The Child of the Moon

Chapter One

1.
Snap.
Another twig cracks as I lift my foot up to take a step. The woods surround me, under the cosmos and stars. The branches reach out, with their sharp edges, poking me every time I shift into a different position. The ground is scattered with twigs and sticks of all kind. The moon shines bright onto my face, giving me a light to guide me through the darkness. The trees' leaves have dispersed all over the dirt. The amount of grass is almost minuscule.
My head hangs low, and I try to process what I'm doing here. I don't remember wandering into the woods. My chest expands and decreases quickly, along with my breathing. I can't even recall what I'm running from.
I lift my head up, and attempt to find a path to lead me out of here, but when I search, my eyes focus on a figure instead of a path. I inch backwards, and more sticks snap under my feet. I raise my hands in front of my face for defense and trip back against a tree.
The figure seems to be... glowing? It moves towards me, into the moonlight. It's wearing a bright, yellow robe that collapses at its knees. The edges have live, orange flickers that give the effects of flames. It has the hooded part of the robe laying over its head. It also has bright yellow shorts and and t-shirt that is similar to the robe under it. The figure's skin is tan and the body shape definitely means they're human.
They come closer to me and lift the hood, revealing a male teenager. He has golden hair and perfect teeth, which makes me jealous. He gives me a concerning look and stares right into my eyes.
He whispers my name, and I hug the tree even tighter, "Cynthia," His glare is deep and can be horrendously terrifying if you stare into it too long, "you need to listen to me. You are going to wake up in a few minutes, maybe less, so you need to listen."
Wake up? Am I dreaming?
Three more figures appear behind the boy. I can't make out their facial features. They are standing in the tenebrosity of the trees. The boy steps even closer, which makes me only three feet away from him.
I grip onto the bark. I feel the sweat dripping down my back and my throat grows dry. My hands start shaking and are on the edge of sticking onto the wood.
The male continues his speech, "You've always woken up before we've been able to tell you this, so hopefully this time you'll be awake enough to be able to hear-"
"Just get to the point, Phoebus!" One of the shadows shout at the young teen. It sounds like a young female who isn't too happy.
The male shrugs and then turns back to me. He waves his hands around when he talks, "Right, right. You need to meet us on 478 Magihild Street, and remember to-"
But I didn't hear the rest. I woke up right at that moment.
---
I jump up from my bed, startled by the event that just happened. I settle down my breathing. I lightly grab the glass of water lying on my cabinet, right beside the bed. I take a huge gulp of water and breathe steadily.
That was probably the sixteenth time I've gotten that dream this month and it's the 19th of June. This can't be a coincidence. There is no possibility for that if I've been having these dreams almost every single night and this was the only time they could tell me where to go.
I rip the covers off of my body and make my way into the bathroom in the hallway. On the way there, I notice my brother isn't here. It's too quiet. My father and stepfather aren't here either. It doesn't really worry me. When I sleep in they usually go out for breakfast or something. I can handle myself home alone. I am fifteen, after all.
When I make my way into the cramped bathroom (with the toilet, tiny sink, and small shower are smudged into one corner because the other sides will make it even more cramped) I see a sticky note on top of some clothes. I squint at the sticky note. I move close to make out what the scribbles read.
"Cynthia,
Aiden, father and I went out to eat, and your father said that it's okay if we leave you. I'm sorry if we hurt you in a way, but your father says you're an independent soul. He picked out your clothes. He would love if you wore them. :)
-John."
John is my stepfather's name. He's really nice and my dad is happy with him, so that's all that matters. Plus, my younger brother, Aiden, calls him Papa. It's really cute. John probably picked out my clothes instead of my father, but I put them on anyway to make him happy.
He picked out the only ripped pair of jeans I own. My father is uneasy about these jeans because they show my knees, but John likes them. He also picked out a plain white shirt with small floral roses in the bottom corners of it. He even picked out an elastic band for my hair. He chose the elastic band that us females put around our wrists and lose way too easily.
I throw my hair up into a ponytail, without brushing because that hurts like a son of a gun and I'm far too lazy to. I poke at my elastic bands in my mouth. The one the orthodontist told me to wear. I don't wear them most of the time, but I happened to wear them last night because the day before I had an appointment with the orthodontist, and he threatened me pull my Canines (sharp teeth) down if I don't wear them. My teeth are still sore from the tightening of the wires.
I shuffle my way out of the bathroom and glance over into the hallways. It's probably the largest part of this house. It leads to every single room in the house. From Aiden and I's room, to John and Dad's room, to the kitchen, etc. Pictures of us as a family hangs up on the wall. Most of the pictures are family pictures, with John and Dad standing in back of Aiden and I. Dad and John towering over me, since I'm only 5' 1". Aiden is almost my height. He's wicked tall for his age at a height of 5' 0" for ten years old. But the other pictures are the horrific ones. The school pictures. Nobody can't possibly not be ugly in school pictures. If they are, they're literally a god.
I shudder at the horrendous photographs and move past Aiden and I's room. My bed still has the covers shoved off, while Aiden's bed is on the opposite side of the room, in perfect conditions. I swear, Aiden is one of those perfect kids that come from the storybooks that do everything they're told. The room is painted a shade of baby blue because that's the color Aiden wanted, and since Aiden is the younger sibling, he gets whatever he wants. I, of course, wanted it a darker blue, so I could paint the walls with cosmos and starry nights (pun intended). My side of the room has my sketchbooks scattered over the floor with my art materials spilled out as well. Aiden has all of his books and toys stacked neatly in the corner of the room.
I make my way into the kitchen and grab a granola bar out from the snack draw near the oven and dishwasher. I sit down at the table and plan out what I'm going to do with the information I gained from my dreams. I can't tell if it's fictional or not.
When I decide what I'm going to, I stand up and do the same thing John did for me, but with a different message. I eventually find the sticky note pad and scribble a small paragraph on there with cacography.
And with that, I grab my phone, key, and my leather jacket and dash out the front door.