This is Chapter 1 of the Cranberry Moon Empire, written by J. A. Jupiter
“What is that unusual sound in our place?” I ask my fiancé, Newton. My head tilts sideways, trying to locate that subtle buzzing sound
It’s early Friday morning, and we are both in the living room, getting ready for the day. Newton tucks his presentation notes into his company-branded bag.
“I didn’t hear any unusual sound,” he says.
He zips up his navy blue bag.
“How could you have not?” I ask. My voice is both filled with exasperation and sweetness. I am trying hard to mask the tension that wraps around you when so much is going on, and you can’t figure it out.
“CB, Kate,” he calls me. He usually calls me that when he is swamped and irritated. My family and friends simply call me CB.
I kindly glare at him.
“CB, you are extremely beautiful, way more intelligent than you know, you are still also very young, but if you don’t stop this nasty habit of analyzing every cry, holler, and scream, you are going to have a breakdown,” he says, raising his voice.
Sometimes those
that are the closest to us can’t see us.
I am bordering on my late 20’s, so that doesn’t qualify me to be very young. Personally, I was hoping for a breakthrough, not a breakdown, but what do I know?
Newton, who has a beautiful face and alluring eyes is here, but he is never really here. I can’t deny that he has a pretty face, pretty cool job, and I espcially like it when he tells everyone that he has a pretty or even gorgeous girlfriend.
He often calls lots of things pretty, but I wonder what is underneath all that pretty stuff of his.
Newton hurriedly throws the thick strap of his bag over his shoulder.
“CB, the only sound I heard is my reminder notification going off, telling me that my carpool ride is going to be pulling up on our driveway any second,” he says. He reaches for the golden handle of his suitcase. His face carries more weight than his entire luggage.
I huff, muttering.
“I am certain that was not your phone reminder but was a strange sound that anybody else who lives here should have heard.”
Newton gives me a glance. “I heard every bit of that,” he says in a flat tone.
“One of these days, I should challenge you to write down the sounds you hear just for a minute. That is if you can,” I mutter.
“A sound challenge?” he asks a bit incredulously.
“Yea, a sound challenge. The sounds you hear around you.”
He shakes his head and scoffs and says,
“A sound challenge?”
“Does this mean you are going to take the challenge?”
“Of course, I will take it. In fact, let’s start now,” he commands.
“I hear the sound of you talking,” he says.
“Actually, that’s you talking Newton,” I say, correcting him.
He shakes his head, bites his lip, and breaks a slight smile.
“CB, I am sorry. It’s just that sometimes I just get caught up in things I can’t control,” he says.
I glance at him, a little disappointed.
“I get you want me to be serious about this,” he says.
“That would really help,” I respond.
“There is the sound of residual water dripping in the shower,” he says.
“There are the groovy, morning music beats from my half-worn earbuds,” he says.
“Good ones,” I say.
“Look, CB, I will finish this off and send you a list before the weekend is over,” he says, taking my hand.
I look at him not wanting to shout, but…
I burst out
“Newton, I know you have a ton on your mind, especially after you revealed to me the devastating news concerning your parents and your baby sis––”
“I beg you not to throw those words around so lightly,” he snaps.
His face springs into a melancholy sadness.
In fact, I would appreciate it if you don’t bring this up to me ever again.”
He pauses and then continues,” I don’t want people in my circle to know about this. It’s painful news and a cryptic secret that I must bear.” speaking every word as if someone just ripped his heart out.
Nodding my head, I try to understand what he has gone through and is going through but that doens’t excuse him. I calmly look into his eyes, and they soften. There is a dreamy wistfulness in them, but he is quick with armoring it with practicality.
He strolls to the front door and swings it wide open. As soon as he steps out on the brick porch, he turns back and walks inside the house, saying he forgot to grab the gift I wrapped for him.
He proceeds to the living room to get it.
Another buzz sound vibrates in the air.
This time it is softer, kind of like a murmuring buzz.
I run out the door, hoping that the sound I heard was coming from the outside. But, after all, it sounded like it was coming down from the roof of the house.
As I step out into a short grassy patch of the yard, I can hear people walking and talking on the trail across from our cottage.
Our cottage perches on a small hill surrounded by patches of Pacific dogwoods, Oregon ash, cottonwoods, and assorted evergreens, which all run along to the turnoff from the main paved road.
The house where we live in is next to at least 200 trails, running through thick bushes and forests. The road just outside of our home runs through the woods and ends at a mysterious warehouse in the town of Alcove.
If you know the shortcuts, you can get anywhere in this town from the very many trails.
Most of the people use one of the three pathways or the main paved road through the woods. However, since I began walking in this new town, I have started to get acquainted with the maze of trails.
The main paved trail
has no name but a square and an eye symbol, which I have dubbed as the Square Eye Trail.
Most people in town just call it “the main road.” The Square Eye Trail is the widest trail but narrow. The road allows a decent-sized truck to drive through and only lets your turn around on it if you are perfect behind the wheel.
Below the Square Eye Trail are three bushy trails numbered DE 85, DE 90, and DE 70, all of which forks, curve, swerve, to a smaller path that eventually crisscrosses to the Square Eye Trail.
On the thin dirt trail of DE 70, there is usually steady foot traffic and occasional chatter mouths; however, I don’t recall hearing loudmouths this early hour of the morning.
Instead, a girl with a decadent voice is trumpeting a chant along with one of the trails leading to the Square Eye trail.
I slow my steps passing by the cranberry vine that Mrs. Bear, my neighbor, gave me to plant. She even made a cranberry bed with gravel, clay, and peat just for that berry.
