Into the Fey
Title: Into the Fey
Chapter: Part 1 of ?
Description: Jensen is new in town, having left the hustle and bustle of the city to live comfortable (and more important, quietly) in a cabin in the woods. But between his weird neighbor and mysterious break-ins, he may have bitten off a little more than he could chew.
Pairing: M x M teratophilia (human x monster)
Word Count: 4,350
Rating: T (language/cursing)
Note: So this took me a LOT longer to revise than I thought. Mostly because right when I began writing (ie, just before I made the post saying I’d post something in 2 weeks) school really kicked into high gear. But hey, a little extra editing time isn’t bad. And I’m honestly pretty pleased with how this turned out. I hope you like it!
Jensen dusted off his hands on his pants, setting down the last box in the bare living room. He stood, his shoulders aching, and looked through the wide bay windows into the forest that surrounded his new home.
Lush, green ferns blanketed the wet forest floor, shaded by tall birch trees stretching their green limbs ever upward to the blue sky above. It was this view, conjoined with the small gravel path winding its way up his overgrown yard, and the promise of a vegetable garden of his own, that caught Jensen’s eye in the first place.
And, of course, the lack of neighbors.
No more late nights working in a bland office; no more shouts, moans, or otherwise obscene noises to keep him up at night from the apartment across from him. To be loud without fear, to work at his own pace on his novel, to breathe fresh air untainted from city life. This is why he chose Fundly, a small town far out of reach from his old life in Lighton City and full of quiet promise.
But he had to unpack before he even thought of exploring the woodland areas he ached to see, and just the prospect of lugging around more heavy boxes and digging through his carefully packed belongings made his back hurt. Still, he needed somewhere to sleep before the movers brought the rest of his things the next day. Better to sleep on a cozy pallet of his favorite blankets than straight on the wood floor.
Jensen reached for the first box with a heavy sigh, already feeling the press of a headache behind his eyes when he read the bold-labelled side: BEDROOM STUFF. He was halfway through pulling a large comforter out of it when there was a knock on his front door. Frowning, he racked his brain. The movers weren’t due until tomorrow. His parents had seen him off back in Lighton. The nearest neighbor was a good five miles down the main road, and that’s not even counting the drive through the forest.
From the living room, Jensen could see the hem of a long black coat on his front stoop. Who in god’s name would be wearing a full jacket in mid-spring, and why would they bother to stop by in the first place? Jensen supposed small towns were a tight-knit community, but he’d never guessed anyone would take much of an interest in him. At least, not enough of one to actively seek him out rather than corner him in a grocery store and grill him over his personal life when all he wanted was a box of goddamn Froot Loops.
Another rap on the door, this one more insistent.
“I’m coming!” Jensen called.
Placing the blanket haphazardly back in the box, Jensen strode across the room.
Three more sharp knocks, distinct and echoing in the empty home.
He grumbled, pulling open the door to find an older woman standing on his porch, bundled up in an overlarge goosefeather jacket despite the nice weather. One hand was raised as if to continue knocking, the other clutching a cloth-wrapped parcel close to her chest. Her brown eyes pierced him, shadowed by a tendril of stringy white hair that had fallen loose from its tight ponytail. A stone dropped in Jensen’s stomach, weighing down his insides and stirring up the scant lunch he ate on the drive to his new home. Her eyes, even with the aged appearance and wrinkles lining her weather-worn face, felt much, much older.
She smiled, the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes deepening, and pushed the small bundle she held into Jensen’s hands. “You must be the new neighbor! Here, this is for you. May I come in?”
Jensen blinked, arms curling around the blanket-bound gift as he took her in. “Uh, sure.”
She stepped over the threshold, those ancient eyes scanning every inch of the place. “I’m Mirabelle. Or Mira. Or Belle. Whatever you prefer, really.”
“Mira, then. It’s nice to meet you, I’m--”
She glanced over his shoulder to peer out one of the windows, eyes narrowing, before her cheery smile beamed full-force into him. “Jensen, yes I know.”
He tipped his head to the side, resisted the urge to kick her out, and pursed his lips.
“Don’t look so dour, one of my oldest friends used to own this land so I keep an eye out for when it changes hands.”
