#boyd stevens

Chapter Four: Watching Eyes

_____

Morning arrived beneath a blanket of low, gray clouds. The kind that promised rain but never quite delivered.

You stood on the porch of your little house, stretching the stiffness from your shoulders before stepping into the street.

Another day. Another list of things that needed fixing. The town never really ran out.

As you locked your front door, your eyes drifted toward the porch boards. Nothing. No footprints. No sign that anyone had stood there the night before.

You frowned to yourself.

"Of course."

Why would there be?

The diner was already alive with conversation when you stepped inside. Coffee. Bacon. The clatter of dishes. For a few precious minutes each morning the town almost forgot where it was.

"About time." You looked over to find Randall occupying his usual chair near the window. "You waiting on me?"

"No. You've been staring at the door." He tilted his head toward the glass, lifting his cup.

"I was staring outside."

"Mhm." He didn't dignify that with a response. You poured yourself a mug of coffee before dropping into the seat across from him. "You look awful."

"You say the sweetest things." Your eyes rolled, lips meeting the bitter liquid.

"You sleep?"

"Enough."

"Liar."

You smiled into your coffee. "So I've been told." A corner of Randall's mouth twitched. Barely. You caught it anyway.

Donna entered the diner with the energy of someone who'd already solved three problems before breakfast. "There you are."

You looked up. "Morning?" She pointed a finger at you. "The fence behind the clinic."

"What about it?" You already knew where this was going. She was lucky you liked her enough.

"It didn't survive the storm."

"I'll look at it."

"I knew you would." Donna nodded once, satisfied. Then looked toward Randall. "You." He sighed immediately. "What?"

"You're helping."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"I had plans."

"You didn't."

"...Fuck..." Another sip, this time, for his nerves if anything. Donna smirked. "Exactly."

By midmorning the fence looked considerably better. Mostly because Randall had eventually stopped complaining and started working.

"You missed."

You looked over.

"I absolutely did not."

"The post's crooked."

"It isn't."

He walked over, crouching to inspect it.

"...Huh..."

"What?" Your head tilted. With your work, you were rarely wrong. This would be not different.

"It isn't."

You grinned. "I know."

"Don't get used to that."

Both of you worked mostly in silence.

Hammer.

Nail.

Saw.

Wood.

The familiar rhythm settled comfortably between you. Randall suddenly spoke. "You've been distracted." You paused mid slam. "Have I?"

"Mhm."

"Since when?"

"A couple days."

"I've just been busy."

"You've always been busy." He drove another nail into the fence. "You keep looking toward your house."

Your grip tightened around the hammer. "Well..shit"

"You do." He swung again. Another nail into the board.

You forced a shrug. "Probably making sure I locked the door."

"You always lock the door."

"I know."

"So that's not it."

Silence.

He glanced sideways. "You gonna tell me?"

"Nothing to tell."

"Hm." He moved to grab another board. He let it go. For now.

The afternoon passed with the usual rhythm of small repairs and shared burdens. Near sunset, Boyd gathered several people in the center of town.

"We've got a problem." Everyone turned. Boyd rested one hand on the hood of an abandoned sedan. "This thing's blocking half the road."

You stepped forward. "We pushing?"

"We're pushing."

A few people moved into place. You braced your hands against the rusted frame.

"Ready?" Boyd's voice rang. A chorus of nods. "Push!" Metal groaned. Mud shifted beneath your boots.

The car lurched only a few inches before stopping again. "Again!" You dug in harder. The muscles in your shoulders burned.

Beside you, Randall grunted. "Who leaves a damn car in the middle of a road?"

"The people who drove into a nightmare?"

"Fair point."

One last shove. The sedan rolled clear. A cheer rose from the group.

Small.

Tired.

Earned.

Boyd wiped sweat from his forehead. "Good work." You brushed dirt from your palms. "Think that's everything?"

He looked toward the horizon. The sun had already begun to sink. "For today."

The town scattered with practiced urgency. Windows closed. Doors locked. Curtains drawn. The familiar ritual.

You reached your porch just as the first shadows stretched across the road. The talisman hung exactly where you'd left it. Inside, your home greeted you with quiet.

You checked every window. Every latch. Then set the kettle on to boil. Tonight, you told yourself you weren't expecting anyone. You even believed it.

For almost twenty minutes.

A soft voice drifted through the glass. "You repaired another fence Darlin." You closed your eyes. "You really do notice everything."

"No." Cowboy's voice remained calm. "I notice you."

Your hand froze around the handle of your mug. The words weren't spoken with affection. Or hunger. Or triumph. Just simple certainty.

You walked to the window, stopping a respectful distance away before drawing the curtain back an inch.

He stood exactly where the porch light faded into darkness. Hat low. Pale hands resting over his silver buckle. His gaze was already on you.

"You continue to work."

"You continue to watch."

"I arrive after."

"I know." A beat of silence. Cool air met your skin, air escaping from the tiniest cracks in the window seam. You didn't pay it much mind. You'd mess with it later. "You still notice."

"I observe what changes."

