Hidden Moon

by K. R. Thompson

  I didn’t tell Adam that I knew what had happened. I was ready to try to forget about all of it, even if my subconscious wouldn’t let me. Night after night I woke in a cold sweat, feeling as if the walls were closing in on me. I couldn’t even sleep with covers on. It felt as if they were choking and trying to drown me.

  The nightmares eased up a little after I got to go home and life started going back to normal. Adam reluctantly started setting up for the Powwow with Rune and the others after school. But on evenings he didn’t come to see me, I began visiting Penny as she worked the gift shop. She always kept me up to date on each day’s happenings and filled me in on what was happening with the Powwow. On one visit, I found her working on a dress.

  “I will be one of the dancers at the Powwow,” she told me, as she threaded beads on the leather strips.

  I knew I wouldn’t be a dancer, but it was then that I got the weird idea to search the upstairs attic for a dress to wear to the Powwow. After all, my grandmother was Cherokee. I might find something pretty cool up there.

  Or I could just borrow one from Penny, I thought, as part of me tried to persuade myself that I didn’t want to go poking around in a dusty, old attic that no one had been in since before my great-grandma had died.

  But the thought of an unexplored section of house had me reaching for the little loop of string that would pull down the small, rickety wooden steps and lead me up into the unknown. I wasn’t sure why I thought there should be something in the attic, it just felt like there was something up there for me to see. That feeling had me tugging on that string harder than I needed to.

  The old steps groaned as they stretched down to me and made rather scary cracking noises under my weight as I climbed up and stuck my head directly into a huge cobweb.

  “Ew,” I squealed as I batted at the sticky mess that covered my head like a shroud.

  Still whacking at my hair, I took a step back and slipped backwards, landing flat on my back looking up at the ceiling. With a disgusted snort, I sat up and decided to look around while still sitting before I got up and accidentally killed myself by some other unknown peril.

  The small windows at either end of the attic let in surprising amounts of sunlight. Dust motes swirled and sparkled around in the air giving the area a feeling of enchantment. Huge pieces of sheet-covered furniture loomed above me. With the sun shining behind them, it gave the appearance of giant white ghosts, with subtle hints of skeletal wooden bones beneath their thin coverings.

  Getting slightly unnerved by my own imagination, I stood up and started jerking the sheets off, uncovering a large desk, and a big oval mirror. In an attempt not to die of dust inhalation, I quickly jerked the collar of my sweatshirt over my nose, as clouds of dust rose around me in puffs for what seemed like forever. Figuring I was going to die if I didn’t get oxygen soon, I hurried over to the far side of the attic and took a deep breath, let go of my shirt and yanked the window open.

  Clean, crisp air flooded in, and in seconds the dust settled, and I took a better look around. It wasn’t all that crowded for an attic. I had expected piles of boxes, crates and mountains of ancient garbage to surround me, but there really just wasn’t much there. A rickety old rocking chair sat nearest me, not far from the window. The opposite wall was clear all the way to the mirror, where a couple of large trunks sat in front of it.

  I walked slowly over to them, even though the dust seemed to have completely dissipated. Sitting in front of the first one, I flipped the latch, and the lid swung up all on its own, as if it had waited for me to free it. Frowning, I looked behind it, searching for springs that must have popped it open. The only thing I saw were tarnished brass hinges.

  “Weird,” I muttered to myself, eyeballing the trunk carefully before getting the courage to peek inside.

  It was a treasure trove. An old family album sat on the very top. Forgetting my earlier caution, I dove in, got the old book out and started flipping through. The first page was a picture of my great-grandparents. They stood in front of the steps of the house. Neither smiled as they stood stiffly side by side, staring at the photographer. My grandpa was tall, yet trim. His white hair had been brushed straight back from his forehead, leaving his face open. I stared at him closely, wondering what he had been like. I had never met him and the picture didn’t give away any details as to his personality. He seemed to stare straight back at me from the album. I turned my attention to the slight woman, whose head only came to her husband’s shoulder. My grandmother’s salt and pepper hair was pulled back into a loose knot at the back of her head. She, like her husband, stared solemnly at the camera.

  “Geez,” I said to myself as much as to the picture, “I’m glad we don’t do pictures like that anymore.”

  A tiny sound that sounded like soft laughter, barely registered in my brain, as a soft breeze blew through the open window. Jumping nearly out of my skin, I snapped the album shut and looked around, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

  “You’re nuts. There isn’t anyone up here but you,” I warned myself, setting the old book down beside me, as I reached back into the trunk. I pulled out a few old books and stacked them on the album, and sorted through a few odd trinkets, before my fingers felt the crinkled paper-covered bundle.

  I took it out and unwrapped layer after layer of the yellowed, old paper until I felt something soft. A beautiful white buckskin dress lay folded in my hands. I got up and let it unfold in front of me. Small blue and black beads decorated the long strands of leather around the neck and the hem of the dress. Nearly giddy with excitement, I peeled off my sweatshirt, and kicked my jeans off, then pulled the soft buckskin over my head.

