Moonshadow
Krystina Coles
Moonshadow
Copyright © 2019 by Krystina Coles
Front Cover Image by Kodey Bell, a.k.a Imaginesto
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
To My Father
Thank you for igniting my love for mythology with your own. I would not have this passion for writing without you. Also, thank you for coming into my room as Ghostface when I was five. I wouldn’t be this mentally disturbed without you.
To Melissa
The fire to my ice
(You know what I mean)
To My Mother
Your horrified expressions after reading my writing let me know that I was headed in the right direction. Thank you for your sacrifices as a military mom and not being overly perturbed with my fascination for the macabre.
And
To Yasmen
I see you in the stars
Contents
Prologue
Eleven Ghosts
What Was Left in the Woods
Orion
Where Memories are Buried
Photographs on the Wall
Life and Death, Death and Life
The Path in the Snow
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Daffodils
“Do You Like Stories?”
Of Water and Earth
Hope upon Hope
The Night Stared Back
Moonshadow
Apples and Toffee
On the Other Side of the Door
Ye Who Enter Here
Born of Blood
What We Find in Death
A Grave Exchange
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Prologue
There is a world beside our own, hidden in the twilight—the inbetween. Born within the boundaries of what is and what could be, buried deep inside hearts that yearn for more than what is merely seen. It lives in our impossible thoughts, fantastical dreams, mortal fears. We think we can contain it, but it is just as wild as the things that it produces: gods, goddesses, giants, fairies, demons. Our imagination—is there anything more powerful?
Chapter One
Eleven Ghosts
Cedar Crest, Oklahoma 2009
Every night, I drown; and every morning, I’m pulled from the water—only to die again when I reach the surface. They say that it’s peaceful—like falling asleep; but the anguish in the struggle for the life that I knew could no longer be mine terrified me beyond my nightmares and found its way into my reality. I scream; but in the darkness, I can still see the world around me. And there is nothing but the silence of my isolation. I open my mouth to cry out again, reaching towards the salvation I couldn’t hope to touch; and I’m pulled back into the blackness of the unknown—where I stay. And where my ghosts come to find me.
There was a knock at the door; and I sat up, pushing my dark brown hair away from my eyes. I had fallen asleep again. But even as I came to my senses, I could still feel the water clawing at my neck—filling my lungs as I flailed my arms toward the rippling light of the surface.
“Melissa…Melissa, honey, it’s time to go to school.” I could hear her voice on the other side. My mother. She meant well. I knew she did. “Honey, are you awake?” I tiredly rubbed my forehead with the palm of my hand. I had almost forgotten what day it was. Wednesday—it was a Wednesday.
“Just a little longer.” I shouted to her. Just a couple more minutes. I just needed a couple more minutes.
“All right.” She called back to me through the door. “But Connor’s already waiting for you downstairs.” Connor. I glanced at the picture frame on my bedside table—at the three of us. I shut my eyes to smother the tears before they began and took a deep breath before pulling the drawer open and setting it inside. I didn’t know why I hadn’t done it sooner, but I guessed I didn’t want to admit it just yet.
Eleven months—it’d been eleven months. But I still remembered screaming. And crying. And then doing nothing at all.
I had woken up that Monday morning and gotten ready for school: taken a shower, brushed my teeth, picked out my clothes. It was a regular day. But in these past few months, I’ve realized news like that always comes when you least expect it—when the day begins like any other. I just didn’t know it yet.
I had hurried down the stairs with my backpack in hand, knowing I’d have to skip breakfast to make it to school on time. Connor would be waiting for me in the living room—probably talking to my father about going out onto the lake and fishing in the spring; and Heather would be sharing Mrs. Harrison’s famous croissants with my mother. But when I had reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room was quiet; and the kitchen was empty. I had called out to my mother, and she had answered; but the moment she’d spoken, I’d known something was wrong. She and my father had been sitting on the couch, and they had asked me to join them. I didn’t want to, I’d told them. I’d just wanted to know where Heather and Connor were. But Connor was home, and Heather wasn’t coming.
“There you are.” My father looked up from his armchair, and Connor left his seat on the couch to head towards the door.
“C’mon. We’re gonna be late.” He told me, and I slung my backpack over my shoulder before moving to follow him.
“Melissa.” I stopped and turned when my mother called my name. “Have a good day at school.” I nodded, not really saying anything. What could I say? Nowadays, a little smile made her happy; and I found myself trying harder—if only for her. I closed the door behind me and locked it, standing there for a moment—wishing I didn’t have to leave.
“Hey.” Connor punched my arm to get my attention. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I waived it off, smiling.
“Good morning, Melissa!” I turned my head to the right to see my neighbor retrieving his newspaper from his doorstep. Dressed only in his robe and pajamas, I wondered how the old man could stand the cold.
