The Day My Life Got Weird (Part 1)
The storm pounded against the windows, the wind clawing like it wanted in. But it wasn’t the storm that made my skin crawl. It was the letter.
The one that slipped through the mail slot like a predator biding its time. The one I’d been waiting for without even knowing. The one that would change everything.
I froze, my hand hovering over the pile of junk mail scattered in the entryway. Bills, catalogs, credit card offers—forgotten in an instant. But that envelope... it was different. Old. Alive. Behind my sarcasm lay a truth I wasn’t ready to face—this letter felt final, like the world as I knew it was about to shift.
A sudden chill crept into the room. From the living room, the clock ticked—each beat a reminder of how absurd this situation was. A letter shouldn't feel like it was breathing. It shouldn't command my attention with such dark allure.
“Oh, fantastic,” I muttered, eyeing the parchment warily. “Nothing says 'relaxing Saturday' like a creepy letter from the dawn of time.”
The paper was thick and yellowed, its edges frayed as if it had crossed centuries to find me. The faint scent of brine clung to it, as though it had been pulled from the depths of the sea. There was no return address—only my name, scrawled in spidery, elegant script: Morwenna Willowheart Brightwood.
I shivered, pulling my oversized sweater tighter. The air grew heavy, charged with an electricity that had nothing to do with the storm. The locket around my neck pulsed faintly, feeling strangely alive, as if it shared a secret with the letter. The unmistakable scent of seaweed and salt filled the house, as if the ocean itself had crept inside, as if the sea had reached out to claim a part of me.
“Nope. Not today, Satan,” I muttered, though my voice cracked on the words. Even as I backed away, the pull of the letter gnawed at me, whispering secrets I wasn’t ready to hear.
The letter throbbed with a strange, ancient energy, each pulse resonating with something buried deep inside me. It was absurd—letters weren’t supposed to breathe, to pull, to demand. And yet this one did. It didn’t whisper to my ears but to something beneath my skin, its hum like the ocean’s deepest current.
As much as I wanted to walk away, I couldn’t. Not because I wanted to open it, but because something had already decided I must. The choice had never been mine.
I ran a hand through my hair, grimacing as another gust rattled the windows. The storm outside mirrored the churning inside me. Something was wrong. Something was changing. And that letter was the start of it all.
“Of course, it couldn’t be a pizza coupon. That would be too easy.” My voice sounded small, almost like a plea.
The joke fell flat. The pull grew stronger—a hook behind my navel, drawing me toward the innocuous envelope. My fingers twitched, aching to touch it, to tear it open, to devour the secrets inside.
I took a step back and bumped into the hall table. The photo of Ava and me at the beach toppled, the glass catching the light as if it was sending me a message. I traced her face with my fingertips. Ava had always been the brave one. Without her, I wasn’t sure I could face what was coming. She’d been my anchor when the world spun out of control.
If Ava were here, what would she say? Probably something practical like, “It’s just a letter, Mo. Open it or throw it away, but stop being so dramatic.”
But Ava wasn’t here. And this wasn’t just a letter.
The wind howled louder, and in its fury, I could almost hear voices—ancient whispers threading through the storm. It wasn’t just the wind. The letter was calling, summoning something from the depths. The scent of the sea thickened, filling my lungs until I could taste salt on my tongue.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself. This was insane. It was just a letter. Probably some elaborate prank or junk mail. There was no reason for my heart to race, for my palms to sweat, for every instinct to scream at me to run.
Yet...
I opened my eyes and stared at the envelope. It lay there, innocent yet ominous, a gateway to something I couldn’t undo. Whatever it held would change everything—I could feel it.
My hand hovered, trembling. Despite every screaming nerve in my body, I knew I’d open it. Not because I wanted to, but because I had to. The pull was too strong. The voices in the wind grew louder, more insistent, pressing against my skull like the edge of a knife.
“Okay,” I whispered, my voice shaking as I tried to steady my heart. “Let’s see what kind of chaos you’re bringing to my doorstep.”
I took a deep breath, bracing myself as I reached for the letter. The moment my fingers brushed the parchment, a current shot through me—sharp, ancient. It wasn’t painful, but it felt wrong, like brushing against something that had no business existing.
“Holy crud—” I yanked my hand back, staring at my fingertips. They tingled, charged with static. Around me, the air crackled, sharp and electric, raising the hair on my neck.
