Chapter Text
Dan hardly wanted to be here. A grapefruit hue danced along the horizon, fog twirling low over the valley below as morning crept over the land. Back home in the city, he would have never been awake at this hour, but he trudged up the hill just as the purple of the night washed away, the entire world flickering in strange twilight. Soon, the sun would bring with it a stifling heat, but he was determined to water the crops before the temperature rose.
He had never imagined that he would find himself living in his grandmother’s house deep in the forest of the mountains. Here, his phone hardly connected to the internet, isolated from the veins of reality. Reality flowed differently out here, an alternate universe. Maybe at one point in his life, a small child still full of wonder, getting away and spending an entire summer with his gram would have been something nice. The notion of reconnecting with nature would have been elusive and peaceful. Now, the only positive aspects identifiable were a lack of monotonous social interactions and the idea of his parents getting off his back for the first time in his life.
They had mostly written him off as a failure after he had dropped out of his law program at university. In his own mind’s eye, it was difficult to see himself much differently. It was impossible to recall the last time that his life was filled with determination, the feeling of being hungry for anything at all. Depression had encroached slowly and then all at once, leaving him a shell of a person, once real, a tall child in an adult man’s body. The only thing he was driven towards anymore was running away.
In a way, the situation he found himself in now was a way of running even further. His grandmother had always been a peculiar woman, but kind and still full of life. When she had heard about Dan’s struggles, she had not hesitated to offer him a small attic bedroom in her home free of charge, so long as, in return, he helped her operate the small plot of farmland she struggled to keep up with in her old age. After the untimely death of his grandfather the winter prior, it was an ideal situation for Dan to take over some of the workload.
Beads of sweat threatened his neck already as the hose was unraveled from its position against the concrete wall, humidity thick on the rubber within his hands. Suddenly, everything appeared more quiet than usual, the typical sounds of nature surrounding hushed. The turn of the faucet punctuated the abrupt silence with a deafening squeal. As the water began to pour out, rushing, hissing, it seemed like the loudest whisper in the quiet of the darkness.
While he never imagined that he would be the type of person to enjoy laborious outdoor work, Dan discovered that he actually did. He quite savored the solitude. While the tasks his grandmother gave him were sometimes hard on his body physically, there was a sense of peace, of surrender to the process. It was never necessary to make difficult decisions, no need to trust himself with anything other than the ability to follow the clear outline he was given of what was to be completed.
However, being up in the mountains wasn’t without strange occurrences. Time passed uncommonly out here, warping at intervals, stuttering over itself down a winding road. Hours would pass and feel like minutes, or mere minutes would pass and feel like hours. As Dan worked, there was always the remarkable sense that he was being watched from somewhere afar. Oddly, the sensation rarely alarmed him or caused him to look twice over his shoulder. Conversely, he was usually pretty impartial to it. The trees that stretched, surrounding the clearing the farmland was placed on, seemed to breathe with him. They felt like something sentient, an amalgamation, a being all of its own.
Sometimes, he felt overcome with the urge to shout into the void below, to scream and ask if someone else was out there. He never gave into this desire, though, forcing it back down his ribcage to continue to hide deep somewhere in the confines of his stomach.
Today, though, the sensation was overwhelming, something that had been bubbling slowly over the past month that he had been here. Finally, it threatened to burst over the surface as he turned off the hose and peered out into the tree line.
An irresistible compulsion to glance upward spawned the vision of an ivory owl, perched on a branch high above. He swore that it was always the same one, nestled just at the edge of the thick forest that spanned for miles. He had seen it before a couple of times when he paused from his work, only when he was all alone. The creature was luminous, glowing in a manner that hardly seemed suitable for reality. Just as he met the gaze of its enormous, earnest eyes, the same thing would always occur. The creature’s wings would unfurl from its back, stretching out into the daybreak as it vanished from view.
☆☆☆
Mostly, Dan’s hours spent on the farm were unremarkable. His grandmother was good company, but it grew tiresome to spend every waking hour with the same person. There was not much to talk about, as most days began and ended in the same manner.
