Two Moons Over

By Levi Shipley

This is a story about a young man named Cecil, who stumbles upon the affairs of a werewolf organization. The werewolves are people like anyone else, just gifted. And, as it turns out, they have a lot more on their plate than their canine jaws can handle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Levi Shipley
• Release date: Sep 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310577697

Levi Shipley

I am a writer. Not because of my vocabulary or any particular push in that direction. I simply feel like the person I'm meant to be after a good session at the keyboard. Otherwise, just an average person.

Book preview

Two Moons Over

Chapters

The First Night

New World

Chrissenia

Ignorance

Away

Under the Mountain

Reunion

Preparation

Restoration

Protest and Lost

Battle

Battle’s End

Foreword

Dreams are amazing, free, and usually uncontrollable. I think we don’t give ourselves enough credit as far as imagination goes. At least, when we are conscious we don’t. But in the untamed realms of our sleeping minds, imagination is reality. The limits melt away, and we are free from the boundaries we create.

He is young, fifteen to be exact. And he neglected to cut roasting sticks for a bonfire he was hosting, a mistake that would lead him into quite an adventure. Now he must do so in the dark, and at this point he is still rather awkward. In his attempt to gather small limbs, he drops his electric lantern.

The First Night

One

I know I dropped it here. Cecil whispered in search of his lantern. It was a warm night in Appalachia. The forest creatures stirred with vigor as was routine. Yet something was out of place, askew. Cecil could feel a presence in his midst. A sentient one but not malign. He then stumbled over his lamp.

The presence grew closer. It couldn't be a thief. They would have struck by now. He switched on the lamp and shone its light into the blackness. Then a figure stepped from the sylvan shroud, but still it was out of the reach of his light.

Cecil was able to see a silver sheen but was unable to discern what made it. Someone was here, but he dared not come closer. A part of him wanted to see the face, but a greater part held him in place with caution. Cecil had almost broken his nerve and fled. That is when she spoke.

Life is never easy, is it? A power emanated from the soft voice. A power so great that Cecil nearly lost his footing, but he remained upright and awake. He did not, however, have the strength to reply. But there are ways to lessen the load. I’m sure you know of a few yourself, she paused but seemed to know he wouldn’t speak wouldn’t you like to have another way?

Now he was on the spot. Of this he was positive. She wanted a reply, and he better give it. The silver gleam now formed a lengthy dagger in his mind. He thought that later he might feel ashamed for fearing the soft voice of a woman, but later he found that he was justified. He replied, I would like to lessen life’s burdens. Yes.

Then would you accept our power? Will you leave your humanity to walk a different road?

At this point he became certain that he would be attacked, but he also knew his best defense would be to stay calm and play along. After all, this was familiar ground to him. There were no disadvantages for him, except of course not having a weapon. That was a rather great disadvantage. I already walk a separate path. I’m not sure what you’re asking for. He looked upward just briefly.

She began to laugh, I couldn’t ask you to give up your faith. No, this isn’t a matter that should concern you in such a way. A breeze came through and bent the overhead branches. For a moment he saw her face reflected in the moonlight. Cecil saw a wolf. Will you accept?

He was shaken by what he’d seen but dismissed it as his nerves acting up. I accept. This was the only response he thought would be safe, but he saw her lurch forward. He braced for that glint that surely was a stiletto of some sort. It did not come, but she did.

Pain shot through his whole body as she ran her claws down his shoulder. Then the pain stopped, as his body was shocked. He saw no movement come from her. The speed was just too much for his eyes to comprehend. There was no dagger, no thief, but there was a werewolf. She released him and stepped back.

He turned to look at his torn shoulder, but the brutal wound was but a scratch, only deep enough to draw a trace of blood to well above the surface. But that pain was something that he would not soon dismiss like the scratch. The pain was inflicted upon his soul.

