Celia Vargas pov

The forest stretched endlessly before me, cloaked in shadows that seemed alive, moving with an unsettling rhythm. The towering trees whispered secrets to each other as the cold wind slipped between their branches. Above, the full moon hung in the ink-black sky, casting silvery beams that struggled to penetrate the dense foliage. Every step I took felt heavier, my legs trembling from exhaustion. My dress, torn and clinging to my skin, offered little protection from the biting chill. 

I couldn’t remember how I had gotten here, only that I was trapped, utterly and terrifyingly alone. A pocket knife was my only companion, clutched tightly in my hand, though it felt more like a mockery of safety than a tool for survival. 

"Is anyone there?" My voice quivered, barely louder than a whisper. The silence of the forest answered me, oppressive and absolute. Then came the sound, a low crackling of twigs underfoot, deliberate and near. My heart lurched, thundering in my chest like a drumbeat of panic. 

Run. 

My instincts screamed at me, but my body hesitated. My limbs felt leaden, weighed down by fatigue and fear. The sound grew louder, closer. A deep growl reverberated through the air, sending chills racing down my spine. It was behind me. 

I ran, my legs wobbling and barely obeying my commands. Pain shot through me with every step, sharp and relentless. The ground beneath me seemed alive, tripping me at every opportunity. The creature’s pursuit was relentless; its paws thudded against the forest floor like the countdown of my demise. 

The growl morphed into a roar, a terrifying sound that sent a wave of terror through me. I didn’t dare look back. But then I stumbled. The forest conspired against me, and my ankle twisted as I crashed to the ground. 

Pain. Blinding and all-consuming. 

I turned my head, and there it stood, a monstrous figure that defied logic. Nearly six feet tall, its frame was a grotesque blend of man and wolf. Blood-red eyes glowed like embers, searing into my soul. Its snarling maw revealed sharp canines, dripping with saliva, and claws like blades glinted in the moonlight. 

It lunged. 

I screamed, the sound tearing through the silence. 

And then—nothing. 

I jolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, the scream still caught in my throat. My hands shot out instinctively, touching my arms, my legs, my face. No scratches. No pain. Just the suffocating echo of the nightmare that had claimed my sleep once again. 

It was the same dream, playing out like a broken record every night for the past week. Always the same forest, the same beast, the same paralyzing fear. And every time, I woke up just before it could reach me. 

Doctors told me it was stress. Depression, even. They said I’d been watching too many horror movies, which was absurd because I avoided them like the plague. They gave me medication, little pills that promised peace but delivered nothing but a foggy mind and darker circles under my eyes. 

I dragged myself out of bed, the cool floor grounding me as I tied my hair back. My reflection in the mirror looked as haunted as I felt. Dark shadows clung beneath my eyes, and my once bright complexion now looked dull and lifeless. I applied foundation and a touch of highlight, hoping to disguise the exhaustion etched into my features. 

“Morning, sweetie,” Dad’s cheerful voice greeted me as I shuffled downstairs. The scent of noodles wafted from the kitchen, comforting yet incongruous with the turmoil in my mind. “Did you take your meds?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder. 

“They’ll take time to work,” he added, his optimism unwavering. 

I nodded absently, sitting at the table and picking at the food. He meant well, but he didn’t understand. How could he? He thought it was hormones, teenage stress, the usual explanations for a girl my age. 

“I have a meeting with Alisha later,” he said, trying to sound casual. 

My lips twitched into a smirk despite myself. 'Alisha Johnson' the woman my dad had been secretly seeing. I didn’t care for her, but I wanted him to be happy. After losing Mom, he deserved some light in his life, even if that light came in the form of someone I couldn’t stand. 

“Yeah, well, I’ll be at Ambrose’s,” I replied. “We’ve got movie night.” 

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking in amusement. “Sure it’s not a party? Because Ambrose mentioned Asher might be there.” 

Heat crept up my neck. Asher Knight. The boy who occupied far too many of my daydreams. Dad’s knowing grin only fueled my embarrassment. 

By the time I arrived at school, the campus was a cacophony of voices and laughter. Shelly found me by the lockers, her cheetah-print dress clinging to her like a second skin. 

“Ready for tonight?” she asked, her chestnut eyes gleaming. 

“Not really,” I muttered. “Ambrose spilled everything to my dad.” 

She laughed, the sound light and musical. “That boy can’t keep a secret to save his life.” 

I sighed, shutting my locker and heading to class. The nightmare still lingered in the corners of my mind, a shadow I couldn’t shake. 

In history class, Ambrose slid into the seat beside me, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. Before I could confront him, Mr. James entered, launching into one of his infamous rants about the town’s history. He is our history teacher.

His voice dripping with conviction as he delved into the town’s folklore. Tales of curses and werewolves filled the room, drawing skeptical chuckles from some students. 

Werewolves. 

I stiffened, the word echoing in my mind like a bell. Could there be truth to the stories? To my nightmares? 

I didn’t know. But something deep within me whispered that this was only the beginning.