Your eyes searched his face. "And I keep changing the town."

"You do." His answer came immediately. "As does the town change you." The remark lingered.

Not because it frightened you. Because you weren't sure he was wrong. Your fingers lingered on the edge of the curtain. "The town changes everyone."

Cowboy remained still beneath the porch light. "It does."

"You sound certain."

"I am."

You looked past him, toward the empty street The darkness had swallowed the road almost completely. Only the warm glow spilling from your front window reached the porch.

"You've watched people for a long time, haven't you?" The cloth wrinkled between your thumb and index.

"I have."

"And?"

His head tilted. "And?"

"What happens?"

His gaze drifted toward the neighboring houses. "They arrive. You know that part." It looked as if he were studying a map, instead of a community. "They fear."

"I know." You mumbled, all too familiar with his statement. It was the worse part about this place. A permanent blanket of emotion.

The Cowboy gaze shifted slighty; from the Matthews' house, to Sara's. "They hope. Sometimes, they despair." The words came one after another. Measured.

Without emotion. As though he were reciting the seasons.

"And then?" Your question was near a whisper.

His eyes settled back on yours. "They die."

Silence.

No cruelty. No satisfaction. Simply...a fact. You swallowed. "That's a terrible way to look at people."

"It is."

"You don't care?"

Another pause.

"Never did."

Your eyebrows knit together. "You just..." You searched for the right words. "You make it sound inevitable."

"It often is." The answer landed heavier than you expected. Not because it was heartless. Because there was no malice in it. Only certainty.

You folded your arms against the chill. "Has anyone ever talked to you like this before?" His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, not in irritation, but thought. "No."

"No one?"

"They usually beg."

The matter-of-fact way he said it made your stomach twist. You imagined terrified people crying through windows, pleading for help that would never come. The Cowboy continued. "Or they curse."

"I can imagine." You chuckled to yourself. Randall, Randall would be the one to throw the whole dictionary at the creature.

"They threaten."

"Does that bother you?" He met his gaze once again.

"No." And he met yours.

"What about me?"

A pause. "You ask questions." His shirt rippled soft in the calm wind.

"I ask too many."

"I did not say that Darlin."

"You're avoiding the question."

"I answered it."

"No." You couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. "You answered the one you wanted."

"I did." His smile matched your own.

"You know that's frustrating?"

"I've observed."

The kettle had long since gone cold. Neither of you seemed to notice. You found yourself studying him.

The pristine white shirt. The polished boots. The silver buckle catching the light. Not a speck of dirt. Not a wrinkle.

"You always look..." You hesitated. He waited. "Clean." He looked down at himself.

"I suppose."

"You hunt. You walk through the woods. You never look like you've been through the woods." Your eyes scanned for even the tiniest speck of dirt. Or even, blood.

"I have not considered it."

"You've never wondered why?"

"No."

"...Huh..." You frowned thoughtfully. "I've never seen any of you" Your voice trailed off. "Dirty."

He regarded you for a long moment. "You notice things." The observation caught you off guard.

"I guess I do."

His head dipped in the smallest nod. "That's why we continue speaking." You blinked. "Because I notice things?"

"You notice. You ask. You continue." Each word was deliberate. Most people would've found them meaningless. Somehow, you didn't.

A breeze stirred the trees. Leaves rustled softly. Farther down the road, another figure emerged from the darkness.

A woman in a pale dress.

She walked slowly, almost gracefully, before stopping near the edge of your yard. She looked toward Cowboy. Then toward your house. Neither of them spoke. The woman smiled.

Not at you.

At him.

It wasn't warm. It wasn't kind. It was knowing. Cowboy didn't acknowledge her. He didn't even turn his head.

After another few seconds, she continued down the street until the darkness swallowed her whole.

You realized you'd been holding your breath. "Friend of yours?"

"They're all familiar."

"You didn't answer me."

"I did."

"No. You answered around it."

The faintest hint of amusement touched his expression. "That I did Darlin."

You let out a quiet groan. "You're impossible."

"So you've mentioned."

The conversation drifted into another comfortable silence. Your gaze wandered to the clock on the wall. "You should probably go."

Cowboy looked at the clock. Then back at you. "Why?"

"Because you've been standing there for..." You checked again. "...Almost two hours." He seemed genuinely surprised.

"Has it been?"

"You didn't notice?"

"No."

"You were just..." You gestured between the two of you. "...talking."

"I was." Something about that answer lingered. Not because it was sweet. Because it sounded like he'd only just realized how much time had passed.

He lifted two fingers to the brim of his hat.

"I shall leave."

"You don't have to." The words escaped before you could stop them. The silence that followed felt enormous.

You stared at him. He stared at you. Your heart skipped. "...I mean..." You cleared your throat. "If you want."

Cowboy studied your face. Long enough that you wondered if he was trying to understand what you'd meant.

Finally, "I will return."

Not tomorrow. Not soon. Just., "I will return." He stepped backward into the darkness. One step. Then another. His pale hat disappeared among the trees.