“Sorry, it’s been a long day. I wasn’t really expecting any company.”
Mira waved her hand, “Oh, there’ll be plenty of company soon enough if you know where to look.”
Jensen frowned, “The nearest person isn’t for at least five miles.” Mira hummed, peered at one of the many boxes sitting in the middle of Jensen’s living room, then shrugged. “I wasn’t necessarily talking about people. You live in the woods, honey.”
Brightening, Jensen straightened his shoulders, “Oh, you mean animals, then! I’m fine with that. I even looked up the wildlife in the area. I’m writing a book about a place a lot like this so--.” He cut himself off, face flushing as Mira offered him a warm smile.
“A novelist, then? I’m sure you’ll have a lot to write about come winter. Fundly is full of surprises.” She said.
Jensen nodded, shifting from one foot to the other, glancing at the box full of his writing supplies that was still in the middle of the hallway. The box was full of journals from over the years, storyboards he’d drawn up for comics he’d never gotten published, his laptop, the drafts upon drafts he’d collected, printed, and stored since he began writing just five years ago.
Mira’s eyes followed his, surveying the sheer amount of boxes in the middle of an otherwise empty home. “You have a lot to do. I can’t help, myself -- this old back isn’t as strong as it looks -- but I can send a friend over on my way back home, if you’d like.”
Sighing, Jensen thought of having to deal with another stranger. But he was tired from driving all day and longed to get his hands on his laptop to at least jot down some ideas he’d had for his latest serial romance before bed. “That… that would be nice, thank you.”
Stepping towards the door and gathering her coat tight around her body, Mira’s eyes twinkled in the dimming light of the afternoon. “I’d better be off, then. Don’t forget the housewarming gift. And if anything happens, I’m right down the road.”
She was halfway out of the door when she turned around and nodded to the parcel in his hand, “And keep that book close, if only to ease an old woman’s mind.”
Jensen blinked, opening his mouth to say goodbye, but she was already out of the door, leaving him holding the gift and wondering if he should have asked her not to call that friend, after all. With a shake of his head, he looked down at the present. It was wrapped in an old afghan blanket with bright greens and earthy browns reminiscent of the very forest surrounding him. The pattern, itself, formed leaves falling and browning the further down the blanket they got. A beautiful piece -- one he would likely add to the nest of blankets he already owned.
He carefully unwrapped it, feeling a hard, rectangular shape beneath the plush surface, made sure the cloth didn’t touch the ground, and revealed a large, wood-bound book. There was no title, but it looked to be made out of the same bark of the trees around him, as well as being hand-bound. He carefully opened it, the spine creaking under his fingertips. Filigreed across the first page was “Fundly Myths and Folklore,” though attributed no author. He flipped to the next page, the paper thick and crisp, and grinned when he realized it was illustrated with whirling, bright colored ink, all hand-painted and written.
He traced the tips of his fingers across the near-glowing cursive, admiring the page on dryads while he thought. Had Mira done this, herself? It seemed expensive -- much too expensive for a new neighbor she barely knew. Then again… He thought of her ancient eyes, the sharp surveying of his home, that knowing, mischievous expression that she knew something he did not. She was strange, perhaps this was just her M.O. Still… Jensen closed the book and brushed his hand across the cover, feeling the grain of the wood hiding the illuminated pages within. He would return it next time he saw her, perhaps after reading a few of the stories, but kindly take the afghan. Something so precious had to be a family heirloom of some sort, and he couldn’t just let her give it away.
Tearing himself from the book, he placed it gently on top of one of the untouched boxes in his living room, and set himself to work, wondering when Mira’s friend would arrive.
The help Mira called for never arrived. In fact, Jensen had forgotten all about them in the flurry of setting up the little pallet in his bedroom, tucking away all of his various pots and pans in the kitchen, and making sure the bathroom plumbing worked effectively, reading the tome in between. At first, he figured it would be fairytales and legends -- the title certainly suggested as much -- but the more he read the more he found it was almost like a compendium of mystical beings, plants, and happenings in the area. Pixies, fairies, even a selkie. But the dryad had interested him the most -- people of the trees who guarded the forest and maintained the natural balance of things, even as humanity tore at nature’s very seams.
