Page 1 of Curses and Cornstalks
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 knocksagainst 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.
