#you have a pile of mold that used to maybe be apples in your fridge

[we-are-temporary]

76.63% - all the way out in animal flesh, fish, and hygiene, I wonder why 🥸 (*stares directly into the camera in vegan*)

[platypanthewriter]

Pillow

Harringrove April prompt 28, Pillow.  Billy fixes some things, for Max. (It’s another short one omg guys praise me)

Billy got home a little drunk, spreading his hands occasionally when his boots hit nothing, stumbling on the sidewalk.  He thought—maybe—he could crawl in through his window, his dad would be asleep—but the closer he walked, the higher up it got, and he stopped, squinting.  

Better sleep in the car, he decided, fumbling the keys out of his pocket, and he walked over to the curb, only to see the back seat lit up with a flashlight already, the light flashing off the dash and the rearview mirror.  He stalked over like a jungle cat only to see Max curled up with her walkie-talkie, the flashlight hanging in her hand, lighting up wet tears on her cheeks.

It took like ten flicks of his lighter to light his cigarette, and he wondered if he was drunker than he thought, leaning against the car, listening to her on the walkie-talkie through the open windows of his Camaro.  

“I was gonna say something,” she said shakily.  “I can’t—I can’t take him anymore, and she—my mom knew, she grabbed my shoulder, just trembling, you know?  She knows if I fight him he’ll hurt me, or her, I can’t—”

She took a long, shuddery breath, and she must have clicked the button, because then it was a boy’s voice.  “Don’t make him mad—”

“You don’t know what it’s like living with somebody like Neil,” she said, flatly.  “You don’t know, okay, don’t tell me—” she cleared her throat, and then clicked it again, and the boy came on.

“—don’t know, I don’t, but don’t let him hurt you—”

“There’s nothing I can do to stop him,” she said, dryly.  “He keeps saying he’d never hit us, you know?  He tells me this.  He pushes me up against the wall, he says ‘I’d never hit you or your mom,’ and you know what I hear?”

“...what?” came the other voice, a whisper.

“I hear he can’t hardly stop thinking about it,” said Max, laughing like she was trying not to cry, and Billy stared up at the skies, smoking his cigarette, listening to her try to sleep, curled in the tiny back of his Camaro, her head against the molded vinyl instead of a pillow.

He watched the stars, thinking. 

 When he figured it was light enough the next morning, he pushed himself to his feet, shoving himself upright against the car door and staggering a little.  He winced as he stretched, feeling like he was a hundred and ten.  He walked around and dropped into the driver’s seat, listening to Max’s muffled yell with satisfaction.

“Billy,” she whispered, scrambling to the other side of the car.

“How bad you wanna get out of here,” he asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror as he tapped his pack of cigarettes, frowned into it, and lit the last one.  “You okay with shit like dishes?  Laundry?”

“...I can do my own laundry,” she whispered warily, glaring at him.  

“You gonna pick up your own shit?” he asked her, raising his eyebrows.

“...won’t pick up yours,” she shot back, and he couldn’t help grinning, a little.  

 He skipped school and visited a realtor that day.  He had to hit the bank and show her the money he’d been saving for a deposit on an apartment in southern California, but she let him in a few places, and two days later, he hauled Max in the car after school even though she was trying to go to the arcade.  He grabbed her friends for good measure.  “Come on, you little titsuckers, we’re moving out,” he told them, and one of them called Harrington to come and help, with his bigger car.

He mostly ignored Billy—he talked Susan down, though, when Billy and Max stomped in and announced they were blowing this shithole, and she started to cry—and he grabbed Billy’s stereo from the kids, and he was careful.  

It was perfectly obvious the big shit wasn’t gonna fit in either of their cars, and Billy was packing boxes of Max’s clothes in Steve Harrington’s car when Steve told the kids to haul the furniture out, too.

“We can’t fit that,” Billy told him.  “He’ll be home in a couple hours, we can’t fit it anyway—”

Steve glanced at him, but told them to haul everything out, and of course they listened to Harrington, instead of leaving Billy’s bed where it was.  Steve snapped under Billy’s nose and pointed to the passenger seat, and Billy got in, because Steve was right about one thing only, and that was that his Camaro trunk was the size of a small cat, and he’d waste more gas than he’d manage to haul belongings.

Halfway through town, he stopped, and even though it was nowhere near Neil’s office, it wasn’t where Billy told him to go, and his heart nearly stopped with the engine.  But all Steve did was hand him the keys, his eyes tired, and climb out.

“Don’t crash my car,” he said, as Billy stared at him.  “...go unload,” he added, when Billy glared at the keys, still bewildered, and then he walked off, and Billy decided to take advantage of some good luck for once, and take Harrington up on his offer.  He drove over and got the car unloaded—and rethought the number of stairs he’d accepted—and then drove back to find the kids and Harrington loading up a U-Haul truck.  Billy stopped his borrowed car right in the road, staring again, until some asshole honked, and then pulled up and parked, trying to figure out what was going on.  

“We’ve got nearly everything,” Harrington told him.  “Check around and see what we missed.”

Billy nodded, wandering into the house to find his room stripped, and Susan crying.  “I went to the bank,” she said, sniffling, and held out a wad of cash.  “You tell me if you need anything,” she sobbed, “—you—you tell me,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, grabbing his hands, and pressing them around what looked like a roll of hundred dollar bills.