The stories and the work were enough of a distraction to forget Mira’s promised aid, and Jensen was showered, in bed, and dozing by the time he recalled it, but he waved it off. He was new here, and likely whoever she called already had plans. Besides, no one liked moving -- especially not for a stranger.
It was only when he woke in the morning and padded out into the kitchen that he noticed something was off. He blinked blearily in the bright morning light, eyes squinting. Had he set up his toaster oven last night? Or his spice rack? Had he carefully folded the dish towels and hung them decoratively from the oven handle with care?
He had barely touched the kitchen boxes, last he recalled, only setting up his coffee maker and taking out some basic cooking tools and pots for later that day, hopefully after he went to the grocery store 30 minutes away. The base of his spine tingled, a shiver knotting its way up his back.
Maybe he had sleep-walked -- he had done that as a child, though the habit stopped when he entered his teen years. Perhaps it was a resurgence from the new move? He had always heard strange things can happen when you’re in a new place, and this was no different.
Jensen rubbed his eyes, pushing the thoughts back. It was probably all of those entries he’d read before falling asleep. Nothing he couldn’t figure it out after a hot cup of coffee and a scant breakfast of a protein bar, really. He reached for the coffee tin and filter, and stopped short.
There was a bouquet of fresh flowers sitting in a vase made of the very trees surrounding his house. Even as he stared, a leaf fell from one of the echinacea flowers and drifted to the counter. But those flowers… they did not grow near his home. Nor did he own any vases remotely like the one sitting on his counter.
As Jensen scrambled for his cellphone to call the police, he swore he saw the trees flash and sway, oddly humanlike, past one of his windows, and realized how ridiculous this all was. What would he tell them? That someone broke into his house and unpacked for him? Left him flowers?
No, it was probably Mira. She was weird enough, wasn’t she?
Jensen took a steady breath, closed his eyes, listened to the too-quick thumping of his heart. He would contact Mira, ask her about it. She had mentioned there were weird neighbors, and even besides that, she had this knowing look about her.
Opening his eyes, he reached for the coffee tin and filter and began his morning routine, ignoring the small bouquet on the counter near the sink. Munching on a protein bar, he waited for the movers to show up, and counted the minutes until he could seek out Mira.
Jensen and the movers did not finish their business until nightfall, wildly underestimating the time it took to move his entire life to a new home. He was much too tired to find Mira’s house in the darkness of Fundly’s forest, and while his stomach clenched at the thought of his house being broken into again, he decided it was best to stay in for the night.
Triple and quadruple-checking the locks on the doors and windows, Jensen gnawed his bottom lip practically raw while pacing in his freshly-organized living room. There were still a few boxes to unpack; non-essentials like winter coats and extra shoes he wouldn’t need until the change of the season, when the winter crept forward and frost nipped at the tips of his fingers. There were boxes full of clutter though, small knick-knacks he’d picked up from friends, that Jensen thought he should get situated--if only to make this empty house feel more like his home.
He cluttered up the mantle, put some photographs up on the desk he’d put together in the afternoon. He was halfway through everything when he caught his attention drifting, and he pulled a notebook to him, sitting in the middle of the floor as his fingers traced over the surfaces of each one he had filled or was working on filling.
Earlier, he had stacked in a neat pile atop his desk: one for writing, one for plotting out stories and determining deadlines, and one for storyboarding. Picking a pen was trickier; he didn’t know what color he was feeling for tonight’s writing session. Blue was either too deep and solemn or too light. Yellow was illegible, so he avoided those. He tapped his fingers against his desk, notebooks under one arm, eyes narrowed at his pen collection until a dark, red-purple caught his eye. He pushed away the thought that it perfectly matched the bouquet of flowers he had dumped off the edge of his porch and picked it up. Mysterious, nervous, but a welcome distraction -- all that he needed spoken in a single color.
He settled up on the couch in the living room and told himself it wasn’t to watch the windows for faces in the dark, but instead for a change of pace from his desk, where he so often set up shop. The wifi had yet to be arranged, so rather than turn on a live jazz playlist, he settled for the calming rain sounds he kept downloaded on his phone to help him sleep.
That was his first mistake.
