Author Notes:

Stardew Valley is such an immersive game and I barely scratched the surface in Where You Belong. In this sequel, I've incorporated a lot more magical realism (especially in terms of late game/end game mechanics). This story still follows Morgan and Elliott as they grow together and come to terms with crucial truths about themselves.

Hopefully you enjoy the story. As always, feedback is very much appreciated! I read each and every review I get and I do my best to reply to them as well!

Just a reminder, my story works on a modified seasonal cycle in which the months are broken into the four seasons.

December - February (Winter)

March - May (Spring)

June - August (Summer)

September - November (Fall)

Chapter 1: Shattered Memories (Rated T)

March 1st, Year 2 (Spring)

I awoke before my alarm. The crisp morning air still held a chill from the winter and I curled against Elliott's back and nuzzled into his neck.

"G'morning." He breathed out. His hand caught mine and pulled it against his chest. I slipped my other arm beneath his cool pillow and pressed my entire body against his back basking in his comfortable warmth.

"Good morning." I murmured against his shoulder blades. His coarse flannel pajama shirt tickled my lips.

Elliott's breathing was steady and his touch fell slack against my fingers as he fell back asleep. I sat up on my elbow and looked down at him. His red hair spilled up and over the pillow revealing his slender neck and Adam's apple. A faint red mark still sat beneath his ear from our last bout of love-making. I had a matching mark above my left breast.

He looked so handsome in his peacefulness. The lines along his forehead that were often furrowed in concentration, frustration, or worry were gone. In sleep, Elliott looked younger than his twenty-seven years, and I couldn't imagine what my life would've been like had he not pulled me from the sea nearly a year ago and saved my life.

In fact, in one short year my life drastically changed. I arrived in Pelican Town with all of my belongings, a paltry sum of gold, and a yearning to leave my troubles behind me. I was embittered by love, burnt out from working in an unfulfilling job, and exhausted by the hustle and bustle of city life.

I still remembered how alien the cabin felt without Grandpa here. I recalled how intimidating everything felt as I did a lot of things for the first time: raising chickens and a cow, planting a garden, fishing for crabs. Sometimes I wish I could've gone back to past me and told myself that everything was going to be okay.

I glanced around the bedroom…our bedroom. Elliott's writing desk was tucked away in the corner. His bookshelf was right next to his side of the bed. A dresser sat on my side right beneath the window. A few fishing baits sat amid my perfume, makeup, and my hairbrush. Grandpa and Grandma's wedding picture sat in a wooden dual frame along with picture of Elliott and I at the Saloon's New Years celebration.

Like it or not, the place had changed. The farm was mine now and each new thing I added to the house or to the farm just marked one more step towards making the place into my own home. I wanted to build the farm back up to how it was when I was younger. I wanted to honor Grandpa's legacy by showing him, the town, and myself that I had what it takes to run a successful farm.

Of course, that fear of failure and the fear of disappointing everyone certainly motivated me to bust my ass. As I thought about this upcoming Spring and all of the plans I had for my farm, that same churning-in-the-gut, anxious feeling came back. Doubt crept back in to my mind.

No. This year would be a successful one. I was doing fine financially. The animals were healthy. Stella was expecting her calf at the end of Spring and she'd begin producing milk again. The two goats I bought in late winter were producing milk which supplemented my income, and I already pre-ordered seeds from Pierre so I could begin planting as soon as the ground thawed.

Everything would be fine. I had nothing to worry about.

And then my phone rang.

I rolled away from Elliott and snatched it up from where it was charging. The noise had startled him awake and I murmured an apology and gave him a swift peck on the cheek before taking the phone into the kitchen. I knew that Elliott would be back to sleep within a few seconds. That man could probably sleep through a meteor strike.

The cold wood floor bit at my bare feet as I crossed into the living room, so I curled up on the couch beneath my heavy quilt and answered the phone.

"Hello?!" My voice sounded harsher than I had intended. But what did they expect? It was 6:30 in the morning.

"Hi! Uh…is—is this Morgan Raymond?" A man's voice asked. His voice sounded older, weathered even, like he was talking with a throat full of gravel or suffered from mild laryngitis.

"Yes this is. Who may I ask is calling?"

The caller paused for a long moment and I thought that we'd been disconnected.

"Hello?—"

"— Yes, yes I'm here." He replied quickly. "My name is Henry. Yoba. What time is it there? Is this a bad time? Do you have a minute to talk?"