She spoke once she saw that his senses were flooding back, Three days from now you shall become one of us, an immortal being. Forget the chains that bind you as a mortal such as sleep and food. You will no longer need them. The fear of injury shall pass, for nor fire nor sword can touch you. Or even bullet or bomb. These things harm that which is mortal, a category you will no longer fit.

Ok, what about the full moon and silver? --Cecil dropped his lantern. He fumbled a bit in retrieving it once more. He picked it up and wiped it of dirt. He switched the power back on, returning the light to pushing away darkness. The full moon . . . . He muttered as he stared into blank nothingness. She disappeared. Ahh well, I better get back home before they start worrying.

Two

He was home, in fact morning had passed already. Cecil awoke with crust in his eyes and a headache. He'd been having rather vivid and unusual dreams of late. Quite like the one he had last night with the werewolf. As he looked back now, he could see himself scratching his shoulder on a thorn branch. Oh, how the mind can play tricks.

Cecil, you better get ready to go to Cathrine's house! His mother broke the quiet arising. She had a way of doing that which no other could match.

Cecil never enjoyed being woken up, especially in summer, or even when he was technically awake already. He managed to clear a congested throat, Alright, Ma. He threw on a few old clothes that were lying about the floor and made his way downstairs. He was greeted by the dark gray of stone and curtained windows. Deer heads decorated the walls and cast shadows of their twisting antlers along the staircase. He passed up the living room, which reeked of an aerosol spray, and into the kitchen.

He ate a small breakfast consisting of a single bowl of cereal and some soda. He never enjoyed breakfast foods, and he would never make Cathrine wait for him. A shower, then he'd be off. Not as simple as he would have it. He was only fifteen, meaning he needed an adult to drive him.

After an eternity of thirty minutes, she too was ready to go. They boarded his mother's pick-up truck. Her truck seemed to sit on stilts, so Cecil jumped. He sat down and cleared his throat, spitting phlegm outside the door. His mother got in, equipped her seat belt, and started up the engine. They embarked for the valley and town.

They arrived at Cathrine's duplex. She, her siblings, and parents resided on the base floor. A hermit Cecil only knew as Steven, lived in the second story. The building as a whole was elaborate and artistic. Well cared for flower beds in the backyard, mahogany shudders and glass sliding doors were among the most noticeable hints of wealth. It was the little things that made it unique. The engravings and gold trim on all the railing, Cuckoo clocks were nestled upon the walls, and even the dogs had automatic feeders.

None of this mattered to Cecil. He was here for Cathrine. They'd been dating for a year, since an Independence Day party at the town hall where Cecil accidentally spilled punch on her dress. By nature he tended to be shy, and he was overcome with terror of rejection. It took a moment of courage, or perhaps stupidity, to convince him to talk to her (also a fair bit of conviction about the dress he ruined). Now he was glad that the moment came. Maybe he was too young to really feel love, but he knew in his heart that someday he would marry this girl. Just being around Cathrine gave him comfort. They were perfect for each other, and people caught that enough that they even told him so.

He rang the doorbell which played some classical music Cecil did not recognize, very eccentric. Her father met Cecil and extended his hand, Ahh, there you are. Come in, please. Even her father liked Cecil. He had no reason not to. Cecil had a reputation as being old fashioned. Adults loved that, but teenagers butted heads with him for it. She's in the living room. He then vanished into the kitchen.

Cecil sat down next to Cathrine on a large, padded couch. I brought your favorite movie.

Did you? She moved her silky brunette hair from her face and met his blue eyes with her green.

Yeah, I had to dig through half a ton of rubble to find it, you know.

She laughed, Yeah, so?

Well, if it weren't one of my favorites, I'd have more to say. He grinned and leaned back in the couch. A crime show was playing on an enormous television set.

Some time passed, and they began watching the movie. A good evening. Cecil couldn't be happier. The movie finally ended with ten minutes before Cecil's mother would arrive. Some couples would make the most of this time especially since the entirety of her family left for ice cream in the middle of the movie, and the thought passed through his mind more than once. But he resisted, as he always did. And not because he wanted to, but because the dread of offending her kept him from trying such a route.

