The Moon Could Not Claim Her

Elara Voss had never believed there was anything particularly interesting about her. At twenty-four, she had a modest apartment above an old bakery, a job she genuinely enjoyed, a small circle of friends and a bank account that seemed determined to remain unimpressed by her monthly salary. Her life was quiet. Predictable. Ordinary. And, until recently, she had been perfectly content with that. The little bell above the bookstore door chimed as Elara pushed it open with her shoulder. A paper bag containing her breakfast hung from one hand, while her other struggled to keep the door from swinging shut behind her. "You're late." Elara glanced towards the counter. Mrs. Whitmore stood behind it, wearing her usual expression of exaggerated disappointment. At sixty-three, the elderly woman had perfected the art of making a simple greeting sound like a personal accusation. "Good morning to you too." "It's nine minutes past eight." "Eight minutes." "I have a clock." "And I have breakfast. We all have our struggles." Mrs. Whitmore shook her head, although the corners of her mouth lifted. "One day, that mouth of yours will get you into trouble." "Hopefully not before I finish eating." Elara placed her bag beneath the counter and slipped off her coat. Ashbourne was the sort of town where everyone knew everyone, or at least knew someone who knew everyone. Its narrow streets were lined with old brick buildings, independent shops and houses that had stood for generations. People greeted one another by name, neighbours borrowed sugar without asking, and rumours travelled faster than the buses. It was not an exciting place. But it was home. The bookstore occupied a narrow building on the corner of Bell Street. Its wooden shelves were crowded with novels, biographies, old collections of poetry and books that had been sitting untouched for so long that Elara suspected some of them had forgotten what sunlight looked like. She loved it. There was something comforting about being surrounded by stories. Unlike people, books rarely demanded explanations. They allowed you to disappear into another world without asking what you were running from. Elara tied her dark hair into a loose knot and began arranging the books that had been returned the previous evening. "Did you sleep well?" Mrs. Whitmore asked. "Well enough." "You're still having those dreams?" Elara paused. She had mentioned them once, perhaps twice, but apparently that had been enough for Mrs. Whitmore to remember. "Not recently." "Good." Elara glanced at her. "Why do you sound relieved?" "Because you looked exhausted last week." "I was working." "You were staring at the same page for twenty minutes." "It was a difficult page." Mrs. Whitmore gave her a knowing look but returned to her paperwork. Elara smiled faintly. It was easier to joke than to explain. Since her mother's death six months earlier, sleep had become an unpredictable thing. Some nights were peaceful. Others brought strange dreams of unfamiliar forests, distant voices and a woman calling her name from somewhere she could never reach. She had never told anyone the details. Not even Nadia. Especially not Nadia. Her best friend had a talent for turning the smallest concern into an elaborate investigation involving internet searches, conspiracy theories and at least three cups of coffee. Elara preferred to keep certain things to herself. She reached beneath her blouse and touched the pendant resting against her chest. It was an old piece of silver, shaped like a crescent moon enclosed within a delicate circular pattern. Its surface was engraved with tiny markings that looked almost like letters, although Elara had never managed to identify them. Her mother had worn it for as long as Elara could remember. On the day Mirelle died, it had been left inside a small envelope with Elara's name written across the front. There had been no explanation. Only the pendant and a short handwritten message. Keep this with you. Whatever happens, never let anyone take it. At the time, Elara had assumed it was simply something sentimental. Her mother had been sentimental about many things. She had also been strangely protective. When Elara was younger, Mirelle never allowed her to wander too far from home. She disliked crowded festivals, avoided certain roads after sunset and became visibly uncomfortable whenever strangers asked too many questions about their family. Elara had once complained that her mother treated her like a prisoner. Mirelle had simply knelt in front of her and held both her hands. "Some things are better left unexplained until you're old enough to understand them." Elara had been seventeen. She was twenty-four now, and still had no idea what her mother had meant. By midday, the bookstore had welcomed three customers, sold two novels and received one complaint about the price of a second-hand dictionary. Elara considered it a successful morning. She was arranging a display near the front window when her phone vibrated. Nadia: Are you alive? Elara rolled her eyes. Elara: Unfortunately. Nadia: Rude. I'm coming over after work. Elara: Why? Nadia: Because you have been avoiding me. Elara: I've been working. Nadia: Same thing, apparently. We're going out tonight. Elara sighed. Nadia had been trying to convince her to attend a small gathering at the local community centre for nearly a week. Elara had declined every invitation. She wasn't particularly interested in spending her evening listening to people discuss their jobs, relationships and increasingly complicated family problems. Elara: Maybe next time. The reply arrived almost immediately. Nadia: That's what you said last time. Elara: I'm consistent. Nadia: You're impossible. Elara laughed quietly and put her phone away. For a moment, she looked through the window at the street outside. A delivery van passed. An elderly couple walked beneath a red umbrella. A young boy dragged his mother towards the bakery. Everything was normal. Then something caught her attention. Across the street, a man stood beneath the awning of an abandoned shop. He wasn't doing anything unusual. He was simply standing there. Yet something about him made Elara pause. He was tall, dressed in a dark coat, and appeared to be watching the bookstore. More specifically, he appeared to be watching her. Elara frowned. Perhaps he was waiting for someone. She turned away to collect a stack of books from the counter. When she looked