  I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. It fit perfectly. The wind blew thru the window, causing the old rocking chair to creak as it rocked.

  Across from the chair, something at the corner of the wall glowed. I spun around, half-expecting everything to change, but the chair still rocked, more rhythmically, creaking and groaning, and the small patch of wall still glowed. Cautiously, I walked over to inspect it closer, and saw that it was a small part of the paper that covered the wall that had come unglued, and whatever lay beneath the ancient, crinkled paper was what was glowing in a faintly-tinged blue light.

  I don’t know why I did it, when my subconscious was screaming to run back downstairs to safety, but I reached down and pulled the corner of the paper. It turned like a giant page of a book and I stood looking at a wall that looked like glassy, blue water. I reached out and touched it, expecting my finger to come away wet from the liquid wall. Small ripples spread where I had touched, then they flashed, and I watched as the kitchen downstairs was replicated on the wall in front of me.

  My great-grandmother stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, washing dishes. She was older than in the picture, her body was more stooped and her movements were slow and rigid. She hummed softly to herself as she worked. She stopped suddenly, and turned slowly to face something that I couldn’t see.

  “For being as old as you are, you still haven’t learned manners. I don’t recall hearing you knock.” Her sharp, keen eyes seemed to stare directly at me.

  My mouth dropped open and no sound would come out, which ended up being a good thing as the scene continued to unfold before me without any help on my part.

  “When one’s door is opened, one should have no need to announce her presence, especially amongst friends.” The musical voice like raindrops echoed in the attic as I watched Wynter come into view.

  “Hmph. Friends, is it?” My grandmother’s dark eyes hardened and narrowed to slits. “What is it you want?”

  “Your grandson and his family. They have a hand in destiny. You must call them here soon.” Wynter looked at the old woman sadly. “Their presence is required.”

  “I’ll not be calling them here for the likes of you. I don’t owe you anything, and I won’t have you interfering…”she broke off in a cough that doubled her over, her hand on her chest. />
  “Your time is nearly come. I could ease the pain, should you only ask.” The offer came with a slight shrug.

  “I don’t need you or your magic. Whatever it is you’re wanting, you won’t be getting it from me or my family. We owe you nothing and we never will.” Fury etched in the deep lines of my grandmother’s wrinkled face. “Get on out of here!”

  Wynter sighed, then turned her giant blue eyes to stare out of the wall directly at me. “She has come before, she will come again. I cannot stop her. There is only one who can. I hope she makes haste.”

  Thousands of tiny electric currents seemed to run over the surface of my skin, and something furred seemed to slide along my bones as something awakened from deep inside me. My body shook harder, and I caught my reflection in the mirror as a sparkling, iridescent white mist hovered around my body. I fought as I felt my bones shift, as muscles tried to realign, pain seared through every nerve ending.

  I fought the urge to scream as panic rioted through my body, as something so not me tried to take over. A low growl tore from my lips, and I watched as the mist covered me, and a single thought from the animal inside me whispered in my mind,

  I am White Wolf.

  If you enjoyed this first book of the Keeper Saga, you won’t miss Nikki, Adam, and the Keepers as they go on their next adventure. Discover what happens in…

  Once Upon a Haunted Moon

  Book 2

  The Keeper Saga

  Read on for an excerpt—

  ONE

  Stryker’s Pass, Southwest Virginia

  October 7, 1765

  Her name had been Ella. Such a long time ago. But that was before she became nameless.

  Before the Fire Witch came.

  She shivered in spite of the heat from the nearby wagon. Flames licked at the hem of her calico dress.

  The wagon burst into flame as something exploded and shoved a massive heat wave against her tiny body. Scorched bits of canvas flew over her head, floating like pitiful flags of surrender. Her cap flew off her small, blonde head, the wind blowing it end over end — a circle of seemingly impossible, pristine white that soon was engulfed in a choking mass of smoke.

  She heard the screams. Hundreds of thousands of piercing cries that seemed to echo over and over, back and forth in her head. Pleading cries for mercy, of anger, of pain…a tiny part of her tried to reason against the multitude of voices, the shrieks and groans that seemed to go an eternity. After all, hadn’t there only been thirty-five people in their wagon train? Surely, it shouldn’t take so long to die.

  A blast of wind sent putrid smoke flooding through her nostrils, and she gasped, breaking free of the trance that held her fast. It was then the smoke parted in a small path, as if in a bow to its master. Her blue eyes widened, and while a small part of her mind registered the deafening roar of flames, the sudden absence of scream, there was a dull feeling of certainty that she was alone, and that she knew what was coming next…

  She had always known. It was that feeling you got sometimes a moment before something happened that should take you by surprise, but didn’t, because you knew it was going to happen. Not everyone could do it, her little brother Billy, and her papa couldn’t. But she’d always known things. Her mama always knew things, too…like when she was going to get sick, or her papa was going to bring home game from hunting. Papa had always grinned at them, and told her and Mama they were “canny” and “good at guessing.” She wondered why they hadn’t seen this coming, this gruesome, hot death at the end of a journey that had promised to be so rewarding. A new world, free for the taking for those courageous enough to seek it, who knew that courage would have been their undoing.

