1. Welcome to New England
Courtney
Aweek after my not-break up with Carter I’m 3,000 miles from my life in California and only minutes from my new, temporary one in Havenwood, Massachusetts. After making the phone call to inquire about the rental house that had been mysteriously flooding my inbox for weeks I was sold within minutes. The kind, older voice on the other end of the phone introduced herself as Agnes Booker and confirmed the rent was, in fact, as ridiculously low as advertised. It only took one look at my dwindling bank account to make the irrational decision to move here. Temporarily.
As I travel down the lightly used back roads of New England I can’t bring myself to regret leaving city life behind, even if it is just for a little while. Robust oak, maple, and sassafras trees line the old, winding roads that only sport one lane in either direction. I can’t remember the last time I had seen such lush and dense forest cover. Being so caught up in my scenery, I almost miss my turn; if it weren’t for a rickety wooden sign reminding me of my destination, I would have missed it completely.
I crank my wheel to the left, taking the unsuspecting exit straight into the sleepy little town of Havenwood.
The woods clear about a mile down the road and cobblestone streets replace the worn dirt below my tires. The sight of a two-story building retrofitted with a 1980s clock tower welcomes me to town. After passing a few more, equally as old, buildings I approach my first sight of the locals. A handful of gray-haired citizens are completing laps around a large patch of manicured grass, an area I assume to be the park, their heads turning to drink me in as I slowly roll by.
A few of them unabashedly gawk in shock at my presence, but to my surprise, many of them wave. This is my first hint that little Havenwood hasn’t seen any outsiders in quite a while. Besides the seniors, the place appears void of life, except for the vivacious foliage that sprouts readily in most places.
I continue through the small downtown scene, reading each business name aloud as I head for the more residential side of town. I’m able to locate Queens Avenue fairly easily due to the town’s grid-like build. House 2213, thankfully, actually exists and looks just like the photo on the listing. I hop out of the car and approach the house with a reinvigorated excitement, taking in the details of the property as I do. It appears as if a new layer of white paint has been added within the last decade, which is only noticeable when comparing the house to its neighbors. The grass out front is extremely healthy and trimmed, the owner of the house has clearly taken good care of it.
I step onto the porch and lean against the glass of the kitchen window, cupping my hands around my eyes in an attempt to see into my new rental.
“Good evenin’,” a velvety voice greets from behind me, catching me completely off guard. I whirl around and find a woman whom I hadn’t noticed before tending to a hedge in the front yard of the neighboring house. Her graying curly hair is cut into a short pixie, and her old, dark skin contrasts the gloomy gray sky above us. She studies me with thoughtful pitch-black eyes that are encased with laugh lines.
“Hi,” I greet back, realizing that I totally look like a home invader scoping out her neighbor’s house.
“I’m renting this place,” I gesture back to the house, awkwardly.
“You must be Courtney? I’m Agnes Booker, we spoke on the phone. Welcome to Havenwood.” Her welcome is genuine and warm, just like her smile which reminds me of eating fresh muffins on a cold day.
“Thank you, Agnes.” I look over at the house that she stands in front of; it is similar in style to mine, only sporting a much older coat of blue paint. I guess that the big house was her own, internally speculating on whether she has children or maybe a partner to share all that space with.
“Not much going on around here, huh?” I note, resting my hands on my hips as I nod in the direction of downtown, recalling the unimpressive workout scene in the park.
Agnes chuckles at my observation before nodding, unable to deny evident facts. “Havenwood is a dying town, it has been for a good while. We used to be a popular tourist stop on the way to Salem but then they built that freeway,” Agnes sighs, pursing her lips as she shakes her head in disapproval. She digs a hand into the pocket of her khakis, pulling out a bronze key with a circular bow.
“I lived here my whole 64 years, and I never thought it would get this bad, but you’re here, so maybe our luck is changing around.”
I give her a shy smile; I’m honored that she sees possibility in my arrival, even if it is short-lived. From Agnes’ friendly demeanor and the waves I received on my way into town, I get the sneaking suspicion that people in this part of the U.S. are much kinder to strangers than we are in California. Agnes crosses the driveway, meeting me on the porch and inserting the key into the front door’s lock.
“Is there any effort being made to revitalize the town?” I ask out of curiosity, watching the older woman momentarily struggle with the stubborn lock before it relents and clicks open.
“Sure,” she straightens, absent-mindedly playing with the pendant on her necklace. “F- the mayor,” she corrects herself.
“Does all he can to help this little place, I’m pretty sure it’s his life’s mission. Bless his heart.” She gives me a sad smile.
“But we can hardly pull any of the tourist economy back from Salem and there’s not much he can do about that highway. Luckily for me, I run a little bakery that ships statewide, so I stay afloat just fine, I can’t say the same for my community. Seems everyone is struggling these days. We need new blood in here, that’s what we need.” Agnes remarks to herself, nodding decidedly.
The house being listed for so cheap makes more sense now as I listen to Agnes’ story. I look over the house, longing to see the inside of my new, temporary home. I sigh happily as I take in its antiquated features and picture myself riding out the writer’s strike here in comfy, New England paradise.
“I won’t keep you any longer, darling,” Agnes announces making her way down the steps and heading back to her own house. “Enjoy your new home -oh! And close all your windows before night time or else you’ll have to listen to the witch crying.”
“The witch..?” I crinkle my brow as I process her warning, turning around in search of clarification, but when I do, the old woman is nowhere to be seen. I barely see her front door close, hinting at where she disappeared.
“She moves fast,” I note to myself before heading inside.
