Blood Moon (Moon Books)

Blood Moon

M.J. O’Shea

Blood Moon

M.J. O’Shea

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2010 by M.J. O’Shea

No part of this e-book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including emailing, printing, photocopying, or faxing without prior written permission from M.J. O'Shea

ISBN 978-1-926830-16-2

Cover Artist: M.J. O’Shea

Dedication

For everyone who wants to believe in impossible things...

Never Again

Fuck.

I couldn’t believe I’d been talked into going back to the lake. Every damn year since I started college I’d promised myself that I’d say no, and every damn year I’d end up in the back of my parents rickety station wagon ‘one last time’ watching civilization dissolve slowly into an endless sea of oppressive vegetation. The deciduous jungle seemed to encroach onto the highway further each season, slowly erasing the signs of humanity and most likely my sanity along with it.

I hated the fact that I was almost a senior in college and I still hadn’t learned how to say no to my mother. I probably wouldn’t have learned to say no to her by the time I was fifty. Mom was a master at getting her way as most mothers are. And in the summer, ‘her way’ was having the entire family together at the lake—no matter how much her stubborn mostly grown son didn’t want to go.

I could barely contain the urge to scream obscenities out loud. I was suffocating, dying...okay I was being a little melodramatic, but Jesus it was hot in that damn car!

I wondered for the millionth time why my parents, who could easily afford a newer car, never got one. They told me that they used the car so rarely, leaving it in a parking garage for most of the year, that it just wasn’t worth it to buy another. It so was. Even some nearly as crappy second-hand model would be fine as long as it had air-conditioning or a back window that actually rolled down.

After a few moments of struggling to dominate the previously mentioned back window that was perpetually stuck, I managed to create a small crack that I could stick my face out of. The air from outside was humid and hot, fetid with the smell of wet leaves and overgrown grass.

The breeze itself was barely a relief at all. If it weren’t for the near-death heat inside the old beast, I wouldn’t have even bothered.

I heaved a sigh and flopped theatrically against the vinyl seat (yeah you heard me right, I said vinyl). I tried to ignore my sister Maya’s jubilant grin and the familiar old strains drifting from the push-button radio. My parents were singing “Puff the Magic Dragon” with Peter, Paul and Mary—a song meant for little kids which had taken on a whole new meaning after a few years of college. An ironic little smile tugged at the corner of my mouth but I stifled it. Not something I wanted to have to explain to my twelve-year-old sister. I saw my mother eyeing me sagely in the rearview mirror.

“You know, Zack, you don’t have to act like we’re dragging you to your execution. We’re on vacation as a family. You can at least pretend to be happy.”

I rolled my eyes. “I just had a bunch of things I needed to take care of in the city this summer.” Total lie, of course, but I could have found something (anything) else to do.

“Like what?”

“Like for classes and stuff.”

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “You didn’t have anything to do except dye your hair again and write more morose poetry. It’ll be good for you to get out of the city, get some fresh air and maybe a little sun. You’re starting to look positively vampirish.”

“Is that even a word?” I was tired of her harping on my newly blackened hair. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Besides it matched my almost permanent mood.

My mother tilted her head to the side. “I’m sure vampirish is a word somewhere. If not, than it should be.” Even I had to crack a smile at that. My mother was constantly making up words. “I’m serious, Zack. You needed to get out of the city. I know it’s not been as fun for you at the lake since No—”

“It’s fine, Mom. New subject. I’m here, aren’t I?” I smiled at her in the mirror. I could tell the subject wasn’t really dropped, just postponed. She knew damn well my smile wasn’t real but it was the best I could do.

My family had been going to the old lake house since I was a kid. I used to look forward to it the entire year. The lake summers of my past were filled with great memories of swimming, fort building, and the easy friendships of youth. That had all changed the summer I was eighteen. I’d hated it there ever since.

All I could see ahead were endless weeks of unhappiness. There was nothing there but trees and birds and memories of a boy who crept into my head when I was least prepared. I pushed my iPod’s earbuds into my ears as far as they’d go and cranked the volume up. There had to be at least two hours to kill before we got to the cabin. I couldn’t deal with any more grilling and I thought I might throw up if I had to listen to my family sing another folk song.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew I was being poked in the side by a very insistent finger.

“Zack! Wake up, snorty. We’re here.”

“Snorty? That’s a new one.”

Maya smothered a giggle. “Yeah, well you didn’t hear the sounds you’ve been making for the past eighty miles. They could probably hear them in the Bronx, but you missed out.”

“Shut up,” I grumbled, but without any heat. I ruffled Maya’s gingery curls so she would know I wasn’t serious. She grinned at me and hopped out of the car, running towards the old cedar shake house that was perched on the side of Harper Lake. It had looked like it was about to keel over for as many summers as I’d been there but I supposed that was part of its charm. I heaved another huge sigh and peeled my sweaty back from the seat of the car, cringing at the wet slurping noise it made. Mine were the only bags left so I struggled them out of the trunk and headed for the house and my usual bedroom, dragging my feet the entire way.

