The Graveyard

Havermouth, Five Years Before

It was near midnight when the house was finally quiet and Aislen snuck out of bed, sliding her window open and slipping over the ledge, pausing with her toes on the narrow footing so that she could reach back for her bag before stepping over the pretty flowerbed that her mother was cultivating, onto the path.

The night rustled with life, crickets singing in the grasses falling silent as she walked by and resuming their calls once she passed, a cat’s eyes reflecting eerily from the shadows, and a possum scrambling up a tree. She could hear the cars and music from the town – on a Friday night, the pubs were busy.

In the distance she could hear the occasional howl – before coming to Havermouth she would have dismissed it as dogs, but now she knew better. It was the full moon after all, she thought, looking up although she did not need to confirm it visually. Ever since she had discovered that a large percentage of the people in the town were werewolves, she