“I will find a place soon,” she said, setting her jaw.  “Keep yourselves safe until then?”

“...what,” Billy said, and she bit her lips together, swallowing hard.  

“...stay safe, both of you,” she said.  “Billy, I pulled out the records I know you like, they’re in a crate on the table.”

He stared at the money in his hands, and she pushed the crate into his arms, and maneuvered him out the door.

 When they got most of the furniture up the stairs of Billy and Max’s place, the kids were horrified there was only one bedroom, and Billy just shoved Max’s bed into it, and waved them and their boxes inside.

“No, it’s fine,” Max breathed, unsteadily, as Will—kids kept showing up, and Billy honestly wasn’t sure whether one was giving him a different name every time, or whether he was the same kid—offered to paint designs on her walls.  “It’s—it’s good, it’s amazing.”

The one she’d talked to the night she’d decided wedging herself in the back seat of his car was a more relaxing night than any with Neil was there, and Billy remembered trying to kick his ass, and tried to grab all the heavier boxes from him, and the kid watched him, as tiredly as Billy felt.  

Once they were basically moved in—with no food, or cleaning supplies, but moved, anyway—Harrington ordered everyone pizza from the payphone on the corner, and left to return the U-Haul, and Billy watched him go, wondering how the hell his life would balance that all out.  Maybe he’d get flattened in a freak accident.  Maybe somebody would drop a cow on him from a plane.

Harrington returned and brought food—milk, apples, sandwich stuff, cereal, and TV dinners he stuck in the avocado-colored fridge that looked older than Max—and Billy tried to give him the money Susan had given him, but Harrington shoved it back, rolling his eyes.  “Didn’t do this for you, Hargrove,” he said, wrinkling his nose, and then frowning over at Max.  “...but this is a...good thing, you’re doing.  Lemme know if I can help.”

Billy wished furiously, his eyes burning for a long second, that anyone would have helped if he’d been alone, and then rubbed his face.  He took a slow breath.  “Yeah,” he said, smirking.  “I know it’s not for me.”

“No, I didn’t—that’s not quite—” Steve said, groaning.  “I didn’t know you...were the kinda person who’d wanna help Max.  I...thought you were...not like that.  I wanna help the kind of brother who’d do all this.”

“...she’s not my sister,” Billy said, out of habit, watching Max laugh at everything her friends said, out of sheer relief.  A girl had shown up, and Max was half collapsed on her, giggling, with tears rolling down her pink cheeks.

“Even more so, then,” Harrington said.  “You’re trying to do the right thing.  I’m...I’m glad to help.  I don’t need your money.”

Billy nodded, his eyes burning again, and he blinked rapidly, sniffling hard, and rubbing his nose.  

 Everybody stuck around until Billy chased them out, and then it was Max, Billy, and Steve Harrington, who’d done so much Billy didn’t dare tell him to go home.  Max curled up on the couch, mumbling sleepily after a day of hauling furniture up stairs, and Billy dug around in her boxes until he found the bedding.  Steve came in and helped him make the bed, and then went out and walked Max in, muttering angrily until she flopped across the bed with a groan of delight.

“...she was sleeping in the back of my Camaro,” Billy told Steve, watching her lazily kick one shoe in the air as she hugged an armful of comforter.  “Head wedged up against the vinyl, to get herself far as possible from...Neil.”  Steve nodded, glancing over, and Billy laughed, scrabbling at his hair, and looking around at the boxes to be unpacked, and the shit piled everywhere.  “...now she has a pillow, at least,” he whispered, forcing a laugh.  

Steve reached over and squeezed his shoulder.  “Let’s find yours,” he said, frowning around, and rolling up his sleeves.

[irwintry]

The Man on Maple Street

Warnings: swearing

Author’s Note: this is Halloween themed!!!! spooky

Summary: Y/N finds herself head over heels for a town folklore, and she soon realizes that he isn’t as scary as he seems.

Word Count: 7k

A pumpkin with crooked teeth sat abandoned on the side of the road. Its face had sunken in, fresh with mold among the inner edges of the cuttings. The streets were damp from the rain, and the asphalt crackled beneath the weight of your bicycle. It was all so mystical, so dark yet beautiful, and the reds, browns, yellows, and oranges acted as a welcoming beacon–– leaves so keen on your arrival. The breeze was cold, its chill harsh enough to penetrate the bare skin of your hands. This left your knuckles frozen against the handlebars, but the warmth of your sweater and the smile etched on your face kept you content.

The winding road became hills, and the hills became a neighborhood filled with pink and yellow houses, each adorned with a great big tree and rod-iron fences. October was a day or two away, and you could only count a handful of pumpkins as you rode alongside the curb. The streets were empty, and the homes were dark, but the eeriness of the town comforted you. It smelled of autumn. It smelled of cold air, rotten leaves, and smoke from simmering fires, and it smelled wonderful.

You came upon a stop sign, and you had meant to pause for a brief moment. The adrenaline of the ride kept you active–– it kept your lungs and legs from aching. You stopped your bike at the corner of Maple and Main, but your feet caught in your pedals.

A man dressed in all black had his eyes on you. He stood, unmoving on Maple, tanned hands deep in his pockets. Your heart swelled with anxiety, and your legs shuffled to push and increase acceleration. And as you pedaled away, you kept your gaze on him, and he kept his gaze on you.