Her cellphone rang. Picking it off the coffee table, she took it into the kitchen. Cecil couldn't hear but instead readied his DVD and made sure not to leave anything else behind.

Then, as Cecil snatched his jacket, Cathrine placed a hand on his shoulder. I have to tell you something. her voice felt empty as it crept into Cecil's eardrums.

Yes? Cecil gave her a goofy smile.

I know what you did with Holly, you bastard. She gave him a hard shove, Get out of my house!

Cecil was frozen. She didn't say that, Huh? You're joking, right?

I don’t know what I saw in you. You’re just like all the others. I guess I used to be an idiot.

Does she really think I cheated? I would never! There must be a reason. Why? Don’t you trust me? I would never do anything to hurt you. This doesn't have to end . . . Panic as helpful as flippers made of lead settled in his mind.

It's over, Cecil. There's nothing you can do. She kept her back to him, not even glancing back to acknowledge him. She ran down the hall which connected to the living room, opened the door to her room, and disappeared within.

A year had just been destroyed. A year of joy and fun times. Stripped away in a flash. Cecil dropped his coat without notice. He was utterly bewildered. He gave her the greater part of his heart, not even his family as a whole had such a possession to boast of. He'd planned his entire future based upon their relationship. He was in for the long run. He felt that his very existence departed. This was a strange world; it was not his. Where had his future gone? The foundations of reality seemed to quake. When he became older, he would understand just how pointless his worry was. But being fifteen makes some aspects of life seem far more important than they really are.

Then he calmed down a bit. The whole thing would blow over when his innocence was proved. Even so, he was taken aback by how quickly she accused him. She had no trust or faith stored away for Cecil. This thought mulled around in his mind until his mother came to pick him off the sidewalk. What was it worth if she’d never trusted him to begin with?

Perhaps there was more to it, he reasoned. What had just taken place proceeded too quickly to be real. No, now he had lost his trust. He began believing that it was she that had something to hide. And to cover herself, placed the blame fully on him. It could be nothing else. What had just taken place would be nonsense otherwise.

You'll get me through this. A mere whisper escaped. Then back to the torment of silence. His thoughts combed over the events which transpired, and it tortured his soul. His brain was fulfilling its purpose of kicking Cecil while he was down.

Well, did ya have fun? She pushed in the gas.

. . . For a while, yes. Cecil did his best to conceal the pain. His mother couldn't understand how she would only worsen the situation, but with her it was guaranteed. Please no follow-up questions. Why did I have to use the words for a while? A simple yes would've been far wiser.

A while?' She paused, Then what?

Cecil wished he wasn't forced to answer. He now hoped that she would simply forget. Was that so much to ask for?

Well? Her tone became sharp, Answer me!

The words came slowly. Piece by piece he beat it out, She . . . left . . . me.

His mother sighed. She swept her eyes across Cecil's. But you were only there a few hours. You must’ve really done SOMETHING! She became more enraged, Ya know what, no, don't tell me what happened. It doesn't matter. Then glared at him, You should've . . . .

Cecil stopped paying attention. He knew that he did no wrong, but her advice felt like criticism and he wished for a silence. Besides, he felt bad enough physically without his mind's and mother's ridicule. I wish this was one of those dreams. If it is, they're becoming nightmares. He never built any reputation of being a heartbreaker or a liar. Why then must she assume it was his fault? His mind had a reason, of course. He had low self-esteem, unhealthily low. He could save the world from the apocalypse, and his mind would still call Cecil a waste of life. All a part of being fifteen.

Three

A new day, another chance. Always pushing forward. Nothing could slow him down, but they sure could keep him grounded. He developed a nasty cough, which assaulted his lungs and clawed at his throat. He had bronchitis before and prayed this was not it. Cecil wished to be rid of it swiftly, yet he knew the hold it had on a person. Weeks, maybe even months, spent enduring the respiratory pain and harsh fatigue. To get better or develop pneumonia. Thoughts such as this disheartened Cecil.

