The Moonlight Gardener

In Ethan's modest living room, the atmosphere was tense and raw.

Rain tapped at the covered windows; the air buzzed with the aftershock of Angela's rescue and the knowledge that Mia and Tom were growing bolder.

Everyone seemed smaller under the harsh bulb.

Rossie, Becky, Ethan, Lila, and especially Angela, wrapped in a borrowed hoodie, her hands still trembling.

Angela's voice was barely above a whisper: "I know you got me out… but we need to find Michael. Please, Rossie," she pleaded, dark circles under her eyes.

"He's not himself. He stopped returning my messages and… that night at his house—he didn't even recognize me. I saw something in his eyes, something I've never seen before.

He's not safe out there."

Rossie reached over, squeezing Angela's hand, the moon gardener's bracelet cool on her wrist.

"We'll find him. I felt something at the warehouse—like the entity is coming back.

And Mia's group… their plans aren't done."

Becky leaned forward, voice hushed.

"There's no way this ends here. Angela, you need to ask your mom what the hell is going on. She knows Mia and Tom too well for it to be a coincidence."

Angela bit her lip. Lila, hugging her knees to her chest, added, "I think your mum's in it, Angela.

Not just friendly - actually involved. She's always too close to Mia, always makes excuses."

Angela's eyes fluttered—hurt, confusion, and fear all mingling.

"She hides a lot. Sometimes I feel like I don't know her at all," she admitted softly.

There was a long pause. Then Angela looked at Rossie, a wary respect in her expression.

"Can I ask you? How did you fight those things? The one with claws—no one normal could have… What's happening to you?"

Rossie hesitated, then let her friend see the moon bracelet glowing faintly on her wrist.

"It's from Eli—the Moonlight Gardener. He… I guess he chose me? I've felt different since I started visiting the garden; faster, stronger, I see things I shouldn't. Eli is guiding me—kind of teaching me to use what's in the moonlight." Her tone was both vulnerable and proud.

The room fell silent just as the front door creaked open. Mr. Harl stepped in out of the rain, water pouring from his umbrella. He looked at each of them in turn, jaw set.

"I think I know where Michael is," he said gravely.

Every head snapped up. The fear in the room shifted—hope and dread, sharp as a lightning flash.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

In Ethan's house, the air crackled with the kind of tension born from shared fear and raw honesty.

Angela sat curled on the worn sofa, clutching a mug between shaking hands, her hoodie sleeves pulled over her knuckles. The rescue had left its mark...her eyes flickered with haunted exhaustion, shadows lingering beneath them—but her anxiety now was fixed on Michael, the friend who had become a ghost of himself.

Angela's voice broke the silence, trembling with urgency.

"Rossie, you have to help him. I can feel it—something's wrong with Michael. The last time I saw him, it was like he wasn't there. His eyes… They weren't his.

He barely heard me, and then… he started talking about voices in the earth and roots pulling at his chest." She wiped her eyes, desperation heavy in her tone.

"Please. Find him before they do."

Rossie breathed in deeply, remembering the chill that had crawled up her spine at the warehouse.

"You're right to be scared. When I was in there, I felt it—a presence, like the entity wasn't done with us. And I saw signs… scratch marks and salt rings. Mia and Tom are ramping up for something.

Another ritual, soon." The weight of her words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

Becky leaned in, her expression gentle but firm.

"Angela, you need to ask your mum what she actually knows. You said Mia keeps hanging around your place.

That's not just a coincidence. There's something deeper going on here."

Ethan nodded, his brow furrowed in thought.

"It's not just about you anymore. Your mom might be the key to stopping all of this. Don't let her keep you in the dark. If she's involved, we need to know."

Angela swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion.

"She hides a lot, always has. I want to believe she's innocent, but…" She trailed off, her voice trembling as doubt gnawed at her.

Lila spoke up, her suspicion sharp on her face.

"What if she isn't innocent?

What if she's not just friends with Mia?

what if she's one of them?

What if she's been playing both sides?"

Angela's gaze dropped, her heart heavy with uncertainty.

"I honestly don't know. She's always meeting people and saying it's for charity or business, but it never felt right… It's like there's a part of her life that she's kept hidden from me."

Suddenly, Angela turned to Rossie, searching her face for answers.

"How did you fight those things tonight? No one could get past the one with the claws—how did you do it?"

Rossie hesitated, then held out her wrist, revealing the faintly glowing bracelet that had become a part of her.

"Eli—he's the Moonlight Gardener.

The garden chose me, I guess. Since I started meeting him, I've… changed. Stronger, faster. He's been showing me how to use the moonlight. I can feel things others can't. But it's not easy. There's a price to pay for this power."

A heavy silence settled over the room, thick with unspoken fears and the weight of their shared burden. Just then, the front door creaked open, and Mr. Harl stepped in—his eyes haunted, rain beading on his coat like tears.

He shut the door gently, then fixed them all with a grave look that sent a shiver down their spines.

"I think I know where Michael is," he said, his voice low and steady.

They spun toward him, hope chained to their fear, hearts racing with the possibility of finding their friend.

Mr. Harl sat down, rubbing his hands together as if to ward off an unseen chill.

"Ever since the entity let me go, I haven't felt quite human. I see things…" He hesitated, searching for the right words.

"Strange things. Flashes from… somewhere dark and deep. The underworld, maybe.

Last night, I dreamed of roots, thick as arms, tangled with shadows. Michael was there, but he wasn't just himself. He was… changing. The old texts call it 'roots of cedar'—it means possession by something ancient, something hungry."

The room shivered as the truth settled in, heavy and oppressive. Angela stared at Mr. Harl, her voice barely a whisper.

"So he's not safe?"

"No," Mr. Harl said, his expression grave.

"You have to find him before others do. Time is running out."

Outside, thunder rumbled ominously, echoing the turmoil within them. The friends steeled themselves, the weight of what lay ahead pulling them together...harsh, frightened, but united in their resolve.

They had to act, to confront the darkness that threatened to consume Michael and perhaps even their world.