Naturally, I am awful at controlling my face. I forced what I thought would be a gracious smile, but the way my lips curled likely presented an unflattering expression.
“Thanks, Chad,” I forced out.
He pressed a finger to my lips. “No, please. It only feels right for you to call me ‘Chadwick.’ The sound of my full name on your lips is like poetry from the gods.”
Stunned by his boldness, I stood stiff as a rod and didn’t dare blink. Maybe if I didn’t move, he wouldn’t see me.
He pulled away from me, removing his bony finger from my lips.
Bowing before me with a flourish of his arms, his hands gestured to the bag of apples. “Your bounty, milady.”
Briefly, I considered the ramifications of ditching the apples. The idea of taking my chances with whatever mythologically cursed creature that would haunt me if I didn’t leave a proper offering seemed a better prospect.
I cleared my throat and slowly slid the cash over to the woman at the table. Daring a quick look at her, I noted how she all but drooled and had heart eyes for Chad. Chadwick.
Exchanging payment for the small bag of produce, I lifted it in a gesture of thanks. “Appreciate it, Chad…wick.”
He beamed like it was Christmas morning.
Not daring to make any sudden movements, I took measured steps away from the awkward and bizarre situation. Turning towards the exit, I stopped short. My gaze locked onto two familiar figures standing near the cider stand.
Corbin and Bale both had eyes locked on me, their expressions a combined violent mixture of roaring thunder and heated lightning. Their bodies may have stood there giving off the false sense of nonchalance, but all their energy was seeping out of them. It tasted like a blood oath consumed with the intoxication of the world’s finest wine.
Time seemed to slow as they stared at me. I should have stormed over there and demanded to know what their problems were. But it was the red bandana wrapped around Corbin’s hand, the hand I had bitten, that had me thinking better of it.
I forced myself to look away, turning towards the archway made of dried corn bundles that marked the entrance and exit to the festival area.
As soon as I cleared the courtyard and crossed over Main Street, I felt relief wash over me, though the slight pang of guilt from the sight of Corbin’s makeshift bandage lingered. It still wasn’t enough to erase the sticky, invisible sensation of glue post-shift, the chilling creep factor Chad left in his wake, or the heat rolling through my veins that Bale and Corbin had sparked.
The further down the sidewalk I got, the heavier thesilence around town got. All the shops had long closed before dusk due to the celebrations. Making it to the end of the street, I turned the corner where the town’s worship of all things of the fall season stood embodied as a bronzed statue. Carved into the base of the massive piece of art was a scarecrow the size of a doll, a crow perched on its shoulder.
It was funny how tonight I saw scarecrows in a completely different light. I turned and kept walking down the small side street, passing the side entrance of the library. The interior was all dim save for a faint glow from the egress windows of the basement.
With exhaustion tugging on me, I wrote it off as janitorial staff forgetting to turn off the basement lights and continued down the small road that led home.
Ten minutes later, I was turning onto the long dirt driveway. The porch lights on the main house were a beacon of something familiar and safe. The second-floor windows were illuminated, the light shining through the drawn curtains indicated my mother was likely up working while sitting on her exercise bike in the master bedroom. The set of windows next to it, Beth’s room, were dark, but I knew she was likely just in bed scrolling through her phone while talking with friends.
I cut through the first floor of my parents’ house, dropping off the bag of apples on the kitchen counter. Not before taking one for myself.
Passing the bottom of the steps, I paused as my mom’s voice called from upstairs.
“Har, is that you? Did you get the apples?”
A tiny smile tugged at my lips. She didn’t miss anything.
“Yeah, they’re on the counter,” I responded.
There was the distinctive clicking sound of her unclipping her special riding shoes from the exercise machine.
Before she could ask about the festival, I scooted away from the stairs to avoid conversations I didn’t want to have.
Leaving through the back door, I followed the worn path to the cozier caretaker house that I called my own.
“No place like home,” I murmured dryly as I paused at the front door. The aged, heavy wooden door was a welcome sight after a day far more eventful than I could have foreseen.
Stepping inside, I shut the door behind me and flipped on the overhead lights. Before getting more than two steps into the rustic living area with exposed beams for ceilings and furniture designed for basic comfort, I looked down at the apple still clutched in my hand.
Huffing out, I turned and went right back to the front door and yanked it open with more force than needed. I placed the apple on the welcome mat outside.