Outside, the storm paused. The wind stopped mid-howl, the rain stilled on the glass, as if the world was holding its breath. Then it resumed, battering the windows with a vengeance. The wind’s feral shriek matched the letter’s energy, as if they shared the same heartbeat.
The whispers began faintly, no louder than a sigh of wind, but they grew. They pressed into my mind, an urgent, alien rhythm that made my skin crawl. The words were impossible to understand, but the intent was clear: they were waiting for me.
“Lovely,” I muttered, forcing a weak laugh. “Of course there are whispers. Why wouldn’t there be?”
I scanned the room, desperate for an escape. My eyes landed on the bookshelf, where an old, leather-bound book of coastal legends sat gathering dust. Without thinking, I snatched the letter and shoved it between the brittle pages, slamming the book shut with a force that rattled the shelves.
The whispers vanished, cut off as if the book had swallowed them whole.
For a moment, the silence felt worse. It hung heavy in the air, unnatural and expectant. I stumbled back, my breath shallow as I put as much distance as I could between myself and that cursed book. My hands trembled as I dragged them through my hair, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
I cast a final, wary glance at the bookshelf, half expecting the book to leap from the shelf or burst into flames. Nothing happened. The room stood still, almost peaceful.
With a shaky exhale, I retreated to the kitchen. Maybe if I ignored it, the whole thing would just... go away. Letters didn’t breathe. Books didn’t silence whispers. This couldn’t be real.
But deep down, I knew better. A small, insistent voice whispered the truth I wasn’t ready to face.
I hadn’t stopped anything. I’d only delayed the inevitable.
***
Two days had passed since I’d shoved that cursed letter into the old book. The storm hadn’t eased. If anything, it had grown worse, like it was feeding on something just beyond my reach.
I stood at the window, staring out at the furious Atlantic. The waves churned as if they were trying to swallow the sky, mirroring the chaos twisting in my chest. The sky was an unnatural shade of gray—dark, almost black in places—clouds swirling and boiling with a restless energy. Whatever was out there was growing stronger.
“It’s only a storm. Just wind and rain. Nothing more,” I murmured, as if saying it aloud would make it true.
The wind howled in response, low and mournful, its cry threading through the house like a searching hand. A shiver crawled down my spine as the old bones of the house groaned, wood creaking in protest. I wrapped my arms around myself, but the unease clung to me, thick and unshakable.
The whispers had returned. At night, they slithered through the storm, curling around me like invisible fingers. I’d wake to the sound of them pressing against my senses, my heart pounding, convinced I wasn’t alone—convinced that something stood just beyond the edge of my vision, watching, waiting. But when I bolted upright, breath shallow, the room was always empty. Just the storm, endless and unrelenting.
“This isn’t happening,” I whispered again, the words crumbling under the weight of the truth I couldn’t name.
I pressed my forehead to the cold glass, trying to steady myself. The air outside felt heavy, charged, as though the entire world was holding its breath. Somewhere, just beyond the horizon, something was waiting. I could feel it. Watching.
I opened my eyes and stared at my reflection. The face looking back wasn’t entirely mine. My eyes were darker than I remembered, shadowed and stormy, holding a depth I didn’t recognize. And then, just for a moment, a flicker of silver flashed in their depths—something cold, ancient, and alive.
I stumbled back, my heart hammering against my ribs. Cold sweat slicked my palms as I dragged a shaky hand through my tangled hair. “Get it together, Mo,” I whispered, but the words felt hollow, my pulse refusing to slow.
When I turned, my gaze fell on the bookshelf. The old tome where I’d hidden the letter seemed different now, its presence heavier. The faint hum I’d imagined before had grown into something undeniable—a steady pulse, unnatural and rhythmic. The whispers swelled, a relentless chorus that filled the room, urging me closer.
This isn’t real. It can’t be.
I rushed to the kitchen, clinging to the mundane act of making tea as if it could tether me to reality. Hot water and herbs—simple, ordinary things—surely they could stitch the world back together. But the whispers followed, scratching at the edges of my mind, persistent and insidious.
As I reached for the kettle, a fierce gust of wind slammed against the house. The lights flickered, and in the dim, erratic glow, I saw it—a face. Pale and gaunt, with hollow eyes as dark as the storm, staring at me through the window.
A scream caught in my throat. The kettle slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor with a metallic crash. My hands trembled, breath shuddering in shallow, uneven gasps. When I looked back, the face was gone. But the panic it left behind gnawed at me, sharp and unrelenting.
