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Saw this theory on Reddit and my mind is all over the place. The monsters archetypes align with characters from the Old Maid card game.

The “Old maid” card game also has a musical instruments version called Fiddlesticks which (I think) we can see in Victors room when Tabby visits. They’re both MEMORY games. Victors whole thing is about remembering things. And them unlocking memories with Jade playing the violin???

So now both Victors card game AND Ethan’s book are real???? Is this a mix of the two??

#from mgm #fromily #from rambles #from tv series #from theories #victor kavanaugh #jade herrera #from monsters #from victor #Fromville #from Jade #AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH MY BRAIN IS IN OVERDRIVE

The Lantern Beyond The Pines

Chapter Seventeen: The Warning

_____

Morning arrived clear. The rain had washed the dust from the roads, leaving the town smelling of wet earth and cedar.

You stepped onto your porch with a toolbox tucked beneath one arm. The porch boards creaked beneath your weight.

You frowned. "I'll have to fix that." Some habits never changed.

Donna already had people moving before breakfast. A wagon axle had snapped near the edge of town, and nearly everyone capable of lifting, hauling, or repairing had been pulled into helping.

"You." Donna pointed the moment she spotted you.

"I was wondering how long it'd take." You chuckled. You would've had a hand on your hip, only, a toolbox blocked your way.

"You were timing me?" The older woman raised a brow, crossinf her arms.

"I considered it." You smiled. "What broke?"

"The wagon."

"Again?" You sighed, moving the toolbox a bit higher on your hip.

"It hates us." The blonde shrugged, looking towards said wagon.

"I think everything here does."

Donna barked a laugh. "Now you're getting it."

Most of the morning disappeared beneath hard work. Replacing the axle. Straightening bent supports. Hauling crates of preserved food back onto the wagon.

The kind of work that left your shoulders aching in the best way. Beside you, Randall struggled with a stubborn wheel. "You know..." He grunted, trying to free the rusted pin. "...if you laugh..."

"I'm not laughing."

"You were thinking about it."

"I was."

"There it is."

You smiled. "You know me too well."

"I know when you're about to make fun of me."

"Close enough."

By late afternoon the wagon was finally moving again. Donna wiped grease from her hands. "Good. Now everybody go finish whatever you've got left before dark."

No one argued. The shadows were already beginning to lengthen.

You volunteered to help Boyd carry a final crate to the clinic. It was heavier than either of you expected. "You packed rocks in here?"

Boyd smiled. "Feels like it." Together, you wrestled it through the clinic door. "There." Boyd stretched his back. "I owe you."

"You owe me coffee." You smiled, slapping your hands together, dust floating into the air.

"I figured you'd say that." His smile matched your own.

The crier bell rang. One slow toll. Then another. Conversation stopped instantly. Everyone moved. Windows closed. Doors opened. People hurried home with the practiced urgency only Fromville could teach.

You adjusted the toolbox in your hand. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Boyd nodded, crier in hand. "Get inside."

"I will."

You had almost reached your porch when you heard someone shout; the sun disappearing from the sky.

"Wait!"

A teenage boy—newer to town, someone who still hadn't quite learned to respect the bell—came sprinting down the road carrying an armful of supplies.

His house was still half a street away. Your stomach dropped. The trees at the edge of town stirred. One by one, they emerged.

Smiling. Walking. Unhurried. A woman in a floral dress. A man in a suit with a mustache. Another in overalls. Their eyes settled on the boy.

He stumbled. The supplies scattered across the road. "No." He scrambled to gather them.

"They're coming." You didn't think. You ran.

Behind you, someone shouted your name. Maybe Boyd. Maybe Kenny. You couldn't tell. All you saw was the terrified young man kneeling in the road.

You grabbed him by the arm. "Leave it!"

"My bag—"

"Leave it!" You hauled him upright.

The creatures continued walking. Smiling. Patient. They knew they had time.

You shoved him toward the porch. "Go!"

He stumbled up the steps. Someone inside grabbed him and pulled him through the doorway.