Main Street entered into the small downtown district. The long road was stocked full of seasonal (and year-long) mom-and-pop-shops desperate for attention, and you were determined to give them all of the love you could. Each place held a memory, some unknown, and some from when you were only a kid.

You carried on through downtown and beyond the square where a few people gathered, and you rode and rode down narrow lanes through cornfields to reach your final destination. Annie’s Apple Farm was in season, and you were more than willing to lend her a hand.

“Morning person yet?”

You set your bike against the small barn and sighed. When you glanced over your shoulder, Annie stood there with a pair of gardening gloves already on her hands. “We’ll get there,” you said, rolling your eyes at her energy. “Can I be on apple cider duty?”

“What, you don’t want hay ride duty?” your aunt asked, a small hint of humor in her tone.

“Ha-ha.” You followed her into the barn, meanwhile marveling at the many rows of top-prize pumpkins, plus a few shrimpy ones, too. “I thought you stopped doing hay-rides after a kid caught a barrel on fire.”

“Just messing with you,” said Annie. “Course you can be on apple cider duty. It’s a Monday, so I don’t expect much turn-out. Oh, but hey! Happy first day! You sure you don’t just want a ride next time?”

“I used to go to bed at three, Annie,” you replied. “I don’t think I could wake up at three.”

Annie sent you a smirk and a wink. “You’ll get there.”

The morning had yet to warm, and the sky hardly lightened as the hours ticked by. The cold air slipped through the holes of your sweater, allowing a chill to flow through your shaking bones. You were begging for sun by the early afternoon; the small cups of apple cider refused to keep any heat. Annie seemed unfazed, in fact, she had lost a layer while she restocked the large baskets of apples. You decided to ask for a more active job for tomorrow.

“You look like you need an ice-cold bath,” said Annie. The last few customers had packed up their pumpkins in their trunks and left, and you considered bundling up with a stack of hay to keep warm.

You laughed and stuffed your hands up your sleeves. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. Need anything else?”

Annie glanced around the barn. “Um, I think that’s it. I’m gonna stick around for another hour to work on financial stuff. When you get back, can you feed Oatmeal? Just a quarter of the can in the fridge.”

“Will do,” you said. “You sure you don’t need a hand?”

Annie just shook her head before digging around in her pocket. She pulled out her wallet, grabbed a few stray dollar bills, and then handed them over to you. “Go get yourself some coffee. You look like you’re about to freeze to death.”

You reluctantly took the cash. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Relax,” said your aunt with a smile. “I’m taking it out of your paycheck anyway.”

The bike ride home wasn’t as simple as it had been in the morning. Cars congested the roads and people served as distractions, and the shiver beneath your skin failed to disappear no matter the speed of your wheels. You thought about the warmth of your aunt’s house and the guest house you stayed at in the back, and you thought about a nice hot shower before making yourself a nice hot meal. And you also thought about the man in black.

You passed through the same neighborhood, and you stopped at the same stop sign between Main and Maple. But you stayed there, eyes searching just in case the man was still there. He wasn’t, so you pedaled on, and then you glanced down Maple again. There, the man in black walked slowly in your direction, gazed locked on you, yet you carried on.

You shook the thoughts of him away as best you could. There was something wrong about him, something so obviously off. Maybe it was his cold stare, or maybe the soft smile he gave you. Maybe it was his long, dark figure. Or maybe there was something else, and you wanted to figure it out.

-

When October rolled around, you had started a count of the man in black sightings. He wore the same leather jacket and the same dark jeans, and sometimes you caught him smoking–– other times he simply stared at you. You wondered about his workday, about his life. You wondered if he thought about you, the sweater-clad stranger on a bubble gum pink bike. Because not only did you see him every day, but he saw you, too.

“Hey, Annie?”

You had been sweeping the barn when the wondering became too heavy in your chest. Stray straws of hay and clumps of dirty grass lay in a pile below your feet when you paused to speak.

“Yeah, I have two more apple cider donuts calling your name,” your aunt called from her office.

You laughed. “Actually, I was gonna ask something else.”

“What’s up?” Annie stepped out from the small office, her gloves deep in the front pocket of her jeans and a small cup of cider in her hands.

“Do you happen to know anyone who lives on Maple Street?” you asked, tilting the broom away from you.

Annie thought for a moment. “That’s off of Main, right?”

You nodded.

“Yeah,” she replied, her tone light. “Miranda and her daughter. I think her son comes back every once and a while.”

“Her son?”

“I think so.”

“What’s he look like?”

A smile played on Annie’s lips. “Why? You interested in him?”

“No, no!” You held up a hand. “Just curious.”

“He might be a little old for you,” said Annie. “He’s blond. In his thirties. He’s a carpenter or something. Or maybe a truck driver.”

You frowned.

“Why’d you wanna know?”

You let out a small sigh and scratched your forehead. “Well,” you said, “I ride by there every day, and I keep seeing this one guy. Dunno. He’s just always there. Figured you’d maybe know him since this town is the size of a goddamn commune.”

“Communes can be pretty big, you know.”

“I’m sure,” you said with a laugh. Meanwhile, you continued sweeping. “He’s just kinda creepy. He wears all black.”

A look of realization flooded over your aunt. Her eyebrows knotted together, allowing her forehead to wrinkle as the worry became evident in her features. “I know who you’re talking about,” she said.

“Really?”

Annie nodded. “Yeah, I mean–– no. I’ve never seen him myself, but other people have. We have a page on Facebook.”