“This isn’t happening,” I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of the counter. My fingers dug into the wood, desperate for an anchor against the storm pressing in on all sides. The house groaned under the wind’s assault, its old walls trembling as though they, too, wanted to flee.
The storm’s fury seeped through the cracks, filling the air with a restless energy that made my skin crawl. Even the locket around my neck, usually a steady, comforting weight, now felt like a live coal against my chest. It pulsed with the storm’s energy, heating unnaturally. I hesitated, hand halfway to it, afraid it might burn—but more afraid of what it meant.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shut everything out. But the whispers only grew louder, threading closer to words, teasing the edge of understanding. I shook my head violently, as if I could dislodge the sound from my mind.
“Nope. Not listening,” I muttered, my voice shaky. “I don’t speak... storm-induced insanity.”
Lightning split the sky, blindingly bright, flooding the kitchen with unnatural light. I flinched, eyes snapping open instinctively. For a split second, the world outside the window looked wrong. The coastline pulsed with an eerie, silvery glow, the waves alive with a strange, otherworldly shimmer. The storm wasn’t just battering the sea—it was breathing life into it, twisting the water into something alive, something watching.
And in the waves...
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” I breathed, pressing closer to the window despite myself. My breath hitched. Shapes moved through the water, sleek and silver, their motions fluid and unearthly. Not seals.
Selkies.
The creatures from Dad’s stories—myths I’d dismissed as bedtime tales—now undeniable, alive, and here.
They moved with that impossible grace, twisting in the storm-tossed waves, as if they were dancing, and my heart raced, dread curling in my stomach.
The sea’s call surged through the whispers, tugging at me. The sounds seemed to emanate from the raging storm, the creaking walls, and the very air itself. It wasn’t just a sound—it was a pull, a physical sensation that crawled up my spine and settled in my chest, making my feet itch to move, to run out into the storm and dive into the waves.
“No,” I said firmly, my voice barely steady. My fingers clenched around the locket, its vibrations humming through my bones. Was it protecting me, keeping me grounded? Or was it pulling me in, a part of the very force I was trying to resist?
Even as I denied it, I felt something shifting deep inside. A part of me I didn’t know existed was waking, responding to the call of the storm and the sea. It terrified me, but beneath the fear was something worse—a spark of exhilaration, primal and undeniable.
I shook my head, trying to clear the thought. “Get it together, Mo,” I hissed. “You’re losing it. It’s just a storm. Just a really weird, possibly hallucinogenic storm.”
Lightning flared again, turning the room stark white, followed by a crack of thunder so loud it shook the windows. I stumbled back with a small cry, my pulse racing. This was too much. The whispers. The storm. The not-quite-seals in the waves. It was as though the world I knew was being ripped apart, and I was caught between what was rational and... something else. Something ancient, powerful, and waiting.
The pull of the sea grew stronger, like a riptide beneath my skin, dragging me forward with relentless force. It drowned out everything else—the storm, my thoughts, my will. The locket against my chest hummed in time with the whispers, the vibrations intensifying until I couldn’t tell whether it was anchoring me or binding me tighter to the storm’s call. I gripped it hard, torn between the urge to rip it off and the fear that it was the only thing holding me to reality.
“I’m not going out there,” I muttered, but the words felt thin, like a thread about to snap. The pull wasn’t just in my mind anymore. It was in my body, swaying my legs, quickening my heartbeat, filling my veins with a tidal surge of something old and wild.
The call of the sea rose inside me like a tide, relentless and all-encompassing, drowning out reason. Before I realized it, I was at the door. My hand hovered over the knob, my muscles moving as though commanded by someone—or something—else. The whispers surged, wrapping around me, pulling at my thoughts like invisible hands. My locket burned hot against my skin.
Just as my fingers brushed the knob, the door slammed open with a deafening crack. I jumped back, heart hammering as the storm roared into the house. Ava stood framed in the doorway, her red hair tangled and wild, a grocery bag clutched against her chest like she’d battled her way through hell to get here.
“Whoa, Mo, what are you doing?” she asked, her voice sharp as she kicked the door shut against the raging wind. “It’s a nightmare out there!”
Her voice hit me like a splash of cold water, breaking through the haze. The whispers faltered, fading into the background, though they didn’t vanish completely. I blinked, suddenly aware of how close I’d been to stepping into the storm.
“I was just... checking the weather,” I said lamely, gesturing vaguely at the window.
