This story is by J. M. Gil and was part of our 2025 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.
Easel before me, I gripped the paintbrush, bringing shadows to life on a gray canvas. I couldn’t stop. It seemed to bleed secrets I didn’t understand.
“Another dark one, Enigma girl?” Caleb’s voice broke my reverie, drawing me back to Mrs. Jean’s high school art classroom, the only place I felt free.
I turned to tease him back, and his soft, golden brown eyes met mine, accompanied by that contagious smile that warms me. I couldn’t help smiling back. He was like sunshine peeking out from leaden clouds, too bright and transparent for my murkiness.
He was the only person who didn’t judge my family. People whispered about my parents keeping to themselves and sheltering us. Some even insinuated that they were in a cult. I brushed it off, telling myself it was gossip.
I tried to stay invisible, but my siblings made it impossible. My brother’s school fights and rumors of a star football player being hospitalized led to a cross-country move and his placement in a boarding school for the gifted.
Soon after, my sister learned to channel her rage into soccer, but her talent only drew attention. I never fit in with them. The only thing I shared with my sister was my father’s hazel, forest-hued eyes.
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At home that afternoon, my painting morphed into a forest scene with foreboding shadows lurking amongst pine trees, triggering memories of Ledgecreek.
Pine-scented air, grass between my toes, I hid under my brother’s leather jacket. Our leader, Bronsted, spoke of the rules of Shadow Wood Society. A hand pressed over my mouth, whisking me from the amphitheater. I wasn’t frightened. It was Arden, Bronsted’s son.
“Layla, promise me you’ll never go back to the secret meetings or speak of what you heard.” I looked up into his caring, velvety eyes, nodded, and offered my small hand for our secret handshake. His touch reminded me that our mothers would say, “You two were meant for each other.” Arden would roll his eyes, but keep holding my hand as we ran off into the woods to play.
A thud tore me from the memory, and my mother ran to the front door. I followed.
In our doorway stood Bronsted and… Arden? Towering with lean muscles, Arden was no longer the small boy of my memories.
“Hello, Bronsted, to what do we owe this pleasant surprise? Do come in.” My father’s words broke our speechlessness.
“Might I speak with you and Marily in private?”
Arden and I sat outside in silence. I turned, meeting his penetrating midnight eyes. His presence filled the air with an electric dissonance that sent chills running over my arms and my heart racing.
He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and handed it to me.
“This is for you.” My fingers trembled, pulling out an onyx crescent-moon-shaped pendant.
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Six Months Later.
I sat at the kitchen table, working on a moonlit scene with ominous, shadowy creatures weaving through the pine trees. I added yellow circular strokes to the full moon.
“Sweetie, you’ve been painting long enough. Don’t you have better things to do?” My mother’s voice broke my focus.
I looked up. She was hovering over my painting, wrinkling her forehead, and wringing the dish towel. I was used to it. My parents had been piling endless rules for years.
“Never talk to anyone about home, no friends over, no going out after twilight. Tell us if you have any bursts of rage or wake up drenched. Never do your own laundry.” For crying out loud, I’m sixteen!
Jaw locked and arms crossed, I glared at her. “Mrs. Jean thinks I should apply for Yale’s Art Scholarship program.”
The glass tumbler she was drying crashed to the ground, shattering into a million pieces.
“Absolutely not! Art school is no place for a Blackthorne. Why not study law or finance… like your brother!”
“Because painting makes me feel most like myself.”
“You’re too young to know who you really are,” my father said, entering unnoticed.
Of course, he objected. Nothing I did was ever good enough!
My fingers traced the onyx pendant hanging from my neck to comfort myself. It only added to my confusion… It was the one thing keeping me from dating Caleb and embracing the artist within.
“Ugh, you never get me.” Storming off, I slammed my door and threw myself on the bed.
My phone lit up with a text message. Caleb.
“Hey, Enigma girl, want to come over? My parents are out of town, so your parents don’t have to know.”
