The Next Full Moon by Carolyn Turgeon Page A

dad if they could go to the SPCA tomorrow. Monique was probably lonely; it’s what probably put her in such a bad mood all the time.
    And so she closed her eyes, grabbed hold of the feathers on her left arm, at the base, just above her elbow, and pulled.
    The feathers came off with a surprising ease now, almostas if they were pushing themselves into her hands. Even though it was an unpleasant feeling, she did not allow herself to stop.
    The feathers pulled off, making a soft, gross squiching sound, and leaving a paper-like, web-like film over her skin.
    It was gross and beautiful and astonishing and horrifying all at the same time.
    She kept pulling. Finally, the whole thing came off. In one piece, all the feathers. She sat in shock for a moment, holding the feathers in her hand, letting the garment—that’s what it was, some kind of jacket—stretch out, the end falling down and scraping the floor. It seemed to have a life of its own. A strange energy, filling the room.
    She dropped it onto the floor in horror, watched it smooth out as if it were letting out its breath, and stumbled to the bathroom.
    Flicking on the light, she expected a hideous sight to greet her. Her skin disgusting and covered in webs, dead skin, god knows what else. By now she’d believe anything at all.
    She blinked against the fluorescent light. And blinked again.
    Her skin was perfect. She turned around and looked at her back, over her shoulder, but it was fine. Better than fine. It was her old self staring back at her, and yet . . . her skin was creamy and smooth now, like milk, or porcelain. Her hair looked shiny and thick, falling down, covering her slightbreasts. And there was something else, something less easily definable. She seemed older, more poised or something. More, she realized then, like her mother. A kind of carriage her mother had had that was clear in every photo of her.
    Had she imagined the feathers? Suddenly everything seemed so unreal. Ava ran back to the living room, and the feathers were still there, on the floor. She bent down and ran her palm across them, and they were soft, wonderful. As soft as the fancy mink coat hanging in her grandmother’s closet, from the olden days, way back when.
    She lifted the garment and hugged it to her. It smelled clean and fresh, like winter. The feathers tickled her nose. It was like a giant pet, wasn’t it? A much sweeter, softer one than Monique.
    Suddenly, a knock came from the front door. Ava froze on the living room floor, horrified. It was just after midnight; her father wouldn’t be home for hours.
    Immediately, she shoved the feathered garment under the couch, as if it were a suitcase full of stolen diamonds. She pulled on her hoodie, a habit by now, and tiptoed to the front door. Trying to walk so softly that no one could hear, so that she could pretend that no one was home. Monique padded along with her, rubbing herself against Ava’s ankles.
    Barely breathing now, Ava stood on her toes and looked through the peephole.
    It took a second for her eyes to adjust, focus in.
    Outside was a woman with long, glowing white hair. She was dressed in a pale dress, and awash in moonlight. Her eyes were icy blue, enormous jewels. And she was staring directly at Ava.
    Ava jumped back, terrified. She had to remind herself that the woman could not see her. Then she looked back through the keyhole.
    The woman knocked again. She was so beautiful. Why would a woman like that be knocking on their door?
    Ava opened the door, her hands trembling.
    The woman smiled at her, and it was the kind of smile that felt like cookies in the oven, warm and comforting. Ava smiled back despite herself, even though her heart was pounding and she was more scared than she had ever been. She could feel Monique cowering at her feet.
    â€œAva,” the woman said, and her voice was soft and musical. “My name is Helen. I’ve come to see you.” She spoke as if it were perfectly