He spoke with a panicked yearning. His tone sounded like he had something incredibly important to say but was running out of time to do so.

"It's 6:30 here. So yeah, it's kind of early." I answered. "What's this about?"

The man cleared his throat. "Oh yes…damn it. Sorry! It's the time difference. It's mid-afternoon here and I always misjudge the time zone you're in. Look…I know I should've made this call a year ago, but I just couldn't —" He sighed heavily, "I just can't let this go on any longer Morgan."

The way he said my name, with such familiarity and recognition, sent a shiver down my spine.

"Who are you?" I asked bluntly.

He audibly swallowed. "I'm your father."

I know he said something but I didn't understand how those three words could go together and mean anything.

"I'm sorry?" I said dumbly. "What did you say?"

"I'm your father." He repeated again and this time he choked a little in his rush to get the words out. "Wait! Don't hang up! I know this is — I know I'm the last person you want to hear from and you might not believe me but — Damn it! I can prove it, see? Your mother is Diane Raymond. You were born on September 27th in Children's Sacred Heart Hospital in Hay Creek. She was 16 years old when she had you. Your grandfather was the first person to hold you after the doctors cleaned you up. Your grandmother cried because you were the most beautiful thing she ever saw. And…"

I heard someone sob and then I realized it was me. I got off the couch, slipped my bare feet into my boots, and stepped out onto the front porch and into the chilly Spring morning. I felt a torrent of emotions bubbling in my guts and I needed to get out of the cabin before I woke Elliott up.

As soon as I closed the front door, the dam within me broke open.

"This is some joke, right!?" I snarled. "This has got to be a practical joke."

"It's not a joke!" He urged. "I'm telling you the truth."

"Oh yeah?" I countered. Irate rage exploded from some dark place deep inside of me. "Why the in the hell are you calling me?! Especially now! What — Just — How dare you." I half-sobbed and half-growled. "You left us. You left me. Mom refused to speak about you and Grandpa…he…"

He inhaled sharply and his voice sounded perceptibly harder. "You think I left you? That I left your mom? Is that what you think happened?! Is that what Adolph told you? He told you that I left you? That I wanted to leave you?!"

"He didn't tell me anything." I snapped. "And don't you dare talk about my Grandpa like you knew him. No matter how many times I begged and pleaded him for information about you, he just told me that you had left, and that was all he knew."

I heard a strangled choking sound on the other end of the phone. Henry's voice became tighter and held genuine urgency. "Yoba, Morgan. None of that is true! Damn it — I know this doesn't make any sense but I can explain everything. I just need to know what you know about me. Do you remember anything? Anything about what happened?"

"What the hell are you talking about?! What do you mean 'about what happened'? You left us! And of course I don't remember it! I was a baby. But I sure as hell remember all of the Dads and Donuts days at school where my dad stand-in was a high school gridball player. I remember all of the Father's Days that I never celebrated. I remember …" My throat swelled and croaked out. "You know what? Go fuck yourself! Don't ever fucking call me again."

"Wai—!"

I cut him off with a single button press and immediately powered my phone down. I sank down onto the wooden steps and clutched my knees. I wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't come. So I forced myself to take deep breaths to calm down.

I tried to focus on anything else in the world besides that phone call, and I noticed a movement in the trees. I glanced at the rugged forest that bordered my farm, and I thought I saw an older man watching me from a distance but when I focused my eyes and actually looked, all I saw were a few cardinals and robins picking through the dirty snow for worms and insects that were still beneath a blanket of ice.

I watched the sun rise and cast a golden glow along the frost rutted dirt road that led to town. My cheeks were numb from the cold but I didn't want to go inside. Elliott would know that something was wrong, and I didn't want him to worry. He was due to leave in a few days for the writing seminar that I had gifted him for Winter's Day and I knew he wouldn't go if he thought I was in pain.

I kept sneaking glances at my phone willing it to ring despite the fact that I had turned it off. Yoba! Why was I doing this to myself? If this man really was my father then what right did he have to barge in on my life? And why now of all things?

The more I seethed, the uncomfortable I became with all of these unanswered questions.

"Dammit!"

I flipped my phone open, turned it on, and waited for it to power up to the home screen. The ancient phone took nearly a full minute to boot up. I expected a handful of notifications to chime — maybe a missed call or two, a voicemail, or even a text message. Instead, I got nothing.