I enter the house and take in the cozy architecture. As soon as you step inside you’re deposited into the main entry room that leads straight into the living room which boasts a gorgeous, red brick fireplace. I can easily envision myself curled up next to the lit fireplace, reading or writing. To my left is a spacious kitchen and to my right is a bathroom as well as the staircase to the second floor.
Like a little kid entering a shopping mall for the first time, I take off running, enamored by the freedom of so much space. I head up the stairs eagerly, making a B line for the biggest bedroom upstairs, mentally claiming it as my own despite not having anyone to compete with.
The primary bedroom is carpeted in beige with modern white walls and two windows that allow for ample natural light to soak in. Another doorway on the right wall leads to the attached bathroom. I allow myself a small shriek of excitement as I take in just how much space I am getting and for such a low price! Something like this in southern California would easily cost $5,000 a month or more and there’s no way I could afford that on my salary.
I peek into the two additional bedrooms, both of which are sizable but less updated with floral wallpaper and wooden floors. As I explore the upstairs an inconspicuous door at the end of the hall catches my attention. I swing it open on its creaky hinges and find a second, thinner staircase.
I take only a second to contemplate before hesitantly climbing the stairs which groan offensively under my weight as I ascend. They lead me to a stereotypically dark and dusty attic, the room barely illuminated by a single window that has been left cracked open, allowing a cool daft to drift through. I examine the creepy space, turning my head slowly to scan the A-framed room. An unexpected squeak from above startles me so badly that I let out a screech of my own in response.
“Holy shit!”
A little bat flaps above me, rejoicing in the terror it caused me. Her little peeps of laughter letting me know that she found my fear hilarious.
“You scared the crap out of me,” I reprimand the small creature, scolding her like a displeased mother. As my heart slows to its normal rhythm, I inspect the open window that I assume the critter must’ve entered through.
“Get out of here, shoo! Go back the way you came!” I attempt to coax the bat back out but quickly realize my efforts are fruitless; the rodent clearly has no plans on relocating. It hangs from the rafters, completely uninfluenced, as it watches me through curious black eyes.
“Fine,” I relent, too exhausted from my long car ride to fight with a fruit bat. Remembering Agnes’ warning regarding witches and closing windows I reach up and do exactly that.
“As long as you promise to eat all the spiders we’ll be roommates. For now.”
The bat offers me a squeak in response, as if agreeing to my terms. Admittedly, I’m a sucker for animals, even the rabies-carrying ones so I don’t entirely mind the bat crashing in my attic. Not that I thought I’d have much choice in the matter. I’d have to think of a name for my little roommate later.
I descend from the attic, closing the small door behind me so the bat doesn’t decide to expand her territory into the house. I doubt you can potty train a bat and the last thing I need in my new rental is the lingering smell of guano.
With nightfall approaching sooner than expected, I decide it’s time to untie my mattress from the roof of my car and find a way to lug it up the staircase.
That night, after struggling and surprisingly succeeding in getting my mattress up to my bedroom, I slept with only a blanket and throw pillow, too exhausted after driving all day to bother unpacking my entire bedspread.
I lay awake briefly before sleep can overtake me, I replay my day in my head. Aside from the lack of a population under fifty years old Havenwood seems like the perfect spot to lay low until the strike is over and an even better place to hide from romance. Then why does something feel off? Something, a thought or a feeling prods at my intuition. It’s a hint of familiarity mixed with the feeling of experiencing something entirely new for the first time. It’s a feeling that is almost impossible to describe, but regardless, it keeps me awake, staring at the ceiling until my eyelids grow too heavy to hold open.
Finn
The atmosphere shifted this afternoon. The air feels silkier, the early autumn leaves appear more vivid, and a strange buzzing in my chest refuses to cease. It’s as if Havenwood is a photo, and someone has amplified its vibrancy, myself, along with it. I sit at my desk inside my office at city hall, and even though I’m currently reviewing the town’s dwindling budget, I feel a weird sense of euphoria, a calm that one shouldn’t feel when the fate of an entire town rests on one’s shoulders. Yet here I am, as content as could be without any indication as to why.
The hum of an engine outside the window piques my interest and I rise from my chair to investigate. Not many Havenwoodians choose to drive, saving their gas for when they have to make the rare trip out of town. You can leisurely walk from one side of town to the other in under thirty minutes, so I doubt the sound is a local. I peek out the glass and sure enough, an unknown SUV is rolling past city hall. I’m unable to see into the vehicle or identify the driver due to my high vantage point on the second story but I am thoroughly interested. Is it a tourist, perhaps? I can only hope.
I pluck my coat from its hanger, intent on following the car from a not-creepy distance to find out who exactly is inside. My cell phone buzzes from within the pocket of my coat, I reach in and flip it open, answering the call.
“Hello?” I trap the device between my shoulder and my cheek as I push my arm through the sleeve of my coat.
“She’s here.” Milo’s voice sounds uncharacteristically serious over the phone. I stiffen, knowing exactly who he meant. A wave of adrenaline flashes down my spine as I comprehend the gravity of his words. The plan worked, it is working, stage one of it anyway. I run a hand into my dark hair, taking the time to process.
“If you see her before I do, make sure you send her to the historic center. We want her to get comfortable with Havenwood’s plight as soon as possible and history can help us with that.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it.
“How do you know it’s her?”
“Mom just called. It’s her.” Relief floods me as I accept, for the first time, that Havenwood might have a chance. I might be able to save this town, the only remnant of my parents.
“Finn, one more thing. She isn’t exactly what we expected.”