Moonbound Secrets

EPISODE ONE — THE ECHOES OF TOWNS PAST

The town known as Silverpine Hollow had first announced itself before the sign ever came into view; the rock hardened trail, the curved edge bends. One could never mistake this route once travelled. The smell hit her - not just the scent of pine in the air that was cleaner, sharper but the cold, rot-sweet scent of a forest that had been eating its own shadow for centuries.

Despite the cold, Isla Hart rolled down her windows, letting in the mountain air; ignoring the biting cold, air flooding the car, filling her lungs to capacity until it burned a sharp physical ache that felt more honest than the numbness she was feeling now. She wanted to feel something, something different. The aching in her chest became that something. Enough to anchor her.

As Isla inched closer to the town, the road began to narrow, she had reached the end of the asphalt which had given way as a result of erosion exposing the crumbling sections of pavement that broke apart at the borders resembling jagged teeth, flanked by trees that leaned too close as if to itching to whisper, their branches intertwined above like knitted mitts. Long Shadows cast across the hood of her car, almost skeletal, gliding over the windshield as if anticipating a reaction.

Isla cringed so much which could last for one lifetime.

Isla had fled from this place five years ago, driving her Volkswagen beetle car on this same road in the opposite route, away from something, with her knuckles white on the steering wheel, her eyes sweltering from unshed tears and the copper taste of fear in her mouth. She hadn’t looked back since then. She dared not to.

Absent minded in thought, the sign appeared suddenly around a bend, just as worn, just as familiar as it had been in her memory. The sign blurred past;

“WELCOME TO SILVERPINE HOLLOW”

Where the forest keeps its promises.

But Silverpine hollow didn’t welcome her back; it exhaled.

Isla began to slow down, her foot easing off the gas pedal. Those words settled into her chest with a quiet, unsettling weight; “Promises”.

The town hadn’t kept its promises to her or was it she who hadn’t kept her promises to the town she once made. Had she broken it or was it the town that had broken her first.

“Mommy?”

Elias called out from the backseat bringing her out of her thoughts.

Isla looked into the rearview mirror.

“Yes, sweetheart?” she answered. “could this be the place?” he asked. “The one you don’t like to speak about?” Her hands tightened as she gripped very hard around the steering wheel. “I just can’t talk about it Elias dear” she answered carefully. Elias sat in his seat unconvinced, scowling, a sign that he was clearly unsatisfied with the response he got. At times, he engaged in deep thinking and observed far too closely. “It has a different scent,” he remarked. Her heartbeat quickened, her thoughts surged, “What does it smell like?” she inquired. “Like the scent of forest,” he replied, “and rain and…” He paused, as if searching for the words, “and like something watching.”

She gulped hard. “It's merely a little town,” she replied, with a softness in her voice, “Small towns can make you feel somewhat odd upon your initial arrival.” She mentioned.

Elias didn't dispute it, yet her reply offered little in persuading him. He shifted his attention back to the woods, his eyes tracking, tracking something Isla couldn't make out. In that instance; a cold shiver ran up and down her spine.

Isla quickly turned on the radio, immediately filling the car with noise— she couldn't recognize the song playing, however it featured a smooth voice singing about departing and returning again. She recognized the irony.

As they drove further, Isla sensed that something faint had changed. She sensed it profoundly within her, a constriction, a subtle realization falling into alignment, akin to a key turning.

Silverpine Hollow remembered her.

A few moments later, the town center gradually appeared, the buildings more distanced than she remembered, or perhaps she was simply more observant now. The towns café remained at the corner, its windows softly illuminated, with its recognizable neon sign humming gently reading “Café”. The hardware shop next door appeared the same, with paint flaking off in the same persistent spots. “Certain things preferred to remain unchanged,” she reflected quietly.

As she continued her drive, she passed by some familiar faces she somewhat recognized; they were older now, more sluggish, but undeniably the same. She noticed a woman had stopped to gaze at her vehicle, eyes squinting as if trying to recall something stored within her memory.

Isla kept her gaze forward. She didn’t return back here to be remembered.

Isla continued deeper into town where she veered off onto a secluded, quieter road. One could hear the tires softly crunching on gravel as the homes grew apart. She had now arrived at her destination; The Hart house. The house was built at the end of the road, huddled against the trees, as if in a bid to disappear.

Isla was now inches away from the house, her chest began to tighten as she pulled up into the driveway. To her the house appeared much smaller, or perhaps was it that she was now matured?