You turned to follow—and froze. The woman in the floral dress stood less than ten feet away. Still smiling. Her eyes drifted. Not to your face. To your wrist. Your sleeve had ridden back while pulling the boy.

The pale scar was visible. For one long moment she simply looked at it. Then her smile widened. She inclined her head. A tiny gesture. Almost respectful. Before stepping around you.

Not toward you. Around you. As though you were a tree standing in the road. She continued walking toward the abandoned supplies instead.

Your breath caught. She hadn't even tried. Behind her, the man in the suit glanced toward you. Then toward your wrist. His expression never changed. He, too walked past.

No reaching hands. No teasing smile directed at you. Nothing. Only quiet recognition.

The porch door flew open. "Get inside!" Boyd's voice. Strong. Sharp. You didn't argue. You practically threw yourself through the doorway.

The door slammed shut behind you. Silence filled the room. Everyone stared at you, then toward the window. Outside the creatures continued their slow walk through town. Ignoring the house entirely.

"...Did..." The young man you had saved looked at you with a pale face. "...Why didn't they..."

No one answered.

Kenny's eyes narrowed. Boyd looked out the window, his jaw tight. Randall was staring directly at your wrist. Not the scar. The way the creatures had looked at it. He'd seen it. All of it. No one spoke.

Because no one had an explanation. Except you did. And somehow that frightened you more than anything.

The room remained silent long after the door had been barred. No one moved. No one spoke.

Outside, footsteps echoed lazily along the road. The familiar, unhurried pace of the creatures as they wandered through town. Looking. Smiling. Waiting.

Boyd was the first to break the silence. "Everybody alright?" A chorus of quiet nods answered him.

The young man you'd dragged to safety still looked pale. "I..." His voice shook. "...She was right there."

You swallowed. "I know."

"She looked at you."

"I know."

"And then she just..." He couldn't finish the sentence. Walked around you.

Kenny crossed the room. "What happened?"

You hesitated. "I don't know."

Randall looked at you. "That's not true." Your eyes met his. "You've known something was off for weeks."

No one spoke.

"You've been hiding it."

"I wasn't hiding—" You were quickly interrupted.

"Weren't you?" His voice wasn't angry. Not yet. Just searching. "Victor kept saying weird things. The mark. The conversations. And now." He looked toward the window. "They ignored you."

Boyd rubbed a hand across his face. "Enough." Everyone looked at him. "We're not doing this tonight." His gaze settled on you. "You don't have to explain anything if you aren't ready."

Relief washed over you. "Thank you."

Randall looked away. But he didn't argue.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. People spoke in hushed voices. No one mentioned what had happened again. Even so, you caught them looking.

Not at your face. At your wrist. Though your sleeve covered the scar completely you could still feel their eyes.

Eventually, Boyd unlocked the door just enough to check outside. The street was empty. "They've moved on."

People began filtering back to their own homes. One by one. Kenny stopped beside you before leaving. "You coming?"

"In a minute."

He studied your expression, then simply nodded. "Don't stay up too late."

You almost laughed. "As if I'll sleep."

Your house felt unusually quiet. You lit the lantern. Checked the windows. Set the kettle on the stove. Your hands moved automatically.

Your mind remained somewhere else. You kept seeing the woman. The way she'd looked at your wrist. The tiny inclination of her head. Not fear. Not obedience. Recognition.

The word made your stomach twist.

Three knocks. Soft. Steady. Right on time. You closed your eyes. Of course. You walked to the window.

Cowboy stood beneath the porch lantern, rain-washed streets gleaming behind him. He looked exactly as he always did. Hands resting on his belt buckle.

Hat shadowing his eyes. Only tonight, his gaze lingered on your face a fraction longer. "You look troubled Darlin."

"You know why."

"That I do." He couldn't help it, his smile grew wider.

You didn't bother with pleasantries. "They walked around me."

"Yes."

"They saw the mark. You knew they would."

"Yes."

Frustration flared. "You could've told me!"

"I did." His answer was calm. Unshaken. "I told you they recognized my claim."

