MOONLIT SEDUCTION

EPISODE TWO: BIRTHDAYNIGHTMARES

CHOLE

As I stir and roll on my bed, the annoying alarm clock on my bedside table buzzes incessantly, a harsh reminder that it's Monday morning. I stretch my hands, attempting to turn it off, but instead, I inadvertently increase the volume and knock it to the floor. The noise grows unbearable, prompting me to rise to a sitting position. "I curse you, stupid alarm clock!" I exclaim, my voice laced with frustration. "It's Monday morning, and I don't have school today!" Standing up, I turn off the alarm clock before it drives me deaf.

Today is my eighteenth birthday. I graduated from high school two years ago, and since then, my mom has moved us to the middle of nowhere. We live in a secluded cabin deep in the forest, 309 miles away from the city, 500.17 miles away from the police station, with no network connection. Whenever I express my concerns about the social, psychological, and physical dangers of this environment for a teenager, my mom dismisses them with a roll of her eyes. I have no friends; my only companions are the trees and animals I photograph daily on my adventures, much like Dora the Explorer.

I stare at my phone on the cupboard, now a useless piece of metal. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, my rainbow hair a tangled mess. I was born with seven colors on my head, which earned me the label "weird" in high school. My eyes are bloodshot, and my lips are kiss-swollen. I'm still trying to comprehend the vivid dreams I've been having, where I kiss an insanely hot stranger. The dreams feel so real, and for the past few days, I haven't been able to sleep; instead, I feel like my soul is being pulled from my body and taken to a strange realm where we make passionate love. It's as if I'm in a trance, and the last dream we shared was intense—we were kissing, and things started burning, and we were almost consumed by a blazing furnace.

I gaze at the hideous tattoo on my shoulder, which my mom insists is a birthmark. However, when I was a little girl, the birthmark was tiny and faint, and it has been growing larger with each passing year. On my eighteenth birthday, the tattoo has covered my entire right shoulder and is spreading to my arm, back, and breast area. "It's a beast... no, a wolf... a moon," I mutter, trying to describe the shape, but it appears different from every angle. "I curse you, stupid black hideous birthmark."

I enter the bathroom, take a quick bath, and brush my teeth. I'm wearing an oversized tee and shorts, with my hair wrapped in a bun and hidden under a face cap. I hang my digital camera around my neck, and I look like a complete dude. "Now, that's why no boy has ever asked you out," I say, pointing accusing fingers at my reflection in the mirror.

I take the stairs two at a time to reach the kitchen, where my mom is singing "Happy Birthday" to me. She's wearing a red gown that matches her red hair, and her blue eyes shine with excitement—a unique but natural combination. She's beautiful, and I didn't inherit any of her good looks.

"That's not true," my mom interrupts my thoughts. "You don't like to show your beauty." I'm not surprised, as this isn't the first time she's responded to my thoughts. "Come here," she says, dragging me to the dining table, where an eighteen-layer birthday cake with eighteen candles awaits. "Make a wish!" I close my eyes, make the same wish I've been making for the past eighteen years of my life—a secret wish I'm not sharing. I open my eyes and blow out all eighteen candles.

I eat pancakes while listening to my mom's plans for the day. "We're going to have lots of fun today. I've made cookies and bought our matching outfits..."

I intentionally yawned, feeling bored with the same routine we've followed for the past eighteen years. It's time for me to experience life beyond this cabin. "Mom, I have plans."

"Plans?"

"That doesn't include you." I look at my feet, afraid to meet her eyes, sensing I might hurt her feelings. "I want to hang out with friends." My subconscious sneers at me, reminding me I don't have any friends.

I walk towards the door, and my mom follows me, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a scared look, as if someone might emerge from the shadows and attack us. "Be careful," she warns.

"Mom," I snap my fingers in her face, and she jerks lightly.

"Sweetie, you're turning eighteen today; there's so much you need to know."

I laugh. "Mom, when I return home, you're not going anywhere." "Right?" I ask, noticing the doubtful expression on her face.

"I'll leave a message in case I'm still out when you return." She flashes me a weak smile, conveying she's not okay but has to be strong for me. I press a kiss on her forehead and whisper, "I love you, Mom."

I run out of the cabin, climb onto my bicycle, and start riding through the woods. It's dark and damp, and I stop occasionally to take snapshots of the scenery. I close my right eye and press my left eye against the camera lens, preparing to capture a frog when something big and black appears in the frame. "Oh boy!" It's in the distance, so I can't quite make out what it is. I slowly withdraw the camera from my eye to get a clearer view. It runs so fast into the woods that I can't tell which direction it went, but now it's my new mission to find that black thing and photograph it.

I pedal my bicycle quickly, catching glimpses of it in the distance before it vanishes. I keep going, venturing into unfamiliar paths of the forest I've never explored before, and I'm lost. "Don't panic. Don't panic." Looking around, my heart skips in excitement. "So now I'm lost. I'm really lost!" I leap into the air with an urgent desire I can't even explain. I'm lost in the woods, but I don't care. For the first time I'm my life, I feel like I'm living.

So I plop down on the ground next to my bicycle and just bury my face in my hands. There is a low, gutteral growl that makes my spine tingle and my heart miss a beat. Suddenly, a heavy kick connects with my bent face, slamming my head against the tree trunk I'm leaning on. I don't even have time to react, and I'm picked up and tossed against another tree. My arm is killing me, my head is throbbing, and I'm bleeding.

I hear heavy footsteps approaching me. So I turn around very slowly, every fiber of my body telling me to run. But there's nowhere to escape. Out of the shadows comes this large, hulking figure, with these eyes that are glowing ominously in the low light, and it has hair all over its body, but not too much. A werewolf... A beast...

I'd heard stories about werewolves from the old-timers in town, but I'd always dismissed them as folklore. Now, faced with the snarling beast, I wish I'd paid more attention. My whole body gets shivers, and I start to back up slowly. The beast's gaze locks onto me, and it lets out a roar that echoes through the trees.

So I spin around to take off, and a rush of adrenaline courses through my body, allowing my legs to move much quicker than I believed they could. I run between the trees, and the branches slap my face and arms. The growls grow louder, closer. I can hear the ominous thud of the monster's paws striking the ground behind me. Keep going, keep running; don't stop. Fear runs through my body, and I trip on a root and fall flat on the ground. There's an excruciating pain in my ankle.

I jump up, but it is too late. The beast is over me, and it's hot breath gushing on my body as it growls. I put my arms up weakly, trying to shield myself, preparing for the impact. I'm about to be eaten alive!

There is a blur of motion, and a fast moving whitewolf longues in and takes the beast off of me. It whips around the beast's head so fast that it gets too dizzy to even stand up. The wolf then slowly shifts into a very handsome man with brown hair, wearing grey pants and a black jacket. He glides with lethal quickness and starts to battle the beast; his movements are quick yet precise. They collide with a synchronized force that takes my breath away. The beast roars in anger, but it cannot overpower this mighty man. Within moments, it lies on the ground, unconscious or dead—I can't tell which. The man shoots the beast through the heart with an arrow, and the beast devaporizes. He picks up the heart, the only thing that's left, and puts it in his quiver of arrows on his back.

He looks in my direction, and I'm unsure if he's my Savior or my enemy. I'm fixing to say thank you when he shoots an arrow through my neck. It tears through my veins, and slowly my body becomes limp. The next thing I know, I'm being lifted up by strong arms thrown over broad shoulders.