Chapter Text
The farmer came to the valley on the first day of spring that year, desk-job pale, dark hair messy, crooked wire-rim glasses glinting in the weak spring sun. Shane squinted at him through the haze of a hangover, watching him follow Mayor Lewis through town to Pierre’s. A look of wonder on the his face at the beauty of the valley, or maybe it was terror at all the manual labor that lay ahead of him.
Shane snorted and pulled the hood of his Joja windbreaker over his head as he walked through town to work. If the farmer wasn’t scared shitless now, he would be soon. Shane lived on Marnie’s ranch, south of the old wilderness farm. He heard the strange rustlings of things too large to be squirrels, smelled the strange musty monster scent that came over the hill after midnight, saw the shadows moving even when the wind was still. This city kid wouldn’t know what hit him.
The farmer and Lewis went into Pierre’s, blurry behind the glass. Shane groaned, refocused on taking one step after another through the headache and roiling stomach. He was late for his shift stocking shelves at JojaMart, but he didn’t care. He could barely keep his eyes open. He was starting to get bad again.
He thought about the farmer again as he walked across the bridge, dread settling onto his shoulders as the building came into view. Must be nice to have some hope, even if it would all get crushed in short order.
*
Work was shit, as per usual. Morris mouthed off to him about his lateness, about the stain on his Joja polo, about how long it took him to unload the heavy boxes of bruised produce from their styrofoam containers. Shane just nodded, didn’t say anything back. He knew if he did he’d tell Morris he looked like a penis with glasses and a little bow tie. Better to keep this job, no matter how soul-sucking it was. That way, when he was gone, he’d at least have a little something put aside for Jas. Not that it was much, anything like a college fund. But with Marnie hardly charging him any rent, he could put aside what he made for his goddaughter. Well, what he didn’t spend on beer anyway.
Speaking of: it was 7:59. Quitting time. He dropped his nametag in the plastic bin, punched his timecard dully, and headed for the Stardrop.
*
He was three beers in when the farmer came in, looking lost and alone. Right at the door, Marnie greeted him with the friendliness and the intense curiosity that pervaded Pelican Town anytime someone new showed up. Especially on Mondays, when Penny babysat Jas and Marnie could go out on the town. She pretended like she wasn’t flirting with Lewis, like this new farmer was suddenly the most exciting thing in town. Things changed so rarely in Pelican Town, though, so maybe he was.
The farmer smiled, nodded with her, chatted to her and Lewis. He went up to the bar and Emily took his order-- a sandwich, a beer. He talked to her about the farm, telling her was going to start by clearing land and growing a patch of parsnips. Just a start. Like he had a chance against the elements, the weeds that grew six feet tall that Shane could see when he was drinking on top of the cliffs in Cindersap forest, the stones that had rolled down from the mountains, the remnants of a once whole greenhouse and the battered little cottage.
Shane downed the rest of his beer and nodded to Emily. He knew she tried to slow him down sometimes, with chatter or distraction, but he had yelled at her about it recently and since then she just brought him the beers he asked for with a quiet disappointment. He disappointed everyone. Town drunk, neglectful godfather, shitty nephew, failure stock boy at 29.
He downed this drink a little faster than the last.
The farmer was doing the rounds now, Marnie taking him around. His aunt was too friendly for his own good, too kind. She saw Shane in the corner, pointed the farmer over to him. He couldn’t hear her over the jukebox, but he knew she was saying something like, “Over there, that’s my nephew Shane. Go say hi.” The unspoken words: maybe you can fix him. Maybe a friend would help.
Before the farmer even came over, Shane’s hackles were up.
“Hey there, I’m--” he started to say.
“I don’t give a fuck who you are,” Shane said back, and stared at him, hard.
The farmer stared back, shaken. His eyes were green. “I’m just trying to--”
“Yeah, well, who gives a shit,” said Shane.
Pam, swaying at the other end of the bar, maybe the only person more of a mess than Shane in Pelican Town, swatted at the air with her hand. “Aw, c’mon Shane, don’t be an asshole to Thomas.” Marnie just looked at Shane, disappointment mixed with the tipsiness. The mayor, too, shot daggers at Shane with his eyes.
“No, it’s okay,” said the farmer. “I should be getting home anyway.” He drained the last of his beer, gave Shane a long look-- more steely, now, than shaken-- and walked away.
Shane was almost disappointed. A new target for his vitriol, suddenly lost. Without that, there was no one to turn it against except himself.
*
Late that night, splayed on the floor in his room at Marnie’s-- he’d made it home okay but hadn’t made it all the way to bed-- he heard the howl of something strange and ethereal. Up north, on the wilderness farm. The room spun. Nobody should have moved there. The darkness was full of terrors.
He pictured green eyes, scared, shaken. Then steely. Then nothing.