“Good morning, Mr. Oakman!” I shouted back to him on the other side of the hedge of rosebushes that separated our front yards. He grinned at my response and waved goodbye before retreating back into his little blue house. “Are you ready for tonight?” I asked Connor when we reached the green Oldsmobile parked on the side of the curb. He paused for a second and then gave me one of his goofy grins.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” I eyed him suspiciously.
“You hesitated.” He shrugged his shoulders like he didn’t know what I was talking about.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Liar.” Who did he think he was fooling? It definitely wasn’t me. I pulled the door open and slid into the passenger seat. “Don’t freak out. It’s no big deal.”
“I’m not.” He insisted. I glanced at him again. “Really.” He closed the car door and pulled his seatbelt over his chest. The car sputtered to life when he turned the key in the ignition, and I rolled down the window to watch my house disappear from view. The car turned the corner, passing a yellow house on the left; and I stared out into the empty driveway. Voices echoed in my mind; and for a moment, I saw two little princesses running away from a boy in a pirate costume.
“How do you think they’re doing?”
“What?” His voice pulled me out of the well of memories I’d found myself in, and he ran his fingers through his short blond hair as he asked me again.
“How long has it been since you talked to them?” I bit my lip at his words and swallowed.
“A while…” It hurt to say. My eyes started to burn with tears, but I blinked them away. “Maybe a couple months.” But I re
membered. It’d been four months. I’d come by on her birthday and spent an hour in her room…just to close my eyes and hear her voice again.
“Maybe we should drop by.” Connor shrugged his shoulders again as he drove, staring at the road ahead.
“Have you seen Matthew since—” I wasn’t sure if I could finish. I had seen him that cold January morning, still holding on to the stem of a little yellow flower when everyone else had gone.
“We cross paths at school, sometimes; but we don’t say much.” He answered.
The streets of Cedar Crest had faded away into the highway that passed the little town by. There was nothing but trees—and the vast expanse of a world untouched around us. Just dirt and sky. We passed a few houses every once in a while…the kind I wouldn’t enjoy approaching in the middle of the night. Old and dilapidated, they stood like tombstones scattered over the barren countryside; and I tried to imagine the kind of people that lived in them. Were they ancient and crotchety? Did they argue over simple things—like whose turn it was to hold the baby when he cried? Did they have a daughter who loved to play hide-and-seek in the woods?
Did she die too?
I leaned my head against the car door and breathed in the cold crisp air that came rushing in through the window.
“Maybe we should.” They all wanted me to get over it—forget. But Connor understood. He was the only one who could. I glanced at him from my seat and wondered. If he ever cried, I didn’t see it. He caught me staring and flashed a reassuring grin, punching my arm again as he laughed.
“You gotta smile.” He insisted. “‘Cause if you don’t, I will self-destruct.” That would be a sight.
“So you are nervous.” I crossed my arms, satisfied with the momentary flicker of emotion he had shown me.
“I didn’t say that.” He denied it, but the devious glance he gave me said otherwise. As we crossed the last stretch of water before entering Locust Grove, I gazed at the hands of the Neosho River reaching out into the earth beneath me. And in the surface, I saw my reflection—as fleeting as it was—rippling in the water below. And once again, I was grasping at nothing, slowly sinking into darkness.
The slamming of the car door startled me from my nightmare, and I was sitting in the parking lot of the high school. I squinted my eyes in the sudden burst of sunlight when Connor opened the door.
“Are you ready to go?” I paused before I answered, gathering my senses.
“Yeah.” I unfastened my seatbelt and stepped down from the car onto solid ground, and we hurried to join the wave of red and white as it funneled into the halls. There were nearly five hundred of us in all. Not in the sophomore class—no—but in the school in its entirety. Locust Grove was small, but it still somehow managed to be three times the size of Cedar Crest. I couldn’t imagine what a high school dance in our town would look like. Connor and I parted ways, promising to make it to World History early so we could find seats next to each other. It wouldn’t be hard. There were only sixteen in the class. I followed my classmates through the third door on the left and sat down at one of the desks in the back of the room, hoping I’d be less conspicuous there. I didn’t mind it when Mr. Thompson called on me, but I could tell the others did. Their bewildered stares and looks of alarm on their faces said it all. They thought I was slipping, withering away. Maybe I was.
“Good morning—” Mr. Thompson began, but he was interrupted by the high-pitched screech of the school bell; and we stood to recite the words we learned when we were too young to spell our names.
“Have an Argh-mazing day!” It was the last we heard of the voice on the intercom, and I smiled to myself. The cheerleaders always made the announcements on game day. If there was anything that I missed, it was starting the day with ridiculous puns and eating donuts in the principal’s office.