outside again, the man was gone. She stared at the empty pavement for another moment before returning to work. It was probably nothing. Lately, she seemed to be noticing too many insignificant things. The afternoon passed without incident. By six, Mrs. Whitmore had gone home, leaving Elara to finish the day's closing tasks. She counted the money in the register, checked the back room and switched off the lights in the upstairs office. Rain had begun falling outside. It tapped gently against the windows, blurring the streetlights into soft golden circles. Elara slipped on her coat and collected her handbag. Before leaving, she paused beside the small photograph resting on the counter. It was an old picture of her and Mirelle, taken during a summer festival several years earlier. Her mother was smiling. It was a genuine smile, the kind that reached her eyes. Elara traced the edge of the frame with one finger. "I miss you," she whispered. The words sounded painfully small in the empty shop. She turned off the final light. The bookstore fell into darkness. The rain had grown heavier by the time Elara stepped outside. She pulled her coat closer and hurried towards the narrow street leading to her apartment. Her usual route took her past the bakery, through the small square and along a row of old houses. It was familiar enough that she could have walked it with her eyes closed. Halfway down the street, she noticed something unusual. A black car was parked beside the pavement. Its windows were tinted, and its engine was running. Elara glanced at it briefly. Then she kept walking. The car remained stationary. She reached the corner and turned towards the bakery. A strange sensation crept over her skin. Not fear exactly. More like the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. She looked over her shoulder. The street was empty. Only the rain moved, falling steadily beneath the yellow glow of the lamps. Elara exhaled. "You're being ridiculous." She continued walking. Her fingers slipped beneath her blouse, finding the familiar silver pendant. It felt cold. Colder than the rain-soaked air. She stopped beneath the bakery's awning and pulled it out to examine it. For a brief moment, she thought one of the engraved markings had changed. She turned it towards the light. The pattern was the same. Of course it was. She was tired, and probably needed to stop spending so much time alone. Elara tucked the pendant beneath her blouse. Then she heard it. A low sound. A growl. She froze. It had come from somewhere behind her. Slowly, she turned towards the narrow alley separating the bakery from the neighbouring building. Nothing moved. The alley was dark, its entrance partially obscured by overflowing rubbish bins. Elara stared into it. "Hello?" Silence. She waited. Then, somewhere in the darkness, something shifted. A pair of eyes appeared. Not brown. Not blue. Gold. Bright, unnatural gold. Elara's breath caught. The eyes disappeared almost immediately. She stood motionless, her heart beating harder than it should have. A car drove past the end of the street. Its headlights briefly illuminated the alley. There was nothing there. No person. No animal. Nothing. Elara swallowed and stepped backwards. She told herself it was a reflection. A trick of the light. A stray dog. Anything ordinary. She hurried towards the entrance of her apartment building without looking back. But as she climbed the stairs, she couldn't shake the feeling that something had followed her all the way home. Inside her apartment, Elara locked the door twice. She switched on the kitchen light, placed her handbag on the table and removed her damp coat. The familiar quiet surrounded her. For several minutes, she simply stood there. Then she laughed at herself. "Brilliant. Now I'm frightened of shadows." She prepared a quick dinner, showered and changed into comfortable clothes. By ten, she was sitting on her bed with her mother's old wooden box resting beside her. She had discovered it three months earlier while sorting through Mirelle's belongings. It contained photographs, letters, a few pieces of jewellery and several documents Elara had never seen before. She had examined most of them. Some, however, remained inside envelopes she hadn't found the courage to open. Tonight, she selected one of the photographs. It showed her mother standing in front of an unfamiliar building. Mirelle looked considerably younger, perhaps in her early twenties. Beside her stood three people. Two men and a woman. All four were staring directly at the camera. Elara turned the photograph over. There was no date. Only three words written in her mother's handwriting. Before the silence. Elara frowned. "What does that even mean?" She placed the photograph back inside the box. As she reached for another envelope, the pendant beneath her nightdress suddenly warmed against her skin. She frowned and pulled it out. The silver surface felt almost hot. Then something happened that made her stop breathing. For a single second, the markings engraved around the crescent moon shimmered. Not reflected light. Not an illusion. They glowed. A faint silver light travelled through the delicate pattern before disappearing. Elara stared at it. Her fingers tightened around the pendant. Outside, thunder rumbled over Ashbourne. And somewhere beyond the town, deep inside the darkness of the forest, a howl rose into the night. It was long. Low. Almost mournful. Elara had heard wolves in documentaries. She had heard recordings online. But this was different. This sound seemed to vibrate through the walls, settling somewhere deep inside her chest. She moved towards the window. The streets below were empty. The rain had stopped. And beyond the rooftops, the distant forest stood beneath the moon. For reasons she couldn't explain, Elara suddenly felt as though something in that darkness knew she was looking. Then her phone vibrated. An unknown number. One message. Elara Voss, whatever happens tomorrow, do not go near the woods. She read it twice. Her stomach tightened. Before she could type a response, another message appeared. They have finally found you. Elara stared at the screen. Then she looked towards the window. At the edge of the distant forest, beneath the pale moonlight, stood a figure. Tall. Motionless. Watching her apartment. Her pendant grew warm again. And for the first time in twenty-four years, Elara Voss wondered whether her ordinary life had ever been real.