I checked my incoming call list and saw the strange number. I fixated on it, committed it to memory, and shut my phone. I went back inside and found an old receipt on the kitchen table and copied the number onto the back of it.

Before I could stop myself, my fingers had flipped open my phone once again and punched in the number. I hesitated for just a moment before hitting the green SEND button and I held the phone to my ear.

I didn't want it to ring. I wanted anything else to happen. Go to voicemail. Just go to voicemail. I prayed.

Instead an operator's cool, robotic voice said "The number you have dialed is out of service. Please check the number and try again."

I snapped the phone closed and sighed.

"Yoba dammit." I muttered.

"Are you okay, love?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard Elliott's voice from behind me. I stuffed the phone in my pocket and turned to face him.

His hair was still matted and wild from sleep, but he looked surprisingly alert and awake for someone who had gone to bed so late.

"What?!" I said sounding unforgivably guilty. "Oh…sorry, hon. I didn't mean to wake you up."

His eyes searched mine for an answer. I was a terrible liar, and we both knew it.

"Who was on the phone?" His voice wasn't tinged with jealousy or suspicion, but I still felt myself tense in preparation for a fight as my own pain and rage looked for someone to lash out against.

Woah there…calm down. No. Elliott had a right to know. If my father was trying to worm his way back into my life, then Elliott needed to know. He could help me, comfort me.

I sighed, "Uh…apparently…it was my father."

His eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Really?! Are you okay? What did he say to you?"

I tried to downplay the tumultuous storm in my chest with a half-hearted shrug. "He didn't say all that much. I don't even know why he would call, or how he got my number."

"Maybe your Mom gave it to him?" Elliott offered.

"No. Mom never spoke about him. Neither she nor Grandpa ever talked about my father. Whenever I asked them for more information, they'd just change the subject and eventually I got tired of digging for information."

"Do you know what he wanted?"

I shook my head. But then something clicked in my head. The way he spoke made me first assume that he was either drunk or on some sort of illegal substance, but maybe he was trying to tell me something important.

"You're going to think this is crazy, but I have this gut feeling that he was trying to tell me something. I read in the Zuzu Gazette that a woman saved herself from a domestic violence situation by calling the Emergency Hotline and pretending she was ordering pizza. He seemed like he was choking on his words, or like he was sidestepping around something that he couldn't reveal to me."

"Did he tell you his name?"

"Henry." I replied. "He said his name was Henry."

Elliott went over to his writing desk and withdrew a sheet of paper. Despite writing quickly, his penmanship was still elegant and fantastic.

"You said your Mom was 16 when you were born. How old was he?"

"Like 17 or 18 I think. He was a year ahead of her in school."

Elliott nodded and wrote some more.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Where did your Mom go to school?"

"Here." I replied. "The place has been shut down for ages though. It was a school and then it was a Community Center when I was younger. It's that old abandoned building just North of town. Why? What are you doing?"

Elliott's eyes glimmered and he looked like a detective who had just cracked the case. "There's a good chance that records exist of your father. Gunther might have it stored away in his library, or Mayor Lewis might know. All we'd need to find would be a school yearbook or old paperwork. Maybe you could find out Henry's last name and then we could look him up online."

The light dimmed in Elliott's eyes when he saw my clear apprehension and his entire being seemed to deflate a little.

"Ah…gosh. I'm sorry, love. I know this isn't some game. I don't mean to sound so cavalier about something that's caused you such pain."

"It's okay." I replied and I walked towards him. My fingers entwined with his free hand and I kissed his knuckles. "I'll admit that I'm curious as well, but I'm also confused and concerned. Why now? He's been out of my life for 26 years. Hell. I don't even know what he looks like!"

Then I added half-jokingly, "What if he's a serial killer?" But then my real fear broke though. "What if he has a family, and Mom and I were just his first draft that he tossed in the garbage?"

Elliott pulled me into him and his warm lips branded my forehead. As he was a head taller than me, he set his chin on my head and murmured,"You are nobody's first draft, Morgan."

I chuckled as thin tears spilled down my cheeks and dried on his flannel pajama top.

"Thanks." I croaked. "I should probably get started on my morning chores before Stella has a cow about me not feeding her."

Elliott tilted my chin up and looked at me with chagrin. "Was that a cow-based pun?"

I grinned, "You always say puns are the highest form of humor."