You stood at the window long after he'd gone. "What was that?" You weren't sure whether you were talking about him or yourself.

Chapter Two: Familiar Faces

_____

Sleep came eventually. Not because your mind had settled. Because exhaustion always won.

Morning in town arrived the same way it always did. With movement. Someone shouting for a wrench.

A bird cawing somewhere near the church. The scrape of chairs outside the diner. Life resumed as though the night had never happened.

You stood at the kitchen sink, finishing the last of your coffee before tugging your flannel over your shoulders. Your eyes drifted toward the front window. The curtains were still drawn.

You hesitated. "Don't." The words were spoken to an empty room. Your own voice.

Quiet.

Firm.

There was nothing outside. There never was in the morning. Even so, you found yourself pulling the curtain aside. The porch sat empty beneath the early sunlight.

Just weathered boards. The rocking chair you'd found abandoned months ago. A flower pot that refused to grow anything. Nothing else. You let the curtain fall. "Figures."

By the time you reached the diner, the breakfast rush had already begun. Kenny looked up from carrying two steaming plates. "There she is."

"Morning."

"You eat yet?"

You gave him a look. "When do I ever eat before working?"

"Never." He sheepishly replied.

"Exactly."

He sighed dramatically. "I swear, if mom doesn't feed you, you'll forget."

"I don't forget."

"You absolutely do."

"I get distracted." Your chest huff, not eight, but playfully.

"You say that like it's different."

"It is."

"It isn't."

You smiled despite yourself. Tian-Chen appeared from the kitchen carrying another basket of bread. "There." She placed it squarely in front of you. "Eat."

"I was going to."

"You were going to leave."

"Maybe."

"I know."

You broke off a piece of warm bread. "Happy?"

"No." She pointed toward the butter. "You need more."

You laughed under your breath. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

The diner door swung open. Randall walked in. His clothes were a mess. His expression suggested he'd slept even worse than usual. Without asking, he dropped into the chair across from you. "Morning."

"You sound thrilled to be awake." You chuckled, biting into a piece of your bread.

"I'm not."

"You ever smile before noon?"

"No."

"I figured."

Kenny snorted as he walked past. "I've seen it once." Randall looked up, almost offended. "Liar."

"It was an accident." Kennys voice rang, hint of taunting laced.

"It was!"

You nearly choked on your coffee trying not to laugh. Randall shot you a flat look. "Don't encourage him."

"I'm trying not to."

"You suck at it."

"Sometimes. "

For a little while everything almost felt normal.

Almost.

"You busy today?"

You looked toward Randall. "I promised Sara I'd finish reinforcing her fence."

"Mhm." Randall's hand met the side of his face.

"Then Boyd wanted help moving one of the abandoned cars."

"Mhm."

"And Tian-Chen asked if I'd fix the back steps."

"Mhm."

You narrowed your eyes. "What?"

"You realize everyone asks you, right?" His brow lifted, eyeing you.

"I don't mind." Another bite, shoulders tugging up, then down.

"I know you don't." He leaned back in his chair. "They should."

You frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means they ask because they know you'll say yes."

"So?"

"So..." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "you don't have to carry the whole damn town."

Your expression softened. "I don't."

"You kind of do."

Before you could answer, Boyd stepped into the diner. "There you are."

You looked up. "Uh oh."

"Don't 'uh oh' me." He pointed toward the window. "Truck's stuck again."

You blinked. "Again? You're fucking kidding me"

"Mud."

"Didn't we pull it out yesterday?" An exaggerated sigh left your mouth.

"We did."

"How?" This time, a groan.

Boyd shrugged. "I've stopped asking." You stood, grabbing the last bite of bread.

"Be right there."

As you passed Randall's table, he called after you. "You're proving my point!" You looked back over your shoulder. "I know."

"You gonna stop?"

"No."

"Knew it."

───

The truck took four people to free. By the end of it, your boots were caked in mud up to your ankles.

Boyd wiped sweat from his forehead. "I owe you."

"You owe me breakfast tomorrow."

"I thought Tian-Chen already fed you."

You nodded, a soft smile accompanied. "She did."

"And you want me to cook?"

"I like free food."

Boyd laughed. "I'll see what I can do."

As the others dispersed, you lingered long enough to catch your breath. The town bustled around you. Hammering echoed somewhere nearby.

Children laughed in the distance. Donna barked at someone to stop carrying lumber the wrong way.

Home.

As strange as that word still felt. You bent to rinse the mud from your hands using water from a nearby barrel. "You missed a spot." You glanced sideways. Randall stood beside you.

"When did you get here?"

"I've been here."

"You really need to stop sneaking up on people." You headed tilted up, getting a better view of the hot-head.

"You should pay better attention."

You flicked a few drops of water toward him. He frowned. "Did you just—"

"Maybe."

Without warning, he flicked water back. You stared at him. "Really?"

"You started it."

"I absolutely did not."

"You did."

A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Small. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared. "You missed." You added, a humored huff leaving you.

"So did you."

"Fair." For a moment the weight of the town lifted. Just enough to laugh.

