Riley's Curse, A Moon's Glow Prequel (7 page)

We stepped into the house together. I went to
my room and picked up the rest of the things I wanted to take, my
favorite books and pictures of the family. I loaded them into a
crate and then remembered my lanterns. I looked around my room one
last time, and then walked out to load the crate into the carriage.
My father was waiting for me, having loaded all of the food.

“You keep Bessie and Franklin. There is a
small stable to keep them in. I don’t think there are any supplies
in the cabin. Did you bring your lanterns?”

“Yes Father, and if I need anything I can go
to the general store. I have my money,” I said, patting the breast
pocket of my coat.

“Tell them your name is William Riley, and
that you are my cousin. I will send letters to you in that
name."

"Father, Charlotte told me that I will not
age. What if someone notices?"

"You will have to move on every couple of
years, but never leave without writing me.”

I shook my head. “I won’t Father, and I will
write to you as soon as I can. Shall I write to the girls?”

He hesitated for a few seconds before
nodding. “Yes, but tell them you went to college early. We will
have to explain the truth eventually, but not until they are
older.”

“Alright, Father. I have to go.”

He stared at me, as if contemplating whether
or not he should let me leave. His dark blue eyes, so like my own,
looked black under the night sky. His cap was tilted, showing some
of his light hair. I watched him, hoping I would not forget what he
or the rest of my family looked like. At this moment, I was afraid
I would never see them again, and an ache formed in my chest. When
it looked like he was not going to say anything else, he wrapped me
in his arms for a quick hug, the smell of his pipe tobacco whirled
around us. “I love you, Son. Take care.” Releasing me, he walked
swiftly into the house without looking back.

I glanced around the farm one last time
before hopping onto the carriage. I was miserable at the thought of
leaving our lovely home. I grew up here and had so many memories.
For some reason, the image of Henry and me sneaking into the
kitchen when we were only six years old popped into my mind. We
were trying to steal a few lemon cakes. As we snatched them off the
table, we thought that we had gotten away with the perfect theft. I
found out later, that my mother had left them out for us.

“Yaw,” I yelled, slapping the reins to get
the horses to move. When I passed the barn, a memory of Lucy
entered my thoughts. She was only ten, and I dared her to jump from
the loft into the mound of hay. I was punished dearly when my
father got wind of it, and Lucy was laid out for a week with a
sprained ankle. Despite my dreary mood, a small smile appeared on
my lips at the memory. My mother felt so bad at what had happened
that she made me visit Lucy everyday to keep her company, which was
when my feelings began to develop. The smile vanished as the now
familiar image of Lucy's dead face took over the memory.

There was a loud boom of thunder, followed by
a streak of lighting that flashed in the sky above me, reminding me
of my current state. I could no longer linger here. This was my
past, and as much as I hated to, I had to let it go. With a feeling
of utter helplessness, I picked my hat up off the seat and put it
on, waiting for the rain. I managed to get to the village square
before the downpour started. Our old buggy didn’t have a canopy and
the horses and I were drenched within seconds. This was not a good
night for Franklin and Bessie. When I had helped Father, put on
their bindings, they were skittish around me. They must have been
sensing the change in me. Using a soft voice and gently stoking
them calmed them down, but there eyes never left me. I might have
soothed them, but I hadn't gained their trust yet.

The rain was relentless as we made our way, I
didn’t mind it though, it just added to my dismal mood. I was
leaving the only place I felt at home, everything and everyone I
ever knew, to make a new life. I didn't know how to be a werewolf
and I couldn't help feeling as I made my way alone through the
deserted roads, that my life was over.

It was a long and miserable ride to my new
home. The night was dark, with only the full moon to guide me, but
worse still, it was wet. The rain never ceased. I almost stopped a
few times to find shelter from the storm, but I did not want to
prolong my journey any more than necessary. By the time I made it
to Baycrest, I was weak with exhaustion, chilled to the bone from
the rain, and desperately lonely for the life I had given up.

