Curses and Cornstalks (Falling for the Monster #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Cassie

Bum-fuck nowhere.

That’s where I unknowingly agreed to move when my aunt and uncle offered me a place to stay. No busy city streets or public transportation. No skyscrapers or bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Nothing but fucking cornfields and tumbleweeds.

What did I get myself into?

I groan and suppress the urge to bang my forehead against the steering wheel. I’m six hours into the most uneventful car ride of my life, and it’s too late to turn back now.

It’s my fault for not researching Cold Springs before packing my things and hitting the road, but I was so desperate to get out of the city—to get away from my old life—that I hadn’t given it much thought. The need for distance conquered logic, and I accepted their offer without hesitation.

I even quit my job as a bartender and put my bachelor's degree on hold to make the move.

All for the chance at a fresh start, a clean slate. For the chance to spread my wings and live a little. To forget everything about the four years I wasted with my ex.

Now, as I pull off a long stretch of highway onto the narrow road indicated by my GPS, I wish I’d considered other options. I could’ve chosen to stay with some distant relatives in Florida; the beach and palm trees would’ve been much better than this.

Or I could’ve kept driving to California and slept in my car until I got on my feet.

I’ve always dreamed of moving out west, but I’ve been too afraid to do it on my own. The thought of being alone in a new place terrifies me.

But almost anything would have been better than a farm three hours away from the nearest major city, surrounded by fields that stretch into the distance in every direction.

I miss the towering buildings, the accessibility, the atmosphere of the city.

The countryside is too open, too empty for my taste.

This is my own personal version of hell.

As I drive, my car bounces along the uneven road, the tires finding every divot in the dirt, and I try to focus on the positives about moving to Cold Springs.

I’m away from my cheating ass ex-boyfriend, so at least that’s something.

He was never anything but trouble, even though I tried to make things work for years.

I ignored all the red flags that everyone else saw so prominently, forgave him when he purposely totaled my car last summer, and begged him to love me when it was clear he didn’t.

The last straw was finding him balls deep in my best friend, with her bent over our kitchen counter.

Fuck her and fuck him.

I don’t need either of them.

The car bottoms out hard when I hit a pothole, and my mountain of possessions in the backseat topples and knocks against the window.

The image of my ex fucking my ex-best friend disappears.

Thank God. I’ve wasted countless hours dwelling on it, trying to rid myself of the picture practically tattooed on the backs of my eyelids.

The more distracted I am, the less I’ll think about it.

At least, that’s the goal.

There may not be much to distract myself with out here, but I’m trying to stay positive.

This move will be exactly what I need: a fresh start, far away from those who broke my heart, with family I haven’t seen in years.

The last time we were together was at a family reunion much closer to home, before my mother died and I went no contact with my father.

Hopefully soon, I’ll forget all about the life I’m leaving behind, and maybe I’ll even find what I’m looking for out here—whatever that is.

A few miles off the highway, I roll into a town straight out of a Hallmark movie.

Old, rustic storefronts line the roads, and there’s only one stoplight in the middle of town.

I pass a grocery store and a bank—both seeming like luxuries at this point—and catch curious glances from people strolling the sidewalk.

I’m hardly surprised. In a place this small, everyone is bound to know everyone else. They probably have a detailed mental registry of every vehicle that passes through here, and mine isn’t one of them. Couple that with the jam-packed backseat and the assorted bumper stickers…

It’s clear I don’t belong here.

Punching the gas a little harder, I hurry past the last of the buildings and head out into a massive field.

Ten minutes later, I’m pulling up to my aunt and uncle’s farmhouse.

It’s beautiful, something right off a postcard, with a wrap-around porch and perfectly white exterior.

The round windows stare at me like curious eyes as I kill the engine and nervously step out of the car.

For such an open space, the air around me feels tight, eeriness making my hairs stand on end. Goosebumps follow, but they have nothing to do with the brisk midday air.

An uncomfortable zing races up my spine, and I try to reason it out. There could be some kind of magnetic pull from minerals in the ground making my lungs squeeze tighter—it wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve ever heard—but that seems like a stretch.

Nerves are the most likely culprit.

I bump the car door closed with my hip, just as the screen door creaks open. Aunt Bonnie steps onto the porch, her chestnut hair hanging in perfect curls around her face as she greets me with a dazzling smile.

“Well, hey sugar,” she calls, her southern twang just as I remembered.

She’s wearing flared jeans, the toes of her worn cowgirl boots peeping from beneath them, and a flowy, floral boutique shirt.

“Wayne,” she hollers over her shoulder into the house. “Cass is here!”

She doesn’t wait for her husband before descending the few porch steps and coming at me with outstretched arms. I’m not a hugger, but I know it’s pretty much customary out here. I’d better get used to hugs, small talk, and thick accents if I’m going to survive in Cold Springs for long.

