The silver moon's curse

Eva's pov

When the car finally rolled to a stop at the edge of Moonvale, I didn't move. I sat there, my fingers clenched around the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles looked bleached, as if the color had drained from me along with everything else I had lost. A thick gray fog blanketed the road ahead, as though the town itself didn't want to be seen, at least not right away.

Maybe that was the point. Maybe Moonvale liked its secrets.

The engine ticked softly as it cooled, the only sound for miles other than the low whisper of the wind snaking through the pines. It smelled like damp moss and wet leaves, the air heavy and sharp, like it had just rained even though it hadn't. My breath fogged up the window as I exhaled, a shaky cloud disappearing as quickly as it came.

I was here, Moonvale.

My new home, If I could even call it that.

The GPS had long since lost signal somewhere past the second fork in the mountain road, around where the trees started pressing in so tightly it felt like driving through a tunnel of bark and shadow. I'd expected that, had even braced for it. My aunt Celeste had warned me in one of her letters. Don't trust your phone too much out here. Moonvale keeps itself hidden when it wants to.

Back then, I'd laughed.

Now, I wasn't so sure.

I opened the car door and stepped out, immediately swallowing a gasp as the chill bit into me. It wasn't just cold it was alive, in a way that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The fog crept around my legs, twining like smoke, curling in curious tendrils as if sniffing me out. I shook it off and pulled my coat tighter around myself.

The silence here had a weight to it. A thickness. Not empty, but watchful.

"You're being paranoid," I muttered under my breath. My voice felt too loud, echoing strangely through the trees.

But no one answered. Just the whisper of wind through pine needles.

My suitcase was already in the backseat, along with the box of my parents' things. I hadn't dared open it since the funeral. I still couldn't. Everything I loved fits into that box now: my mother's favorite mug, my father's watch, the last birthday card they ever gave me. All of it wrapped in tissue like fragile relics.

I swallowed hard and slammed the trunk shut a little louder than necessary.

Moonvale didn't look like much from the outskirts. A handful of buildings appeared through the mist like ghosts, tall, wooden things with sloped roofs and darkened windows, wrapped in ivy and age. The trees were everywhere, towering and ancient, their roots curling over the cracked asphalt like the forest was reclaiming the town bit by bit. A faded sign stood at the side of the road, its paint chipped and weathered.

Welcome to Moonvale Est. 1823

Population: ???

I blinked.

Was that a joke? The population number was literally scratched out, just question marks in its place. Probably vandalized. Or maybe it was the town's weird idea of humor.

I got back in the car and drove slowly down the main road, tires crunching over gravel. The fog seemed to thicken as I went, swallowing up the world behind me. It clung to the houses and storefronts, wrapped around lamp posts like cobwebs, until everything looked like it was dissolving.

And then, just like that, I was at the heart of it.

Moonvale didn't have a true "center," but it had what passed for one: a few tightly packed streets lined with crooked buildings that leaned a little too far forward, like they were eavesdropping. An old post office. A general store. A diner with a flickering neon sign that read THE WOLF'S DEN, because of course it was called that. Every small town had its quirks. I just wasn't sure if I was ready for Moonvale's.

I parked near the edge of the town square and checked the letter again. Aunt Celeste's house was up on Pine Hollow Road, a mile or so past the town proper. I could already feel how far from everything it would be.

Remote, Isolated.

Perfect for grieving, apparently.

As I got back onto the road, I felt that weird pressure in the air again, like something holding its breath.

I didn't see anyone.

No cars, pedestrians or lights in the windows.

It was barely six in the evening, but it looked and felt like midnight.

By the time I reached Pine Hollow Road, the trees had thickened so much they blocked the sky. My headlights barely cut through the fog, and the road narrowed to a dirt path. Just when I was starting to wonder if I'd taken a wrong turn, I saw it: a gate.

Tall, wrought iron, with a moon-shaped crest in the center.

I got out and pushed it open with a creak that went straight through me. Beyond it, a winding path led up to the house.

Celeste's house or what had once been my grandmother's. I'd only seen it in pictures, black and white ones tucked into albums my mother never looked at. Now it stood in front of me like something out of a gothic novel: tall and narrow, its roof sloping sharply into the sky, ivy crawling up its sides. The porch sagged under years of weather, and the windows glinted darkly.

I swallowed, home, I guess.

The front door opened before I even reached it.

"Eva," came a voice. "You're early."

My aunt Celeste stood in the doorway, looking exactly like I remembered tall and silver-haired, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of storm clouds. She hadn't aged a day since the last time I saw her, when I was maybe ten.

"Hi," I said, my voice too small.

She didn't smile, but she stepped aside. "Come in. The fog's worse tonight."

I entered slowly, dragging my suitcase behind me. The air inside the house smelled like lavender and old wood, like it had been frozen in time. Everything was dim and antique, the wallpaper faded but intricate, the floorboards creaking underfoot, paintings of people I didn't know staring down from the walls.

Celeste closed the door with a final-sounding click.

For a moment, we just stood there.

"I'm sorry about your parents," she said finally. Her voice was formal, almost cold. "Your mother was my sister. We weren't close, but... she was family."

I nodded. "Thanks."

That was all I could say. Anything else would unravel me.

Celeste studied me for a moment longer, then turned on her heel. "Your room is upstairs. Second on the right. You'll find everything you need there."

She didn't wait for a response. Her footsteps echoed up the staircase, each one deliberate.

I stayed in the entryway, staring up at the massive chandelier above me, cobwebbed and glittering faintly.

Then I exhaled and made my way upstairs.

The room she'd prepared was simple. Bed, desk, dresser. A window overlooking the trees. It was surprisingly clean, if a little dusty, and the bed had been made with stiff white sheets and a thick quilt. I sat on the edge and felt the weight of everything hit me all at once.

I was alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

And yet, there was something else here. Not in the room, exactly, but in the air. In the silence. Like the house or maybe the whole town was waiting for something.

Watching.

I shook my head and stood. Unzipped my suitcase. Unpacked clothes into drawers. Set my parents' box gently on the desk, untouched.

Outside the window, the fog pressed against the glass like a living thing.

And for a second just a breath of time I thought I saw a figure standing at the edge of the trees. Not moving,just watching.

But when I looked again, there was nothing.

Just mist and shadow.

I told myself it was nothing. My nerves. Jet lag. Grief.

Still, I drew the curtains closed and locked the window.

Later that night, I lay awake in bed, the old quilt pulled up to my chin. The wind outside howled through the trees, a strange, keening sound that didn't sound entirely natural.

I'd grown up in the city. I was used to sirens, honking, shouting. Not this. Not the creaks and groans of an old house shifting. Not the way every branch against the window sounded like fingernails.

Sleep wouldn't come.

And in the quiet, I heard something else, a whisper.

Not in English, not in any language I knew.

It came from the forest.

Soft, curling through the fog, calling. And the worst part?

Part of me wanted to answer.