Whispers Of Willow Creek Novels & Stories

“Why did you leave and not tell me? Have I done something to offend you, Posey? You know…how I act around you… what I say to you sometimes… it’s just who I am, and it doesn’t mean anything.” “I know.” “Then what’s going on?” Her nostrils flare, but she looks down at her lap, her blush creeping down her neck. “Willow has a list, you know. To sleep with someone from every place she visits. She’s doing it because she likes it but also because she thinks she’ll meet her mate when she gets back to Crescent Falls, and then it’s over. Her life begins.” She wrings her hands, scrubbing the lotion in deeper, like her fingers hurt, especially the tips.

One thing she noticed was a particular man who lived in the cabin alone but gets occasional visitors. With time, Willow realized that they were werewolves too which was perfect for her plan. She also picked extra clothes in case there would be any need for her to shift. She spied from a distance behind the thick branches of the cold forest but she knew she had to get closer in order to get the information she needed. Moving with caution and a little twist in her gut, Willow quickly crept to the back window. She heard voices, smelled weed, alcohol and other distasteful substances she couldn't name.

Roy once appreciated Willow for knowing her place, but now, he resented her indifference. Along the way, Roy chatted with Sierra while Willow was left to sit in silence. As the car could only take them halfway up the mountain, they had to hike the rest of the way. Hence, Roy put Willow up in a lodge while he and Sierra took the hike. Willow’s call came in at ten at night. She had an emergency and needed to leave. Roy fixated on the candle on the altar table, his voice hushed. “I can’t leave right now. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

I wade out through the receding mire and climb onto the mossy, pitted clearing where I’d once been entombed. “Amos!” My challenge booms through the swamp. The underbrush rustles as small creatures startle at the sudden noise, and the trees whisper warnings amongst themselves. “Show yourself, you coward!” For a moment, nothing happens. But then the constant drone of insects ceases as though somebody simply hit pause on a recording. Nothing moves. Even the feathery leaves of the cypress trees freeze in a tense vigil; the very wind itself is holding its breath.

Zach was on his phone. Willow felt the telltale prickling of her eyes. She would be crying herself to sleep again. . . . ____________________

The landscape was alien and foreboding, a surreal amalgamation of shifting shadows and fragmented structures that seemed perpetually on the verge of collapse. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the occasional whisper of forgotten memories. Each whisper was like a ghostly touch against her skin, a fleeting sensation that left her shivering. The whispers were disjointed, fragments of conversations, cries, and laughter that seemed to echo from the very walls of Nyxterra. They whispered her name in haunting, fragmented tones, urging her deeper into the darkness.

I grabbed a red marker and slashed a thick, furious X through his face. That made four. Four dead. Four silences. Still no answers. Two left. My eyes narrowed at the remaining photos—Mr. Rogers and the last unknown figure whose name I was still chasing. I snatched up my phone and dialed. “Find Mr. Rogers’ address for me,” I said coldly. “Yes, sir,” came the immediate reply. I ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed, heading into the bathroom. The blood on my hands might wash away…

Tears wouldn’t help them, however. Mist entered her mind again, and Willow hated to see what was coming. The wolf's eyes that looked down at her didn’t scare her this time. They were Falling Feather's eyes, looking down at her from a wolf’s face. She wanted him to be alive to come to her. The howling of a wolf brought her awake. Her tears were still drying on her face from the dream. The night was cool when she stepped out. Willow wrapped herself in a fur and walked out into the night.

A soft giggle. The telltale creak of Sienna’s door opening and closing. Ethan’s pulse drummed in his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his pillow against his face, desperate to drown out the sounds. But it was no use. His mind filled in the blanks, painting vivid pictures of what was happening just a few feet away. The rustle of clothing. A quiet murmur. A breathless moan.

(Isla’s POV) The morning in Crescent Valley felt heavier than usual. Frost clung to the valley trees like silent witnesses, and the wind carried whispers I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear. Lyra stirred beneath my skin, uneasy. He’s close. You feel it. I did. Rowan’s presence lingered across the distance, even though he had left the night before, stepping back into shadows I couldn’t reach. But the bond, the pulse, the ache didn’t lie. It throbbed, raw and impatient, a tether I couldn’t ignore.