Ava raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across her face. She set the grocery bag on the counter and began unpacking, her movements deliberate. The scent of lavender drifted into the room, soft and soothing, cutting through the sharp tang of salt and wind. It felt out of place—a sliver of normalcy against the chaos outside.
She didn’t smile. Instead, she watched me closely, her green eyes sharp and unyielding. “You’ve been staring at the ocean for hours, haven’t you? What’s going on?”
I shrugged, my gaze skittering away. My mind scrambled for an answer—any answer that wouldn’t make me sound completely unhinged.
“Is this about Dad’s stories?” Ava asked, her voice softer now, her eyes searching mine. “The ones about the sea, about... them?”
The word hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. I stiffened, my hand flying to the locket before I could stop myself. Its warmth pulsed against my skin, faint but insistent, as if it had a mind of its own.
“What? No, of course not.” The words tumbled out too quickly, too sharp. “Those were just stories.”
But even as I said it, the weight of the letter hidden in the old book pressed against my thoughts. The whispers, though quieter now, still lingered at the edge of my mind, curling like smoke.
Ava stepped closer, her brow furrowed with concern. “You’ve been acting off since the storm started,” she said, her voice steady but probing. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You clutch that locket like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.”
I dropped my hand from the locket, trying to look casual. “It’s nothing, Ava. I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Mo,” she said, crossing her arms. Her tone was firm now, cutting through my denial. “Something’s going on, and I want to know what it is.”
Frustration surged in my chest, tightening like a coiled spring. How could I explain something I didn’t even understand? How could I tell her about the whispers, the pull of the sea, the face in the glass—without sounding like I’d completely lost my grip on reality?
“Look,” I said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “I appreciate the concern, but you’re reading too much into this. It’s just a storm. A really weird, freaky storm, sure, but that’s all it is.”
Ava raised an eyebrow, her skepticism cutting through my weak defense. She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off before she could.
“Seriously, Ava, I’m fine,” I snapped, my forced smile slipping. “You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly, and she sighed, her eyes still fixed on me. “Fine. But this conversation isn’t over, Mo. I know you’re hiding something.”
As she turned away, the weight of my silence crashed over me—a wave of guilt so heavy it nearly dragged the truth out of me. We’d always shared everything. But this... this was different. This wasn’t something I could explain, not even to her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I glanced back at the window. The storm still raged, but Ava’s presence dulled its sharp edges, like her being here created a buffer between me and the chaos outside. Still, the whispers lingered, quieter now but persistent, pressing faintly at the edges of my mind.
Whatever was out there, whatever had started to wake—it wasn’t going to stop. And a part of me didn’t want it to.
The storm roared louder, its winds howling with a fury that drowned out the sound of Ava unpacking in the kitchen. The air in the house felt heavy, thick with salt and dampness, and a faint metallic tang clung to the back of my throat, like the storm had seeped into my very blood.
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, trying to ground myself, but it was no use. The whispers grew sharper, relentless, scratching at my thoughts as if they were trying to burrow deeper, unlocking something I wasn’t ready to face.
“Mo? Are you sure you’re okay?” Ava’s voice sounded distant, muffled by the storm and the cacophony in my head.
I opened my mouth to respond, but the words stuck. The house groaned under the weight of the wind, its timbers creaking like bones ready to break. My pulse quickened as I pressed harder against the glass, certain the entire place would collapse into the sea.
“I’m fine,” I finally croaked out, but even I didn’t believe it anymore.
The storm pressed in on me from all sides, a living, breathing force that seemed to answer my thoughts with its own will. Lightning flared, illuminating the churning waves, and thunder cracked so violently it shook the house.
For a single, shattering moment, I saw faces in the waves. Blurred and fleeting, but their gazes were unmistakable. I stumbled back, my breath catching as a chill raced down my spine. They were watching me, waiting.
And then, slicing through the chaos in my mind, a voice: sharp, undeniable, ancient.
“Open the letter."
The words vibrated through me, resonating in my bones, as if they’d been waiting centuries to be spoken.
I shook my head, trying to resist, but the pull was too strong. My rational mind clawed for control, screaming that this wasn’t real. Curses didn’t exist. Selkies weren’t real. Those were just stories Miread and Seamus, my adopted parents, told me as a child—fairy tales to fill long nights. But now, those tales felt like they were clawing their way out of the past, demanding to be acknowledged.
Fear warred with the inexplicable pull. My feet moved without my consent, dragging me toward the bookshelf. My mind screamed at me to stop, to fight it, but I couldn’t. The storm and the voice had taken hold.