“I’m not even surprised that Little Falls has a Facebook page.”

“You said he’s always on Maple?”

“Yeah.”

Annie leaned back against the door to her office. She appeared concerned, but she also looked confused. “No one really knows who he is,” she muttered. “A few others see him, too, but I wouldn’t say a lot have. Everyone just calls him the Shadow Man because, like you said, he wears all black.”

“Shadow Man?” You chuckled. “What, do they think he’s a ghost or something?”

Annie paled a bit.

“You’re–– you’re kidding,” you said.

She shook her head.

“Do you think he is, too?” you asked her. You tightened your grip on the wooden broomstick. You believed in ghosts, sure, but you had seen enough Ghost Adventures to know the science behind ghost sightings. The man in black was too real.

Annie simply shrugged. “I’ve never seen him. And I drive down Main every damn day.”

“I see him every single day.”

“Maybe you just have a gift.” Annie shrugged once more and locked her office behind her. “Want a ride back?”

You thought about her question, eyes narrowing in on the pile of dirt below you. You thought about the man in black, and you thought about what Annie had said about him. “No,” you said. “Thank you, though. I think–– yeah, I’m probably gonna ride around for a bit. Maybe visit mom.”

Annie’s smile faltered, but it soon returned after a moment, and then she nodded at you. “Okay. I’ll see you back at the house. I’m thinking about soup for dinner?”

You smiled in return. “Yeah. Sounds good. See you then.”

-

Your shins were painted with the bruises from your ride back home. Traffic seemed heavier, even for a small town, and you found yourself tapping the handlebars to keep your frustration at bay. You even repressed yelling at a middle-aged woman for almost running you over. The downtown soon faded into the familiar neighborhood, and you were antsy. And then you saw the sign for Maple Street.

You stopped your bike at the stop sign, neck twisting right and left to check for “shadow man” sightings. At first, you saw nothing, so you sighed and kicked off. But then you spotted the figure down Maple again, and you sped off in his direction. You didn’t think about the consequences. You didn’t think about a single thing.

He had already been walking in your direction when your feet hit the ground harshly. The sudden shift nearly sent you tumbling, but you maintained your composure. You had to. Now, you were within ten feet of the man, and you were finally able to fully take him in. He was dark–– he was beautiful.

“Hey, um–– hello, sir––“

“Please don’t call me sir,” he said.

You stumbled back a bit, eyes falling wide for a moment to look at the man before you. The Shadow Man, the man you watched–– the man who watched you. His eyes were dark, too, and his lips were pulled into a deep frown. You saw through his dark exterior, but the colors didn’t change. Everything about him––his aura, his energy––was dark.

“Uh, sorry,” you said and readjusted your grip on the metal handlebars.

But his frown quickly melted into a cunning–– no, stunning––smile. “Jus’ messing with you,” he mumbled, his hot breath freezing in the air.

“Ah.” You raised a brow and allowed your faux confidence to return. “I can’t figure you out.”

The man also raised a brow, and the small action made you shutter. Although his presence intimidated you, it also made you feel warm. It was comforting. And it was wrong. “Well,” he said, “do you need to?” His dark curls blew into his face.

“No,” you said. You glanced down at his clothes. They were the same as always–– same black shoes, black pants, and black leather jacket. But they looked good. The color was attractive on him. “Why doesn’t anyone know you here?”

You weren’t sure why you asked it, but you were prepared for an uncomfortable tension. You were prepared for the bad reaction.

He shrugged. “Because they think I’m a ghost,” he answered. “They don’t wanna befriend a ghost.”

That made you smile. “Ridiculous. Ghosts are cool.”

“That’s what I think, too!” The man laughed a bit, and your own discomfort had eased. The anxiety that had once climbed into your chest withered away. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

“Well,” you muttered, fingers slipping into a tighter grip around your bike. “You got a name, Shadow Man?”

He winced and shook his head. “So, that’s what they call me, huh?” He laughed again, crinkles and dimples stretching in a plastic-y fashion. “Damn.”

“Yeah, I thought it was cheesy, too.”

The man smiled at you. “Name’s Calum,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. His leather jacket creaked and tightened around his biceps.

“Cute,” you replied. “Way better than Shadow Man. Should I spread the word?”

Calum started to back away as he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Let’s keep that between you and me.”

You nearly took a step forward. “I didn’t give you my name.”

He winked at you as he continued backing up slowly. “We’ll save that for next time, then,” he mumbled.

You smiled, heading tilting toward the ground to glance at your shoes for a brief moment. But when you looked back up, Calum had gone.

-

The sunrise peeked through the trees outside of your window. Fresh dew sat upon the surface of the glass, each tiny droplet reflecting the warm colors in a liquified glaze. The thin white curtains hardly blocked out the subtle pinks and oranges. You awoke slowly, eyes aching with exhaustion, and your limbs felt like deadweights. You thought about the heavy scents of hay, corn, pumpkins, and apples, and you thought about the scent of your aunt’s kitchen. You thought about the giggles of children carrying pumpkins larger than their heads. You thought about the chatter of costume ideas as they searched for the perfect pumpkin to carve.

You also thought about Calum, and all color drained away.

Thoughts of him were black. He was hazy cemeteries and foggy forests. He was the embodiment of the town your aunt lived in. Eerie and comforting in ways you couldn’t explain. He held a mystery to him, and you desired to know him.

