Prompts by HB - 4. Prompt #559

Prompt #559 – List of Words: Pine tree, toy soldier, a book, a full moon, and a blanket.

I am a creature of the night. I mean, I’m not a vampire or anything. I just really like the night. It’s quiet. Everyone’s gone to bed, and I’m all alone in the world. There’s no need to talk to anyone because there’s no one around to talk to. Perfect.

One of my favorite things to do at night is to drive out into the vast wilderness that lies beyond the boundaries of my small town. There are turnoffs from the main two-lane highway onto little gravel roads that end in makeshift parking lots. During the day, there are always some cars parked there as people hike in the woods. At night, the lots are empty and all mine.

I love to stare up at the stars outside of town, daydreaming—or more accurately, night dreaming—about the characters living in my head and the book they want me to write. When they finish telling me their stories, I go home, type them all out, and then crawl into bed just as the sky starts to turn pink with the new sun.

Tonight was no different, really, except for the giant full moon that hung in the sky, its brightness expected to outshine everything but the North Star. I’m not a superstitious person; for me, it’s just a cool-looking moon. But social media had been all abuzz about it, with people talking about planets moving through phases and driving energy fluctuations and other such words that sounded like English but meant nothing to me. Me? I just wanted to see the moon.

Apparently, other people wanted to see the moon, too. Because as I headed west out of town, I found the road was busier than usual, filled, I assumed, with people in search of a dark patch of night. Great, just what I want: people.

When I pulled onto the gravel road that led to one of my favorite stargazing spots, I could already see a few cars parked up ahead of me. A handful of people were milling around, waiting for the moon to show up. Just a handful of people, really, but a handful too many for my liking.

I turned my car around.

About a half mile farther down the highway was another turnoff, one usually blocked off with a simple chain and a “No Trespassing” sign. Tonight, the chain and the sign were missing. I don’t even know how I saw that they were missing, really, such a small thing to notice in the rapidly fading dusk.

My car slowed as it approached the gravel road even as I told myself that a missing chain didn’t amount to an invitation to enter. But there were so many people out tonight, I thought. And they’ll have taken over all the best spots. Just this once, I reasoned. I won’t go too far, just enough to be out of sight of the main highway. And I won’t stay long—maybe just an hour once the moon comes out.

The gravel road had the same construction as all the other gravel roads in the area, and the surrounding woods looked no different, either. But the second my car passed where the old chain once hung, the air changed. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I swear it was different; the air buzzed, and every breath I took felt like a sip of bubbly champagne. That should’ve been my first sign that there was something strange about this place, but I kept driving.

The road was short and emptied into a small graveled lot, thankfully empty of other visitors. Perfect. Climbing out of the car, I grabbed a blanket from the back seat before heading toward a worn footpath at the far end of the lot.

I’m not sure why I did that; I usually just lie down on the hood of my car rather than wander off into the woods. But there was something else compelling me tonight, something pushing me forward with an urgency that kept me from asking too many questions.

Beyond the tree line, it grew dark, and there was a slight chill in the warm summer air. The pine trees gave off a wonderful fresh scent, reminding me of Christmas, despite it being many months away. The path was relatively easy to follow, even without the light of the moon, and my footsteps were the only sound that rang in the stillness.

I’m not sure how long I walked. My mind had drifted elsewhere, not thinking about anything in particular, no characters demanding attention in my head. Just walking. Fresh, bubbly air. Quiet shuffle of my shoes against the dirt.

I came upon the clearing unexpectedly, distracted as I was with the steadiness of my walking. It didn’t look natural—too big and too perfectly round. The second sign that something was off, but it didn’t seem to bother me. Instead, I walked straight to the middle of the clearing, across the thick, lush grass that covered the ground, and spread my blanket out to lay down.

The moon was just about to make its appearance. I could see teasing bits of glowing orange peek out from behind the layers of clouds. They looked like curtains in a stage theatre, rippling right before they opened to reveal the star of the show.

As the clouds cleared, the air felt buzzier, and the fresh smell of pine grew stronger. My mind was empty of all the characters who normally chat nonstop in my head. The only thing I could see, the only thing that concerned me, was the moon—big, bright, almost close enough to touch. Beautiful.

It felt like the moon was singing to me. I know that’s not possible, and I didn’t actually hear any discernable notes. But I felt the music resonate inside me, like a long-forgotten melody I couldn’t sing but would recognize upon first hearing. It was coming from the moon; I was sure of that.

The moon lulled me into a trance-like state; I’d shut my eyes and listen to the music for a while, then open them again to gaze upon the big orange beauty. As the night wore on, the moon traveled from one end of the clearing across the middle and toward the other side. I followed it with my eyes—with my heart—content to simply be in its presence.

It was nearing the far side of the clearing when I opened my eyes again—and froze. Above me, just inches from my face, were two glowing amber eyes. Intelligent and self-aware, they studied me as I held my breath and stared back.

The eyes belonged to a wolf, a massive grey wolf, which stood over me as its ears pivoted around to catch the faintest sounds from beyond the clearing. I could hear nothing else but the thumping of my heart, so loud that it drowned out everything, even the faint song of the moon.

Then the wolf huffed, and I barely kept myself from jumping when it’s warm breath, smelling of pine trees, blew across my face. The wolf didn’t seem impressed with me. At least, that’s the sense I got from the way it tossed its head back and trotted toward the trees.

Right before it reached the tree line, it turned and looked directly at me, those amber eyes piercing. Then it howled into the night sky. It was the same song that the moon sang; I recognized it in my soul. When the wolf disappeared into the darkness, the smell of pine dissipated and the fizzy quality of the air stilled. The music fell silent, and when I turned back to look at the moon, the curtain of clouds was slowly descending over the bright orange glow.

Blinking, I suddenly realized that I’d been lying there for the better part of the night. The dampness of the grass had soaked through the blanket, and I shivered with a chill that was only marginally due to the temperature.

As I stood to leave, I notice a little plastic object lying next to me. The wolf had left it for me, I could tell, because when I picked it up, I could hear the song of the moon, smell the scent of the pines, and feel the bubbling fizz of the air.

My fingers traced over the bumps and edges of the little toy soldier, a game piece from some war-themed board game. I glanced up at the spot where the wolf had disappeared into the forest. I couldn’t see anything there, but I knew the wolf was watching me. I could feel it.

Was I supposed to take the toy? The little plastic piece hummed in affirmation against my palm. Okay. I’d take it. What I’d do with it, I had no idea. But who was I to question the moon?

The walk back to my car was far quicker than my initial walk into the woods. In the driver’s seat, I looked at the toy again under the weak interior lights of the car, and I could see that the plastic bore the marks of years of careless abuse. Whatever its significance, I had to admit that the toy was special because, as I followed the gravel road back out, I could still hear the faint melody of the moon singing to me.

By the time I turned onto the main highway, heading back home, the sky was brightening with the return of the sun. And still the melody played.