“How’ve you been?” she asks as she pulls me down into a hug, nearly squeezing the breath out of me. Even with her boots giving her an extra boost, I’m almost a head taller.

She smells like a field of flowers, which seems highly appropriate, and even though it’s been ten years since I last saw her, comfort warms my chest. She’s a familiar face in an unfamiliar place, which helps soothe the worst of my anxiety.

Before she lets me go, Uncle Wayne steps outside in a flannel shirt and jeans, followed by my cousin, Madelyn.

She looks a lot like her mother—a short, curvy figure and flawlessly tanned skin she surely got from working outside all summer.

The only difference is that her hair is bleached blonde and perfectly straight.

We couldn’t look less alike, and I doubt anyone would believe we’re related. I’m tall, almost six-foot in my tennis shoes, and fair-skinned with a spill of red hair. The only tan I have are the freckles that pepper my skin.

Sunscreen is about to be my best friend out here…

“Cassie!” Madelyn squeaks as she rushes to hug me.

It feels like yesterday we were pretending to be princesses at the family reunion, but I know so much has changed since then.

As much as I’m dreading my stay, I’m looking forward to catching up and having someone close to my age to hang out with.

“I didn’t think you’d be here until tonight. ”

Her accent is just as thick as her mother's.

I bend to hug her, already overwhelmed by all the physical contact in a few short minutes, then straighten with a lopsided grin.

“Hey, Maddie. I… uh… left earlier than I planned.”

I thought I’d get up and eat breakfast before hitting the road, but I couldn’t spend another second in my old apartment. The empty rooms did nothing to erase the memories I’d made with my ex, and every time I walked past the kitchen, I was reminded of his unfaithfulness.

It was too much, and I was eager to get as far away as I could.

“Let’s get you unpacked and set up in your new room,” Uncle Wayne says with a warm smile and a nod toward my car. “Then we’ll show you around. How’s that sound?”

It sounds like the smartest plan, in my opinion, so I pop the trunk and we get to work. To my surprise, it only takes a couple of trips to move everything inside, but I’m glad—the stairs to the second floor are no joke. I’m out of breath by the time I dump my last load on the bed.

“Do you like it?” Maddie asks, gazing around the room. She lingers near the door, like she’s trying not to smother me while I acclimate to the new space. “Momma and I redecorated when we found out you were coming—finished it just yesterday.”

The room isn’t to my taste at all, but I have to admit, they did a good job.

Three of the walls are painted soft pink, while the fourth is white shiplap.

Paintings of farm animals hang sporadically around the room, and a string of white lights lines the ceiling.

The bed is dressed in pink cow print, made so perfectly it belongs in a magazine.

A plush white rug covers most of the hardwood floor, and a white dresser in the corner rounds out the décor.

“It’s great.” It doesn’t matter that it’s not my style, because it’s only temporary. We haven’t decided exactly how long I’ll be staying, but it won’t be more than a few months, if I even stick it out that long.

This is a transition home until I find something better, something permanent.

For now, it’s good enough.

“Perfect,” she cheers, clapping her hands together excitedly. “We can organize everything later; let’s show you around the farm.”

The farm.

I’ve never even stepped foot on one before, and now, I’m getting a crash course on agriculture.

Wonderful.

Madelyn may look and talk like a southern belle, but she shovels hay and rides a four-wheeler like nobody’s business.

She shows me around until dinner, explaining the various chores on the farm and what I’ll be expected to help with.

Half the time, I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I keep nodding along, like it’ll somehow sink in.

I’m in over my head, and I haven’t even gotten my hands dirty yet.

Aunt Bonnie cooks a casserole for dinner and serves us homemade sweet tea—easily the best I’ve ever had—before we turn in for the night.

When I finally make it to my room and shut the door behind me, I exhale a deep sigh of relief.

I’m grateful for the solitude and take my time unwinding from the long day.

My body is exhausted, begging for sleep, but my mind reels as I toss and turn for a while. Slivers of moonlight sneak in through the blinds, landing on the foot of my bed, which wouldn’t bother me if I didn’t feel the same tightness from earlier.

There's something strange in the air surrounding Cold Springs, and I can't put my finger on it.

After several minutes concocting rampant theories, I manage to convince myself that it’s just the change of scenery. I’m used to the hustle and bustle of the inner city, the constant noises and hectic energy.

Out here, it’s unusually quiet. Unsettlingly so.

Clearly, my body is trying to compensate for the lack of stimulation.

That has to be it.

Hopefully, after a few days, I’ll get used to the serenity of this place and finally be able to get some rest.

Then, maybe, the strange feeling will go away.