The Lunar Bound

Lana Thorne hadn't been back to Lakeridge in nearly six years, not since she left for college on the coast. Yet here she was, on a quiet road leading into town, the edges of the forest inching closer to the winding blacktop as if they might swallow her whole if she lingered. The sun had slipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the pine trees that stretched up like skeletal arms against the darkening sky.

She'd hoped for an easier return, something clean and simple-a quick trip to finalize her grandfather's estate, maybe a few days to sort through his belongings and finalize the sale of his property. The house she'd spent so many summers in sat vacant, the mailbox rusting and the lawn grown wild. It would take no time at all, she'd told herself, a day or two at most. Then she could get back to her life in the city.

But the first sign that things wouldn't go as planned came the moment she pulled into town.

The gas station near the outskirts of Lakeridge looked just as she remembered: weathered and worn, its neon lights flickering like they could give out at any moment. A few of the locals milled around in the parking lot, casting sidelong glances her way as she pulled up beside a pump. She couldn't blame them; it was a small town, and unfamiliar faces-or, in her case, forgotten ones-always drew attention.

As Lana stepped out of the car, she heard snippets of a conversation between two men standing nearby, their voices carrying over the hum of the evening.

"Another one last night," one of the men was saying, his voice low, like he was telling a ghost story. "Over near the ridge this time. Poor guy was torn to shreds."

"Don't know why the sheriff hasn't closed off the woods yet," replied his friend, shaking his head. "Ain't normal, the way these bodies keep turning up. What kind of animal does that?"

Lana's hand froze on the gas pump. Torn to shreds? She could feel the edges of a memory tugging at her, something her grandfather used to say about the woods and the dangers lurking within them. But that was years ago, back when she was young and impressionable, and her grandfather's stories were nothing more than a way to keep her from wandering too far into the forest.

Shaking off the uneasy feeling, she focused on filling her tank. She didn't need to get caught up in town gossip. The people of Lakeridge had always been superstitious, prone to stories about ghosts and creatures in the woods. It was one of the things she hadn't missed about this place-the way the townsfolk clung to their folklore, as if it was the only thing keeping them tethered to reality.

Still, she couldn't shake the prickle of unease that settled at the base of her spine.

As she replaced the gas nozzle, a voice called out from behind her. "Lana?"

She turned to see a familiar face-Joan Rivers, her grandfather's old neighbor, clutching a grocery bag to her chest. She was older than Lana remembered, her hair streaked with silver, but her warm smile was exactly the same.

"Joan," Lana said, managing a small smile. "It's been a long time."

"Too long," Joan agreed, her gaze softening as she took in Lana's face. "I was sorry to hear about your grandfather. He was a good man."

Lana nodded, the familiar pang of loss settling over her. "Thank you. I'm just here to sort out the estate, then I'll be heading back to the city."

Joan's face fell slightly, but she nodded. "Of course, of course. Just...be careful, dear. A lot has changed since you were last here." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It's not just the animals you need to watch out for."

Lana felt a chill run through her. "What do you mean?"

Joan glanced around, as if making sure no one else was listening. "People have been...vanishing. Found dead in the woods, like those men were saying. There's something in the forest, something dangerous. I know it sounds crazy, but your grandfather-he knew things, Lana. He knew more than he ever let on."

Before Lana could ask her to explain, Joan gave her arm a squeeze and hurried off, leaving Lana alone with her thoughts. She stood there for a moment, watching the last traces of sunlight disappear behind the mountains, the sky fading into a deep indigo. She'd thought she was coming back to tie up loose ends, to close the door on her past and finally move on. But it was starting to feel like Lakeridge had other plans.

---

The drive to her grandfather's house took her down winding roads and past the familiar landmarks of her childhood. Old stone fences lined the edges of the property, overgrown with ivy and moss. The house loomed ahead, a two-story farmhouse with peeling paint and darkened windows that seemed to watch her as she approached.

She parked her car and climbed out, breathing in the crisp night air. The silence was thick, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind. She could almost hear her grandfather's voice, calling out from the porch, warning her not to stray too far into the woods. He'd been overprotective, always telling her stories about the things that lurked in the shadows, creatures that waited just beyond the trees.

As she unlocked the front door and stepped inside, a wave of memories washed over her. The house smelled faintly of old wood and dust, like it hadn't been aired out in months. She flicked on the light, and the hallway stretched before her, lined with framed photos and artifacts from her grandfather's travels.

The kitchen looked exactly as she remembered it, with its old-fashioned stove and mismatched chairs around the table. She could almost see her grandfather sitting there, sipping his coffee and poring over his journals. She'd always thought he was eccentric, with his strange collections and endless stories about monsters and ancient curses. But now, standing here in his empty house, she felt a pang of regret for not taking him more seriously.

After a quick survey of the downstairs, she headed up to the study, the room her grandfather had always kept locked when she was younger. Now, with his key in hand, she pushed the door open, revealing a space filled with shelves lined with books and stacks of papers, yellowed maps pinned to the walls, and an old desk covered in faded ink stains.

On the desk lay a leather-bound journal, its cover worn from years of use. Lana picked it up, running her fingers over the embossed symbol on the front-a crescent moon with an arrow through it. She flipped it open, skimming through pages filled with her grandfather's meticulous handwriting. Most of it was incomprehensible to her, filled with references to creatures she'd never heard of and rituals she couldn't understand.

But then she found a page that made her pause.

August 15th, full moon tonight. The Moonborn will awaken. They grow stronger with each passing generation, more reckless, more dangerous. We cannot allow them to roam free. The Bound must hold.

Lana's stomach twisted as she read the words. Moonborn? The Bound? Her grandfather had mentioned "the Bound" a few times when she was young, usually in the context of their family's supposed "duty" to the town, but she'd always dismissed it as one of his stories.

Before she could ponder it further, a noise from outside broke the silence-a low, rumbling growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She froze, straining to hear, her heart pounding in her chest. It came again, closer this time, echoing through the night.

Slowly, she moved to the window, her breath catching as she peered out into the darkness. The trees swayed in the wind, casting eerie shadows across the yard. She was about to turn away when she saw it-a pair of glowing yellow eyes staring back at her from the edge of the woods.

Her heart stopped. She blinked, thinking she must be imagining it, but the eyes remained, unblinking, fixed on her with a terrifying intensity. She felt a surge of fear, followed by an inexplicable pull, as if something was calling to her, urging her to step outside.

The creature shifted, moving slightly forward, and she caught a glimpse of its form-a massive, wolf-like figure, its fur dark and sleek, muscles rippling beneath its skin. It looked almost human, standing upright on hind legs, but its face was all animal, its jaws parted in a silent snarl.

Lana stumbled back from the window, her mind racing. This couldn't be real. Werewolves were just stories, myths her grandfather had spun to keep her from wandering too far from home.

But as the growl echoed through the night once more, she knew, deep down, that this was no story.

Whatever her grandfather had been protecting Lakeridge from, whatever he'd dedicated his life to fighting-she was staring right at it.