Lonesome Moon

Dad was gone, and I was alone. He'd taken off in the truck for town, and he was going to be gone for a week on a job helping a couple flip a house for later sale. He was supposed to be staying at the local hotel, but I knew damned well he was going to be staying with his girlfriend. He was actually working the job, but he'd give any excuse to fuck that woman.

Not that I cared who my Dad was having relations with. I was just upset that we had moved out here to the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and now he'd ditched me for a week. This area was nothing but snow and heavily wooded coniferous forest, so I felt locked up like some kind of medieval virgin.

I can't blame him, though. I've been kind of a worthless, lazy slut for the last six years, ever since I turned sixteen and drank for the first time, hit meth for the first time, smoked weed for the first time...got 'personal' with boys for the first time. Now I'm twenty-two, and my habits really haven't altered in that arena. I still like the drugs, the booze, and the boys, and they still like me, but my Dad's wised up, so here we are at Lonesome Moon, otherwise known as bumfuck nowhere.

This cabin my dad invested in belongs in the Land That Time Forgot. It took us almost two months to get it livable, and I went an entire week without running water. Now we've at least got a bathroom with a working toilet. Nothing says I love you like taking a dump in a freezing outhouse.

I still have to wash my clothes by hand, though. We haven't put in a washing machine or dryer, so...it's the old warsh thuh clothes on thuh ol' warshing board routine. Jesus...Just fucking shoot me.

Whelp, Dad took off and left me here for a week, and he apologized profusely for it, but you know what? I don't mind this time. You know why? Because I am not doing a damned thing this week. I'm going to sit back, smoke some weed, drink some whiskey, and masturbate...a lot. It's a miracle that we have internet out here, and though it may be slow, and though I may only have my dad's laptop, that is all I need to vegetate.

My name's Saoirse Lennon, and that's pronounced 'Ser-sha', if you were wondering. Yes, I'm of Irish descent, and no, I don't have red hair. My hair is brown, brown as bark, just like my eyes. Long, curly brown hair that falls down to my shoulders. No red hair and green eyes for me.

As you already know, I'm twenty-two, twenty-two going on forty. I'm supposed to be working toward an end goal, like getting my GED and getting a job somewhere, but...ever since Mom died when I was fifteen, I haven't done much of anything. I just...never felt like it.

Dad's old, he's tired, and he's upset with me, but he's never even thought about kicking me out. No, I think his move here to Lonesome Moon was a passive aggressive way of telling me to get the fuck out and get a life. I will...eventually. I need to have some motivation, though. As it is, I do most of the housework for him, so...it's not like he complains a lot.

Of course, he's probably going to be pissed when he comes back and finds that nothing's been done, but he shouldn't have just ditched me. He didn't even ask if I could start learning construction, or carpentry, or whatever the fuck it is he does; I have no idea, but that's not the point.

I thought about this as I breathed deeply into the joint I was holding in my right hand. I blew out a smoke ring and felt that mellow peace wash over me. Dad had left in the morning, so right now I was having a little 'me' time.

I leaned back in my dad's dark-brown comfy chair and placed one bare foot on our little oak-trunk coffee table. The laptop was on the table in front of me, and on the screen was a video of a muscular looking troll of a man with a ring-beard and tats on his arms fucking a brunette with piercings in her nipples. I don't know why I was watching this, probably because it popped up first and I was too lazy to look for anything that was more to my tastes.

I was fully nude, of course, naked as a jaybird, sitting right smack in the middle of what constituted our 'living room' for this log-built dump, but I didn't care. It was in the middle of the night out in the middle of some bumfuck nowhere woods. No one was going to walk in on me, anyway.

I looked down at my naked body, and that turned me on, which was the point of the porn I was watching. I was five-eight, one-hundred and thirty-seven pounds, with nice C-cup breasts and pretty-in-pink nipples, and I had a nice butt, not too big, not to small. I was attractive in the face, though I looked like my dad; square jaw, you know. Still, I was good looking. I wasn't into other girls, but I'd fuck me.

I reached over to the little wooden stand on my right, rested my joint in Dad's green ashtray, and picked up my bottle of rye whiskey. I had my ways of getting what I needed, even out here, but Lonesome Moon had not made that easy. Even so, I had enough to last for a week.