Wiping a tear and almost smiling, I texted back: “Maybe I will ;).”
“Perfect, we can meet by the weeping willow later tonight, so you don’t have to walk through the woods alone.”
“Sounds good, let’s…”
Raised voices drifting from upstairs halted my typing. I crept up the stairs and pressed my ear up to my parents’ bedroom door.
“David, I just can’t believe she hasn’t changed yet!”
“Our genes have been growing weaker over the past few decades. We have to accept that she will never change. She won’t fit in with our family. It is time that we send her away to live with humans, like herself.”
“No! It could still happen.”
“Marily, you know it’s nearly impossible. She should have changed at puberty. We all change at puberty.”
“Can’t we give her another couple of years?” Mother argued.
My eyes burned.
“No, Marily, we can’t! It’s not safe. Bronsted keeps pressing. If we keep her any longer, Bronsted and his pack will attack. They will kill Layla and the rest of us.”
Mother cried.
“It’s time. There’s nothing we can do.”
“What about Arden?” Mother interjected.
“We can’t expect Arden to tie his life to hers anymore. He is of the strongest bloodline of wolves. A life bond with Layla would be suicide for him!”
After dinner, my father said to me, voice grave: “We need to talk.”
“Your mother and I have talked this over and come to an agreement. We’re sending you to live with another family. It’s for your own safety.”
“I don’t understand. How am I in danger?”
“Honey, the less you know, the safer you are.”
My blood boiled. I was sick of all the buried secrets and lies. How could they have hidden that they were wolves from me my whole life? And, now they just wanted to send me away with no explanation. It wasn’t for my safety. It was for theirs—the wolf pack’s safety. Knowing the truth made me a threat.
My heart raced and my vision blurred. Hot tears rushed out, and my throat closed up, leaving me speechless.
“Pack your bags. Tomorrow morning, I will drive you to the Sullivans’.”
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Once they went to bed, I sneaked into the office to search for my transcripts and past art evaluations. I would need those. I thumbed through my dad’s filing cabinet. I found a file labeled ‘Layla’s origin’ and leafed through it, pulling out my birth certificate. I skimmed it, expecting the same names I had written on every school form. It read, “Father: David Blackthorne. Mother: Julianne Johnson.” My stomach dropped.
It couldn’t be. Or, could it? Johnson… where had I heard that name before? Of course! Candice Johnson! We hadn’t seen her in forever. I found her phone number in our home directory. Hands shaking, I punched in her number.
“Candice speaking.”
Voice gravelly, “Aunt Candice? It’s Layla.”
“Layla, dear, is everything okay?”
Crying, “No, I found my birth certificate…”
The question tumbled out, “Who’s Julianne Johnson?”
“I told them you’d find out. They refused to listen and banned me from seeing you.”
My breath hitched.
“Please, I need to know the truth!” I begged.
“Julianne was my cousin… and your birth mother.”
Candice exhaled shakily. “She didn’t know about Marily. David became infatuated with Julianne, and she fell for him.”
I felt sick, and the room swayed.
Pain tangled in her voice, “When she died in childbirth, David took you away from me. I only saw you on holidays.”
My voice, thick with hurt, broke. “They want to send me to live with strangers!”
“No, dear, you come live with me. My apartment is small because I live next to Yale, where I teach English, but there’s enough space.”
That night, I packed my paintbrushes and palette into my backpack, along with a few necessary belongings, including a printed plane ticket to Connecticut, and slipped outside my window.
I erased my unsent message to Caleb, along with all of our messages, and tossed my phone. I didn’t need my parents tracking me, and I couldn’t drag Caleb into this. A weight lifted from me. I walked into the forest, my fear gone, allowing the moonlight to wash over my body. Nothing happened. Pulling the onyx charm from my neck, I thrust it. I would never be one of them. I would be me, a human and artist, and that was more than enough.
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