THE HOWL BENEATH THE MOON

The woods were silent, save for the rustle of leaves underfoot and the whisper of wind through ancient trees. Moonlight spilled through the branches like liquid silver, casting long, shifting shadows across the forest floor. In the distance, an owl called a sharp, solitary sound then silence again, deeper and more unnerving than before.

Ari Hale tightened her grip on the leather-bound notebook clutched in her hand. Her breath came out in soft clouds that hung in the air before fading into nothing. She had walked this trail a hundred times in daylight. It coiled around the edge of the small town of Varro’s Hollow, wound past the old well, and slipped into the forest like a forgotten memory. But tonight, everything felt... different.

She stopped walking and listened.

Behind her, the woods stretched back into darkness. Ahead, the narrow path forked at a bent oak tree, its gnarled limbs twisted like grasping fingers. She’d never gone beyond this point. Locals avoided it. Some said the air got thinner, colder, like something didn’t want you there. Others told stories of the Silver Pact whispered rumours of a forgotten treaty, signed in blood and bound by moonlight.

Ari never believed in local legends. Hearths were full of ghost tales, especially ones passed down to keep teenagers from wandering into dangerous places. But after what she’d seen three nights ago, she had questions. And now she needed answers.

She stepped off the path, past the bent oak, into the deeper woods.

The darkness grew thicker, pressing close, like it was watching. The flashlight in her pocket flickered once before she turned it on. Its weak beam barely pierced the blackness. Tree trunks loomed like silent sentinels. Every step crunched underfoot, and the sound seemed too loud.

“Okay,” she muttered, trying to calm herself. “Just trees. Just a dumb old story.”

But even as she said it, she remembered the eyes glowing silver in the dark, too high off the ground to be any known animal. They’d watched her from the edge of the woods the night she came home late from her shift at the diner. The next morning, her neighbour’s dog had been found torn open near the edge of town. People said it was a coyote. Ari had seen coyotes before. What she saw that night wasn’t a coyote.

It had looked... human.

Half-human.

The trees began to thin.

Ari found herself standing before a wide clearing bathed in silver light. In the centre stood a massive stone arch, weathered and moss-covered, as if it had grown out of the earth itself. Symbols were etched into its surface spirals, claw marks, and crescent moons. Most were worn, barely legible.

Beneath the arch, the ground formed a shallow bowl. Grass had not grown here in years. Only scorched earth remained, and a faint scent of iron lingered in the air.

She knelt and brushed her fingers across the centre of the bowl. The dirt was dry, but dark. Stained.

This is it, she thought. This is where it happened.

A sudden gust of wind blew out her flashlight. She scrambled to relight it, but the switch didn’t respond. Then she heard it the low, guttural growl.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Across the clearing, just past the stone arch, something moved. A shape tall, hunched, powerful. Its eyes caught the moonlight and reflected it back at her, twin lanterns of silver flame.

She stumbled back, heart racing, too afraid to scream.

Then, the creature stepped forward slowly, deliberately. Moonlight illuminated a body covered in fur as dark as midnight. Muscles rippled beneath the surface. Clawed hands hung at its sides, and its legs bent at an unnatural angle, like a wolf standing on two feet.

But it wasn’t fully beast. Its face was almost human sharp features twisted by pain or rage. Its lips peeled back to reveal fangs.

Ari turned to run, but her legs refused to move. The creature opened its mouth and let out a sound halfway between a howl and a word.

A word.

Spoken in a voice that was ragged and ancient: “Hale...”

Her name.

She froze.

It knows me?

The creature took a step forward. Then another. But this time, it didn’t look like it was hunting her. It looked like it was... reaching out.

Before she could react, the ground trembled.

A flash of silver light burst from the archway behind the creature. A second figure erupted from the trees smaller, faster. This one was fully animal, all sinew and teeth. It slammed into the standing figure with a feral snarl. They rolled together, biting and clawing.