I reached the small town, in the wee hours of
the morning, and of course all was still. Only someone mad would be
out this late and in this kind of weather, or someone like me, who
was running away. I followed the main road and turned at an old
overgrown lane. The grass, weeds and brush had overtaken the road
that was once here. I knew from memory that this would take me to
our cabin, even though my family and I hadn't been here in
years.

The road was bumpy and full of holes that I
could have avoided had I not been so fatigued. Finally, after a few
miles, I could see the outline of the cabin. It was old, with faded
grey wood that appeared to be black in the darkness. The shutters
were hanging from nails and the grass had grown so high it covered
half of the door. The appearance of the shack might scare away
someone else, but not me. I looked forward to bringing the cabin
back from the depths of disrepair. It would take weeks and a lot of
hard work to bring it back to the way it once was, and I couldn't
wait to begin. With each pound of the hammer and stroke of paint,
it would keep my mind from drifting to the misery that was now my
life. It would hopefully help make me forget that the last month
had ever happened.

I rushed inside carrying the crates that my
father had thankfully covered. I was shivering uncontrollably but
still managed to undo the buttons of my shirt and trousers. After
tossing my wet clothes on a dust covered chair, I took out a
lantern and placed it on the table. Now that I could see what I was
doing, I decided to make a fire.

There was a pile of wood sitting on the floor
by the stove. Dust and cobwebs had settled from lack of use, but
when I struck the match and tossed it into the stove with some
newsprint, a fire started immediately. I huddled in front of the
open stove, warming my body, before putting on dry clothes. The
room was dark, causing the fire and lantern to create shadows along
the dreary walls.

When I finally stopped shivering, I retrieved
the lantern from the table and carried it outside to put Bessie and
Franklin in the stables. They resisted at fist when I touched them,
but they eventfully let me lead them to shelter. It was either
fight with me and stay in the rain or get warm in the barn. Inside
their stalls I fed them with the little bit of hay I could find,
and when they were distracted with food, I gave them each a quick
brush. The only resistance I noticed was a few flinches as the
brush went over their fur. Once they were settled comfortably, I
went back inside.

I was so tired that I could barely keep my
eyes open. I remembered coming here as a boy, so I knew there were
two rooms. I picked the one I used to stay in. I wanted to pretend
things were normal for at least one night and if I slept in my
parent’s room, the delusion wouldn’t work. I didn’t take time to
look around to see if the room was the same as I remembered. I
removed the drop cloth my mother had placed years before, and
flopped onto the tiny wood framed bed, falling asleep
instantly.

My eyes were still closed when I woke in the
late morning, but I knew without looking that something was amiss.
This was not my room. The smell was different, and the bed I lay
upon was harder than my own. As I slowly opened my eyes, the events
of the previous evening flooded back to me. I was lying in my old
bedroom of my family's Baycrest cabin. In my exhausted state, I had
forgotten to make the bed. I was curled up atop the small, dusty,
bare mattress. I could tell by the light through the window that it
was mid morning. I had hoped to sleep longer, after my never-ending
night, but I had been having a disturbing dream about Lucy. We were
walking through a meadow, and I felt as if we were being watched. I
knew this dream, I had it many times after her death. It always
ended the same, Lucy lived and I died. That was when I woke up.

Still a tad sluggish, I rolled onto my back
and gazed up at the old wooden plank ceiling. Awaking alone felt so
much worse than I thought it would. I knew it would be hard to
leave my family, but with everything that happened last night, I
didn't realize the loneliness I would feel this morning. The quiet
was smothering. I wasn't use to it; my sisters never went long
without talking or singing. Their voices carried throughout the
whole house. You'd think I'd welcome the silence. You'd be
wrong.

Taking a few deep breaths to familiarize
myself with the new scent of dust and dirt, I sat up slowly and
looked around. The small bureau from my childhood was where I
remembered, under the tiny cubby hole of a window. A wooden shelf
held a few of my old books my mother had forgotten the last time we
had been here, just before Mary was born.