That evening, as the sun began its slow descent once more, you found yourself looking toward your house a little earlier than usual. Not because you were afraid.

Because a question had lodged itself in the back of your mind. Would he come back?

The thought irritated you. You frowned at yourself as you climbed your porch steps. "You're an idiot."

You unlocked the door. Stepped inside and firmly decided you weren't going to look out the window tonight.

The thought lingered longer than you cared to admit. Would he come back? You frowned at yourself as you hung your jacket beside the front door. "You're an idiot." Again, the words disappeared into the quiet house.

Outside, the last light of day bled behind the trees. Inside everything was routine.

The windows. Locked.

The back door. Locked.

The talisman. Still hanging exactly where it belonged.

Your kettle whistled softly as you poured yourself another mug of tea. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe he wouldn't come. Maybe last night had simply been...no. Nothing about this place was simply anything.

The book in your lap had long since lost your attention. Your eyes kept drifting toward the window. Not intentionally. Just, every few minutes. You sighed. "This is ridiculous."

The sentence had barely left your mouth when a voice answered from outside. "It certainly is."

You froze. Slowly, very slowly, you looked toward the front window. Cowboy stood exactly where he'd been the night before.

One hand rested lazily over his belt buckle. His hat shadowed most of his face, though the faint curve of his smile was unmistakable.

"Do you always do that?"

"Stand?"

"Sneak up on people." You hand waved, finger moving his direction.

"I wasn't sneaking."

"You didn't knock."

"I wasn't invited."

You stared, facing contorted in disgust. "That's your reasoning?"

"I find it polite." Against your better judgment a short laugh escaped you. You immediately regretted it. Cowboy noticed.

His smile deepened only slightly. "There it is."

Your expression flattened. "What?"

"You laugh more than I expected."

"I wasn't laughing at you."

"I know."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"I enjoyed it."

The honesty caught you off guard. Not because it was sweet. Because it was delivered without embarrassment. Like commenting on the weather.

You cleared your throat. "You've got an odd definition of enjoyment."

"So I've been told." There it was again. That strange sense of humor. Dry. Almost impossible to tell whether he was joking.

"You've been busy."

You narrowed your eyes.

"Again with that."

His gaze shifted toward the center of town. "The truck no longer blocks the road."

You glanced in the same direction before looking back. "You noticed."

"I notice many things."

"You only see them after dark."

His eyes settled on you. "Correct."

"So you don't know who moved it."

"No."

"You just guessed."

"More or less."

You folded your arms. "So you don't know everything."

"No."

"Huh." Something about that answer surprised you. You'd always imagined the creatures as, omniscient.

Watching.

Waiting.

Knowing.

Instead, the Cowboy had admitted a limit. No trick. No riddle. Just, "No." The realization lingered.

"May I ask you something?" His voice interrupted your thoughts.

You hesitated. "Depends." Your voice dragged.

"On?"

"The question."

A pause.

Then, "Why do you continue helping them?"

You blinked. "What?"

"The town." He spoke evenly. "You repair their homes. You carry their burdens. You solve problems that aren't yours." His gaze never left yours. "Why?"

The question sat heavier than you expected. You looked down at your mug. Steam curled into the air between your hands. "I don't know."

"You do." His voice was quick.

"I..." You searched for the answer. "because someone has to."

"They are capable."

"Most of them."

"They survive."

"Barely." Another pause. You finally met his eyes again. "When I got here." Your voice softened. "I didn't know what I was doing. I was scared. I thought I was going to die."

Cowboy listened without interruption.

"People helped me. People I didn't know. They fed me." Your voice grew soft. "They found me a place to sleep. They taught me the rules." You shrugged one shoulder.

"So, I help."

Silence settled between you. Long enough that you wondered if he'd already walked away.

He hadn't. His gaze remained fixed on you. Thoughtful. Not calculating. Just, thinking.

Finally,

"A fair exchange."

You frowned. "That's all you've got?"

"It is sufficient."

You laughed quietly. "You really don't know how to comfort people."

"I wasn't attempting to."

"Clearly."

The night stretched on. Not with constant conversation. But with pauses. Sometimes several minutes long. Neither of you seemed bothered by them.

You'd sip your tea. He'd stand beneath the porch light. Occasionally your eyes would meet. Occasionally they'd drift elsewhere.

It felt...strange. Not safe. Never safe. But unexpectedly peaceful.

Until, "You have someone."

The words broke the silence so abruptly that you nearly dropped your mug.

"Excuse me?"

"A young man."

Your brow furrowed. "What young man?"

"The one with the unpleasant disposition."

It took you a second. Then- "Randall?"

Cowboy inclined his head. "I believe that is his name."

Heat crept into your cheeks. "No. We're friends."

"Only?"

"Yes." You nodded, your lips meeting your mug, parting moments later.

"Hm."

You frowned. "What does that mean?"

His smile returned. "I was curious."

"About what?"

He was quiet. Long enough that you almost thought he wouldn't answer.

"He watches you."

You blinked.

"So?"

