Chapter Text
FROM THE MOMENT FERN DROVE past the town border and caught their first real-life glimpse of Thorn Creek, they knew they’d made the right decision in choosing to move here.
Granted, it wasn’t half as much of a choice as they would have liked - they hadn’t had enough money after leaving Laura to run anywhere too big or too far away, and even most of the small towns they’d checked out during the short stay at their parents’ place hadn’t had any places for rent or available jobs that weren’t meant for part-time high school students. The choice to come to Thorn Creek had been something in the neighborhood of a last resort, the agreement to rent a small cottage in the woods just outside of town and Fern’s pending interview to work at the local bakery having been made by a brain exhausted from searching and filled with the paranoia of still not having fully escaped a five-year relationship from hell.
But Fern found that as they turned onto the town’s Main Street, lined with old-timey-looking street lamps and quaint little shops with dark facades that were exactly like the pictures Fern had seen online, the fact that they hadn’t really made the decision in the soundest frame of mind didn’t necessarily mean it was the wrong decision. This town had something of a Gothic quality that appealed to them, the people they’d spoken to while trying to secure the cottage and job interview had been perfectly nice, and, most importantly, it was close enough to their parents that they could run back there if needed, but small and out of the way enough that Laura might not come looking for them here.
And, really, Fern thought as they passed the tiny town hall and turned off of Main Street, that was the most important factor in any decision they could have made. When it got down to it, it didn’t matter whether they liked the place they’d chosen to move to or not; as long as it safely hid them from Laura, it would be perfect.
Steering the car back out of town and starting down the dirt road leading through the woods, Fern adjusted the thick glasses on their nose, scanning around them for any glimpses of the cottage they were going to be renting. Ms. Caraway, the grandmotherly old lady Fern had talked to over the phone about securing the place, had told them it would only be about ten minutes outside of Thorn Creek proper, down a smaller path branching off of the main dirt road.
“You’ll want to be extra careful, though, dear,” she had warned, in a tone that allowed Fern to see the concerned look on her face even over the phone. “The path going to the cottage is even rougher than that dirt road; you may have to drive fairly delicately for the sake of your car.”
Fern certainly appreciated the warning, but it seemed, when they finally located the branching dirt path and began to drive down it, that the old car their mother had given them before they’d left did not require being driven delicately. The small blue vehicle took the shocks of driving over so many bumps in the road surprisingly well, and Fern sent their mother a small telepathic thank-you for keeping this old thing, the same car their family had been using for most of their life, rather than trying to sell it as soon as she’d gotten a new one.
“I know I probably should’ve sold it,” Miranda Alvarez had said when she’d led Fern into the family’s old garage to help them pack their meager belongings into the old car’s trunk. “It wasn’t like we couldn’t have used the money. But I couldn’t bear to get rid of the old thing - too many memories attached to it.” At this point, she’d popped the trunk open and turned to her child with a soft smile. “I guess there turned out to be a good reason for me keeping it after all.”
“You really don’t have to just give it to me,” Fern had insisted. “You could always just drive me up to Thorn Creek and leave, it’s small enough I wouldn’t need a car to get anywhere. Or you could at least let me pay you back for it, once I start getting a paycheck-”
“Sweet pea,” Fern’s mom had interrupted, stepping forward with a serious expression to place her hands on either side of her child’s face. “You’ve been so brave so far, getting yourself away from Laura and finding a somewhere to start fresh. Your dad and I are so proud of you. And all we want is for you to get some happiness now that you’re free.” She’d moved her hands to place them on Fern’s shoulders at this point, giving them an affectionate little squeeze. “I may not be able to give you that happiness right away, but I want to give you this. So just let me, okay?”
It had taken another few minutes of talking to get Fern to agree to just accept the car as a gift - it was going to take some time, they figured, before they relearned the fact that people could do nice things without expecting payment - but they had eventually. So now they cruised carefully down the dirt road to their new home, having rechristened the little car Cinderella (the name they’d called it insistently when they were a kid) shortly after starting out on the drive from their parents’ place. As an oldies country music station crooned softly through Cinderella’s speakers, Fern finally spotted the branching dirt path Ms. Caraway had told them about and turned down it, indeed driving a little more carefully now to try and avoid doing anything that might damage the little vehicle so soon after they’d gotten it.
After about two more minutes of driving, Fern’s new home finally came into view, the dirt path flattening out to become a little driveway of sorts. At the end of it was a small two-story cottage, white-painted brick façade covered with twisting ivy in some places, crowned with a quaint pale blue roof and gutters that, from what Fern could see from the ground, would likely require a moderate cleaning. There was no garage attached, so Fern simply parked Cinderella at the end of the driveway and climbed out, taking a moment to truly observe their new home as a smile overtook their face.
