Rachel Deagan - Caged Moon

Dedicated to the person who inspired me to be more than I am. Thank you, Roxanna, for everything.

Many thanks as well to my family, whose constant support has been immeasurable. You truly are a blessing.

Something moved outside the window as I leaned against the chilly glass. The evening had set in, making it hard to see. I could feel them, watching me. I wiped at the small crystallizing ring of fog my nose had made from half dozing against the car door. Only the ominous clustering of trees streaked by as we drove. Goose bumps covered my arms and my body turned cold. It had been years since the wolves followed me. Why now? I wanted to hold my ears, half expecting their howls to ring in my head. How did they find me?

A loud thump resounded off the windshield. I screamed. Thick black shadows distorted my vision. My fingers dug into the seat. The wheels screeched. The gravel ripped at the tires as we drove onto the road's shoulder.

"Dad, we're going to crash!"

I could hear Dad spinning the wheel, but I couldn't look away from the wildly flapping image in front of me. It shifted as the car moved, slid, then flew off into the trees.

"Did you see that?" Dad asked.

The car jolted back onto the road. I blinked, staring at my dad. "How could I not?"

"It was a Great Horned Owl," Dad said.

"What?"

He leaned over the back seat, then dropped a well-worn North Eastern Bird Guide in my lap. "Here," he said. He reached up to the ceiling and flicked on the overhead light. We swerved again and I clutched the side door. "I believe it's around page thirty-two. You should see the Great Horned Owl there."

Was he serious?

I rolled my eyes and thumbed through the book. He apparently didn't realize we went off the road a moment ago. He gets a little focused, especially when it comes to birds. I welcomed the distraction. The chill on my arms faded, the wolves gone, at least for now.

I obediently found the owl and nodded. "Ah." I tried my best to sound enthusiastic.

"Do you want to hear its call?"

He grabbed a CD and slipped it into the player. The car filled with numerous loud shrieking sounds as he fiddled with the buttons. "Here it is." He opened up the window and began hooting and shrieking along with the CD. Did he really think the owl would call back?

Next time I would down play the enthusiasm by a few notches. Distraction or not, I already had a headache.

Dad finally admitted that it was too dark to see anything, and turned off the CD. I sighed and returned to my position, leaning against the glass in an attempt to doze.

"This move is going to be great for us, Charlotte. Your mother's going to love it out here."

"She likes birds attacking her car?" I smirked tightly, but the joke fell flat. I looked out the window and held my arms. I didn't like the woods. I blamed it on my suburban upbringing, but in truth, it just scared me - moreover, what lived in it.

Dad glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "Well, we're only a town away, but it's too late to get the keys from the realtor tonight. It'll have to wait until morning. So," he said, turning to me, "are we camping or going the hotel route tonight?"

He spun the wheel around before I could speak, making a sharp U-turn. "What are you doing?" I asked.

"There's a campground right back there."

I groaned. Not another Dad Adventure.

My chest felt tight. I hated feeling so paranoid.

"Oh, come on. It's our last night. It'll be fun."

I'd have better luck convincing a cat to swim, so I fought down my nerves, and went along. "Sure, Dad."

He proudly took a turn down a long, winding dirt road that led into the woods. With no streetlights, I couldn't see a thing. Claustrophobia strangled me.

A small flickering of lights soon appeared and I sighed with relief. The small club house, if that's what you would call it, was nothing more than two oversized trailers someone had put together to resemble an office. The hand painted sign, withered from years of weather, swung back and forth from a chain attached to a small wooden post out front. I would have thought the place deserted, if I hadn't heard the sudden trickle of male laughter coming from behind the office.

Dad pulled the jeep to a stop and I eagerly swung my door wide. Not in anticipation of staying there, but because my legs killed me from the drive. The scent of sulfur and burning embers hit my nose.

"I wonder where everyone is," Dad said, rubbing his index finger along the crook of his mustache as he joined me.

"They're out back, Dad. Can't you hear them?"

"Ah," he said. "Must be my bad ear. I can't hear a thing."

He started towards the make shift office, and I shrugged, following along behind him. Three burly looking men tending a fire looked up just as we came around the back. The fire crackled and several ashy smelling sparks flittered up into the air. Each of the men had a beer in their hand and several more littered the small stone circle of their camp.

I began looking for our quickest escape route. I probably could make it to the car if I had the keys ready in my hand. Of course, I didn't. My father had them in his pocket. Thoughts of crazed woodmen and gruesome murders flashed across my mind.

"Aye, we've got company," one of the men exclaimed, lifting his can in greeting. "Care to join us?" He flicked the lid of his red picnic cooler open to reveal a hefty stash of beer.

"Nah," my dad said. "Just here to spend the night. Do you have any camps available?"

He was so clueless sometimes.

"Sure thing." The spokesman stood up from his log. I already could hear the banjos playing in my head. He set his beer on a log and trotted over to us. The man towered over my father, and he was six-two. I felt very short. "Let me just get you the map."

Yeah, like the one for the exit.

The man came around to the front of the trailer and pulled out a large wad of keys, opening the squeaky old door, leading to the make shift office. The inside of the building matched the outside perfectly. A disheveled array of dishes, old clothes, and papers littered the small confines of the trailer. It also stunk really badly, so I hung back by the door. If my dad wanted to go in there with a strange drunk guy, his call.

I turned to the woods behind us, suddenly very aware of its presence. It felt like every little shrub and leaf watched me. Something in me wanted to run, but logic told me I was being ridiculous. Even as a little kid I knew wolves didn't really follow people. So why now, after all these years, did it feel that way again?

A hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump. "Ready Charlotte?"

I tried to breathe normally and smiled up at my dad. "Sure, sure." I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and led the way over to the car. My father roared the jeep to life and we followed another winding dirt road until we came to a tiny clearing with a small wooden sign indicating Lot 24A. It had a stone circle matching the one the men had sat around and something that looked like an RV hookup.

I helped my father pitch the small green tent and then watched him build the fire. I hadn't seen any signs of the men, or wild animals, so I took the opportunity to slip into the tent and grab my toiletries before it got any later. I headed over to my dad.

"I'm going to go brush my teeth and clean up. Where are the bathrooms?"

He placed his kindling down, and pulled the map out of his pant pocket. "Right here along this walking route. There should be flags. Just be careful."

Now he's worried.

"I will, Dad."

Taking the map, I started out of the campsite down the dirt road. The beam from my flashlight fell on the red flag indicating the trail to the restrooms, and then fizzled out. I rolled my eyes with a groan and gave the handle a firm smack. Nothing.