"He is protective."

"He's observant." You retorted, staring past the window and to the street. Eventually, back to the Cowboy

"He is possessive."

"No, he isn't."

Cowboy didn't argue. He simply looked at you. The silence itself felt like disagreement.

You rolled your eyes. "You're wrong."

"Rarely."

"You are."

"Perhaps."

It was impossible to tell whether he believed you. Or whether he'd simply decided the conversation was over. A few moments later, he reached up, touching the brim of his hat with two fingers. "The night grows old."

"It's only been an hour."

"For you."

Before you could ask what that meant he stepped backward. Off the porch and into the darkness. Within seconds he was gone.

Chapter One: The Things We Leave Behind

_____

The town had a rhythm. Not a peaceful one. Not a happy one, but a necessary one. Every morning began with work because if you stopped working, the town stopped standing.

It was still early when you balanced a bundle of weathered lumber across your shoulder, your boots crunching against the gravel road. The weight wasn't unbearable, but most people would've asked for help.

You never did. The front porch outside Sara's house sagged low enough that another hard rain would've sent the whole thing collapsing.

You set the lumber down with a dull thud. "You're doing that by yourself?" You glanced over your shoulder. Donna stood with her hands planted firmly on her hips, already wearing the look that said she was preparing to argue.

"I was planning to." Donna looked from the lumber.....to you.....then back again. "You know," she muttered, "there are other people in this town."

"There are." You hummed, dusting your rugged hands.

"They've got arms."

"So do I."

She let out an exaggerated sigh. "You ever think about asking for help?"

You smiled faintly. "I do."

"And?"

"I usually decide against it."

"Stubborn."

"So I've been told."

Donna snorted. "Yeah. By me." You laughed quietly before kneeling beside the porch, setting your toolbox on the warped wood.

The first board came loose easier than expected. Rot. Too much rain. Not enough supplies. It was always one thing or another.

Behind you, Donna folded her arms. "You don't have to fix every damn thing."

"I'm not." You retorted, halfway glaring at the older woman.

"No?"

You gestured vaguely toward the town. "I haven't started on the diner yet." She rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might stay that way. "You keep joking."

"You keep asking." For a moment, neither of you spoke. Donna's expression softened. Not much. Just enough. "We're lucky you're here."

You didn't answer right away. Compliments were strange in a place like this. Luck rarely lasted. Instead, you reached for another nail. "I'm lucky I had somewhere to end up."

Donna's smile disappeared. Neither of you needed to say the rest. Nobody chose this town. Nobody stayed because they wanted to. You stayed because there wasn't anywhere else to go.

By noon, sweat clung to the back of your neck. The porch looked better. Not perfect. Nothing in this town ever was. You leaned back to admire your work. One of the boards sat slightly crooked. You frowned. "...Of course."

You reached for your hammer again. "You've been staring at that board for five minutes." You didn't bother turning around. "I've been staring at it for thirty seconds."

"Felt like five minutes."

Now you looked. Randall. Hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans. Leaning against a nearby fence watching.

You smirked. "You following me?"

"No." He shrugged a shoulder, adjusting himself against the old fence.

"You sure?" Your brow raised.

"I was bored."

"So your solution was watching me work?"

"I said I was bored."

You barked out a laugh. "That's not helping your case." Randall shrugged. "You gonna fix it?"

"I was about to. You sure it isn't good enough?" You stared at him, sun beating off your frame.

"Did you really just say 'good enough'?"

"What?"

"You."

"What about me?"

"You rebuilt an entire bus engine because one bolt annoyed you." He remarked, pointing a finger your way.

"It was annoying."

"And this board is annoying me."

"Fair."

He pushed himself off the fence, walking toward the porch. Before you could say anything, he crouched beside you. The crooked board; his fingers pressed against one end. "Hit it."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The nail." He held the board steady. "You gonna stand there or fix it?"

A smile tugged at your lips. "You could've just offered."

"I did."

"No." Shaking your head, your hand met your hammer, raising it off from the dirt. "You insulted my work first."

"I had to warm up." You shook your head once more, laughing under your breath before raising the hammer.

One strike. The board settled perfectly into place. Randall let go. "There." You hummed, satisfied.

"There." He stood, brushing dirt from his palms. "You owe me." You breathed, tossing your hammer into the toolbox.

"For holding a board?"

"For emotional support." You stared.

"...You're unbelievable."

"So I've heard."

The afternoon drifted by in much the same way. Someone needed help unloading canned food from the diner. You helped. A truck had sunk one wheel into the muddy shoulder. You and three others shoved until it lurched free.

Mrs. Liu couldn't lift a crate of preserves. You carried it inside before she had the chance to ask. No one expected it anymore. It was simply what you did. Not because you thought you had to.

Because if everyone carried a little of the weight, maybe tomorrow wouldn't feel so heavy.

The town-crier bell rang once. Low and steady. Not a warning. A reminder. Sunset would come sooner than anyone wanted.

Boyd's voice carried from halfway down the street. "Start wrapping it up!"

