Worry accompanies the lullaby that’s replaced distressing prayers. Anelia kisses her scarred child’s forehead before tiptoeing out. Quietly, she slides the board into the brackets. The secured door can’t contain the trepidation chasing her into her bedroom.
As the full moon ascends, Anelia is misgivingly confident about her preparations. A refrain repeats as her head hits the pillow. Everything will be all right.
Sleep eludes Anelia for a time. Eventually, her practiced quieting invites slumber. Her first dream begins as the silence in the room down the hall breaks.
Wood snaps at the center of the window, scattering fragments across the floor. Moonlight slithers through the slits in the drawn drapes. The wind assaults the cabin, amplifying its low moan. Dust motes drift through the light like notes on a staff. From the bed in the corner come intermittent groans, sharper with every gust. The boy stirs, his dark curls damp with sweat.
Catlike hisses escape his teeth as he tosses and turns. Outside, forest night dwellers sing in response. The cacophony corresponds its crescendo with the lunar rise. The bed frame squeaks as the plagued boy writhes to his knees.
His tortured cries swell as convulsions contort him into disturbing shapes. Finally, they join into one blood-curdling howl as he instantaneously rises to his feet. The sheet flies up to the ceiling, and the drapes tear open.
The moon’s pale radiance floods in while a grid of shadows texturizes the room. The boy digs his newly developing talons into the mattress. His previously stubby hands grow into claws three times their normal size. He slashes the air while screeching at the top of his lungs.
Ice-blue eyes pulsate as his now peppered hair radiates with static. His teeth sharpen into fangs, and his ears reach a point. He becomes attuned to the wilderness outside the window. All his focus is on the Man in the Shadows, leaving him oblivious to the sounds in the hallway.
Shaking candlelight bounces around the barricaded door. Through frantic breath, Anelia repeats, “Luc, Luc, Luc.” She struggles to lift the restraint with one hand while steadying a lamp in the other. She finally throws the board down the hall and kicks the door open, screaming, “LUCA!” Outside, the yelping of the wild escalates.
With tears streaming down her face, Anelia rushes in and places the lamp on the dresser. The loving little boy she lulled to sleep earlier is unrecognizable. To her horror, his aimless clawing has left random cuts all over his young body. Ribbons of blood decorate his skin as his nightshirt hangs off him.
Anelia rushes to the window and quickly closes the drapes. Trembling, her right hand struggles to hold them shut as her left flounders in the pocket of her robe. Finally, she pulls out the first clothespin and begins sealing the drapes.
I thought I finally figured it out. Every shriek from Luca tugs on her heartstrings. Her nerves have never grown accustomed to this ordeal. The task becomes clumsier when she starts to weep. As each ray of light gets obstructed, the energy in the room dwindles. Luca’s beastly sounds weaken and revert to the heartbreaking whimpers Anelia knows too well.
At last, Anelia turns. In the candlelight, she watches Luca fall to his knees. Sporadic spasms continue to thrash him. When he starts sobbing, Anelia covers her nose and mouth, futilely restraining the tears that spill over her fingers. The sheet drifts down from the ceiling, mirroring her fading strength.
From prior experience, Anelia knows she must wait. But all wisdom crumbles when Luca snivels out, “…mommy.” Reflexively, Anelia rushes to him. As she approaches, a final spasm extends his still-transitioning claw, slicing her right cheek. She jumps back, releasing a guttural cry from her well of helplessness.
Finally, Luca melts into a fetal position, repeating the word mommy between frail gasps. Anelia leaps onto the bed and wraps him in her arms. His tiny frame is mostly back to normal, except for the self-inflicted gashes healing over old scars.
Blood stains Anelia’s robe as she rocks Luca back and forth, petting and kissing his head. Through wrenching cries, she hums his lullaby. Tears pour into the cut on her face, but the emotional turbulence dulls the stings.
In the dim candlelight, Anelia notices the broken clothespins on the floor near the window. Defeat causes her to crumble against the wall. She faintly hears a song playing in her room. Luca’s screams caused such a panic that she was oblivious to the start of the tune. Only one thing would cause the music box to open. He is near.
Anelia’s face clenches as she shakes her head. With eyes closed, sorrow mixes with fury. She looks up at the ceiling and then at the drapes. Contemptuously, she whispers, “Damn you! When will you stop? He’s only eight!”
Near the forest’s edge towers an old oak with a clear view of Luca’s window. Behind it, a shadow evaporates. No signs of the figure’s presence remain, not even footprints. Anelia’s music box slowly winds down to silence, mimicking the forest’s inhabitants. The symphony of the night reaches its cadence while the ignorant moon continues its nightly dance through the sky.