The house was worn-down. Paint peeled off the porch railing, the steps caved in a bit at the center, the outside garden had been dug out yet the windows remained unbroken and the curtains remained hung neatly inside. Isla opened the entrance door to the house and was greeted with a rush of thick dust which had a slight scent of cedar. The scent clouding and enveloping her like a cozy old sweater.

Elias who was still seated in the back seat of the car, unfastened his seatbelt, opened the door and jumped out of the car with ease. He ran towards the house, straight to where Isla was standing. Excited to explore and move his legs after the somewhat long journey, he asked Isla, “can I go and see my room?” “Of course,” she replied, with a slight grin. “Just remain inside, alright?”

He nodded in obedience and ran full speed ahead into the building, his laughter and cheer echoing all through the halls and corridors.

Isla stood in the doorway for a moment, with one hand resting against the door frame. She felt the house softly creak around her, settling in place, as if welcoming her.

She sighed gently.

"I have returned," she murmured out to herself.

Almost immediately as those words escaped from her lips, did she begin to notice an odd feeling swelling within her—an unintending feeling of enjoying the idea of being observed, of being watched.

Isla stood up straight.

She walked out onto the porch, looking out over the street. It was quiet. Nothing seemed out of place, she thought. No motion. It was silence that prevailed, disturbed only by the faint sound of activity coming from the direction of the town center.

And still— She sensed it. An existence.

Not precisely observing her but perceiving her.

Her heart began to race.

"Get it together Isla, you are just imagining things," she whispered to herself.

She had been engaging in that frequently recently.

The pressure of relocating. The weariness.

The anxiety she had held for years was finally confronting her.

She paused for a brief moment, her gaze naturally falling toward the woods. Somewhere nestled within the trees, something moved - far off, a wolf raised its head as if to inhale her scent. .

Some returns are sensed long before they are observed.

The night made the house sound different. It consistently had.

Isla was now in the kitchen. it was packed and cramped. Isla began unpacking and unloading the final essentials as the sky outside shifted from the daylights bright blue, to a deep bruised purple of night. The cabinets creaked as she flung them open, the woods old exterior protesting, expressing its dislike of being disturbed after such a long time. She now thought to herself how many seasons the house had remained unoccupied, in anticipation of her return.

She heard Elias’s footsteps echoing above,

followed by the familiar noise of an object being pulled along the floor.

“Eli,” she called out, trying to sound serious rather than amused. “Kindly avoid moving the furniture.”

“I’m not!” he yelled in response. “I’m constructing a fortress.”

She grinned even with the pressure in her chest. Certain aspects were universal, at the very least.

She decided to place a kettle on the burner. She took up a position close to and rested against the counter, flattening her hands on the smooth, cold, chilly surface. The silence was loud—not vacant, but weighty. Charged.

Silverpine Hollow was never noisy. It wasn’t necessary for it to be. It had consistently depended on external elements to announce its existence. The wood. The hills. The feeling that something more ancient than roads and buildings still governed this place.

Isla had been raised to know how to make herself insignificant around that presence.

Her mother—no, the woman she thought was her mother had never enjoyed the woods.

Had always maintained that the curtains remain closed at night, the doors secured evenduring summer.

Certain locations demand more than they provide, she would often say.

Isla had never comprehended what she indicated.

Only after that night, when everything was altered did she now understand.

The kettle which was boiling now began to scream, snapping Isla out of her daze.

She filled the mug with water with steady hands, and brought it to the living room.

She headed for the sofa. It was worn-out.

She seated herself regardless, clasping both hands together around the mug.

Five years ago, she had departed from Silverpine Hollow carrying with her only a duffel bag and a heart that felt unfamiliar to her.

She had tried to convinced herself that it was just for a while—that she would regain her composure and figure things out.

She then found out that she was not by herself.

The memory emerged unexpectedly: the clinical scent of the place, the way her hands shook while she looked at the test results, the way everything had violently shifted off its axis.

On that particular night, she had reflected, bewildered. Only a single night.

Isla didn't even know his name at the time.

She didn’t know it but she had fallen under his spell. For her it was simply the way his hands felt. He was warm, confident, respectful in a way and manner that made her feel truly noticed in a way she had never experienced before. He whispered to her, His voice lowered as if fearing the night itself might overhear.

She couldn’t resist, she was powerless. In that instant she gave in, pressing her eyes together tightly.

That evening was an error.

To her surprise there was a sharp knock at the door, startling her, causing her to spill her tea over the edge of the mug. Her heart jumping into her throat.

Nobody ought to be present. She hadn't informed anyone about her return—not formally. Not at this moment.

The knock sounded once more, more forceful this round.

“Mother?” Elias shouted from above. "Someone has arrived."

“I understand,” she replied promptly. "I am going to check it out."