I took a swig of whiskey and shook my head from the burn of it. It didn't take much for me to get lit, so this was going to be a happy experience until morning hit. Morning was going to suck.

I put my bottle down, picked up my joint, took a puff, put it back down, and slid the fingers of my right hand down between the lips of my already wet snatch. My fingers ran through my thick brown pubes as I rubbed my whole pussy in anticipation of the orgasm that was to come...cum? You know what I mean.

I stroked my small pink clit, let that sensation sink in, and thought about fucking, just fucking, fucking like a wild animal in heat. I stroked myself slowly at first, rubbed my whole pussy in between strokes, and stuck two fingers inside myself in the occasional heat of pleasure.

"Yeah," I whispered. "Fuck me like that...Mmm...Suck on my big titties..."

Titties. Titties is such a stupid word for breasts. Who thought of that, anyway?...It's retarded...Nevertheless, just saying it, feeling the dirtiness of it, turned me on even more.

"Yeah, suck my titties," I breathed out. "Mmm...Fuck my pussy like that. Give me that great big fucking cock...Oh, I want to suck that big fucking cock...Rub that big fat cock on my titties...Fuck my pussy...Fuck it...Fuck my cunt hard with that big fat cock..."

I reached over, grabbed my bottle of whiskey, took another pull, and shook my head again from that shock that only strong alcohol can give. I set the bottle down, took another puff from my joint, set that back down, and went back to stroking myself.

"Yeah..." I breathed out. "Fuck my pussy...Fuck it hard, bitch...Give me that cock...Let me lick those big balls...Mmm...I want to suck on those balls..."

I pulled lightly on my clit and savored that magic electricity as I bit my lower lip, pulled hard on my left nipple with my left hand, felt that pleasure build, that slow explosion building in my lower belly, oh, sinking in, feeling it down in...

A loud cry from outside startled me, and I gripped the arms of the comfy chair out of reflex.

"What the fuck!" I said in surprise.

A loud bleating erupted once more, a terrible sound, like some animal being brutally murdered, and it was loud, like really fucking loud. I didn't know what the fuck was going on.

"What the fuck?" I said again, this time in a whisper.

I got up from Dad's comfy chair, grabbed my jeans, and shimmied into them. I didn't even bother to put on my panties; I was wet, anyway. I put on my red flannel shirt and quickly buttoned it up, and no, I didn't bother to put on my bra, either.

A loud thump hit the south side of the cabin, that side to my immediate right, and the pictures on the south wall rattled.

"What the fuck!" I hissed, this time in anger.

I pulled on my thick, black, winter socks, pushed my feet into my black winter boots, slipped on my grey parka, zipped up, and proceeded to grab Dad's twelve gauge, taking it off its mount on the north wall. I went into the kitchen on the west side of the cabin after that, opened up the box of shells that Dad had left on the kitchen table, and quickly loaded the shotgun. I held it up and readied it to fire as I headed toward the backdoor in the kitchen.

"Ruin my night, will you!" I hissed out. "I'll ruin your balls, motherfucker!"

I was pissed. I didn't know what was going on outside, but I was going to give someone a bad hair day; that was a fact. It was never cool to interrupt someone's alone time. That was a dueling offense. An offense worthy of calling someone out on the street at high noon.

I opened the backdoor and walked out into the freezing cold, my boots crunching down upon packed snow. I watched my breath freeze in the light of the moon, realizing at that moment that I'd forgotten to bring a light, but that didn't matter, obviously. The silver light of the full moon above me blanketed everything with a soft glow, made the white of the snow glare in my vision.

I carefully walked around to the south side of the cabin where the 'thump' had occurred, my boots crunching into the snow. It was deathly quiet out here, spooky, but I had a loaded twelve gauge in my hands and whiskey in my blood, so I didn't care about that.

I discovered the source of the thump. It was a deer, a mature doe, in fact. It was ripped open, entrails everywhere, hot steam rising from the bloody carcass, the snow black from its blood.

"Oh, shit..." I said nervously.

This was bad. This was probably the work of a bear, and...I didn't know if a twelve gauge could stop a charging bear...I suspected it couldn't unless I was very lucky.

"Fuck," I whispered.

There was the sound of crunching snow out near the large woodshed that existed on the property. My dad stored some tools in that thing, but it was pretty much falling apart. He was either going to have to tear it down or fix it up, one or the other.