It was far from the most elegant or extravagant home a person could have lived in - certainly an objective downgrade from the house they’d once shared with Laura - but it meant freedom , and so Fern thought at that moment that they’d never seen a place so beautiful.
Just as Fern was preparing to move from their spot and start checking around the front door (Ms. Caraway had informed them that the keys to the cottage would be waiting when they arrived), said door suddenly opened, and Fern froze. Their blood seemed to turn to ice, and stab of searing panic struck them in the gut - was Laura about to come out of the cottage? Had she found them already? Would they be able to run back to town and call for help before she caught them?
Had all their careful planning in running away been for nothing?
But rather than the woman Fern feared, a grandmotherly-looking older woman in a floral blouse stepped out of the house, meeting Fern’s eyes behind her wire-rimmed glasses and smiling. All at once, the terrible pressure in Fern’s chest eased, and they let out a breath of relief. They may not have been one hundred percent certain who this woman was, but she definitely wasn’t Laura, and right now that was what mattered the most.
“Welcome to Bluebell Cottage, my dear,” the woman greeted Fern cheerfully, in a voice they were fairly certain they recognized. Pausing, she looked them over from behind her glasses, taking in the thick braid hanging over their shoulder, their own thick black-framed glasses, and their all-black outfit. “You are Fern, I assume?”
“Yes,” Fern confirmed, then asked, in a voice that was only slightly hesitant, “Ms. Caraway?”
The woman smiled pleasantly, nodding to further confirm her identity. “Yes, dear. Although you’re welcome to call me Amelia; Ms. Caraway makes me feel dreadfully old.” Letting out a soft, airy little laugh, Ms. Caraway beckoned Fern forward and gestured toward the cottage’s open door. “Come, dear, I’ll give you a little tour of the place.”
Following after the older woman, Fern made their way through the cottage’s powder-blue front door, allowing Ms. Caroway to close the door behind them as they surveyed the short, narrow hall that made up the entrance. A small patch of a brown-and-green-patterned rug sat directly in front of the door, mossy swirls mixing with earth-colored ones under Fern’s boots, along with a short row of coat-hanging pegs on one wall and another, longer patch of the same rug under them, likely meant for shucked-off shoes.
“You’ll have to forgive the dreadful look of that rug,” Ms. Caraway said in an amused tone. “It used to be part of my house; my ex-husband loved the ugly old thing, but I was so happy to chop it up and move it. You’re welcome to take the pieces away and replace them if you’d like, they aren’t nailed into the floor.”
“No, that’s okay,” Fern replied, wincing internally at the speed of their response and the way they’d rushed to get the words out. “I actually like them, they’re, uh… nice and homey.”
They didn’t actually like the rug pieces that much. But years of living with Laura’s mind games, of taking offers she’d presented them only to be yelled at and shamed when that turned out not to be what Laura had actually wanted them to do, had ingrained that instinct in them. Don’t take any offers that might change what somebody already has in place; they don’t mean it, they just want an excuse to put you down when you’re wrong. Don’t argue, don’t let them see it if they’ve hurt your feelings, know your place and stay in it.
Fern knew logically that it took a long time, years even, to overcome trauma responses like that, that the fierce urge to please for fear of punishment if they didn’t wouldn’t just go away overnight. But as Ms. Caraway shot them a concerned look, clearly caught off guard by the way Fern had tripped over themself trying not to offend her, they wished, not for the first time, that they could have erased all the bad memories and habits Laura had left them with the moment they’d left her for good.
“Well… alright, dear. The cottage is yours to redecorate as you like,” Ms. Caraway said, in a cautious tone that made Fern want to curl up in a ball and just disappear. The older woman toed off her slide-on sneakers, then waited for Fern to unlace their black boots and set them on the longer section of rug under the coat pegs before turning to lead them out of the entryway and further into the cottage.
The short hall of the entrance opened up into a relatively spacious living room, consisting of a plush-looking pale grey couch that matched the walls and a smililarly-colored old-fashioned armchair. Peeking around the end of the entryway wall, Fern spotted a whitewashed wooden entertainment center with a few nice cubby spaces and a relatively new-looking TV on top.
“That gets all the cable networks available in this area,” Ms. Caraway piped up, noticing the direction of Fern’s gaze. “You can set up any streaming services you’d like, as well, but those subscriptions won’t be included on the cable bill, so you’ll have to pay them yourself along with your rent.”
“Okay,” Fern said with a small nod, knowing full well they didn’t have any intentions to set up any kind of subscription. In addition to not being able to afford it quite yet, they simply weren’t used to watching TV anymore; Laura hadn’t really been into it, preferring to read for entertainment, so Fern had rarely watched any after moving in with her and had yet to get back into the habit. Maybe once they started earning a paycheck they might get a Netflix or HBO account and see what they’d been missing, but it was out of the question for right now.
