5
1203 Words
The morning sun broke through the dense clouds like a reluctant promise, bathing the crooked trees and the moss-covered gravel road in a dull golden hue. Fog clung low over the yard, wrapping around the towering pine trees that framed the old house like silent sentinels. The air smelled of damp earth, old wood, and something faintly metallic—like rain soaked in rust.
Evanna stood barefoot on the uneven porch planks, watching as her father argued with the two moving truck drivers. Their shirts were soaked with sweat despite the chill in the air, and their eyes kept darting nervously toward the forest line just beyond the property.
“Just unload it here,” her father insisted, gesturing toward the overgrown driveway.
One of the men—a gaunt, sharp-faced man with a crooked nose and darting eyes—shook his head. “This place ain’t right,” he muttered under his breath. “Things out here… don’t stay human.”
Evanna exchanged a glance with her sister Rowen, who raised an eyebrow and whispered, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The other driver crossed himself quickly and glanced behind him. “There’s talk,” he said low, just loud enough for the girls to hear. “Things in the trees. Supernaturals. Shouldn’t be livin’ near here, not if you’ve got kids.”
Evanna blinked, caught between disbelief and morbid curiosity. Supernaturals? That was something out of her dreams… out of the book and old stories her mother used to tell her and Rowen. Not real. Definitely not real.
But the men’s faces—drawn, pale, eyes haunted—they weren’t joking. They weren’t trying to scare a couple of teenagers. They were terrified.
Before she could ask more, her mother appeared on the porch with a strained smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Girls, inside. Start carrying your boxes to your rooms.”
“But—” Evanna started.
“Now,” her mother said sharply, with a voice that brooked no argument.
Evanna and Rowen begrudgingly turned and began hauling boxes into the dusty old farmhouse. But Evanna’s thoughts weren’t on the boxes or the peeling wallpaper or the faint smell of mildew in her new room. They were stuck on the drivers, on the fear in their voices. And on the dream she couldn’t stop thinking about—the burning trees, the silver-haired woman, the name Amariel.
All day as she unpacked, placing books on crooked shelves and unfolding sweaters into creaky drawers, her thoughts circled back to that name. That feeling. And the way her parents had hurried her away from the drivers like they’d been hiding something...
By dusk, the house was finally in order, mostly. Boxes sat half-opened in corners, and the kitchen still smelled like takeout from the diner they’d stopped at on the drive in. The girls had changed into clean clothes and padded barefoot through the house, exhausted but itching for freedom.
“We should go out,” Rowen said, flopping on the couch. “Explore town. Maybe there’s a coffee shop. Or a restaurant that serves actual food.” Still upset that the diner didn't have her favorite pastries from back home.
Evanna grinned. “Maybe we’ll find a bookstore with a ghost section just for the locals.”
Rowen laughed. “Only if they sell garlic and silver bullets too.”
They turned to their parents expectantly, but their father’s face had already hardened.
“No,” he said simply.
“What? Why not?” Rowen demanded.
“This town… isn’t like where we came from,” he said, voice low.
Their mother wrung her hands. “It’s better if you stay in tonight. Please.”
Evanna frowned. “Are you guys hearing yourselves? You sound like those drivers earlier. What are you so afraid of?”
Before her father could answer, a sudden knock exploded against the front door.
Not a knock—a slam.
The whole house shuddered. Dishes rattled in the kitchen cabinets. Evanna jumped to her feet, heart hammering. It wasn’t polite or uncertain. It was forceful. Demanding.
“Are we expecting someone?” her mother asked, voice tight with fear.
“No,” her father said, already walking toward the door with caution.
“Who is it?” he called through the wood.
No answer. Just another deafening knock.
Slowly, he opened the door just a c***k.
Before anyone could stop him, a massive hand shoved the door wide open and a hulking figure stepped inside. He was tall, with thick muscles coiled beneath a worn leather coat. His face was a roadmap of deep lines and scars, his gray hair wild and thick. He smelled of pine, ash, and something older—earthy and ancient.
Evanna’s lungs seized.
The moment she saw him, her breath hitched. Her skin prickled. She knew him. Somehow. A shadow of him lingered in her dreams, in flashes of memories that didn’t belong to her.
She didn’t know his name. But her body remembered.
“I’m here for the girl,” the man said, his voice like gravel rolling over stone.
Evanna’s mother stepped forward, panic etched across her face. “We haven’t told her anything yet. We thought… we thought we had more time.”
“They,” the man said with emphasis, “won’t wait for you to explain anything.”
“She’s not ready,” her father insisted. “She doesn’t know what she is, or why we had to leave—”
The man silenced him with a growl. “Your human problems are yours to fix. I’m not here for excuses. I’m here for the girl.”
Evanna’s blood ran cold. Her vision tunneled.
They were talking about her.
“No,” she blurted. “I’m not going anywhere. You can’t make me. I’ll scream, I’ll kick, I’ll—”
The man turned to her, expression unreadable. “You’d fight me again?” he asked, a strange humor in his voice. “Haven’t you done enough?”
Her mouth fell open. “Again? What do you mean again?”
He shook his head slowly. “I won’t let you jeopardize Thorne a second time.”
Her heart thudded against her ribs. “Who is Thorne?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, eyes locked on hers like he could see something no one else could.
Her father stepped between them. “She’s staying. If she’s in danger, then you damn well better protect her.”
The man gave a curt nod. “I’ll have wolves posted around the property tonight. But after this… you’re on your own.”
He turned and walked to the door, pausing only once.
“You should’ve prepared her.”
Then he stepped outside and closed the door with surprising gentleness.
A second later, the distant, chilling sound of a howl tore through the woods.
Low and haunting. Wild and near.
Evanna’s knees nearly gave out.
She turned to her parents, her voice small and trembling.
“Was that… what I think it was?”
No one answered.
The silence that followed was the loudest thing she had ever heard and it scared her.
- Writer