The idea of Calum was chilling. It was gray–– like a cloudy autumn sky with a frigid breeze, but there was a flicker of light like a candle when he smiled. It only intrigued you more.

Annie was in the kitchen when you made your way into the main house. A kettle sat on the stovetop, and a few boxes of tea were beside it on the counter. It was a Monday–– the farm’s off-day, but you had places to be. A person to see.

You said goodbye to your aunt through a mouthful of toast, and on your way out, you scooped up Oatmeal to give him a few pets and unwanted kisses. You were back on your bike in a matter of minutes, heart-pounding as the cool air slipped through your sweater. The moisture in the atmosphere filled your lungs, and soon enough, rain began to drizzle down. It was gentle, almost mist-like, and the way it fell transformed the scenery into something untouchable.

You skidded to a halt at the corner of Maple and Main. He said next time. Calum had promised a next time. So, you were going to make sure that “next time” happened soon. But his presence couldn’t be felt, and his all-black attire did not stand out through the haze of the morning. You sighed and carried on down Main to Elmwood Street. There, you set your bike up against a fence and walked down the path of the cemetery.

The burial ground had succumbed to the season. In its small little corner of the world, leaves piled high before gravestones, and moss became a friend to the memorials. A trail of fog led you down to where your mother lay.

But you didn’t get the chance to search for long. A low voice mumbled something from behind, and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Holy sh–– oh.” You let out a shaky breath. Before you, Calum stood in his usual apparel, and he was smiling. He, too, was untouchable. “Calum.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. His brown eyes softened as he spoke, and the hint of morning sun reflected in his irises. If you allowed yourself, you could get lost in eyes like that.

You shrugged and hugged your arms tight. “It’s okay,” you mumbled. “A graveyard isn’t exactly the most ideal place to get crept on, though.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He chuckled and scratched his head, and you could see his thoughts jumping around in his brain. “Saw your bike, so I figured I could find you here.”

“You followin’ me?” you teased, but in a way, it wasn’t a joke.

Calum shook his head. “Nope. Just like walking.”

“My name’s Y/N.”

He rose a brow.

“I didn’t get to tell you yesterday,” you said, stuffing your fingers up into your sleeves. His eyes flickered down at the sight of the movement. “So, I’m telling you now.”

Calum smiled again. “S’pretty.”

Heat mottled up your back. “Never heard that one before,” you told him.

“Really?” he asked, taking a few steps to your right so he could initiate a mobile conversation. The two of you carried on down the wet path. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

You shrugged, and you were suddenly hyperaware of his gaze on you. It resembled his aura, dark and mysterious, yet you never wanted it to leave. You wanted it to haunt you forever. “I’ve been kind of a lone wolf for a while,” you said. “Don’t really get to hear compliments often. Unless they’re from friends or something.”

Calum hummed. “That’s–– Jesus.” He reached up and brushed a few curls away from his forehead. “No one’s wanted to snatch up the gal with the pretty pink bike, huh? Doesn’t sit right.”

“I’m no one’s to snatch,” you replied, meanwhile suppressing a hot blush. “Besides, I’m never in one place long enough.”

“Well,” mumbled Calum, “I guess that’s where we’re different.”

You glanced up at him.

“I’m only ever in one place.”

-

The next time you saw Calum, you had strayed from your usual bike path home. Mud caked the knees of your jeans, and your cheeks were red and bitten from the harsh cold. It was still early October, but the temperature in Little Falls always dropped too fast.

He stood on the bank of a small creek, his arms folded across his chest, and the crunch of leaves below your bike tore him out from some trance. A smile found its way on his face the minute he saw you. A genuine smile, dimples and all.

“You look like you fought death,” he said as you neared.

You huffed, and whatever exhaustion that had been running through you slowly dissipated. His company seemed to make you feel wide awake. You could remember every detail of the few moments you shared.

“Oh, how nice of you to say,” you mumbled, quirking a small smile. You let the bike slip from your grip and onto the bed of leaves below.

Calum stared at you for a long moment. He took a few steps back and nodded in a different direction. “I wanna show you something cool,” he said as he carried on away from you. “I promise I’m not gonna murder you.”

You chuckled dryly, but you followed him, nevertheless. “How do I know you’re not just saying that to throw me off?” you asked.

Calum flattened his lips and nodded. “Touché.

“What’s your M.O.?”

“Hm?”

You gazed up at the tall brunet. He stared at the path of trees ahead. “Your M.O.,” you said. “Like, what do you do? Why do you think people think you’re a ghost? Stuff like that.”

He stifled a small laugh. His face lit up exuberantly when he laughed. “Musician,” he answered slowly. “Freelance. And, I dunno.” Calum shrugged. “I think they just reject anything that’s different, y’know?”

You nodded. “Smart.”

He nodded, too. “They tried calling the cops on me once because I was so-called loitering in their neighborhoods. Can’t arrest someone for taking a jog on public property.”

“But you don’t jog.”

“Yeah,” said Calum with a chuckle. “I just scare them. Do I scare you?”

“No,” you replied. You weren’t sure.

He smiled down at you, but he didn’t say anything. The two of you walked on.

The forest grew thicker, and the air seemed colder as you stepped around brush and large branches. Calum stepped cautiously, but he seemed unaffected by the congested pathway. He occasionally glanced back at you, his smile and his eyes still warm as always. He seemed so happy–– you couldn’t imagine anyone actually being scared to be near him. But then again, appearances were deceiving. You trusted too easily; you hoped it wouldn’t harm you this time around.

