🩸 MOONBOUND HEARTS
Chapter One — The Town That Howls at Dusk
By chizzy
The highway narrowed to a two-lane road that looked like it hadn't been repaved in years. Pine needles scattered across the asphalt, whispering beneath the tires of Dr. Mara Ellison's old Subaru. The GPS lost signal five miles ago, leaving her with nothing but the curve of the mountains and a road that kept dissolving into mist.
She had been driving since dawn, escaping the noise of Philadelphia — her failed engagement, her job that left her hollow, the city that felt too crowded for a heart still learning how to beat again. The ad for the Bendwood clinic had sounded perfect: temporary rural posting, housing included. Peace. Solitude. Healing.
But the closer she got to Bendwood, the quieter the world became.
Her phone blinked — No Service.
"Great," she muttered, tapping it. "I'm officially off the grid."
The trees pressed close, tall and ancient. The kind that looked like they had memories. For a moment, the forest thickened so much the sunlight dimmed. She slowed, rolling down the window, inhaling pine and damp earth. The air was colder here, almost metallic. Then, faintly, she heard it — a howl. Low, distant, but real.
She froze.
Wolves? No. Pennsylvania hadn't had wolves in decades.
When the road opened again, a wooden sign appeared on the right:
Welcome to Bendwood. Population: 1,823.
Beneath the letters, someone had spray-painted another line in red:
Pray you leave before the moon rises.
Mara frowned. Probably teenagers. Every small town had them.
She drove through, passing a diner, a small general store, and a bar with a flickering neon sign that read The Den. A few people watched her car as it rolled by — eyes wary, not curious. She didn't wave.
Her new home sat at the end of a gravel road behind the clinic. It was an old farmhouse, white paint peeling, front porch sagging slightly. But it was quiet, and the view of the forest behind it was stunning — endless pines fading into fog.
Inside, it smelled faintly of cedar and dust. The furniture was old but sturdy, the bed neatly made. On the counter, a note waited in neat handwriting:
Dr. Ellison,
Welcome to Bendwood. Your supplies are stocked. Please lock your doors at night.
— Sheriff R. Daniels
Lock your doors?
Odd. But she smiled anyway. Small-town charm.
That evening, she walked into the diner for dinner. The bell above the door jingled, and a hush seemed to fall over the handful of people inside. Conversation paused; forks stopped mid-air. Mara gave a polite smile and slid onto a stool at the counter.
A waitress with strawberry-blonde hair approached. Her nametag read Clara.
"Coffee?" the woman asked.
"Please. And whatever you recommend."
Clara poured the coffee, glancing up. "You're the new doctor."
"Yeah. Just got in this afternoon."
Clara smiled politely but didn't seem comforted. "You'll like it here. It's quiet."
Then, after a pause: "Stay inside after dark, okay?"
Mara laughed lightly. "You sound like the sheriff."
Clara didn't laugh. She just nodded and walked away.
From the corner of the diner, someone was watching her — a man, tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair falling over his forehead. He sat alone, one arm resting on the back of his booth, his gaze steady, unreadable. When their eyes met, something strange happened — a sharp pull low in her stomach, like static before a storm.
He didn't look away. Neither did she.
Then Clara reappeared, setting down a plate. "That's Luca Lessing," she said quietly, following Mara's gaze. "Don't mind him. He doesn't talk to outsiders."
"Local?" Mara asked.
Clara hesitated. "Sort of. The Lessing family owns most of the land around here. Old family. Keep to themselves."
When Mara looked back, Luca was gone. The booth empty.
A chill crawled down her spine.
That night, in her farmhouse, Mara unpacked her things. Outside, the wind shifted. The forest hummed. She made tea, curled up with a book — and froze at the sound of a long, low howl echoing through the woods.
It wasn't the cry of any animal she knew. It was deep, mournful… human.
Her tea trembled in her hand. "Coyotes," she whispered to herself. "Just coyotes."
Then — another sound. A thud against her porch. Slow footsteps.
Her pulse quickened.
She turned off the light. Moved quietly to the window. The moon hung low, half-full. The yard was empty — except for something large moving between the trees.
The shape paused. Lifted its head. Eyes glinted gold in the dark.
And for a heartbeat, she swore the thing was looking straight at her.
She stumbled back. The lights flickered.
The footsteps retreated, fading into the forest.
The next morning, she found muddy prints near her porch — too big to be human, too wide to be an animal. The sheriff stopped by later, a rugged man with a graying beard and watchful eyes.
"Everything all right, Doc?" he asked.
"Someone was on my porch last night."
He glanced toward the trees. "Probably just wildlife. Keep your doors locked. These woods… have their moods."
"You don't believe that," she said.
He met her gaze. "In Bendwood, belief's the only thing keeping people alive."
That evening, she went for a walk to clear her head. The forest smelled of rain. Halfway down the trail, she saw him again — Luca Lessing. Leaning against a tree, hands in pockets, watching her approach.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said, voice low, rough.
"Isn't it public land?"
"It's Bendwood land. That's different."
"Do you always threaten doctors, or am I special?"
The corner of his mouth twitched — almost a smile. "Special."
Mara's heart kicked. "Why's everyone so scared of the woods?"
Luca's gaze darkened. "Because the woods don't forget. And they don't forgive."
She frowned. "You sound like you've seen something."
"I am something," he said softly, stepping closer.
The air between them changed — charged, magnetic. She caught the scent of him: pine, smoke, something wild underneath. His eyes weren't brown now. They were golden.
Before she could speak, a rustle cut through the trees. A growl — not his.
Luca stiffened, jaw tightening. "Go home. Now."
"Why? What's—"
"Now, Mara."
Her name in his mouth felt like command and warning in one. She turned and ran, not daring to look back until she reached the house. When she did, she caught sight of two glowing shapes darting through the trees.
And from somewhere in the dark, a snarl ripped the night apart.
To be continued.....