People answered with nods. Nobody argued. Not anymore. You wiped your hands on your jeans, glancing toward the orange horizon. Another day survived. Now came the harder part.

───

The town always grew quieter before sunset. Not because anyone was told to...because everyone remembered.

A laugh cut short. A conversation ended with, "Tomorrow." Children who had been darting between buildings all afternoon were suddenly shepherded inside with gentle hands and practiced smiles.

No one wanted them to see the fear. Not if they could help it. You ducked into the diner, the familiar scent of coffee and fried onions greeting you before the door had fully closed.

Tian-Chen looked up from behind the counter, her sleeves rolled to her elbows as she dried another plate. "There you are."

You smiled. "I know that tone."

"You disappear."

"I was working."

"You always work."

"I like working."

She gave you a look over the rim of her glasses. "No. You don't. You work because sitting still gives you too much time to think." You opened your mouth. Closed it again. "That obvious?"

"To me."

A quiet huff of amusement escaped you. "You need anything?" She nodded toward the stack of flour sacks near the back door. "Storage."

Without another word, you crossed the room and hoisted the first sack over your shoulder. Then another. Then another.

By the fourth trip, Tian-Chen had abandoned pretending she wasn't impressed. "You make everyone else look lazy."

"They're smarter than I am." A sly smirked etched onto your face.

She laughed. "I'll tell Kenny you said that."

"Please don't."

"I will."

"You absolutely will." You chuckled with her. You knew her too well.

"I absolutely will." The laughter between you faded as the bell above the diner door jingled.

Boyd stepped inside. His eyes swept the room automatically. Counting. Always counting. "Almost time."

"We're finishing up," Tian-Chen assured him.

Boyd nodded. His gaze landed on you. "You heading home?"

"In a minute."

"Make it less than a minute."

"I'll try."

"I mean it." His voice was stern, more than before.

"I know." He held your eyes another second before giving a satisfied nod. "Good."

He disappeared back outside. The bell jingled once more. Silence settled over the diner.

Tian-Chen resumed drying dishes. "He worries." You smiled faintly.

"He worries about everyone."

"He worries about you a little more."

You frowned. "I don't know about that."

"I do." She whispered, rag moving clockwise against the grime. You shook your head, pretending not to hear her.

The streets were nearly empty by the time you stepped back outside. The sky had shifted into deep shades of amber and crimson. Beautiful...if you forgot what came after.

You adjusted the strap of your worn canvas bag across your shoulder and began the walk home.

Most houses were already shut tight. Curtains drawn. Windows latched. The comforting glow of lamps flickered behind glass. Life retreating behind walls.

Your house sat near the edge of town. Not far enough to be isolated. Just far enough that the evenings felt... quieter.

You climbed the porch steps, your boots creaking against the wood you'd repaired months ago. Habit took over.

Door. Locked.

Windows. Closed.

Kitchen. Clear.

Bedroom. Clear.

Finally,

The talisman. Still hanging beside the front door. Your fingers brushed its rough surface. A small ritual. Not because you believed touching it made it stronger. Because it reminded you it was there.

Only then did you breathe.

───

Water simmered softly inside the kettle. Steam curled lazily toward the ceiling. You wrapped both hands around your mug, settling into the chair nearest the front window.

A book rested open in your lap. One you'd already read twice. Reading wasn't really the point anymore. Routine was.

Outside, darkness settled over the town. The porch light cast a warm circle across the old wooden boards. Beyond it, only black. The woods swallowed everything.

You turned another page. You didn't realize you'd stopped reading until several minutes later. Your eyes had been fixed on the same sentence. Your mind elsewhere.

The silence felt, wrong. Not dangerous. Just...different.

You frowned. The kettle had stopped whistling. The clock still ticked. Nothing had changed. So why did the hairs along the back of your neck stand up?

Slowly, you lifted your gaze toward the front window. The curtains remained closed. Nothing moved. Still, the feeling refused to leave. Someone was there. You couldn't explain how you knew. You simply did.

Carefully, you set your mug aside. Your footsteps barely made a sound against the wooden floor. Every instinct told you not to look.

Curiosity won. Two fingers pinched the edge of the curtain. You pulled it aside, just enough to see.

He was already standing there. Not walking toward the house. Not climbing the steps.

Simply there.

The Cowboy stood beneath the porch light as though he'd always belonged there. Cream-colored hat tipped low. Hands loosely clasped around the large silver buckle resting at his waist. His head angled downward.

Until, he realized you'd seen him. The smallest smile curved across his lips. Not wide. Not predatory. Almost, pleased.

"As expected." His voice carried easily through the glass. Smooth, patient. Like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.

You didn't answer. Didn't move. Neither did he. The silence stretched comfortably between you. For him. Not for you.

His eyes wandered past your shoulder. Toward the neighboring house. "The porch." Your brow furrowed.

"What about it?"

"It no longer sags."

You glanced instinctively toward Sara's house. "No...It doesn't."

He looked back at you. "You repaired it." It wasn't a question.

You hesitated. "How do you know that?"