“Good morning, class.” Mr. Thompson started again as he gripped a stick of chalk to write on the forest green board behind him. “We are going to begin with a review of what we accomplished last month,” he took a step forward when he was finished, revealing a word that wouldn’t have made sense to anyone else if we hadn’t taken his class. “NaNoWriMo.” He said, leaning on his desk and holding a stack of papers over his head. “Now, most of you did a pretty good job; and you know I won’t give out anything less than an ‘A’ if you tried your best, but there are a few of you who could use a little more inspiration.” He strolled through the rows of chairs, laying the graded papers on my classmates’ desks. “I’m not going to name names, but…” He stopped to look at the boy sitting in front of me. “Jason.” He gave him the caricature of a stern glance, and the room erupted in a hush of giggles. From over his shoulder, I could see the letter ‘D’ in bright red, and I sucked in the air through my teeth. “Miss Moonwater…” Mr. Thompson called my name to claim my attention. “Congratulations.” He grinned as he handed me the packet of stapled paper, adding, “as always.” I breathed a sigh of relief at the ‘A’ written neatly in the upper right corner. “Now that you’ve gotten back your papers, how do think you could improve your novels-in-the-making?” He returned to the front of the class and waited for a response. There was none. “Anyone?” Silence. I raised my hand, immediately regretting it. “Yes, Miss Moonwater?” He crossed his arms in anticipation.
“Well,” I ignored the heads that turned to set their eyes on me, “you told us to write what we know.” It sounded like a question more than an answer. He clapped his hands together so suddenly, I jumped in my seat.
“That’s right.” He hurried to the chalkboard to write down my words and turned expectantly. “So what do you know?” Another boy in a red and white Letterman jacket raised his hand in the second row.
“Yes, Mister Hughes?”
Kris. Inches taller than anyone else in the class, he was the only senior in my elective. With dark brown hair that hung over his sky blue eyes, nearly every girl in the sophomore class had become infatuated with him. Lately, I’d seen him in the hallway with Adrienne Shelley, the self-proclaimed future prom queen of a dance two years away—but that didn’t stop her from campaigning.
“What about the Twelve Dancing Princesses?” It seemed like an odd question. A strange quietness descended over the class like a blanket, and he fell silent when he realized that he had made a mistake. It wasn’t something we talked about. What used to be the title of an innocent fairytale had become the town’s affliction, as if Mayes County had taken up the mantle of that faraway kingdom only to realize its twisted truth much too late to return it.
“Okay.” Mr. Thompson broke the silence, suddenly somber. “We all know the original story, don’t we?” It was quiet, and he scratched his head. “All right. The story was published by the Brothers Grimm in 1812.” He began, and I swallowed in apprehension as he continued. “In the tale, a king used to lock the door to the room where his twelve daughters slept; and every morning, he would discover that their shoes were worn to pieces. The king, concerned by this, promised his kingdom to anyone who could uncover his daughters’ secret; but those who failed would be put to death.”
“That sucks.” Jaxon Haymes said from the corner of the room.
“It does.” Mr. Thompson pointed his stick of chalk at him as he agreed and went on. “But one man, a soldier returning from war, was able to uncover their secret. In the middle of the night, the princesses would leave their room through a trap door in the floor; and they would travel through the forest to a lake where twelve princes would take them to a secret ball on the other side.”
“So what—Rebecca Lawrence and Iliana Lopez are just out partying somewhere?” Kris quipped, skeptical. I held my breath at the sound of their names. Three months ago, they were sitting in this classroom.
“No, I’m afraid their disappearances are a little more on the darker side.” He wove his way through the rows of desks as he spoke. “So what do we know about them?”
“The newscasters said that there have been ten so far.” Another student said, and he nodded.
“If that’s the case, does that mean someone else will go missing?” Melanie Ross asked from the middle of the room. A surge of whispers swirled around the class as she added: “There’s supposed to be another full moon tonight.”
“With your curfew and the heightened police presence in the area, you should be safe.” He reassured us, but it didn’t bring me much comfort. “But while we’re talking about it, let’s think about the events of this past year: ten girls from four different high schools vanish without a trace during similar time frames. What do you think happened, and what will happen if this continues?”
“If the disappearances are following a pattern, then there should be a twelfth princess; and then maybe whoever’s behind it will stop.” I interjected, and I could feel all of their eyes on me again. I didn’t understand until I looked to Mr. Thompson, and my heart sank when he had the same expression on his face.
“You mean eleven—eleven princesses.” He corrected me, watching me cautiously—as if I would shatter if I weren’t handled correctly. I swallowed, remembering what I had said. To the rest of the world, Heather was dead; but in the labyrinth of my mind, there was a door yet to be opened—an answer that hadn’t been discovered yet. I just had to find it.
“Right. Eleven.”
I slammed my locker door shut and drew in a deep breath, pressing my forehead against the cold hard metal slathered in red paint.
“Do I want to know?” I turned my head to steal a glance to my left. Connor was leaning against his locker beside me, his own Letterman jacket sliding off his right shoulder. For someone who had lived in Oklahoma for half of his life, he still had the air of a city boy.
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