Regardless of that, the sound of crunching snow made me anxious, fired up my adrenaline, so I readied my twelve gauge and headed over to the shed. If worse came to worst, I could shoot a bear in the face and then make it back to the safety of the cabin before it could retaliate. Then I could shoot at it from an open window.

Bears were mean fuckers, especially grizzlies. They liked to get revenge on anything that pissed them off, so if a fight was coming, I was going to have to kill it, not let it go. I wasn't stupid.

I walked up to the old woodshed and readied my shotgun at the shoulder for firing. The light of the moon shone up from the snow around me, but the side of the shed was shrouded in shadow, so the whole thing was creepy as fuck, and this finally creeped me out, creeped me out whether I was loaded full of whiskey and weed or not.

"Fuck this," I breathed. "Go back inside, Saoirse."

I turned to head back toward the cabin, but the bleating cry of a flying animal startled me into inaction. Another deer, a large eight-point buck, flew past me and slammed into the side of the woodshed, cracking the old boards of that side of the wall through sheer force.

"What the fu...!" I started to say.

Massive pain stabbed into my right shoulder and cut short my startled cry. Hot blood, black in the moonlight, spurted up from my grey parka as a large animal's fangs sank into me, sank into my skin and muscle.

I screamed, my mouth as wide open as it could go, and the shotgun went off in my hands, because I must have pulled the trigger by reflex. The gun bucked out of my hands from that force, and then I was flying through the air a second later, tossed like a ragdoll.

I hit the side of the woodshed and crashed right through the wall, the boards splintering upon impact, crashed through it and rolled across the wooden floor to stop in the middle of the darkness of that shed.

I was all pain. I was bruised and battered from being thrown through a wall, but that was nothing compared to the absolute burning agony in my shoulder. My tongue was lolling out of my mouth, and I tasted the red copper of blood; I must have bitten it when I was thrown.

I rolled over to see the big buck wobble past the woodshed in front of me; it wobbled on unsteady legs in the moonlight, its head bobbing this way and that as if it were seriously addled. It took five steps through the snow, but it never made it any farther.

A beast, a big fucking thing over six-feet tall, tackled the deer, and its great jaws clamped down upon its neck, spurting steaming blood everywhere. This buck bleated once before it was dragged at a running lope out of my vision, leaving a trail of bloody black snow behind it.

That thing had walked on two angled legs, like dog's legs. It had great big paws that almost looked like clawed hands, and its head didn't look like a bear, not like a bear, not like that at all.

There was no time for me to think; I just acted. I stood on two battered legs and hobbled through the snow back to the cabin; I didn't even think to grab the shotgun. My right knee was fucked up and my left ankle was twisted, but I hobbled back to the house without looking behind me. I was scared shitless at that point.

I got through the kitchen door, shut it behind me, and quickly locked it.

"What was that? What was that? What the fuck was that...?" I babbled.

I was in shock. I unzipped my parka and cried out from the stabbing, burning pain in my right shoulder. My grey parka was shredded at the top, stained dark red with blood, my blood, and that realization didn't hit me until I saw my savaged shoulder.

I let out a high-pitched whine at the sight of my bloody shoulder. There were large, bloody holes in it where each fang had sunk into my tender flesh, and it was so gross that I couldn't look directly at it.

I ripped off my flannel shirt and went topless in order to attend to this wound. I threw my shredded shirt to the kitchen floor, hobbled into the living room, grabbed my bottle of whiskey, and poured some over the wound without thinking, but that was a serious mistake. It burned like someone was pushing a blowtorch into my skin.

"OH GOD!" I screeched.

My eyes watered over with tears as I set the bottle down and sat down in my dad's comfy chair. The pain was so intense, so terrible, that I didn't move. I just whimpered and cried and shook in that chair for an entire minute.

There was so much blood. I was bleeding a lot. Just red blood running down my skin and over my bare right breast.

I don't know why, maybe it was because of the shock I was in, but I reached over and picked up my still lit joint, took a drag, breathed out that smoke, and set it back in the ashtray.

I looked down and noticed for the first time the large dark piss stain in the crotch of my jeans. I must have pissed myself at some point, but when that was, I had no idea.

I slowly, painfully unbuttoned my jeans and pulled down the zipper. I used my right boot to kick off my left boot, then used my left foot to kick off my right boot, and then I pulled off my jeans.