He sighed, shook his head, and pulled me back into him. "I think I fall in love with you more each day, my dear."

His lips were soft against mine and he tasted like cinnamon.

The rest of the morning went as well as could be expected. The warming temperatures meant the worn dirt path that led to my newly expanded barn was treacherous, and it also meant the animals needed more attention as mud, puddles, and snow melt seemed to reawaken Stella's impish spirit.

"Would you stop!" I grouched as the bovine pawed the ground with her hoof which sent more globs of mud and snow down my knee-high muck boots.

The two goats, Nina and Nelle, brayed in response and pranced around the paddock which encouraged the much larger, the much less sure-footed, and the very much pregnant Stella to race after them thus splashing me even more with mud.

I huffed and blew my bangs out of my eyes as I scooped up manure and dumped it into a wheelbarrow to be added to my compost pile. As I worked, I had a strange feeling that someone was watching me again. I looked around and yet I saw nobody. I was going to put it out of mind until Stella abruptly stopped running and looked off towards the pathway that led to the mountain lake.

A shiver slid down my spine. I didn't think about what I was doing before I climbed up and over the wooden fence landed silently on the soft ground. I grabbed my grandfather's slingshot that I kept on top of a fence post and handful of pebbles that I had picked out of the field last Spring then strode towards the path.

"Hello?" I called out.

Nobody answered but I still felt the heat of someone's gaze. I knew someone was there.

"Come out! I know you're hiding somewhere." I yelled.

I slowly counted to thirty in my head but nobody showed up. The wind combed through the budding trees and a couple of early-season songbirds took flight. But just as I was about to turn away, I saw something move in the tree line.

I took after it. The thing was like an animal but it looked wrong. Or…well…it looked like a spider was carrying a giant green apple. The thing's spindly, black legs carried it through the thick icy snow, leafy debris like it was walking across water. I had never seen an animal like it before. I wasn't a zoologist, but I was pretty damn sure the creature I saw wasn't a real animal.

Despite its rotund body, the creature blurred into the trees and let out a high pitched chirping sound before it completely disappeared. It was as though it became part of the forest. I knew that some animals could change the color or pattern of their skin to camouflage into the scenery, but this thing just simply vanished into thin air.

"What the…"

"Morgan?" Elliott called from the cabin.

For the second time that morning, Elliott's voice made me jump.

"C-coming!" I called out. God, maybe I needed to lay off the caffeine. I was starting to get a bit twitchy.

I stomped through the half-melting ice and mud and made my way back towards the cabin. Elliott was wearing his thick red wool jacket and carried his brown leather messenger bag. He was clearly on his way to Gunther's to write, but when he saw me he frowned.

"Are you alright, love? You look frightened…or alarmed…or…" His voice trailed off as he failed to find the right adjective to describe my expression.

"I …" I swallowed, shook my head, and then pointed back towards the trees where I had been. "Elliott I think I saw something out there. Stella grew alarmed when I was cleaning out the pen, and at first I thought it might be a bear out of early hibernation, but then I saw it and …"

My own voice trailed off. I had the same sort of feeling in my gut that I had last winter. Before the Feast of the Winter Star, I went to Grandpa's grave to leave an offering and spend some time in remembrance and then I felt him. I felt his presence. And when I turned around to look at the alter, a note was there with his words of encouragement and advice — words reserved just for me. I hadn't told anyone about what had happened in the forest glen. I was half afraid they wouldn't believe me, but another half wanted to keep the memory close to my heart and private. But this…this thing appeared and disappeared in the same, mysterious fashion.

"…And?" He gently urged.

"Um…and it disappeared." I finished lamely and my face flushed in embarrassment. "Never mind. Maybe I'm just being silly. It was probably nothing — a trick of the light or something."

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Yeah." I replied. And then I changed the subject, if only to save myself the embarrassment of being frightened by ghosts. "Do you have a lot of writing ahead of you today?"

He grimaced, "No. The writing is done, at least for now, but I do have about twenty pages of my draft that I need to edit before I would even consider letting someone else look at it."

"I'm sure the other writers at the seminar will love it." I replied. "And if they don't, then you have valuable feedback for another revision."

He sighed and looked wistfully off into the horizon. "Thanks. I better get going though. Gunther is liable to close the library if nobody shows up today. Attendance has been sparse ever since Joja Mart built that new arcade onto their store."

