Chapter 3: Bad Moon Rising

The world was quiet.

A stream of brilliant moonlight stretched across a clear forest path, its spectral gleam shimmering through a curtain of fog that rolled down the expanse of pathway. It hung in the air, silent and still, an ethereal breath frozen in the night.

The leaves in the trees sat motionless on their branches, no breeze nor beast around to make a sound; no soul in sight to wake the night from its phantom slumber.

That is, no soul but one.

Tendrils of fog churned and scattered in the wake of quiet footsteps advancing slowly down the dark, lonely road. The echoes of a quickened heartbeat pulsed hollow, bouncing thunderously back to the one they belonged to.

Betty exhaled slowly, her breath swirling white puffs in front of her face. She walked barefoot across the soft forest floor. She could feel the cold earth brushing up against her feet but it didn't bother her; it felt natural, almost comfortable, and if there were rocks and twigs underfoot, she was unaware of them. Her feet carried her forward steadily as though she had walked this path a hundred times before.

Her eyes wondered at the motionless scene around her as she found her way through the thick curtain of fog blanketing the ground. Dewdrops shone and sparkled all around her, glistening from the bark on the trees and the green of the grass, but the most dazzling ones hung in the air itself, a chandelier of tiny crystals enveloping her.

She reached a hand out, gently extending it towards one of the crystal drops. When she touched it she let out a gasp and almost retracted her hand when, to her surprise, the drop didn't burst but instead stuck to her skin. Betty lifted her hand closer to her face, awestruck at the dewdrop so delicately suspended in her touch. Awestruck at the peculiar but calming scene suspended all around her.

She wondered if she should be worried about being this far into the woods this late at night; she was only in her pajamas after all. But another part of her urged her to keep going, that this was somehow important, that this was where she needed to be. She gently tossed the drop from her hand and it floated back into place, as though it had never been touched in the first place, and she continued on.

There was a rustling in the trees and a soft tug blew around the sweater Betty wore, signaling a breeze had finally broken through the still of the night. She turned her head upward, looking at the cloudless sky above. The moon hung clear and full, the silver orb otherworldly close as it filled a majority of the sky. The faint wind brushed past her, carrying with it the smell of fresh earth and smokey wood. With her head to the sky, Betty drank in a lungful of the wafting aroma and closed her eyes, listening to the leaves and branches continue to rustle and blow, their sounds reminding her of the crinkling pages of an old and dusty library book.

She continued on.

Betty didn't know how or why, but she felt connected to everything, as though she were an extension of the nature that surrounded her, or perhaps it of her. A timeless hum, a recurrent pulse beat through the forest and through her, a tingle of electricity rippling through her from her fingertips to her toes. She felt as still and as calm as the nightly scene around her.

And that was a feeling she thought was all but forgotten.

She felt at peace, as though all was right with the world, as though she had never been touched by any of the death and despair that had continuously marked her life.

As she walked further and further down the path, the fog began to give way, revealing more of the darkened foliage that lined the path. Betty opened her arms, spreading her hands through the undergrowth and brush, the greenery bowing before her touch. The breeze danced gracefully around her, the palliative rustles of the foliage now being joined by something else floating through the night.

A whisper, soft and low, was calling out from somewhere in the mist and shadow in front of her. She turned her head, listening closer.

It was melodic, a mumbled verse that warbled and trilled, yet the voice was clear; smooth, and pleasant. A language no tongue knew wrapped itself around her, drawing her forward, toward a clearing in the fog and forest.

It was entrancing, this disembodied song on the wind, stirring something inside of Betty; something that had laid dormant that now longed, yearned to be awakened.

The song swirled around her like the fog, pulling her deeper and deeper through the woods. A clearing was opening up and in the middle of it stood a figure, their dark silhouette emblazoned against the bright behemoth of the moon behind them.

Her head began to lull as she drew closer, the melody growing louder in her ears with each new step, its chorus cradling her like a newborn being swaddled in a warm cloth.

The figure appeared to be floating as a dark fabric like a cloak billowed and curled around it. It drifted closer and outstretched an arm toward Betty, beckoning her forward. The stir inside her deepened. The fragrant aroma from before filled her nose again and this time her eyes grew heavy with it. And a smile, a small smile, formed of its own accord on her face.

Betty took a step closer and raised a hand back.

But then something began to pull her back.

Another noise was rising in the back of her head, an explosion of panicked "no's!" fighting against the soft song. She stopped dead in her tracks, the cold of the ground finally finding her feet. She inhaled sharply, her mind snapping and her eyes becoming clear.

It was hers. The voice yelling in the back of her head was her own.

It was telling her to turn back, to run, that this was wrong.

She looked forward toward the silhouette. The yearning in her still wanted to move closer toward it, but the noise in her head was keeping her at a standstill. As it continued to fight, the song started to morph; no longer was it a mesmerizing hum but now an agitated hiss.

Her voice was winning and the figure retracted its hand, beginning to draw back into the shadows. As it did the fog lifted, the wind whipped and the moon began to shrink. The peace she had felt was draining and her heart was quickening, and to Betty, the world was suddenly growing cold and empty.