Footsteps and a creak from downstairs.

Cecil, his mother called, I'm sorry about what happened to you yesterday. I just had a long day at work and was upset. I know it wasn’t your fault. You forgive me?

Cecil hated these kinds of apologies. It was understood that nothing had transpired, but sorrys always had to be exchanged. Despite its lack of sincerity, he must let go and be willing to make amends. Yes, it's ok, Ma.

Alright. Good. By the way, you're going to the doctor tomorrow about that cough.

Cecil never cared for doctors, since they're job was to give him grief, or so it seemed to him. He'd once sat for a vaccination that was given to him by a fresh medical student. She missed the vein eight times before hitting it. He had three more shots to get after that first one. The pain of waiting, the annoyances of town, they all filled Cecil with a rage that he kept well. But he must keep going. He was too stubborn to be stopped.

He spent that day resting. To his luck, his father took upon the task of feeding their animals for Cecil. However, the old man was not above criticizing Cecil for skipping chores.

Four

The sun rose early for Cecil. He needed to be on time for his physician's appointment. The means of transportation for the morn would be his grandfather. Cecil prepared and boarded the old man’s SUV set for civilization. They may have spoken more, but Cecil fell unconscious within minutes. The morning never did treat him well. Along the way, he drifted in and out of coherency. He caught only glimpses of trees and their flashing shadows followed by houses and businesses.

He dragged his body from the car and drudged into the facility. Here he would wait for an answer he already knew. He arrived at a quarter past nine in the morning. His appointment was in fifteen minutes, however, Cecil was not taken back until a few minutes after eleven. His frustration grew, and undoubtedly his blood pressure would show this when they tested it.

Another waiting room. This one was smaller, a little warmer, but still doleful. Cecil occupied himself by reading various health and body facts spread throughout the room. Next to the weight scale and exam table hung a stethoscope. I wonder what my heart sounds like. He readied himself to equip the device. After all, a poster on the door stated Be sure and let us know if you've been waiting for more than 10 minutes. How was one to stay busy in such confinement for the hours they spent in anticipation?

As Cecil reached for the tool, his doctor opened the door. Cecil, The old gray hair mumbled what are you in for today? He wore a scuffed and weathered lab coat. The left sleeve was torn at the lining and several buttons were lost on the front. Under this he dressed in a T-shirt and slack pants. His black shoes were tarnished to a point of appearing dark brown. What hair he had to boast was thin and lifeless. His face was marred by liver spots and mutton chop sideburns. Perhaps he descended from Jack the Ripper but took up an opposite career.

Sore throat, cough, fatigue.

Well, let's take a look at your throat. He retrieved a wooden stick from a drawer and promptly placed it on Cecil's tongue. He checked the infection with the customary small flashlight and disposed of the wooden utensil in a biohazard bin. He made some scratches and swipes on a clipboard, before proceeding to the next test. He inserted the ear pieces of the stethoscope under the scraggly hair which erupted from his ears and placed the monitoring instrument on Cecil's upper back. Breathe.

The examination was finished to Cecil's relief. He was sure there would be more than this, a joyful surprise to hear the old doc' read his results so soon. However, the answer itself was far less pleasant. Cecil braced himself for a cold. Nothing but a cold.

It seems you've contracted bronchitis. Now it was over. Cecil had feared this but cared little now. For now he simply wanted to return home, sleep, eat, and maybe cry if he felt up to that. Maybe it would help. But at this point, Cecil believed that there was very little help to be had.

Again, he slept for the ride back. He said his farewells to his grandfather and entered his house through the basement. He fetched a can of soda from the cellar fridge and crept up the steps. Mother may be sleeping; he must be silent. A creek in the floor board.

So wha'd the doctor say? His mother seemed to jump from nothingness.

Bronchitis. Cecil walked past her, opening the carbonated beverage. The taste of citrus and sugar always took away that edge. I'll be fine.

"Drink some orange juice now, while