Chapter 1 Hidden moon

HIDDEN MOON

CHAPTER ONE

From the top-floor window of her parent's house on Charles Street, Jennifer stared deep into the thick darkness, her eyes a beacon of determination as if she hoped their intensity would tear the dark. It had been her culture every night since she was fourteen. She would often, like a child would find comfort in lullaby, find comfort in the dark. It reminded her of herself – of her life. In the dark, there was no beauty, light or hope. It bore similitude with her life.

"I hate everyone" she muttered. "Everyone hates me too so, fair!" she blurted out into space. Her thoughts drifted back to the haunting echoes of her childhood. Her father, a drunkard, had left indelible scars on her existence. The scent of alcohol lingered in her memories, an oppressive presence that suffocated the very air she breathed. She never even got to know her mother.

She silently moved away from the window and found solace by her old dressing table. Her room, adorned with faded wallpaper and curtains, felt like a cocoon of solitude. The worn-out carpet beneath her feet bore witness to the weight of her past. The chair creaked slightly as she lowered herself onto it. The dim light from a solitary lamp cast a soft glow, illuminating the framed photographs that adorned the tabletop – snapshots of a life filled with both joy and heartache. As she sat by the dressing table, her reflection in the vintage mirror revealed a blend of sorrow and strength. The scars etched into her heart served as a reminder of the tough journey she had life had taken her through.

Jennifer is a junior year college student and sometimes – a depressed 22-year-old. Despite the arduous journey through life, she was lucky to have been adopted by her foster parents, the Lesleys. Wrinkled and retired, the Lesleys adopted Jennifer as a 14-year-old. She didn't like them so much and made it known at every opportunity, but they were her ticket to a better life. She had a roof over her head and never worried about her next meal. They even ensured she went to college. Mrs. Lesley's words, "I don't want you to end up miserable like your parents. You've got to go to school, honey," echoed daily in her head. This admonition had come after she was reported to have slapped a teacher. Everyone judged her but they didn't care for her side of the story. Miss Jane had called her a monkey because she chose to jump and hop on seats while leaving the class instead of walk like every other person did. "A monkey. A monkey. That's what you are. A stupid mon..." Jennifer, fueled by frustration, cut short Miss Jane's insult with a slap, leaving the classroom in shocked silence. The once-revered teacher now stood vulnerable, and Jennifer, gripped by fear, fled home to escape potential consequences. Her escape carried not only the fear of punishment but also the weight of a society quick to judge without understanding her struggles.

The humid Towson air clung to Jennifer like a second skin, as she walked home from the bus stop. Her backpack, laden with the weight of her textbooks and the anxieties of junior year, felt heavier than usual. Today, something felt off, something felt somewhat unusual.

It started with the aroma. A pungent, metallic smell, like blood and earth, crept through the open window of her house, a deviation from the usual smell of simmering stew that usually greeted her. Her parents, ardent vegans since she knew them, would never willingly bring meat into their home. Yet, there it was, undeniable and primal, a guttural growl in the air.

"Mom? Dad?" she called out, apprehension coiling in her stomach like a cold serpent. Her father, a gentle man with eyes that held the warmth of a thousand sunrises, appeared from the kitchen, his brow furrowed.

"Jen? What's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I... I smell meat," she stammered, the words tasting alien on her tongue. "Deer, I think. Like... like someone brought it inside."

Her parents exchanged a surprised glance, a silent conversation flitting across their faces. "Honey," her mother said softly, "we haven't brought any meat home."

Jennifer's heart hammered against her ribs, doubt gnawing at the edges of her certainty. Could she have been mistaken? The library, usually a haven of hushed whispers and rustling pages, had felt weird earlier that day. Four girls, seated a few rows away, had spoken in hushed tones, their voices strangely amplified in the stillness.

"Did you hear about Professor Jerry?" one had whispered, her voice a conspiratorial hiss. "They say he... he killed himself after the werewolf hunt."

"Suicide?" another had scoffed. "I heard he was accused of being behind the werewolf hunt."

Jennifer had dismissed it but she on the other hand also wondered why she had heard them so clearly even though they spoke in hush tone and were a distance away.

She made to go take out the trash. Stepping out, she collided with James, her neighbor's son.

"Just taking out the trash," he said, his voice a shade too nonchalant, a smirk playing on his lips. "Had a successful hunting trip with Dad earlier today."

He untied the bag, revealing a mess of bloody fur and flesh. The stench, now undeniable, washed over Jennifer, a primal terror clawing at her throat. Her knees buckled, the world tilting on its axis.

The fear she had long suppressed, the whispers she had dismissed, the memories she had tried to bury - they all converged in that moment, a terrifying symphony of truth. The realization, sharp and cold as a butcher's knife, sliced through her: she wasn't just smelling the meat. She was feeling it, tasting it, a primal hunger gnawing at her very core.

Was she... a werewolf?

The question, which once whispered in the shadows of her mind, now roared her soul. The hunt, it seemed, had begun for the truth that now howled within her.