“Almost there,” he said. “Promise.”

You stumbled on a few hidden stones. “You–– crap. You said that ten minutes ago.”

He looked back at you, his grin wide. “We have not been walking for ten minutes.”

“Feels like it,” you huffed. “You’re walking too fast.”

“You just have short legs.”

“You’re just freakishly tall.”

Calum laughed, but as he turned to face you once more, you tripped again. This time, your knees buckled beneath you, and you were sent tumbling.

A pair of arms caught you and lifted you up. The leather of his jacket was ice-cold below your touch, but his hands were warm on your forearms. And his chest was only inches away. The silence between you thickened, and you swore you could hear a heartbeat. When you glanced up, Calum looked terrified.

“Um.” He swallowed, releasing his hard grip on your arms so you could steady yourself. “Sorry,” he breathed out, and the horror washed off his features. He blinked, and a look of relief quickly took over. He stretched his fingers and asked, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Thank you.”

Calum smiled at you. “It’s, um, it’s just down here. Over that bridge.”

You hadn’t seen the bridge until he pointed it out. In fact, you had hardly paid attention to your surroundings whatsoever. Beyond the bridge, a stone foundation sat, and a weak building sat crumbling above it. A rotting mill was nestled against the creek.

“How’d you find this?” you asked, marveling at the old sight as the two of you crossed the bridge.

Calum shrugged. Twigs crunched beneath his shoes, and wings of birds flapped in the distance. “I like walking,” he said.

He led you through the open archway into the abandoned building, and the moisture in the air stiffened. Light peaked in through the collapsing roof, along with a few branches of towering trees. The place had been taken over completely by nature. It was eerie, like everything else in Little Falls. You looked over at Calum, but he had already been looking at you.

“Wanna go upstairs?” he asked you, motioning to the sad ladder beside him. “It’s safe-ish. I was up there a few days ago.”

You bit your lip, meanwhile, you contemplated every decision you had made up until to this point. You weren’t scared, no matter how much your subconscious told you to be. You allowed yourself to trust a stranger–– a stranger that the entire town refused to trust. You allowed him to take you far from civilization all because he made your stomach flutter in ways you couldn’t explain.

You nodded. “If I die, it’s on your conscience.”

Calum’s small smile turned sad, and you were so keen on knowing why. But instead of speaking again, he began to climb. You watched his fingers glide from rung to rung, grip tightening around the decaying wood, and you imagined the muscles flexing in his forearm. He then disappeared through the small opening to the floor above.

You took a breath and set a foot on the bottom rung. It felt steady beneath you, so you took it slow. When you reached the top, Calum’s hand reached out to guide you, and you grabbed it without hesitation. His skin was warm and rough beneath your touch. You didn’t want to let go.

The second floor of the old mill was musty and moist, and you felt the wetness in your lungs as you breathed in. The floorboards creaked underneath your weight.

“You sure it’s safe?” you whispered, your grip tightening around his palm.

Calum smiled down at you and squeezed your hand in return. “No. It’s definitely gonna cave in on us any minute now.” And then his smile became laughter when you hit his arm.

His hand left yours soon after, and he sauntered across the room to look through the cracks in the wood. Moss and vines climbed up the damp wall like they were desperate to give new life to the beaten and broken structure. And the leaves under your feet had come from years and years of sad autumns. You wondered how many times Calum had come here alone. You wondered if he had brought anyone else, too.

Or maybe they never lived to tell the tale.

“You come here a lot?” you asked, voice wavering as you stepped around a large hole in the flooring.

Calum twisted his neck to look at you. “Maybe too much,” he answered. He stepped back away from the wall, and a few leaves blew in from the trees above.

You kept your gaze on him while he peered up, eyes bright toward the sky, and he glowed. A smile like that could move mountains. He was a sunset, all bright yellows and oranges, but he was also a dark twilight, and the heavy black and gray swallowed you whole.

Calum’s eyes darted down to meet yours, and his smile grew.

“You look like a fucking puppy,” you whispered, yet you hadn’t expected the words to slip out so fast. Your cheeks heated while his grin accompanied laughter.

“Shut up,” muttered Calum. He tried hiding his face with his hand, but he was too exposed. He had never been this exposed to another person before.

A small gust rocked the rotting structure. A chorus of creaks followed, and you weren’t sure if you had shivered from the cold or the fear. But Calum noticed, nevertheless.

He took off his jacket for you. The leather material whined due to the strain for the motion, and then he handed it over to you. A jacket you had seen him in for the past week or two. A jacket you nearly swore belonged to a ghost. All he wore beneath was a black short-sleeve.

You put the jacket on with great reluctance, an unsure expression written on your features, but his nod assured you it was okay. It was okay when you took a peek at his crossed arms, and all blood drained from your face. His biceps pushed tight against the thin shirt. Beautiful black ink adorned his tan arms–– you wondered if there were more in secret places. But all you knew now was the heat of your chest, plus the fact that he was a lot broader than you originally thought.

“Thank you,” you said through a fit of chattering teeth.

Calum smiled at you and rubbed your arm. The small gesture filled your heart. “Don’t mention it. We can head out. Your lips are blue.”

“They are not!”

He burst into laughter again on his way down the ladder. You could hear his laughter even when his head disappeared.