  What she hadn’t known was that the woman who stepped through the walls of smoke was Death — and that she was beautiful. Firelight glinted of perfect, white skin, and long red hair — the color of blood, streamed back from a heart-shaped face. Ella had almost decided that this woman was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. Even more beautiful than Mama…until those huge, black eyes of Death stared at her. They were eyes that didn’t have any bottoms, like still, dark water.

  And they tried to pull her under.

  “Come to me, child,” the Fire Witch said in a musical voice that sounded like raindrops, and a smile that should have coaxed, showed sharp, bloodstained teeth instead.

  Ella felt the pull of the Fire Witch’s eyes, drawing her closer. She pushed back, shaking her head emphatically, wisps of blonde hair stinging her eyes.

  “No,” she said in a small, shaking voice, and started to back away slowly, her blue eyes locked on the black ones that bore into hers and continued their pull on her. She felt the drag of power, and she gasped, feeling as if she were drowning within herself, into the impossible, endless ocean that made an eight-year-old girl. She heard herself scream, a pitiful, raspy sound, full of smoke.

  “Ellie?” A tiny voice trembled from its hiding place near the trees, bringing her back to the surface just as her curly-headed little brother toddled into view, wielding a branch that was nearly as big as he was, a ferocious scowl on his determined little face.

  “No, Billy! Run!” Ella shrieked at him, and watched in horror, as he stopped and stared at her for a full second, bottom lip quivering, then dropped his branch and darted back into the shadows of the trees.

  “Touching,” the Fire Witch sneered, “But you shan’t save him, any more than you shall save yourself.”

  Ella turned to follow her brother, stopping just long enough to snatch the sycamore branch he had dropped. A cold hand gripped her shoulder, spinning her around so fast her vision blurred and her neck threatened to snap. Somehow, she brought the ragged, sharp edge of the branch up and shoved with every last bit of strength she had, and was rewarded with a sickening crunch that jarred her hands so hard they numbed.

  The sound that came next was like nothing Ella had ever heard before. A shriek, a howl, a gurgling scream of hatred all mingled and washed over the little girl in a wave so strong that she turned loose of the branch that had pierced the Fire Witch’s side, and clapped her hands over her ears, shutting her eyes as tight as she could against the nightmare that stood inches from her.

  Then Ella died.

  The feeling of weightlessness felt odd, she thought, as she felt the air whoosh against her stinging face. Yes, it was odd, she decided, but then, she’d never been an angel before. She supposed it would take some getting used to.

  The fact that she hadn’t at all died, but only had been backhanded by the furious Fire Witch and sent flying through the air, hit her when she tasted the coppery tang of blood that filled her mouth. That was a split second before she landed in the underbrush at the edge of the forest.

  She lay dazed for a few seconds, her vision doubled. She struggled to her knees, ignoring the pain that shot through her tiny frame. The world spun once she tried to stand, so she dropped back to her knees until her vision cleared, then dared to look back at the Fire Witch, who had quieted.

  A dozen or more crows circled the Fire Witch, flitting amongst the flames like black demons. The sycamore branch still pierced her body like an arrow, and the Fire Witch turned to and fro, as if trying to figure out how such a thing had happened. Each time she touched the branch, she’d scream as if burnt.

  Ella hoped her crows would eat her, and that the branch was stuck in her for forever. Even though the Fire Witch appeared to have forgotten her, Ella crawled on her hands and knees through the thorns and bushes, and into the dark shadows of the forest.

  A few moments later, she heard the sound of a little boy who had come once more to the clearing to save his big sister, “Ellieee!”

  A shrill scream echoed through the trees seconds later, and crows filled the dark sky. She didn’t remember how long she had lain in the hollow log, or how she had even gotten there, but she remembered crying for what seemed forever. Knowing there was no one left to go back to, she stood, and after a few wobbling steps, ran deeper into the shad
ows of the forest, wondering if there was anyone left in the world, or if the Fire Witch had taken them all.

  About the Author

  K.R. Thompson was raised in the Appalachian Mountains. She resides in southwestern Virginia with her husband, son, three cats, and an undeterminable amount of chickens.

  An avid reader and firm believer in the magic of books, she spends her nights either reading an adventure or writing one.

  She still watches for evidence of Bigfoot in the mud of Wolf Creek.

  Stay up to date on all of her newest releases on her website:

  http://authorkrthompson.wix.com/thekeepersaga

  And on Facebook:

  http://www.facebook.com/thekeepersaga

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  Excerpt: Once Upon a Haunted Moon

  About the Author