The closest village also appeared unremarkable from what he had seen. On the bus ride through it on his way up the mountain, it seemed like hardly more than a ghost town. There were no young people in sight; most of the residents were nearing his grandmother’s age. Sometimes, he wondered about the future of the land, about what would happen once all of these middle-aged and elderly, rootbound people passed on. Would anybody even realize that once there had been a time they had built their lives out here? He wondered if any of them had children of their own, if they had been like his father, quick to pack everything up and escape its confines.
He had yet to venture into the village for himself, the prospect of forcing conversation with erratic, antisocial, mountain people twice his age less than savory. Eventually, he knew that he would have to. Grandmother lived off the land for the most part, but she had dusted off the old pickup truck in the driveway to embark down the curving road to the market on her own a couple of times on her own since his arrival. Dan had piled on the excuses heavily, busying himself with miscellaneous tasks to avoid joining her.
This would soon change later that morning.
He knocked the screen door open with a clamor to find her sitting in the kitchen, sipping a steaming glass of tea. “Top of the morning to you, bear,” she beamed sweetly over the rim of the mug, peeking at him over her glasses. “Fancy a cup of tea?”
Dan anticipated that she already knew the answer to her own question. The idea of a boiling hot cup of tea on the hottest of summer days made him cringe. It was impossible not to smile softly in response to her offer nonetheless. “Good morning, Gram. No, I think I’m okay on that, “ he chuckled.
“Well it’s a right good thing then! Because I’ve finished it all already!” Her boisterous chuckle bounded along the walls of the small room.
“I suppose it is then.” Dan slumped down into the chair next to her despite the manner that his skin itched with impatience to hop straight in the shower or hose himself down.
“D’you know what’s coming up, little lad?”
“Dunno,” Dan racked his brain, combing through it for knowledge of what day of the week it was. “Thursday?”
“Not just any Thursday, you silly goose, your birthday, Daniel!” Gram slammed her mug down with a thud, clapping. “I remember the day you were born. You were such a sweet little boy, and you have grown into such a sweet young man,” Her eyes ventured past him, tethering to the wall behind where he sat, as though she had been transported fully into the memory.
Dan sighed. He was certain that Gram was the only person who saw him in this way. When her eyes returned to him, her gaze held the same weight that it had since he was a small child full of adoration, like he was something special, something to be cherished. It was as though she could see through him, through the pain his life had been tinged with. Her eyes had a way of piercing straight through him to his heart deep inside that had remained unchanged.
After a moment of silence, the words found him, “Ah, you’re right, I guess it is.”
“It is! And I want to celebrate. I reckon we could take the day off, get some lemon cookies from the bakery and sit on the porch.” After a pause, “I’ll even crack open that wine I’ve been brewing in the cellar,” she whispered with a wink.
The proposed plan seemed like Gram’s perfect idea of a good time, watching the trees blow in the breeze and the occasional car pass on the roads in the valley. When she sat on the porch, she would often shout down, speculating loudly about who was within. Last year for his birthday, Dan had gone bar hopping with a group of his classmates that he had considered to be friends at the time, getting so trashed that he hardly remembered getting home to his dorm room. This year, everything had changed, and the thought of sipping fermented fruit to induce a buzz with Gram seemed like the best celebration he was going to get.
“Yeah, alright Gram. We can get crazy with it,” he huffed out a laugh, “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow... that means today, Dan, I could use a favor from you!” her voice trailed off into a song near the end as she stretched out the words.
“What is it?”
“Well, I know that it’s quite rude to ask this of you since it is your birthday we are celebrating, but I have much to get done here with my quilt...” Before she could even finish, Dan knew what she was about to ask of him.
“Seriously?”
“Now don’t grow cross. All I need you to do is pick up the cookies. You don’t even have to go far into town. There’s a bakery just on the edge, a real hole in the wall sort of place. It may not look it, but the sweets and treats there are simply the best thing around.” Gram gave him a stern look, one that didn’t offer room for argument or debate. Dan was going to pick up the cookies, and that would be that.
“What d’you even have to finish that quilt today for anyway?” he sighed.
☆☆☆
After being given elaborate instructions, Dan set on his way. As he stopped the car and took a closer look, he noted that the building he had been sent to appeared as if it seldom saw many customers. Just as Gram had promised it was certainly on the outskirts of town, sheltered by overgrown bushes. If he had not known exactly what he was looking for, given her description, it was doubtful he would have stumbled upon it at all. He ascended the single step to the door, gathering his composure for whatever he would find behind it. As he opened it, the chime above jingled shrilly.
