Dark Talez Book 1 Red

The constant ringing of my cell phone awoke me from another of my nightmares. The same one that had plagued my sleep, night after night, for the last five years. I groaned and turned over in my too-big bed. On most nights it made me lonely. I would curl around my large body pillows as if they were my favorite person in the world. A person I hadn't laid eyes on in five years, yet his face was still as fresh in my mind as it had been the last day I laid eyes on him. Unwilling to open my eyes, I blindly searched for my phone with my hand feeling along my bedside table. When my fingers finally felt the familiar smooth glass I tapped the screen and placed the phone to my ear. "Red here, this best be good." The sound of my voice made me wince. Its crackling was a consequence of the very bad singing I had done at Earl's last night; a karaoke bar my friends and I frequented every weekend. "Katya?" Her voice made me stiffen. The same voice that long ago yearned to hear, now made a shiver run down my spine. The melancholy voice of my mother echoed through the phone. I pried my eyes open blinking several times as the stream of morning light shone through the curtains of my New York apartment. Finally, after rubbing my eyes and composing myself I sat up in bed and cleared my throat, "Yes, it's me. What can I do for you, Mother?" I asked sounding more formal than I had meant to. "There has been an a mishap, and you're grandmother..." She hesitated as my breath became lodged in my throat waiting for her to finish. "We need you to come for the reading of the will and to deal with the affairs of the estate. We await you at home. The funeral is Sunday. I expect to see you there, Katya, goodbye." "Wait, I" The familiar dial tone sounding over the phone let me know it was too late. Though I should have known better. No way could I talk myself out of going back home this time. My grandmother was gone. How did I feel about that? Shouldn't I feel sorrow? Grief? Shouldn't I be crying? Instead of feeling any of the above, I felt nothing. I was numb. My grandmother, or Nana as I had called her; had been one of the very few things that I missed from my old life. I remembered the smell of her baked biscuits with apple butter, roasted coffee beans, and a hint of caramel. She spoiled me with her sweet treats and always sent me back home with a basket full for my brother and parents. Nana and I would set nestled on the front porch swing with a soft quilt over our legs and the rain falling like Mother Nature’s drumbeats on her tin roof. No matter how long it’s been since I left home, I can still envision the sharp snow capped mountain peaks that towered Mystic Hills. Every evening Nana and I would travel through Mystic Hills until we would reach the sacred stone mounds at the end of the path and we’d pay our respects to the decaying shell of the old remains. It was a tattered pile of stones, but it was a holy place that belonged to our ancestors from before I was a vessel on this plane. The ancestors, the spirits of our bloodline, were ever present in the whistling wind and groaning branches. Nomads from all ends of the earth and skies. The old ones say Mystic Hills snow-capped, and they crossed oceans to answer the siren song. Nana and I would leave bourbon and a single Marlboro cigarette, along with a lit candle and incent, on the ancient stoop of the eerily still perfectly intact statue; that sat in the center of the stones; Half wolf, half man. A reminder of what lay out there somewhere in the dark, always watching, waiting to pounce on its next unsuspecting victim. Everyday I would admire the beautiful statue. Made from a beautiful white stone with streaks of blue and gray that my Nana had informed me was the sacred moonstone. Every small detail is hand carved by our ancestors. I so badly wanted to run my fingers over the snow white fur and dark eyes made from the onyx stone. But I didn't have the guts. I didn't have the guts to do a lot of things back then, though those days are long gone now the memories of all the taunting and bullying I, endured are not. During my christening ceremony everyone in Grimm Hollow found out that I was different. Our High Priestess held my tiny head under the cool water, and the creek ran red as if I had been stabbed and my essence was leaving my body allowing my soul to return to the ground from which it arose. It was an ominous message confirming I was different. I was something unknown to my people, and they did not like the unknown. "She's been cursed." "She will bring evil upon us all." "We must get rid of it." "She's been cursed by the devil himself." I've heard it all. I suppose a trick of light could explain a creek running red. Or one of those “biblical” moments debunked by algae, bacteria, and bad timing, but I know what happened. That was the day Mystic Hills endowed me with darkness. A supernatural being. Something not of this world lurks inside me. Anyhow, Nana and I always left an offering. This a humble request to our ancestors who watched over the land and kept the Skinwalkers at bay. A word not even my Nana would use for the elders believed it called them to us, and strengthened them. And though Nana never admitted it out loud, I know and asked our ancestors to keep the darkness inside me at bay as well. So what would happen to me now that she was gone, unable to keep the darkness from rising once again? At the end of every day, Nana would send me off with a basket of fresh baked goods I had helped her bake. She would place my red cloak over my shoulders and place the hood over my head to cover my crimson locks. "Stay to the trail. Don't get distracted, and go straight home my child." Then, with a peck on the nose I would set off into the dark forest so many feared. Growing up we were taught that the Mystic Hills held indescribable frights, one's we were taught to fear but also respect. But to me, the forest was beautiful and full of wonders that I longed to explore. Every evening as I trekked through the forest on my way back to the estate, I could never resist the wild ferns lining the dirt path, with their twisting fronds resembling outstretched hands. I’d trail the tips of my fingers across them, clinging to their secrets and whispering my own. My entire existence is crafted of secrets. Shaking my head I threw back the white duvet that covered my bed and let my feet touch the soft carpet of my only bedroom. "Hey, beautiful. Were ya goin'??" Shit! I had completely forgotten about the hot male that lay next to me in bed. I had picked him up at the bar last night and was able to release the stress from my work week on his perfect body. "I have a family emergency. You need to call a cab." I said coldly as I walked into my small bathroom and slammed the door shut. "Be gone by the time I get out," I shouted through the door unwilling to face him for the awkward goodbye that always happened the morning after. It was always my least favorite part of these encounters which is why I used to go to their place until the last bastard refused to let me leave. I chuckled at the memory, he had seriously regretted trying to keep me there against my will. I wonder if he ever got the feeling back in his now useless c**k. I chuckled at the thought as I twisted the knobs to my shower and shivering as cold water shot out of the spout hitting my arms. I adjusted the temperature to just below scolding, just the way I liked it. I slid my panties off my legs and kicked them to the side before stepping into the shower hearing the familiar click when the glass door closed behind me. I leaned my head back and allowed the water to warm my shivering body. Just the thought of returning home to Grimm Hollow already had a coldness settling in my bones. It had been 5 years, and I hadn't been back, not even for a visit. I had cut off my entire family refusing to take their calls or read their text. I deleted emails without opening them and chucked any packages that arrived at my P O box straight into the trash. The memories of that place still haunted my nightmares nightly. Every time I closed my eyes. Nothing kept them away. Not drinking myself senseless, not even the tiny blue football shaped pills that I used to calm my nerves during one of my frequent panic attacks. And now I had no choice. I had to face them all once more. I had never intended to return but I at least owed it to my Nana to sign the necessary paperwork so my parents could transfer my part of her estate into their name. I wanted nothing from any of them, especially not their money; my family's money. It was blood money and I refused to spend a dime of it.