Red Moon Rising

I sprint through the misty forest, my lungs burning with each desperate breath. Ancient pines tower around me, their scent mingling with the rich earth beneath my feet. Despite never having been here before, something about these woods feels eerily familiar—like they've been waiting for me.

"Mom?" The word escapes my lips before I can stop it.

Mom? Why am I still chasing after the woman who abandoned me without a second thought?

As I stumble into a moonlit clearing, a wolf with rust-colored fur emerges from the shadows. Its yellow eyes lock with mine, glowing with recognition. "Mom! I found you!" I cry out.

Against my better judgment, I find myself rushing forward, wrapping my arms around the creature's warm neck. The wolf's fur feels like silk against my face, but the moment of comfort shatters when a threatening growl reverberates through the clearing. I whip around to see a massive gray wolf stalking toward us, its predatory gaze fixed on me with terrifying intensity.

"Mom, we need to go now!" I scream, tugging frantically at the red wolf's fur. We bolt into the darkness, branches whipping at my face as I run faster than I ever thought possible. My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat a countdown to disaster.

The red wolf—my supposed mother—surges ahead, ignoring my desperate pleas. "Mom, please! Don't leave me again!" I reach out, fingers grasping at nothing as she disappears into the shadows.

A quick glance over my shoulder reveals the gray wolf gaining ground, saliva dripping from its bared fangs as it closes in for the kill.

"Just end me already so I can escape this damn nightmare!" I shout at the sky as I run. My foot catches on an exposed root, and I crash to the forest floor. Rolling onto my back, I watch in horror as the wolf launches itself toward my throat.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I jolt upright, gasping for air, my nightshirt clinging to my sweat-soaked skin. The alarm clock's persistent beeping fills my darkened bedroom. "That's it. I'm definitely finding a therapist in this godforsaken town," I mutter, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. This marks the sixth consecutive night I've dreamed about my mother, each nightmare ending with her abandoning me to die. Though she vanished from my life when I was barely three, these dreams have plagued me relentlessly since our move.

Sleep deprivation weighs on me like a physical burden. Between anxiety about starting at a new school and these recurring nightmares, the dark circles under my eyes have become a permanent feature.

"Victoria! Are you up? Don't you dare hit that snooze button!" a deep voice calls from the hallway, followed by a firm knock on my locked door.

I roll my eyes at the ceiling. "Yes, Dad, I'm awake," I call back.

"Good. I've made breakfast, so come down before you leave. Don't want to start your first day on an empty stomach!" His footsteps retreat down the hallway.

"Whatever," I mumble, watching his shadow disappear beneath the door.

Dragging myself out of bed, I pull a burgundy sweater dress from my closet—something I'd never have worn at my old school. In the bathroom, I tame my wild golden-brown curls into submission and carefully apply winged eyeliner, mascara, and a hint of copper eyeshadow. If I have to reinvent myself at this new school, I might as well look the part.

Backpack slung over my shoulder, I trudge downstairs to find my father at the kitchen table, shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. Marcus Pryce is an imposing figure—tall and broad-shouldered with deep brown skin, a cleanly shaved head, and a neatly trimmed goatee framing his square jaw.

A plate of eggs and what appears to be charcoal sits waiting for me on the counter. I grab it and slump into a chair across from him. After a quick, silent grace, I force down a bite of the rubbery eggs. The toast is beyond salvation—clearly the victim of my father's first encounter with our new toaster.

"Thanks for cooking, Dad," I say, mustering a smile. "That was... thoughtful."

His face brightens. "Anything for my little girl. I know starting over isn't easy, especially in your senior year, but this move is going to be good for us, Vic. A fresh start is exactly what we need."

I nod mechanically. A fresh start he decided on without consulting me. The memory of that night is still raw—him bursting through the door, wild-eyed, announcing he'd lost his job but miraculously found another one in some backwoods town called WinterCrest Woods. We packed and left before dawn, my entire life stuffed into garbage bags and cardboard boxes.

If I didn't know my father's pattern of impulsive decisions since Mom left, I might suspect there was more to this sudden relocation. But this is just another chapter in the Marcus Pryce handbook of poor life choices.

The injustice of it all burns in my chest. Three months from graduation, weeks away from my eighteenth birthday, and here I am—transplanted to the middle of nowhere because my father couldn't pause for five seconds to consider how his decisions might affect me. He keeps insisting this is our chance for a new beginning, but what kind of beginning awaits me in a town that probably doesn't even have reliable internet?

I stare at my father across the table, wondering if he realizes that his "fresh start" is actually my dead end. Or maybe he just doesn't care. Either way, I'm trapped in WinterCrest Woods with no plan, no friends, and apparently, no escape from these disturbing dreams of the mother who abandoned us both.