You took a breath, and this time, your heart ached for another reason. Going up the ladder was much different than going down. You closed your eyes and turned around to take your first step.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” said Calum, “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

“I’m not–– oh fuck–– I’m not gonna fall,” you said through a wheeze. Your foot had slipped mid-sentence.

“Uh-huh.”

One of the rungs splintered beneath your grip. “Good t’know you have a lot of faith in me.”

Calum chuckled. “You afraid of heights or somethin’?” he asked you.

You took another step down. “No, but I–– shit!” A rung snapped beneath your foot and sent you flying back. You shut your eyes tight, bracing for impact, but you were met with strong arms.

“I’m not gonna fall,” mocked Calum in a light tone. His arms felt firm around yours, and you decided that you didn’t quite mind. You didn’t mind it at all. His voice resonated from his chest, the small hint of laughter seeping through and murmuring against your back. Chills dug into your spine. The sensation of it all made your toes curl.

You sighed, head lolling back against his chest before you glanced up at his beaming face. You soon laughed, too.

“You’re something else, darlin’,” he said softly.

Calum smelled like rosewood and musk. It made you wonder what he tasted like, what he felt like. And then you wondered why he seemed so dark yet spoke so light. He spoke to you like you were the only thing that mattered. A part of you seemed to believe it was true.

-

The butterflies worsened by the next week.

You had fastened a basket to your bike and stocked it full of bags of candy corn. Annie had asked you to run to the nearest drug store and find some for her to hand out at the barn. The trip into town was a simple five minutes, but you had somehow missed your man in black sighting for the morning. So, you swung into the neighborhood off of Main in search of seeing the man who made your heart flutter.

It had happened so fast, although you weren’t all that surprised that it did. He was a charmer— he had a way with words, and he smiled like you were the greatest thing he’d laid eyes upon. All it took was a smile and a voice and a gentle touch, and you were a puddle on the ground.

But maybe that was how all of his other victims felt.

You pushed back negative thoughts and cycled toward the stop sign on the corner of Maple and Main. With your heart thumping in your throat, you searched, but Calum could not be found. You were quick to give up. He would be there when you returned later in the day, you were sure of it.

Again, Calum could not be found.

Not the next day either. And the day after that. Or even the day after that.

You laughed at the idea of crushing on him after his long absence. You had let yourself get sucked in–– you had allowed yourself to feel foolish.

Now, it was exactly one week until Halloween, and you assumed your fondness toward him had simmered into nothing. But then he was there. You saw him on your way back from work, attention straight while you rode. His figure caught your eye through the dark haze of the evening. It was like he beckoned you over without a single word, and you ached to pedal on. You ached to push him away–– something you did best.

You rode toward him slowly, and once again, your heart thumped in your throat. Luckily, your scarf kept it hidden.

“Well,” you said firmly as you unmounted your bike, “where’ve you been, then?”

He didn’t smile at you. His eyes weren’t bright. His presence, in fact, felt as cold as ice. “I don’t know,” said Calum.

You raised your eyebrows inward. “How do you not know? I haven’t seen you in over two weeks. Because for some reason I look for you every day, even though I should just... stop getting my hopes up.”

Calum’s expression changed. He looked sad and lost. He looked sorry. “Yeah, I, um––“ He swallowed, and he tried looking anywhere but at you. “I was just––“

“Look, I’m sorry,” you said with a sigh. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I just–– I missed you.”

His eyes widened. “Really?” he asked, smirking.

“Do not get cocky on me.”

His grin only grew. “S’just interestin’,” said Calum. He crossed his arms like he usually did. He seemed vulnerable, but he also appeared guarded. You just weren’t sure why he bothered around you.

“Why?”

“Cos’ I missed you, too.”

This time, a smile played on your lips. “Dammit,” you muttered. “You’re good.”

“You busy tonight?” Calum straightened his spine as he spoke. His eyes were still wide–– almost in a hopeful way.

“No...” you said with a smile. “Why?”

“Meet me on Elmwood at 8?”

Your stomach knotted. But it was a good knot. “Finally gonna murder me this time?” you teased, knocking his elbow with yours. He knocked yours right back.

“Ha-ha.” Calum’s grin was toothy and big and all things cute. “Yeah. I‘m gonna have to wear a blindfold though because you’re too damn cute. It’s been holding me back every time.”

“Ah,” you said. “Makes total sense.” You grabbed the handlebars of your bike and plopped yourself right back on the seat. “All right, then, Calum. I will see you at the cemetery at 8 for whatever fucked up thing you got planned.”

He shot you a wink. “Bring warm clothes. And a blanket.”

Your mouth dropped a little. “Should I bring snacks? Oh my god, should I download a movie? Do you like scary movies? Because I kinda do but I don’t know if being in a graveyard will––“

“Jesus Christ, darlin’––“ Calum held up a hand. “Slow down. You don’t have to do anything else.”

Your lips fell into a pout.

“And definitely don’t do that,” he said, stepping towards you and leaning down.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared straight ahead as his cold lips came into contact with your forehead. You hardly noticed the gentle brush of his fingers against your skin.

“See you tonight?” asked Calum. He slowly removed his touch and backed away.

All you could do was nod.

He smirked. “Perfect. It’s a date.”