I stood up and reached for my favorite, The
Adventures of Tom Sawyer, I thought I had lost it. I had read the
book many times, but never got tired of it. I blew the dust off the
cover and flipped through the pages. For the first time in
forty-eight hours, I smiled, remembering a time when I was a child,
lying outside under the large oak tree reading about Tom’s
adventures. I had no worries then. Monsters were an intriguing myth
to me and farthest from my life as possible. If only I could go
back to that time.

I closed the book with a thump, and coughed
as dust flew off the pages. With no one to keep me company, I
placed the book on the stand next to my small cot, I would read it
later.

Noticing the crate with my bedding beside the
doorway, I dug through it, choosing my favorites and made the bed.
Once that was done, I went out to the kitchen to find something to
eat.

The cabin was small but held everything I
needed, a kitchen that was just big enough for a table. A small
parlor with one settee and a chair, my father’s old desk sat under
the window. There was an outhouse about twenty feet from the cabin
and a small barn with stables.

I found the muffins my mother had packed for
me and gobbled them down. Now that I had some nourishment, it was
time to make this place more livable. I rolled up my sleeves and
got to work.

First item on the agenda was to air out the
cabin, it had been closed up for too long and the air was thick
with mildew. I opened windows, and swept away dust and cobwebs. Of
course with the windows opened, the sun was extremely bright.
Thankfully, my mother had sent some freshly laundered coverings. I
hung them up and stepped back, they reminded me of home, which made
me both lonesome and happy.

I unpacked everything and made a list of what
I would need when I went to town, which I decided to do the next
day. By noon, when the house was suitable, I started on the
outside. I let the horses out so they could graze on the grass. The
weeds were over grown and needed tending along the side of the
cabin.

By twilight, I had taken care of the grass,
weeds and had chopped enough wood for the next few days. I built a
fire and started to cook myself some venison and potatoes. I had
never cooked before, since my family had a house-maid, and my
mother loved to do it. But as a child I would sit in the kitchen
and watch her prepare our meals. For some reason, as I made my
food, I felt closer to my mother. If I closed my eyes, I could
picture her beside me peeling potatoes, and humming a tune. I
almost smelled her rose perfume. When I cut myself with the knife,
I was forced to open my eyes to the deserted kitchen. I busied
myself with the task at hand before the pain at losing my family
could return. I needed to accept my new life, and stop dwelling on
the past. Although I knew that was easier said than done.

After finishing my meal, I cleaned the
dishes. It took awhile to get the water out of the pump. It was
mostly air from lack of use.

When the sun started to slip in the sky, I
put the horses in the stables, giving them each a good
brushing.

Inside the cabin, I lit the lanterns and
settled down to read my old book. The only time I had spoken all
day was when I brushed the horses. It was so quiet here; I could
hear every blade of grass sway in the wind, every chirp from the
birds flying overhead and every scurrying step from the small
animals burrowing in the underbrush. But what I couldn't hear were
the high pitch squeals of laughter from my younger sisters, or the
calm soothing voice of my mother as she discussed the day's chores
with Jane. It had only been one day, and I craved the contact of
other humans. I missed my family terribly. My hate for Charlotte
grew even more.

The next morning brought bright sunshine. It
was a clear day; all traces of the storm from two days ago were
gone. The sky was a soft blue, with nothing but white clouds
streaking across it. I noted the spots in the lane where I would
need to fill as Franklin, and I traveled to town to buy supplies.
As I lounged in the parlor the night before, I found myself looking
about the room. I decided the cabin could use some color, inside
and out. I wasn't sure on the colors I wanted. I only knew that
they needed to be as homey as possible.

Baycrest was much the same as Creekford, the
town where I grew up and considered my home. There was a general
store, a dress shop, a tavern and an inn. I tied Franklin and the
buggy out in front of the store and went in to make my
purchases.