That was when he saw him for the first time. Standing here in this decrepit bakery, he was a stark contrast to all of his surroundings, to the desolate village in general. He appeared to be around his own age, lithe and angular in his build with a youthful face. His blonde hair looked like a style Dan would have seen back in the city, bleached blonde tips that drew the attention of anybody standing nearby. His skin glowed, nearly glittering, pale against the dim orange light that hardly illuminated anything at all.
“Hello there, welcome in!” His blue eyes shot up eagerly from the book he had been skimming through.
“Um, hi,” Dan awkwardly stumbled over his own feet, averting his gaze towards the goods in the case beneath the counter.
“D’you have something you’re looking for? I’ve never seen you here before, and I know everyone!” The man tittered, clearly excited to interact with a customer.
Dan internally began to wince at his enthusiasm, but something stopped him short. Something about the man enamored him, and he wanted to crawl closer to him and run away from him all at the same time.
“Looking for glazed lemon cookies,” he forced the words to escape quietly from somewhere in his chest.
“Mmm, those are my favorite, so tasty,” the man held his hands to his heart in a dramatic fashion, wistful eyes darting about, “We have them right here! I just baked them, actually, so I can guarantee they are perfect.”
“That’s a high promise,”
“It is, it is. But I do. How many would you like?” The man stretched a pair of sheer gloves over his hands to open the door to the case. For how tall he seemed, his hands seemed quite small and soft, fragile and docile.
Dan thought it over briefly. While her description of the bakery itself had been thorough, she had not given any instructions about the cookies themselves. “A half dozen should be good, it’s just my grandmother and me.”
“Who’s your grandmother?” The man asked as he placed the cookies into a small box.
“Mrs. Howell.”
“Oh, she’s a lovely woman!” he immediately crooned, as though he would have responded this way whoever Dan had revealed her to be. “I should have known by your choice, she loves these cookies. I’ll even throw in an extra one free of charge.”
“Oh my, well, you don’t have to do that. Thank you very much, she will appreciate that.”
The man paused in response, turning every ounce of his attention to Dan for the first time since the interaction began. His eyes raked over him with scrutiny. Dan couldn’t help but fidget under his gaze. The man’s eyes almost appeared offended by the notion, but he quickly schooled his expression back to one of neutrality.
The man suddenly leaned in closely, so closely that Dan could smell the earthy, eucalyptus scent that emanated off of him. His voice was nothing more than a low rumble, nearly a whisper as he spoke, “A word of advice - you should be careful how much you reveal to anybody out here. I can tell you aren’t from here. Others will be able to, too. And they might take advantage of that.”
As the man rang him out at the cash register, Dan was overcome by the same unusual feeling churning within his gut that he usually got working out in the field. He felt the sense that he was being watched yet again, maybe even more closely than he had previously imagined. Blue eyes met his once more as the box of cookies was pressed forcefully into his open hand.
As quickly as his tone had become serious, it surrendered back to something sweet. “I will be seeing you around, quite soon, I’m sure.”
☆☆☆
After Dan set the cookies on the table, he hurried up to the bedroom, avoiding Gram working in the sewing room completely. He pressed his back against the door as it shut, sinking down. The heavy, watchful eyes had followed him all the way home, up the stairs, behind the heavy wooden door. Beneath the window, he crawled, slinking along the floor, straight to his bed.
Rationally, he knew that whatever was yielding the feeling couldn’t possibly be in the room with him. The room was quite small, and he could see every angle from his position, peeking through the sheets. He had always been levelheaded, able to discern reality from the anxiety that came alongside his mental health issues. He knew that this was something different, something transcendental that came from a previously dormant portion of his brain.
He opted to force sleep, but his dreams were filled to the brim with visions of the owl, visions of the man, blue eyes that stretched over the expanse of his mind. In the dream, he was running, silently screaming, but it was unclear if he was running away from the man or straight towards him.
When he awoke from his abnormal nap, he felt as though he were as hungover as he had been last year after his birthday extravaganza. His skin was drenched in a thin sheen of sweat, cold to the touch. The sheets that had protected him in his earlier fear were in a pile, kicked recklessly down to the floor.