“Mo? What are you doing?” Ava’s voice cut through, sharp with concern.
I couldn’t answer her. My hand reached for the old book, trembling as I pulled it from the shelf. The letter thrummed beneath its pages like a heartbeat, sending shivers up my spine. Its presence was so powerful it felt alive—ancient and dangerous, waiting for me.
My fingers brushed the envelope, and a jolt of energy shot through me. Heat seared up my arm, and the locket around my neck burned against my skin. I gasped, almost dropping the letter as pain radiated through me.
“I can’t,” I whispered, but even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. I had no choice. Whatever was coming wouldn’t be ignored any longer.
I stared at the seal, my heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the storm. Every instinct screamed at me to throw it away, to run. What if I ended up like my mother, swallowed by the sea? Mom’s warnings echoed in my mind, tales of a fate I’d always dismissed as fantasy.
But the possibility was there—this letter could hold answers. The truth about who I was. About what was happening to me.
The storm raged outside, and the house seemed to breathe with it, its walls shuddering as if alive. My hand hovered over the seal, trembling. Was I willing to risk everything to find out?
The conflict twisted in my chest, the pull of the unknown battling my instinct to resist. Each possibility—succumbing or refusing—felt equally terrifying.
“This is insane,” I muttered, even as my trembling fingers betrayed me, breaking the seal and unfolding the parchment.
The words were written in elegant, flowing script, but they weren’t in English. Gaelic. The language of my ancestors, of myths and curses I’d never learned. I hadn’t needed to. Until now.
“A Mhorwenna Willowheart Brightwood, Fuil na Mara, Nighean an Chaillte, Giùlanair an Uallaich Gun Tagradh...”
The words echoed in my mind, unfamiliar yet weighted with meaning. My name. How did it know my name?
The locket at my neck pulsed in time with the whispers in my mind, as though it recognized the words. My gaze darted over the text, stumbling over phrases I couldn’t translate, the meaning slipping through my grasp like water. Then, some of the letters shimmered, twisting before my eyes, forming fragments I could suddenly read.
“Tha an t-àm agad air tighinn. Tha na cagaran air gairm ort, mar a rinn iad air do mhàthair romhad. You are cursed, ceangailte le fuil ris a' chuan agus a h-uile rùn aige.”
Cursed.
The word struck me like a blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. My hands shook as I staggered back, the letter slipping from my grasp. It couldn’t be real, but the truth coiled around me, sinking into my bones like an anchor dragging me under.
“Mo?” Ava’s voice was closer now, sharp with alarm. “What’s going on?”
I couldn’t answer. My eyes stayed locked on the parchment lying on the floor. The whispers grew louder, weaving around me as more of the words on the page shifted into clarity.
“The skin that ties you to the sea must be found, lest you be lost as she was. He will come for you—he who covets what he cannot possess. Beware the charlatan with the silver tongue.”
Skin? He? My thoughts spiraled, grasping at the fragments. Was the letter talking about my mother? About me?
The storm outside seemed to respond to my confusion, the wind howling with renewed fury. Lightning lit up the room, casting jagged shadows on the walls, and the locket against my chest burned hotter, searing into my skin.
I felt it then—something stirring inside me. A power I had always felt faintly, like a distant drumbeat, now roaring to life.
I glanced at Ava, fear clutching my heart. She was my anchor, the one constant in my life. I couldn’t let this touch her. The thought of anything happening to her because of me was unbearable.
“The Highlands await. The seal skin is the key. Your mother’s fate does not have to be your own. But the curse must be broken, or you will follow her into the depths.”
The final words settled over me like a wave crashing down. The windows rattled in their frames, and the ocean’s roar seemed to come from everywhere at once, a voice calling me home.
“Follow the whispers, child of the sea. They will lead you to the truth.”
The letter slipped from my fingers, floating to the floor like a leaf on the wind. I stood frozen, the weight of what I’d read pressing down on me, as if the storm outside had reached into my chest.
“Mo?” Ava’s voice cut through my daze. She was in the doorway now, her face pale, her eyes wide with worry. “Mo, what the heck is happening? What is that letter doing to you?”
I tore my gaze away from the parchment, looking at her, at the storm raging outside at the locket searing against my chest. The storm was nothing compared to what was coming.
“Ava,” I said, my voice shaking with uncertainty. “Whatever this is, it’s only the beginning. We’re not safe—not here, not anywhere.”
