THE CURSE OF THE BLACK MOON

THE HOWL OF THE NIGHT

Chapter 3: The Howl in the Night

The moon hung low in the sky, a giant silver coin casting its glow over the small village of Ekwueme. Its light filtered through the twisted branches of ancient trees, illuminating the narrow pathways that wound like secrets through the town. Beneath the moon’s watchful eye, an unsettling stillness enveloped the village as if the world held its breath in anticipation of the horrors that lurked in the shadows.

Nneka sat on her porch, the wooden planks creaking under her weight. She watched as her neighbors retired for the night, their doors closing with an eerie finality. Whispers of old tales floated through her mind, stories told by her grandmother about the curse that plagued their lineage. It was said that on nights when the moon turned black, a werewolf would roam the earth, hungering for the flesh of the innocent.

Her grandmother had warned her to heed the signs—faded howls echoing in the distance, the sudden disappearance of livestock, and the unsettling feeling that someone, or something, was always watching. Nneka had dismissed those tales as mere folklore, the fabrications of a frightened mind. But tonight, a chill crept up her spine as she recalled the stories, the way her grandmother's voice trembled with fear.

The howl shattered the stillness. It was distant but distinct—a mournful cry that sent a jolt of terror through Nneka’s heart. She instinctively glanced toward the dense forest bordering the village. The trees loomed like sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching toward the sky. A flicker of movement caught her eye, but when she squinted, there was nothing but darkness.

“Just the wind,” she murmured to herself, but her voice wavered, betraying her unease.

As if in response to her denial, the howl rang out again, closer this time. It was a sound both haunting and alluring, a melody that tugged at her soul. Nneka stood, compelled to follow the sound. Against her better judgment, she stepped off the porch and into the cool night air.

The village lay silent, a ghost town under the pale light of the moon. Each step she took felt like a step deeper into a dream—one where reality blurred with the sinister tales of her childhood. She made her way toward the edge of the forest, the howling guiding her like a siren’s song.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows—a man, tall and imposing, with wild hair that framed his face like a mane. His eyes glimmered with a strange intensity, a mixture of fear and something primal that set Nneka’s heart racing.

“Stay back!” he barked, his voice low and rough. “It’s not safe here.”

Nneka hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to turn back. “What do you mean? I heard—”

“I know what you heard,” he interrupted, stepping closer. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s the night of the black moon.”

Confusion washed over her. “What does that mean?”

The man’s gaze flickered toward the forest, a mixture of dread and sorrow clouding his features. “It means danger. The curse awakens tonight. You must leave this place.”

Before she could respond, another howl pierced the night, louder and more feral. The man’s eyes widened in terror, and without another word, he turned and ran into the depths of the trees.

Nneka stood frozen, fear coursing through her veins. The stories rushed back, flooding her mind with memories of warning and dread. The howls grew louder, a cacophony of anguish echoing through the night, and she felt the weight of the curse bearing down on her.

As she turned to flee, a shadow darted across her path, swift and silent. She stumbled backward, her breath quickening, the primal instinct to survive kicking in. The forest seemed alive, filled with unseen eyes watching her every move.

“Get home!” she urged herself, the words barely a whisper. Panic gripped her as she sprinted back toward the safety of her village, the haunting cries of the creature chasing her into the night.