I took another drag off my joint, set it back down, picked up the whiskey bottle, cried out from the pain of moving my right arm, took a deep pull of whiskey, and set the bottle back down.

I stretched out, fully naked except for the pair of black winter socks on my feet, and tried to steady my breathing. I leaned back in the chair and just laid there staring up at the sloped ceiling, the overhead lamp shining down from above, and then I closed my eyes, closed them as I took in a deep breath. The pain in my shoulder was a deep and throbbing ache, so I just laid there and breathed in and out, in and out, in and out, until darkness took me.

*****

I awoke from a nightmare, a dim memory of fangs and claws and fur still clinging to my psyche as I struggled to shake off my lethargy. It was morning, and morning light streamed through the windows of the cabin.

I reached up and rubbed the crust from my eyes, but my right shoulder felt stiff as fuck. It hurt with a throbbing ache, so I inspected it, and that's when the horror of what had happened the night before sunk in. My naked chest was covered with crusty, dried brown blood. My shoulder was the worst in that respect, but the wound on it had sealed somehow, scabbed over by some miracle I did not understand.

Even so, I was hurting all over. It felt like I'd been run over by a truck and then thrown off a cliff. My throat was so parched that I'd swear I'd been swallowing desert sand, so my first order of business was to get up and get some water. Maybe later I'd go and get in the tub, wash off this wound of mine, and stop looking like a horror movie victim, but without some water first, I wasn't going to be doing much of anything.

I peeled myself up from out of my dad's chair and whimpered as every injury screamed at me at once. My left arm was bruised and battered, the left side of my face felt fucked up, my left ankle felt sprained...You know, I'm thinking I hit the side of that woodshed with my left side, but...that's just a guess. My right knee was also fucked up, but the worst was still my right shoulder. All in all, I looked like a Goddamned mess, and if anyone saw me like this, they'd be rushing me to an ER, but considering where I was, that wasn't going to happen.

I dragged myself into the kitchen, took a glass with yellow flowers on it out of one of the kitchen cabinets, filled it up with tap water, and gulped it down. Gulping it down had not been a smart idea, however, because the world wobbled and wavered a second later, like I was on a ship at sea, and I saw little stars as I went lightheaded.

The kitchen door clicked as the knob turned and the door pushed in from the outside.

Oh, good. Dad was home. There was no way in hell I was going to be able to explain to him why I was naked and covered in blood, but...at least he was home. He'd know what to do.

Only it wasn't my dad. A young man walked in; he was only a little older than myself, maybe by two or three years, very cute, six-foot or so, white with short black hair, blue eyes, average weight, and he was wearing a tan winter coat and dark blue jeans, light-tan hide leather gloves on his hands, light-brown outdoorsman boots...

He stared at me in complete surprise, but I wasn't so much surprised as I was about to pass out. I dropped the glass in my hand, it shattered on the kitchen tiles beneath my feet, and then I pitched backwards as the world started to fade again.

The young intruder in my house rushed forward and caught me in his arms before I completely lost consciousness. I can remember staring up into his blue eyes before everything went totally dark. He really was cute for an intruder...

*****

I dreamed while I passed in and out of consciousness, though most of my 'conscious' periods were nothing more than fleeting moments of blurry vision and soft light. No, most of my time was spent in the dream world, somewhere I did not need to be while an intruder was in my cabin.

I found myself running through the woods. I was completely naked, running through the brush in my bare feet, on the snow, my toes crunching into that packed frost, and I was following a wolf, a big thing with brown fur.

I stopped running as the large animal turned and stared at me with a vivid pair of bright golden eyes, and somehow I knew it was female, and that it wanted me to follow it further into the large pines, but I got scared, not because it was a wolf, no, but because wherever it was going, I wasn't sure if I wanted to follow it into that dark place.

We stood and stared at each other, our breath crystalizing in the freezing air around us, and it looked at me with those golden eyes, wanting me to follow.

I briefly awoke from my strange dream to find myself being spoon fed some chicken noodle soup. I was in my own bed, and I had on my blue flannel shirt, this one not shredded, thankfully, and the intruder that I had seen earlier was trying to get me to eat something. I was covered by my bed's thick brown quilted cover, so I was warmer for the moment, and that cute boy had my head lifted in his right hand with his left hand holding the spoon.