His second was curling up under the softest blanket he could find (which happened to be the afghan Mira gave him the day before) and tucking into the corner of the couch, pulling a lap-desk over his thighs and wiggling down to get comfortable.
His third was slowly sinking down the couch until he was slumped haphazardly, eyelids fluttering as he tapped his pen against the paper and tried to push through the mush in his brain and force out ideas.
His eyelids drooped, his fingers went lax around the pen in his hand, and his head slumped against his shoulder as the sound of real rain pattering on the roof mixed with the pre-recorded track on his phone.
Waking up slowly without help from an alarm to soft, dewy light pressing up against the windows was one of the most pleasant experiences Jensen had the pleasure of living. He stretched, popping the ache out of his shoulders, rolling his neck, and groaning at the realization that he had slept out here rather than in the nice, cozy mattress delivered just yesterday.
Jensen shifted the lap-desk, askew and half-off of his legs, to the side, making sure not to lose his pen or notebooks in the couch cushions. Next to him, laid neatly on an extra folded blanket, was the book Mira gave him -- though he could have sworn he left it in his bedroom. He shrugged, and picked up his pen and paused. There, tied so neatly it looked like they had grown there, were tiny little echinacea flowers wreathed around the back end of the pen, perfectly complimenting the color he chose.
Without another thought, tossing the pen to clatter on the coffee table, he marched to his bedroom. His clean clothes were folded neatly and set atop his bed, though not by his own hands. He pulled on a pair of rain boots, grabbed his keys, and rushed out to find Mira and end this whole fiasco, or else get some form of comfort from the only person he had met so far.
Mira’s directions, when she gave them to Jensen, were vague at best, so it took a little time to find her home. It wasn’t too far off of the main road, tucked behind a small copse of trees in its own little enclave, but it was the only other building nearby, so he chose to at the very least try to knock on the door. Worst case scenario, he told himself as he stepped up the gravel path to the small wooden cottage, a stranger opened the door and he apologized and asked for directions, if they had any.
He knocked on the door, flinching at the echo of the sound against the otherwise quiet forest around the property. It was almost silent here, only the sway and whisper of the trees in the breeze to break it, so when the door opened and Mira’s short, crooked figure came into view he jumped. He hadn’t even heard her footsteps.
“If it isn’t the new neighbor! Come in, come in. I just put on some hot water for tea.” She waved him inside.
Jensen offered a wavery smile. “Thank you, but I’m actually here for--”
Mira already turned and walked inside, and Jensen winced as he stepped into the house.
It was warm inside, borderline boiling for springtime, and Jensen felt a bead of sweat drip down the back of his neck after closing the door behind him. Otherwise, the house was normal, if a little cluttered. She led him to the kitchen and poured them both some hot water.
“Do you like green tea?” She asked.
“I guess, but--”
She dropped a tea bag into a mug with swirls of colors slipping and sliding across the rim. “Good, it’s all I have right now.”
Jensen opened his mouth to speak but was once more interrupted by her shoving the mug into his hands. Water sloshed inside the mug, but he caught himself before spilling anything too seriously and burning himself. Mira pulled out a chair and gestured for him to take a seat as she settled herself across from him.
“Someone’s been breaking into my house,” Jensen blurted.
Cup halfway to her lips, Mira paused, gazing at him over the rim of the mug.
“I don’t know if--if it was that friend you called or if they’re a complete stranger but I…” He squeezed his hands around his mug, avoiding her eyes. “You’ve been nice. And you’re kind of the only person I know here so I figured…”
Mira placed her cup on the table, a frown turning her lips. “Why not go to the cops?” She asked.
“Well the intruder, they’ve kind of been helping me move in. And leaving flowers, and I thought it might sound kind of silly or, I don’t know, like a weird waste of time.”
Her eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “Did you happen to see what they looked like?”
Jensen blinked. “I--no, they’re always gone by the time I’m awake. They lock the doors behind them, too, so I don’t even know how they get in.” He blanched. “Do you think they somehow got a key?”
Folding her hands in her lap, Mira shook her head. “Doubt it. Norine, the previous owner, didn’t give out any spares.”
Jensen squirmed, took another sip of his tea.
“Did anyone show up to help you, otherwise? Announced, that is.” She asked.
“If you mean your friend, then no. I figured you forgot or got busy or something.” Jensen replied.
