over his stubbled chin and let out a soft sigh. He turned his attention to the television, but I could feel his unease radiating through the air, matching my own. The sound of voices drifted faintly from the other room, low and sharp, as though they were trying to keep secrets from me. I strained to hear, but the cartoon characters’ shrill laughter drowned out their words, and my heart ached with the need to know what was happening. And then I heard it. My mother’s Bone chilling screams. For the first time, I disobeyed my father—not out of defiance, but because the screams pulled me forward, stronger than any command could hold me back. My legs moved on their own, propelling me toward the treatment room as a surge of panic overtook me. The air outside was cold and damp, but I barely noticed. My focus was on the scene unfolding before me through the partially open door.