God, Fern reflected as they followed Ms. Calloway into the cottage’s kitchen, I can’t even watch TV normally anymore; I’ve missed so much I wouldn’t even know where to start. What else did she take from me without me even realizing?
It doesn’t matter now, another part of their mind argued. Whatever else she’s messed up for us, she doesn’t get do it anymore. We’re free , she can’t touch us now - and we’re going to get better, we’re going to come back from this.
Which was a nice thought. Fern just wished they could believe it.
࿈࿈࿈
For the next half hour or so, Ms. Caraway took Fern through every room in Bluebell Cottage, explaining little details about each space as she went - how the bottom drawer in the dresser of the main bedroom had always rattled when being opened even when she’d bought it new, how she’d fought with her ex-husband for three days over converting the former half-bath into the laundry room it was now, and so forth. She also made it very clear that Fern was free to make whatever changes to the décor and furniture they wanted, so long as she was informed beforehand and Fern gave her back whatever furniture they wanted to get rid of so she could put it into storage. Fern once again assured her that they didn’t want to change or get rid of anything; even if they hadn’t had that lingering fear of making any changes from being with Laura, they couldn’t afford any new furniture or decorations anyway.
“Well, I have to say, dear, you might just be the least fussy tenant I’ve ever had,” the older woman commented as Fern followed her back down to the first floor, the tour concluded. “I’d have expected a young woman your age to be a bit more opinionated, which… well, I suppose that isn’t quite fair of me. I promise you, dear, I’m not one of those old codgers who think all young people-”
“I’m not a woman.”
The words came out before Fern even fully thought about them, but they hung in the air the second they left their mouth, clearly shocking if the way Ms. Caraway turned to look at Fern with a confused expression was any indication. As their brain finally caught up with their mouth, Fern froze in place on the bottom stair, heat rushing to their face and cold dread suddenly pooling in their stomach.
Ms. Caraway wasn’t the first person Fern had come out as non-binary to - in fact, coming out to their parents was one of the first things they’d done after escaping Laura and coming to stay with them, their hands and voice shaking the entire time. Their anxiety over the matter had been unnecessary, though; their parents had smiled and hugged them and assured them that they loved them no matter what, promising to always use their new pronouns unless they were around someone Fern didn’t want knowing, which was essentially the best response to their coming out Fern could have asked for.
It had also been completely different from Laura’s reaction.
The scoff Laura had let out when Fern had gathered up the courage to tell her that they didn’t really feel like a woman was burned into their memory, as were the words she’d said immediately after. Oh, come on. Nobody’s actually not a man or a woman. Trans people I can understand, sure, but all those “genderfluid” and “non-binary” people are just weird. She’d smiled, then, only a touch condescendingly, and pressed a kiss to Fern’s forehead. And you’re not weird, baby.
Yeah, Fern had agreed, because by that point they already knew the consequences of pushing an idea that their girlfriend didn’t like. You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.
Fern was not going to say anything like that if Ms. Caraway didn’t react well. They’d promised themself they wouldn’t let anybody disrespect their identity again. But they also weren’t entirely sure what they would say if this didn’t go well, especially if they wanted to still have a place to stay.
Which was why it was beyond a relief when Ms. Caraway smiled gently, nodded once, and said, “Well, alright, dear. What are you, then, if I may ask?”
“I… I’m non-binary,” Fern stammered in reply, face still hot. However, they could feel the icy knot in their stomach loosening, comforted by the kind look on their landlady’s face. “My pronouns are they/them.”
“Of course, dear,” Ms. Caraway readily agreed, nodding again. “I’ll do my best to respect that, but if I ever make a mistake or call you something you’d rather not be called, you correct me, alright? I wouldn’t do it on purpose , of course, but sometimes things don’t stick in this old brain as much as I’d like them to.” The older woman tapped one finger against her temple, giving a small chuckle. “But you just keep reminding me, dear, and it’ll stay in there eventually.”
“Oh,” Fern almost whispered, the heat slowly draining out of their face as their body finally got the message that there was no danger here. It wasn’t that they had been hoping for a bad reaction, but not receiving one still felt like a shock to the system. “Uh… thank you.”
“No need to thank me, dear, not for what should really just be common courtesy,” Ms. Caraway said matter-of-factly, abruptly turning away and continuing on her path towards the front door. Forcing their body to kick back into gear, Fern finally left the bottom stair and hurried after her. “You’ll find that Thorn Creek is really a very progressive town, even if we are rather small. And if anybody does give you trouble, well, you can just send them right over to me, alright?”