Ari didn’t wait to see who won.

She ran.

By the time she reached the edge of the forest, her lungs burned and her legs ached. She didn’t stop until she reached the old Hale house on the outskirts of Varro’s Hollow. The porch light buzzed weakly, casting a pale-yellow glow. She burst through the door and slammed it shut behind her.

“Grandfather!” she called, her voice hoarse.

No answer.

She rushed up the stairs, ignoring the groan of old wood beneath her feet. Her grandfather's room was dark. The bed was neatly made, untouched.

“Where the hell?”

Then she saw a note on his desk, scrawled in his tight, slanted handwriting.

Ari,

If you're reading this, then you’ve already gone too far. You saw it. I tried to keep it from you, but blood calls to blood.

Do not go back to the clearing. Not yet. Not until you know the truth.

The Hale line is not what you think.

 Gideon Hale

She stood in stunned silence, her hands trembling.

“What the hell does that mean?” she whispered.

The next day, she skipped school and drove Gideon’s truck into town. Varro’s Hollow had a population of just under 1,200 and hadn’t changed much since the 1950s. Most people knew each other. But secrets ran deep here buried in old foundations and forgotten by time.

She pulled up outside the town library a red-brick building older than anyone still living.

Inside, Mrs. Wetherby, the librarian, peered over her glasses. “Well, if it isn’t young Ari Hale. Looking for another sci-fi romance?”

“Not today.” Ari forced a smile. “I was hoping you had local history books. Old ones. Maybe about legends?”

Mrs. Wetherby frowned. “The Folklore Shelf. Back left corner. But don’t go believing any of that nonsense.”

Ari found the shelf covered in dust. Most of the books hadn’t been opened. She pulled out a heavy tome titled The Hidden Histories of Varro’s Hollow.

An hour later, her fingers stopped on a passage:

In the year 1793, the founding families entered into what was later called the Silver Pact. A covenant between man and beast. The Hales, the Red moors, and the Thorne lineages formed the Triumvirate. Each bore the mark. Each carried the blood. It was not a curse it was an agreement.

Below it was a faded image three figures standing beneath a crescent moon, surrounded by wolves.

Ari turned the page.

The pact demanded sacrifice and secrecy. Betrayal of the pact was punishable by death. One family broke the bond. The Thorne line was hunted and extinguished. The others scattered, hiding their bloodlines among the unknowing.

She read the words again.

The Hale line... my family...

She slammed the book and stood. Her head was spinning. Her grandfather knew. He’d kept this from her entire life.

Why?

That night, she returned to the forest.

Not out of bravery.

The world had shifted, and nothing made sense anymore.

The clearing was just as she left it, moonlit. This time, she brought her grandfather’s old hunting rifle.

She sat near the edge and waited.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Just as she was about to leave, a voice behind her said, “You shouldn't have come back.”

She turned sharply.

It was him the creature from the night before. But this time, he was human.

At least, he looked it.

He had wild dark hair, silver-flecked eyes, and a scar across his collarbone that looked like a claw had raked across it.

what are you? she asked.

He gave a bitter smile. “My name is Kael. I’m what’s left of the Red moors.”

She lowered the rifle, slowly. “You knew my name.”

“I know your blood,” he said. “I smelled it before you ever stepped into the clearing. You’re one of us.”

Ari’s heart pounded. “I’m not like you.”

He stepped closer. “Not yet. The Silver Pact lives in your veins.”

She shook her head in disagreement,

Kael looked past her, toward the arch. “Doesn’t matter. The pact was signed generations ago. You’re bound by it whether you want to be or not.”

Ari looked at the arch again, then back at him. “So, what happens now?

“The Thorne bloodline didn’t die out completely. One survived. She’s building something. Gathering others. The pact is breaking and when it does, the forest won’t hold its boundaries anymore.”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Kael said, his voice low, “that you’re either with us... or you’re in the way