The figure gave one last howling shriek as it skulked away into the growing shadows, one last soft hiss-like chant on its lips before the light disappeared. And then Betty fell into darkness.

"No!"

The cry escaped Betty's lips as she shot upward, her eyes flying open in the dark. Her heart was pounding, her forehead laced with sweat. She blinked and felt at the soft fabric underneath her, finding her limbs twisted up in the sheets. She inhaled shaking breaths, looking around at the furniture of her bedroom bathed silver and blue in the scattered moonlight.

It had been a dream.

Betty exhaled, falling exasperatedly back against the pillows. She ran a hand over her face. Though it was unlike any dream she had experienced before. She could still feel a lingering of that strange pull, an afterimage in her bones of the deep yearning that had called to her.

She swallowed, trying to reset her breathing back to a normal pace. Small ticks echoed through the room as the hands on her alarm clock beat steadily in the dark. She turned her head, the red glare of 3:00 am staring back at her.

She shuddered, throwing the covers away, and sat upright on the edge of the bed, rubbing her arms in an attempt to shake the strange feeling that was still gripping her. She was surprised to find her mouth moving, her tongue twisting a phrase over and over in a silent whisper. She grabbed at her nightstand through the dark, finding a pen and piece of paper.

She clicked on a lamp and scribbled down the phrase down to the best of her ability, raising the piece of paper to her face as she finished, staring at the scrawled words.

"Thig mo phàiste"

The words flowed naturally off her tongue but Betty furrowed her brow. She had no idea what it meant, or how she even know how to write, let alone, pronounce it. She didn't even know what language it was, but she knew this is what the figure had uttered as her dream had fallen away.

She frowned, sighing a heavy sigh as she placed the scrap of paper back down on the nightstand and massaged her forehead.

First her nerves had flared up at that Halloween store and now she was having nightmares in other languages; either the holiday was severely messing with her anxiety or this time she was actually going crazy.

She shook her head. Hopefully it wasn't the latter.

A tapping sounded through her room and Betty jumped, whipping her head toward the sound. A tree branch was scrapping against her bedroom window in the wind, its shadow looming over the room like gnarled claws.

She stood on slightly wobbly legs, making her way to the window. Through the branches, Betty could see the moon hanging in the sky, obscured by a mass of gray clouds passing in front of it. It was definitely its normal size, and there was no fog or mist anywhere in sight, no cloud of suspended dew drops, and no shadowy silhouettes thankfully.

A tingle ran down her spine and she moved her eyes away nonetheless, traces of the phantom pull still clawing at her skin.

She reached for a sweatshirt from the dresser underneath the window and as she did, noticed an orange glow out of the corner of her eye. She looked back out in the direction of the Andrews' house and saw that their garage was wide open, the light from the orange work lamps spilling out into the yard and beyond.

Betty leaned forward against the window sill. Sitting outside of the open doors was Archie's jalopy, its rust-colored frame burning bright under the glow of the lights. And sitting slumped in the driver's seat, a blanket wrapped messily around his shoulders, was Archie.

Betty frowned and finished pulling the sweatshirt over her head.

Looks like she wasn't the only one having a rough night.


A lazy hum buzzed out from the garage, the space heaters pumping against the cold wind that whistled outside the open doors. Warm lamplight bathed the strip of the driveway where the jalopy sat, Archie with it.

His feet knocked against the dash, rocking the wool blanket that covered his t-shirt and pajama pants. He cradled his head in one hand, his elbow leaned up against the driver's side door. In his other hand, he held a slightly frayed photograph.

Archie twirled the picture slowly, his eyes staring blankly ahead into the night.

"Is this seat taken?"

He jumped, swinging his head in the direction of the voice. Betty was walking up to the car, her hair up in a messy bun, the rest of her looking a bit tousled as well.

Archie pulled his feet off the dash and sat up. "Nope," he yawned, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "All yours." He reached across the seats and pushed open the door. Betty climbed inside and sat down in the passenger seat, burying her hands deep into her pockets. "What are you doing up?"

"Bad dream." Betty grimaced. "Weird dream." She shook her head. "I wasn't getting back to sleep any time soon." She looked at Archie. "What about you?"

Archie snorted and crossed his arms, a dark smile crossing his face. "I never even made it to sleep in the first place. I've been out here most of the night."

Betty shot him a concerned glance. "Do you want to go inside? It's a lot warmer there."

Archie swallowed and looked down. "A lot emptier too."

He looked over at Betty, who gave him a sad but understanding nod. They both turned forward to stare out the front windshield. Archie listened to the homey buzz of the heaters and the wind continue to blow around the car, the photograph still clenched tightly in his hand.

"I just feel closer to him out here, you know?" Archie continued after a few quiet minutes. "He taught me to play catch in the backyard, soundproofed the garage, and we even fixed up this car together."

Betty flashed him a smile, drawing her legs up and sitting crisscross on the seat. "I know. I helped."

Archie glanced at her. "Oh yeah," he chuckled. "I guess you did."