“Al - alright.”
There was a moment of slightly awkward silence while Ms. Caraway scooped her sneakers off the shoe rug and tugged them back onto her feet. Then she paused, stock still, looking like she was contemplating something, and finally turned to face Fern again, her features now unreadable.
“Speaking of the town…” she began, then paused, before taking a deep breath and continuing. “I suppose there’s something I should let you know. About your neighbors.”
“Neighbors?” Fern echoed, their brow furrowing. “I didn’t know I’d have neighbors.”
“Well, you do,” Ms. Caraway said with a nod. “Mr. Graham-Lecter and his husband. They live in Blackthorn Cottage, a few minutes away from here, with their… well, they call her a roommate, but they act more like her parents than anything. She’s a sweet thing, but painfully shy, doesn’t come into town unless she can help it. And those two men are just lovely. I’m their landlady, too, you see.”
“Okay,” Fern replied slowly. They appreciated being given the knowledge that theirs wasn’t the only cabin out here in the woods, obviously, but they got the sense that that wasn’t all Ms. Caraway wanted to tell them, and the anticipation was making them anxious.
Ms. Caraway bit her bottom lip (which did exactly nothing to help Fern’s worry) before going on.
“I just thought I should warn you… not to venture into the woods at night, around their cottage,” she said slowly, as if trying to figure out exactly how to phrase her words. “There are - traps all around the place… for predators, of course, bears and the like.” The last bit was added in a hurry, like the older woman was scrambling to justify something that Fern didn’t understand. “Just try and stay out of the woods between the cottages, especially when it’s dark. You’re liable to get stuck in a trap and lose a limb if you’re not careful.”
“Alright,” Fern agreed, nodding. Privately, they weren’t exactly sure the warning was needed - they had no plans to go into the woods for anything unless it was somehow necessary - but the thought of contradicting anybody filled them with a terrible anxious dread, yet another scar left over from Laura.
“You promise me, now,” Ms. Caraway said, with a sudden sharp intensity in her voice that had Fern fighting not to flinch. She was looking into Fern’s eyes, and all of a sudden it seemed like her warm, welcoming baby browns had gone dark, fixating on Fern’s face like they could see into their very soul. “The woods are a very dangerous place, much more dangerous than you realize. And I won’t have you getting hurt, not by…” She paused again, seeming to stop herself from saying something, then continued, “by those dratted traps.”
Fern had very little idea what was going on right now, why this sudden shift in Ms. Caraway had occurred or why she was being so adamant about the woods and what was probably just a couple of bear traps. But the thought of refusing and risking something bad happening terrified them more than the sudden darkness of their landlady’s eyes, so they just nodded, a little bit frantically, and stammered out, “Yeah, I - I promise. I’ll stay out of the woods.”
At their words, Ms. Caraway closed her eyes and let out a deep, relieved sigh, and when she opened her eyes again, they were that same welcoming chestnut they had been before.
“Wonderful, dear, thank you,” she said brightly, bouncing right back to the cheerful grandmotherly woman she’d up until a moment ago. “Shall I help you get your things out of your car?” she asked, already turning around and opening the cottage’s front door.
Fern hurried to grab their boots from the rug and get them on, their head still swimming with confusion over whatever that had just been. They hadn’t expected someone like Ms. Caraway to even be able to speak with such intensity - although, they supposed, they’d thought that about Laura, too, at first - and the way her eyes had darkened when talking about the danger in the woods was now imprinted into Fern’s mind, causing goosebumps to rise on their skin even as they thought about it.
And what was so strange about Blackthorn Cottage and its residents? Ms. Caraway could very well have just told Fern to stay out of the woods in general - and they were fairly certain that traps weren’t the only reason for the warning - but she’d also felt the need to inform Fern about the couple that lived in their other cottage and their… roommate? Possible adoptive daughter? Whatever she was. It was possible she’d just wanted Fern to be aware that they had neighbors, but something in Fern’s gut told them that wasn’t the case.
Mr. and Mr. Graham-Lecter and the woman who lived with them were somehow related to the danger in the woods. It wasn’t obvious exactly how , but the fact that they were was fairly obvious to the person who had just been warned about it.
But then, Fern thought as they finished lacing their boots and exited the cabin to let Ms. Caraway help them bring their stuff in, as long as they did their best to keep their distance from their new neighbors and followed the warning they’d been given to stay out of the woods, it shouldn’t really matter. The steps to keeping themself safe were clear, all that was left to do was follow them.
Besides. No matter what the problem with Blackthorn Cottage, the people who lived there, and the woods around it actually was, Fern didn’t think it could be any more dangerous than the woman they’d just run away from.