It sits well next to the green ferns that grow wild in the Pacific Northwest.
Mrs. Bear told me that her particular red and purple cranberry plants would do best under full sun, near mossy tree stumps, and ferns, which Mrs. Bear refers to as feathery plants.
Full sun in this shady region of the Northwest?
Hmmm!I don’t think so, but I am trying to make the best of this new place.
As I move
past a mossy tree stump and approach the row of lady ferns to listen to the prowler, the ferns sway back and forth as if someone deliberately flipped the long leaves upside down.
I glance at the base of the autumn touched ferns. Right by the bottom of the fern leaves, a wood chip trail is going towards Newton’s raised garden bed. On the wood chips, clusters of brown-capped mushrooms are emerging.
A pair by themselves looks like Siamese twins, conjoined at the lower stems and abutting each other on their heads. Stylishly, they pose, and in a puff, the two of them explode, blowing smoky spores into the air.
I step back, my hands bracing against my chest, as there were liquid-like faces on the spores for a second, and then the faces disappeared into the ground below the ferns.
“It’s close to Halloween time, and even nature has a few tricks up her caps. But that is one freaky trick, even for a pair of mushrooms. An outlandish mushrooms explosion,” I mutter as I turn my head towards the girl on the trail who is still repeating the chant.
“Moonless nights are our nights. Moonless nights are good nights.
They are coming for you.
They are coming for you, no matter where you go hiding.”
As soon as I hear those words, I fret from the bottom of my heart…
I don’t need another validation, but
I get another one, affirming that moving to this town has been the biggest mistake of my life.
The sun has not broken through the early morning gray-blue skies; however, I can navigate without difficulty since I know my bearings in this new place.
I run from the front yard of the house and reach the wooden bridge.
The bridge connects our front yard to the Square Eye Trail, and the Square Eye Trail forks to the dirt trail, DE 70, where I hear the same woman as earlier. I lean over the side of the bridge and squint to get a better look. I get a peek of her between the gaps of the Grand fir tree trunks. She is parading on the trail, wearing knee-high boots and a pink jacket.
Leaning far over the bridge, my mouth is wide open.
I am in a sleeveless top and black pants. A breeze hits me, and I inhale the frosty cold air, swallowing it. It tickles my throat as it goes down into my lungs, making me quiver.
My soft ivory arms, pops with a thousand goosebumps all over them. I rub my arms for warmth and then lean my head towards the prowler’s direction.
She now has company.
There is a man behind her, mumbling to her. They have both jumped off DE 70 and gotten on another trail, DE 85 Trail, a narrow paved trail that zigzags directly in front of our house. If you step a foot over the edge of DE 85, you will find yourself in a ditch. If you head straight, you will find yourself in an evergreen tangle of shrubs.
She heads straight, continuing her chant, “Moonless nights are our nights.”
She pauses and then continues. “Moonless nights are good nights. They are coming for you. On moonless nights, they are coming, they are coming, they are coming for you.”
Newton stomps
on the bridge, making a loud thud with every step. Sometimes I wish his feet were quieter and his mouth louder.
He stands next to me and then shuffles in front of me, hiding me with his lean body.
I can feel the warmth of his muscular body against my shoulder. The girl is still chanting. We both turn our heads towards the direction of the unexpected visitors.
The girl is well proportioned; her long pink jacket hugs her body. On her head is a red cap with a headlamp, beaming with a soft glow.
She is waltzing down the trail, and the guy behind her is trying to catch up.
She turns her head in our direction. The light from her headlamp shines directly at Newton.
“Hey man, what are you standing there looking at me for?” she asks with a slight accent.
Newton’s face held an expression of surprise.
“I don’t bite, at least not in the way you think,” she teases, letting out an exuberant laugh.
The guy behind her catches up with her. I can see his face better than her’s. There are a few wrinkles stamped on his forehead. He is tan, shorter than her, and speaks in a low, commanding voice.
“This operation is not going as well as I would like.Now let’s get back to the facility. We have many tests to run before nightfall.”
The man following her glances in my direction and then speaks, “I take a look at you, and all I see is trouble ahead.”
Who was he speaking to? Me, her, or did he hear the sounds that Newton didn’t hear?
As he continued speaking, there are these faint crinkle sounds that I can’t make out and sound as if they are coming from the fern and mushroom patch.
I know neither the ferns nor the mushrooms make that kind of noise. So it’s got to be those prowlers making that noise. Unless it is something else.
I turn around and look at Newton and say, “Great! First, there is an unusual sound.
Now, a woman is prophesying
about moonless nights, and now a guy is talking about an operation, all in the vicinity of this house. What does this all mean, Newton?” I ask, feeling worse than I did just a few moments ago when I was bothered by the buzzing sound.
“My beautiful CB,” he calls me, with a slight sensitivity in his voice. I look into his eyes as he speaks.
“Look, CB, there are some people in town you have to ignore. I must say she is probably one of them.”
“I don’t know, Newton. Seconds ago, your face conveyed an element of surprise. A face that made me question more about how much you really know about Alcove, this small town.”
“Maybe, Newton, she is giving a warning. To be frank with you, I felt strange about this town since I first drove past the sign that says, “slippery dip.”
“CB, I have been living here longer than you and––”
The loudmouth on the trail starts talking, and Newton quickly hushes.
“Ready or not, avatars, they are in your neighborhood, and they will come to you,” she says with enthusiasm.
“This doesn’t sound like the type of news to dismiss!” I exclaim to Newton.
Just then, the grinding noise from an engine of an old car pulls up on our driveway.
Chapter 2
What is lurking in Alcove, Oreon?