His smile lingered. "I notice things."

"You weren't here."

Another pause. Then, almost thoughtfully.

"Wasn't I?"

Your stomach tightened. He hadn't answered. Not really. That was the problem with them. Nothing was ever simple.

He tipped his head slightly, studying your face beneath the warm glow spilling from your house. "You carry more than the others."

You frowned. "Excuse me?"

"The lumber. The crates. The trucks." His gaze lingered on your hands. "You're useful."

You weren't sure whether to be offended. Or complimented. "...Thanks..." His smile deepened.

"You don't like compliments."

"I don't like yours." Your arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly.

"I noticed."

For the first time a quiet chuckle escaped him. It wasn't loud. Just enough to make the silence feel even stranger. And somehow, even though every instinct screamed that you should step away from the window...

Pairing : Cowboy Creature x Reader

Summary : When an ordinary carpenter becomes trapped in the nightmare town of Fromville, survival quickly teaches her one rule above all others: Never open the door after dark. But every night, one creature breaks that rule. Dressed in a weathered white western shirt and a cowboy hat, he never smiles like the others. He never scratches at the windows. He never begs to be let inside. He simply knocks. Three quiet knocks. Night after night. Drawn by equal parts fear and curiosity, she begins to meet him beneath the moonlight, discovering that the world beyond the talismans is far stranger—and far more beautiful—than she ever imagined. As their secret walks through the forest become a refuge from the terror surrounding them, an impossible bond begins to grow between a human woman and the creature everyone else fears. Hidden from the town that would never understand, their relationship blossoms through quiet conversations, patient trust, and countless small acts of devotion. But as her connection to the night deepens, she finds herself caught between two worlds: the daylight life she has built among the survivors, and the ancient, silent world where Cowboy has always belonged. With danger lurking behind every sunset, friendships tested by impossible secrets, and a love that asks for nothing except a choice freely given.

The Lantern Beyond the Pines is a slow-burn paranormal romance about finding home in the most unexpected place—and discovering that sometimes the heart recognizes where it belongs long before the mind is willing to admit it. For every door that closes at night... One quietly opens.

Warnings : Shit dude, legit everything? I mean, come on look at what you're reading you sick freaks- >:)

Other : I have been working on this for A WHILE. Since the end of season 3 if I remember correctly. The whole book is written- but most of it is still in editing. I'm hoping to update frequently(maybe every week???), but I'm a very busy woman and I have a family to care for. Anyways- enjoy you sick bastards. Dont forget to comment, like, and reblogg!

Important Note : This page is dedicated to be the 'masterlist' page for the book. Each chapter will be linked in this post to be easily found.

Chapter One: The Things We Leave Behind

Chapter Two: Familiar Faces

Chapter Three: Quiet Observations

Chapter Four: Watching Eyes

Hello again! I absolutely love Randall. (Less than the creatures but let's put him in top 3 of the townsfolk haha)

Thanks for the request! These are so fun to do. :)

Again, remember, requests are open! I mainly do creatures, but love doing the townsfolk too! Now..onto the request >:)

Randall With a S/O Who Stims

At first, Randall would be a little freaked- I mean, after all the weird shit he's been through, adding on top of it, it's a little hard to handle at first.

But once he understood what was happening- and why, it got easier. Rocking yourself back and forth, counting numbers back to back, and randomly leaving a conversation, it all made sense.

Most nights, when it was the worst, he'd calmly sit next to you, rubbing your back. Sometimes, he'd just sit there and tell stories of his life. About his nephew, the birthday party he'd never attend, and his work.

Sometimes it helped...most nights, it was just nice to have someone who understood you.

Each person had their own problems, yours were thrown to the side. Not that you were a problem, just that no one really got you like Randall did.

The creatures, tapping against the glass of the bus, were the worst. Even for him. Those nights, taunting you, mimicking even. It was enough to throw Randall into a rage, slamming his fist against glass, talisman bouncing against the wall. "Hey! Leave her the fuck alone!" "Get the hell outta here!"

But those nights, he'd hold you, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, his warmth welcoming; melting right into the scarred man.

Even with your quirks, he had his own. And you helped, just like he did. Everyone is a little different sometimes, you both so happened to find calm within the mass amount of difference.

--------------

(Aaannnddd because I cannnnn...here's a super mini fic for this!)

The wind was light, your hair flowing within its grasp. It was almost nice. Almost.

The morning had been busy; crowded even. Helping with this months harvest, re-planting what you could ration. Food had become somewhat scarce, the soil seemed to be cursed.

Hands covered in dirt, knee bent to your chest, you swayed, counting back to yourself softly. Lost in thought, you didn't catch the sound of footsteps.

"Hey Y/n where are yo-" Randall's voice rang through. His head dipping to look at your frame. "Oh"

Without thinking, he settled next you to, sliding his jacket off, tugging it on your own frame. Still rocking, you looked at him, a soft smile sketched onto your face. "Hey.."

"Hey. You okay?" You hummed in response, your pace slowing, but didn't stop. Randall just sighed, wrapping his arms around yourself, pulling you into his lap. "I got you."