-

You had forgotten about the total outcome of it all. Once October ended, your time in Little Falls would, too. But you pushed the thoughts to the back of your brain for the time being. Your heart raced erratically as you sped around Annie’s guest house, searching deep for the perfect comfortable yet cute clothes to wear. The nerves had returned in extreme quantities, and you were desperate for it to become easy.

You had a week left to make it easy.

Your bike had never held less resistance than on your ride to Elmwood Street. The wind guided you, and the large camping lantern in the middle of your basket rattled with every bump. You waved at the crooked-toothed pumpkin on the way over.

Elmwood was dark. Shivers crept your arms as you pedaled steadily down the street. The rod iron gate whistled and moaned against the wind, and the rustling of trees drowned out other noises of the night. You were going to get murdered. You were going to get––

“You cold?”

Your head whipped to the right, and there stood Calum in his typical attire. It always suited him no matter what. You smiled while he ambled over to you, arms spreading to pull you into a warm hug. And you accepted instantly.

“I brought, um––“ You retracted and grabbed your stack of blankets from the basket of your bike. “I brought a lamp and blankets. And perhaps some candy corn. I-If you like that stuff.”

Calum grinned at you and took you by the hand. He laced his fingers with yours. “You’re so cute,” he mumbled. “I might have made us a fire. My old boy scout skills came in handy for once.”

“You made a–– holy shit, seriously?”

He nodded before guiding you down the path.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this,” you said, squeezing his hand. He squeezed it right back.

“Just showin’ you a lil’ Little Falls hospitality, s’all,” replied Calum. He held your camping lantern in his right hand, and the light reflecting on his face sparkled in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, sure. I’ve had plenty of that,” you said sarcastically. You glanced down at the tombstones you passed, and a few more unwarranted shivers trickled through you.

“Are you from here?”

You looked back up at Calum. “No,” you said. “My mom’s family was. I came here for a bit to help my aunt at her orchid during pumpkin season.”

“Annie’s?”

You nodded. “Yeah, you know her?”

“No,” answered Calum. “Heard of her.”

“My mom lived here for a while, too,” you continued. The path grew narrower and the trees thinned out, and you could see a flickering orange light far in the distance. “She–– uh, she passed a few months ago. Unexpectedly, so I didn’t really get to say goodbye.”

Calum’s face softened as you spoke. “I’m so sorry.”

You shrugged. “It’s getting better every day,” you said. “It’s been kinda hard to be here. But every minute I’m convincing myself you’re not a murderer is every minute I’m not in constant grief.”

He gave you a faint smile. A sad smile.

“You’ve made this town a little more exciting,” you whispered into the air.

His smile widened. “You have, too.”

Calum had already set out a few blankets by his makeshift firepit. It was clear he had been working on it for a while–– the pile of stones was stacked high, and they were nearly immaculate around the pit. A small guitar sat near the base of a nearby trunk.

“You weren’t kidding,” you mumbled.

“Hm?”

You pointed toward the guitar. “You’re really a musician.”

“Well,” he said, smirking, “that just depends on how good you think I am, I guess.”

You chuckled. “Yeah, please don’t suck.”

“I’ll try my best.”

Calum’s best was better than you ever imagined. It wasn’t perfect–– his voice was shaky from nerves and possibly the cold air, but the thing you loved the most was the way he sang. He kept his eyes shut tight, lips pulled into a deep frown while he sang words you only pretended to hear. You kept your focus locked on the shape of his features and the light casting against his brown skin.

The next few hours slipped away, and it became easier, just liked you had hoped. The piles of blankets atop and below hardly blocked the chill in the air. Eventually, you snuggled in, eyes heavy while the conversation carried on. Calum pulled you against him, and together, the two of you stared up at the sky through the branches of trees. He counted the stars while you counted each breath.

There was a heaviness settling in your chest. Something was unspoken, something needed to be said. But, with your fingers tracing shapes on his clothed chest, all you could think about was the heat of his skin beneath your touch. You glanced up, and your eyes met his.

“Hi,” you whispered, lips quirking as you rested your chin against his shoulder.

“Hi, darlin’,” he mumbled.

You felt your smile fall. The glow of the fire reflected in his eyes, and you were losing yourself in them. You lost yourself in his soft lines and burning touch. You lost yourself in the curve of his lips, so you reached up and grazed them with your fingers. Calum smiled.

And then he was pushing himself up and leaning down, shoulders blocking the light from the fire as his lips met yours. His skin was cold, but his breath was hot, and his movements were slow. Beautifully slow. He grazed the apple of your cheek with gentle fingers, pushing a few stray hairs behind your ear before bringing you closer against him. You pressed a trembling hand to his chest.

“You okay?” he whispered with a small pant.

You nodded and smiled. “Yeah. ‘m okay. You kiss nice.”

Calum laughed, once again leaning down to meet you in a tender kiss. His hand ran down your arm and to your side where it stopped at your waist. You shivered once you felt his fingers rest against the bare skin under your sweater. He skimmed his index finger along the ridges of your spine.

Eventually, he pulled away, lips ghosting over yours as if he had never been there. He spoke words you could hardly hear. His smile faded in with the crackling fire.

The next morning, you awoke early. The fire had died, and the air was thick with fog. Birds chirped from somewhere in the distance. Beside you, a mound of messy blankets sat cold and damp. And to your left, as you searched for the missing man in black, your eyes cast upon a mossy tombstone. One that read,

Calum Thomas Hood

“In the sun, I feel as one.”

January 25, 1973 ––– October 25, 1996