She sucked on her teeth, scowling, and picked up her cup once more. “I remembered. Just seems they got you mixed up with someone else.”
“You think they’re the one breaking in?”
She avoided his eyes, gazing instead over his shoulder as she took a deep drink. “Couldn’t say unless I asked. And he’s hard to get ahold of.” Her eyes flicked to his, saw the way his eyebrows were pinched together so tight, how his hands gripped the mug hard enough to nearly break it. “But I’ll ask him. For now, try and get a peek at who it is, and call me when you do.”
“That seems dangerous.” Jensen said.
“Lots of weirdos around here, honey. But lucky for you, I know all of them. So long as you keep that book I gave you nearby, they won’t do any harm.” She replied.
“The book?”
She smiled, “An old superstition of mine, but one of the few that holds some grain of truth. Now finish your tea -- I need to go track down my friend and give you some peace of mind.”
Jensen did as Mira suggested, and spent the rest of the day working in his garden. It looked cleaner than the day before, and the weeds gave little to no resistance as he yanked them out. He took this as a good omen -- one of the few since arriving and being harassed by a stranger in his own home. By the time he finished, the sun had begun to set and he was caked up to his elbows in dirt and grime, weary to his very bones. But a pleasant sort of weariness, the kind that comes from a day of hard, yet rewarding work. As he stood over the little plot that he would soon be planting flowers, vegetables, and herbs in he felt his chest swell.
Mira would help him figure things out, even if she was strange. She wasn’t the one breaking in, the hard expression on her face when he visited told him that for sure. So he decided to push worries from his mind, enjoy a microwaved dinner, a small mug cake to which he’d learned the recipe by heart, and a hot shower. He didn’t stay awake much longer after eating, eyelids continuously drooping and reminding him of the long days and nights he’d had, so he turned in early.
Around 4 in the morning he woke up with his bladder full to the point of bursting and his eyes bleary, unable to go back to bed until he relieved himself. He stumbled out from under the sheets and padded to the bathroom. It was only when he put his hand out and opened the bathroom door when he heard a soft, distinct thump from the other room.
Jensen’s entire body went rigid, freezing as he strained to listen for another sound to confirm his suspicions. The pressure in his bladder ceased abruptly, and all Jensen could feel was the pounding of his heart in his ears. Another thump, followed by a gentle scrape and an obvious grunt of annoyance. Heart pounding, bile rising, Jensen reached into the small cubby in the bathroom where he had just put away his cleaning supplies the day before and pulled out a mop.
Mira had said to get a look at the intruder, and had given him her number to call. But he wasn’t going out there completely defenseless, even if a mop wasn’t exactly the most frightening or effective weapon. The handle felt cold and comforting in his clammy hands.
Jensen’s fingers went white around the mop as he crept out of the bathroom to peer into the living room. The shuffling sound persisted, another low thump of something being placed on a counter, a rustling akin to leaves in the wind. He gritted his teeth, thought back to Mira’s gleaming eyes and the downward quirk of her mouth when he told her about the intruder. The little gifts -- the flowers and unpacking. Jensen hadn’t slept well in days, hadn’t written so much of a sentence for his novel -- all because one of Mira’s asshole friends couldn’t knock on his goddamn door.
He took a step around the corner of the hallway, hands flexing around the mop handle as the intruder came into view. Jensen nearly dropped his impromptu weapon, eyes widening at the creature before him. They were tall, head almost reaching the ceiling, spindly appendages winding together like muscled vines, leaves dripping off of them like decorative jewelry. Jensen shrank back as they lifted one hand, bright echinacea flowers blooming between their fingers, which they plucked off and wove into whatever it was they were working on.
They tipped their head to the side, grasslike hair shifting gracefully over brown, bark skin, concentrating on the task before them.
Jensen shifted backwards, flinched when his foot landed on a creaky floorboard, and went stock-still. The creature tensed, pausing their work, squaring their shoulders. Slowly, their head twisted, and Jensen stifled a gasp when their eyes met. The creature had those same ancient eyes as Mira, but they had no pupils, no nose, no face and no skin, making this creature look like nothing poor, sweet, human Jensen had ever seen before.
He raised the mop and swung.
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