Betty chuckled along with him before the two grew silent again. Some cicadas and an owl had joined in with the noise surrounding them in the night. The trees in Archie's yard rustled and cracked, a few leaves twirling down through the haze of the work lights to the ground below.

"It hurts more, doesn't it?" Betty eventually asked. "This being the first holiday without him?"

Archie's mouth twitched and he nodded. "Everything keeps reminding me of him." He sniffed and scratched his head. "I didn't think I would feel much until Thanksgiving but it's so weird - things I've never given a second thought to are now all I think about." He paused. "The smell of the leaves and wood, the jack o' lanterns - heck, I even felt like crying the other day when I saw a plastic pumpkin because it made me think of trick-or-treating with my dad as a kid."

He bobbed his head and sighed, turning toward Betty, but when he did his face dropped. A solemn look had overtaken Betty's eyes, giving them a bit of a hollow appearance. Another gust of wind blustered around the car and Archie noticed Betty shiver out of the corner of his eye. He pulled the blanket away from his shoulders and held it out to her.

When Betty noticed she shook a hand, pushing the blanket back in his direction. "No, keep it," she said softly. "I'm not cold."

Archie hesitated but eventually nodded, pulling the blanket back around his arms. He tapped the photo in his palm and glanced at Betty again, wrinkling his brow. "Is it your dad?"

"What?" Betty swung her head.

"The dream that woke you up." Archie turned to look at her. "Was it about your dad?"

"Oh." Betty pushed against the bottom of the seat, straightening herself up. "No." She shook her head. "Not tonight, anyway."

Archie felt a knot form in his stomach and lowered his head. "I'm sorry."

"There's nothing you can do about it, Arch." Betty looked down as well, toying with the strings on her hoodie. "He… he brought it on himself."

"No." Archie shook his head. "Not about him dying. Well-," he ran a hand through his hair, deciding to add to that answer after seeing Betty recoil slightly. "I am sorry about that, but that's not what I'm talking about." He angled himself in her direction. "I mean, I'm sorry that everyone keeps forgetting that you lost a parent too."

Betty froze, the strings caught in between her unmoving fingers. She remained silent, staring at the floor of the jalopy. When she did eventually turn her head towards Archie, her eyes had turned misty. Archie gave her an empathetic smile.

He waited but she didn't say anything more. Archie cleared his throat and slid back down in his seat, pulling the blanket in tighter around him. He lifted his hand, bringing the worn photo back into his view. The edge of his mouth curled ever so slightly.

"That's a great picture."

Betty was leaning over, staring at the photo in his hand. She wiped an eye, a small smile on her face now. "You both look so happy."

"Yeah," Archie smiled, handing it to her. "It's from the night of the variety show. It's when he first got to see me play."

"I remember that night." Betty bounced in her seat, adjusting her position to hold the photo between the two of them. "I missed the show because I was with Jughead tracking down Jason's car." Betty paused and bobbed her head. "Which then got torched by Jughead's dad."

"And then we watched a video from a secret flash drive that we found in a stolen jacket and helped solve a murder," Archie sighed darkly. Both he and Betty turned their heads toward the open garage, sharing in the same lonely memory.

Betty sighed. "Remember when that was the weirdest thing that ever happened to us?" She asked in what to Archie sounded like a wistful manner.

Which he couldn't blame her for.

"Yeah." Archie took the picture back, placing it on the top of the dash, letting out a sigh of his own. "Back when the hardest part of my life was deciding between music and football."

"And I wasn't wasting tears on a serial killer," Betty quietly begrudged. She stared up into the sky at the full moon floating overhead, a sullen grumble escaping her lips. "At least I never have to see him again."

Archie looked up as well and then back down at the photo, the swell of moonlight washing the image blue. His eyes lingered on Fred's smile. His big, proud smile. He couldn't say he felt the same about his own dad. He wanted more than anything to see him again.

"I'm sorry about your dad too, Arch," Betty said, shoving her hands back into her pockets. "He was the best."

"Yeah." Archie breathed quietly, his gaze going back up toward the moon. "He was." An owl hooted softly above them, the rustle of the branch it rested on echoing into the night.

"You know in a lot of ways he was your dad too," Archie began. "Maybe if you feel like crying again, tell yourself it's for him." He dropped his head, looking back at Betty. "That way your tears won't feel wasted."

Betty's mouth trembled. "Thanks, Arch." She turned to look at him, wiping her eyes. "And here I thought I'd be the one helping you tonight."

Archie smiled. "Don't worry-," he reached forward, grabbing the photograph off the dash before peering back up at the full moon. "You did."


A/N:

Another one down! Thought I'd get this one out earlier, but I'm in the beginning phases of a move, so my time is a little scattering. I hope to try to update once a week though, but don't hold me to that.

This story was originally supposed to be a short one-shot but fantasy is my favorite genre and now I have a feeling this story is getting away from me and is going to be longer and a bit more in-depth than I originally intended. But that's part of the fun of writing!

Anyway, happy reading! And if I don't get the next chapter out before then, have a Happy Thanksgiving if you celebrate that here in the States.