His warmth, combined with his jacket, had you melting back into him; him joining your movement. "I know."

That's how you too stayed, swaying too and frow. His head burying into your neck, prepping kisses here and there. No one dared to bother you too. And you liked it that way.

Pairing : The Milkman x Reader

Summary: Night after night, you exchange gifts, speaking what you both cannot say.

Warning : N/A

Other : Ive been working on this one for a while (totally not a whole month...haha.) but had this idea of forbidden love.

Speaking of...this creature doesnt get enough love. And hes in my top 3 haha. I have some more ideas coming in the future, but who knows for now.

Enjoy :) and dont forget, requests are open! (And more to come!)

The first flower appeared on your windowsill. It wasn't there when the sun went down. But when you checked the window before bed, a single white daisy rested against the glass. No footprints. No note. Just a flower. You threw it away.

The next night, there was another. This time, a yellow buttercup. The night after that, a blue cornflower. Each sunrise, you found a different bloom waiting outside.

The town had barely any flowers grow. You had no idea where they were coming from. Victor frowned when you mentioned them. "The forest doesn't grow those." Hands scribbling away at his most recent drawing.

"Then who keeps leaving them?" Victor looked toward the road outside the diner. His expression turned uneasy. "I think... I know."

That evening, you waited by the window instead of hiding from it. Just before sunset, he appeared.

The Milkman.

Neatly dressed in his crisp white uniform, carrying the same unsettling smile as every other creature. Except tonight. There was something clutched carefully in his hand.

Another flower. He walked to your porch with slow, measured steps and gently placed it on the railing. Not tossed. Not dropped. Placed; as though it were precious.

When he looked up and saw you watching he gave a small nod.

"You're the one leaving them." The words were barely above a whisper. Your eyes darting from the gift, to the creature.

He smiled. "Yes." Hands, too human, too wrong, brushing against his pants, as if it were natural.

"Why?" Eyes narrowing, not from anger, but confusion. These creatures...you seen tear flesh from bone, treating something with such care and consideration.

His eyes lowered briefly to the flower. "I remembered." His voice sounded distant, as though reaching through layers of fog. "Someone once liked receiving them."

"You don't even know if it was me." Head threatening to shake, yet remained still, as if, you moved a second, you'd miss everything. "I don't." He looked back at you. "But it feels right."

You didn't know what to make of that. Monsters didn't bring gifts. They lured. They lied. They killed. Yet every evening, another flower appeared.

Never the same kind twice. Always carefully chosen. Always untouched. Eventually curiosity won.

The next morning, while helping Kristi gather herbs, you picked a tiny purple wildflower growing beside the path. You carried it home.

All day, you debated with yourself. This was ridiculous. He was one of them. And yet, that evening, just before sunset, you stepped onto the porch while there was still daylight.

Your heartbeat hammered in your ears. You laid the little purple flower on the top step. Then hurried back inside before darkness fell.

When the creatures emerged, The Milkman stopped. He stared at the flower. For a long time, he didn't move. Then, with surprising care, he picked it up.

He held it as though it might break. When he looked toward your window, seeing your watchful glaze, his usual smile had softened. "For me?"

You nodded once. His fingers tightened gently around the stem. "How quaint" He stopped himself, thumb and index moving the flower too and frow. "I don't remember the last time someone gave me one."

After that it became a quiet tradition. He left one for you. You left one for him. Neither of you crossed the invisible line between the porch and the doorway. Neither of you forgot what he was. Or what would happen if you invited him inside.

But for a few moments every evening, the flowers spoke where words failed.

One rainy night, he arrived carrying a single red poppy. He placed it beside your usual white daisy. "You gave me two." He brow raising slightly.

"I missed yesterday." You replied, cup of tea in hand, indulging in its warmth. A storm had kept you away from the window the night before. "You noticed."

"I always notice."

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself. "You know," you said softly, "people usually exchange flowers because they care about each other."

The Milkman looked down at the blooms in his hands. "I don't remember much from before." He met your gaze. "But I remember..." A sigh escaped the creature, pulling at string he couldn't quite connect. "that flowers are meant to say things people can't."

Another sip. "What are yours saying?" Eyes exploring the 'man' before you. You wondered if he was as warm as the tea, or as cold as outside.

He looked almost...uncertain. As if, fighting his own instincts. "I'm glad you're still here."

Your throat tightened. You glanced at the daisy waiting on your windowsill. "I think mine says the same."

As summer faded and the leaves turned brown, the flowers became harder to find. Still, every evening, one somehow appeared. Sometimes fresh. Sometimes slightly wilted.

Never forgotten.

The townspeople eventually stopped asking why your windowsill was always covered in blossoms. They never learned the truth. That every flower was a conversation.

A thank you.

A promise.

A reminder that even in a town ruled by monsters, certain..unexplored, feelings could still bloom in the smallest, strangest places.

And every night, beneath the fading light, a human and a creature continued exchanging flowers. Never touching. Never crossing the threshold.