"I thought..." You stopped. What had you thought? That he was exaggerating? Speaking in riddles? Trying to frighten you? "I didn't think it'd look like that."

"No." He replied, again, a familiar kick of his boot rung into the night.

"It wasn't even hesitation. They didn't have to decide."

Cowboy inclined his head once. "They already knew."

You turned away from the window for a moment. Running a hand through your hair. "This isn't normal. It's not human. It feels like..." You struggled for the words. "...Like they looked at me the way someone looks at a fence."

Cowboy was quiet. Then— "Closer to a boundary."

You looked back at him. "A boundary?"

"Yes." He nodded, confirming.

"That's somehow worse." You huffed, eyes scanning the creature behind the glass.

"I know." Again, his teeth shown bright in the moon light.

Silence settled again. You leaned your shoulder against the wall. "Randall saw. Boyd saw. Kenny saw."

The Cowboy only hummed in response, hands on his buckle, moving it from left to right, until he was satisfied.

"They're going to ask questions." You sighed, running a hand down your face. A streak of dirt smudged onto your cheek.

"They will." He noticed, tracing your features, staring at the earth that found it way into your skin.

"I don't have answers."

"You do Darlin."

Your brow furrowed. "I have your answers."

"They are truthful." He hummed, matter-of-fact.

"They're impossible." Your rebuttled, pointing a lazy finger his way.

"They remain truthful."

You let out a tired laugh. "I knew you'd say that."

"I know." A playful smirk found its way onto his ancient features.

Your eyes drifted to the scar beneath your sleeve. "Did they know it was your mark?"

"The older ones."

Your heart skipped. "The older ones?"

The creature nodded, hat following his movement.

"So...the woman...the man in the suit." You tried finding the qords, though, you were struggling with the newfound information.

"Yes." His voice was soft.

"They've seen this before?"

Cowboy was silent for a long moment. "They understand."

"And the others?"

"They follow." The answer sent a chill through you. Not because of what he said.

Because of what he didn't. If this had happened before, who had been claimed? And what became of them? The question rose to your lips.

Then stopped. Something told you, you weren't ready to hear that answer.

A breeze stirred the trees beyond the road.

Cowboy looked toward the darkness for only a heartbeat before returning his attention to you. "You saved him."

You blinked. "What?"

"You ran." He reiterated, head moving towards the gravel road before finding its way back to you.

"Someone needed help." Your own voice grew quiet, but your words found their way through his ears.

"You placed yourself between prey and hunter Darlin." His voice remained calm. "You endangered yourself."

"I wasn't thinking." Your shrugged lightly, studying the figure before you.

"I know." Another pause. Then— "I approved."

You stared. "You approved?"

"Yes." Once again, another kick, another spin of his boot spur.

"You make it sound like I asked permission." Ypur chest rose and fell, his own, never moved. You noticed that a while ago, still, it was unnerving.

"You did not."

"Then why say it?"

His gaze remained steady. "Because you behaved as I expected."

Your eyebrows knit together. "And what exactly did you expect?"

"You protected your own." The words hung in the air. Then he added, "As I protect mine."

Your breath caught. There it was again. Not a threat. Not a declaration. Simply the way he understood the world.

You looked at him through the glass. For the first time you found yourself understanding what he meant. Not agreeing. Never that.

But understanding. And somehow that frightened you most of all.

"The night grows late." He adjusted his hat with practiced precision. "I shall return tomorrow."

You nodded quietly. "I know."

This time neither of you smiled. Cowboy tipped the brim of his hat. Then disappeared into the darkness.

Long after he'd gone, you stood at the window. Your reflection stared back at you. Tired. Confused. Uneasy.

Your fingers drifted to the scar on your wrist. Not because you wanted to touch it. Because, after tonight it no longer felt like something only you and Cowboy could see.

The whole town had witnessed its consequences. And there would be questions tomorrow.

Questions you weren't sure anyone was ready to answer.

------

Quick AN: Yes I know they wouldn't leave the building during the night, but dammit I gotta write where her and Cowboy have their moment together. Work with me here haha.