* * * *

It was close to midnight. The air was way too heavy and it was too quiet. Too everything, honestly. I sighed my millionth heavy sigh of the day and admitted to myself that I wasn’t going to fall asleep; I decided I might as well do something rather than just lay there and look at the warped wooden ceiling. Only problem was all my usual distractions were missing: no internet, no video games, no phone or TV. It sucked the big one.

Maybe I need a big one. I smothered a naughty and slightly hysterical laugh.

I had to get out of there but I had nowhere to go. I guessed I could get out of my stifling hot and silent room at least.

I tiptoed to the bathroom and shut the door before turning on the bright fluorescent light. For long minutes I studied myself in the mirror, wondering if what I was feeling was visible. I looked a little paler than usual, the ink-black of my recent hair coloring adventure probably didn’t do much for my skin tone. Other than that I looked disappointingly normal. None of the heartbreak of being there was showing in my face.

I might have looked the same as usual but I felt awful. The memories I’d spent the last three years running away from always seemed to catch up with me in the woods. They had caught up royally already: every tree trunk and rock, my bedroom, the lake; it all reminded me of him.

Damn it!

I couldn’t stand to be inside a second longer, it felt like the walls were strangling me. I had to get out. Careful not to wake up my sister, who I loved to death but had a mouth the size of the Chrysler building, I slid out the door. My mother wouldn’t be pleased with me wandering around in the woods in the dark. Like most born and bread city people she had a healthy fear of things that went bump in the night...at least in the wilderness. Give her a nut job in Times Square any day, she usually said. I’d always liked chirping birds and occasional howl of a coyote. The forest didn’t scare me. The months spent running through the trees were my happiest. At least they used to be.

The night enveloped me the second I stepped out into the trees. As much as I didn’t want to be at the lake again, I had to admit there was something about the place that called me. A sort of magic was there, still lingering from the past.

I’d unconsciously been following the path to the dock where we used to swim and fish for hours until it was so dark we couldn’t even see our hands. I stepped out onto the ancient pilings, comforted by their familiar groaning.

The dock ended about thirty feet out from the shore. I sank down on the end to sit in the same place I’d sat for hours at a time, year after year. Rolling up my jeans and pulling my shoes from my hot feet, I dangled my legs off the edge into the lake. The water was cool and refreshing, relief from the sweaty stillness of the night. It was overcast, but I could see the moon through the clouds in patches.

I lay back on the still warmed wood and wished I could see the stars. Maybe if I could they would be able to give me some answers. I’d sure never been able to figure out on my own why I couldn’t get over him after three long-ass years. It had only been a few kisses after all...well a few kisses and a lifetime of friendship and longing.

I sighed and stared at the perfect blackness of the sky. I’d tried so hard to forget him, dated every guy that paid even the smallest amount of attention to me. I hadn’t wanted any of them. Not even the ones I let into my bed. I’d done it hoping to purge his flavor from my tongue, his voice from my ears, his touch from the surface of my skin. It never worked. Not a single goddamned time.

I sat up and gazed out at the water and the hodgepodge of homes that surrounded it. It was too dark to see, but I knew them all so well I could recite the details from memory. There was a strange mixture of buildings at the lake; little tumbledown cabins mixed with huge well-kept lakeside retreats. And then there was the house I tried not to look at. The one I avoided with my eyes but couldn’t avoid in my mind, the one that...wait a second.

It had a light on!

Could he be home?

I clenched my fists, angry with myself for getting excited over nothing and violently yanked my legs out of the water feeling like a pathetic moron. It wasn’t a mystery why I came out to this damn dock night after night all summer.

Might as well be a stalker. You’re such a loser.

Standing and shoving my wet feet into my Converses, I stomped back to the cabin and forced myself to lie down and go to sleep.

Didn’t work, of course. Anger isn’t exactly the best cure for insomnia. Neither is frustration or the irreparable pain of unrequited love.

I don’t love him! It’s hard to lie to yourself, though. Impossible really. I knew damn well that I did love him. I had for years and as far as I could tell I always would.

I squeezed my eyes shut and thought about calculus, Charles Dickens, ionic compounds, anything that had put me to sleep on a regular basis in class. It must have worked because the next thing I knew the sun was shining brightly through my open curtains and I had to cover my face with my blanket so I could fall back to sleep.

* * * *

Maya came in around nine that morning, bouncing and ready to go. I could tell she’d been waiting for a while and had finally reached the end of her patience. When my eyes opened to find her face only inches from mine, I wanted to groan. I didn’t. It would have hurt her feelings and I’d mainly come to the lake for her. At least I tried to rationalize that my reasons for being there had nothing to do with unrequited love and that big stone house at the end of the lake. Have I mentioned before that it’s hard to lie to yourself? Well, it is.