I scowled at the mention of Joja's latest scheme to tempt customers away from Pierre and Gus. Most of Pelican Town's younger crowd used that spot as the new hangout instead of Gus's which took business away from his bar and from Gunther's library. And to top it all off, Morris had a store policy that the arcade was for patrons only so people had to buy something in addition to pumping their gold into the latest arcade edition of Journey of the Prairie King.

"Well maybe swing by Gus's later and pay him a visit. I should be there around five or so. We can have dinner there and keep him company."

"That sounds like a lovely plan. It's a date."

"Great!" I beamed.

"And what do you have planned today?" Elliott asked.

"Fishing is open once again in all freshwater rivers and lakes so I'll be up by Robin's place fishing in the mountain lake. It's felt like ages since I've had fresh fish."

Elliott stepped off the stoop and walked towards me. His knuckles affectionately brushed my cheek as he tucked a small strand of hair behind my ear.

"Just be safe, okay? It's too cold to go for a swim."

I rolled my eyes, "I'll be fine."

I stood up onto my tip toes and kissed Elliott's cheek. As much as I loathe to admit it, the subtle scent of his cologne made me want to swoon like a movie starlet.

His arm snuck around my back and he turned his head so he caught my lips with his. I smiled through his kiss and rested my forehead against his.

"See you at five." He murmured.

I nodded and broke from his embrace. "I love you. Now go! And tell Gunther I say hello."

Fishing at the mountain lake was a whole different beast compared to fishing at the ocean. Freshwater fishing, for one, had a lot more of the "hurry up and wait" mentality. Panfish wouldn't spawn for another month, but walleye and northern pike were often congregating around sources of fresh moving water while they spawned. Unfortunately, the cold weather and the even colder water temperatures made the bite sluggish

I exhaled as I casted my bait. My breath was slightly visible despite it being mid-morning. I was using my old neon orange crank bait and the thing darted through the water like a dream. I made an angle change as the bait came towards me and pulled away in a different direction.

"C'mon." I muttered. "Hit it."

Nothing happened.

I casted for a half hour or more slowly working my way along the outer edge of the lake. When I got to the wooden plank that acted as a rudimentary bridge to the small island in the middle, I thought I felt a tap but when I set my hook, the bait came flying — hooks and all — right at my head!

I dodged and the orange missile streaked past me. Of course, with the thing flying cattywampus in the air, I now had a rat's nest of tangled line to content with before I could fish again. I sighed, sat on a large bolder near the shoreline, and pulled out my pocket knife.

I snuck my knife through the tangles so I could cut the bait free. I caught my bait in one hand and pocketed both the knife and the snarled fishing line. I tied the bait back on with a quick fisherman's knot, and was back at it in under five minutes.

I threw out a long cast and then I brought in my crank bait near some reeds that would grow cattails come Fall.

Without warning, It was like someone had dropped dynamite behind my bait. Something exploded out of the water just as I set the hook out of instinct. I immediately felt the weight on my line and my pole arched into a near semi-circle.

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" I squealed.

The fish was massive. Far bigger than anything I had ever caught and far bigger than the five pound largemouth bass that Grandpa had hanging in the cabin when I was a kid. The beast's green-bronze back was as thick as my entire hand and it's flared gills led to a massive, alligator-sized head.

I could beach it…except there was no beach. The entire lake was surrounded by tall grass, reeds, and thorny bramble. I didn't bring a net or a gaff with me so I had to either grab the fish by hand (which could prove dangerous if my fingers caught its teeth or its gill rakes) or I'd have to drag the fish through the debris and onto shore and risk my line being cut by rough foliage.

Line peeled from my spool as the fish ran out towards the middle of the lake. I kept the line tight and tried to move with the fish. I felt it darting to and fro. Each thrash of its head made the rod tip tremble.

Try as I might, the fish was just too strong and I could do nothing except watch as the line on my spool grew sparse. There was a tiny square not around the spool itself keeping the line to the rod but a feisty guppy could break that. No. Once the line ran out, the fish and my precious bait would be gone forever.

Ziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiip. The fish made another run and four more yards of line stripped off. I pressed my thumb on the open-faced spool and ginelrgly pulled the fish towards me hoping I could reclaim some of my lost line, but it was no use. My rod bowed, the fish ran again, and I heard a pitiful ting as the line broke from my rod and flew threw the guides.

My heart sank and I collapsed to my knees in defeat. The water in the lake was stained dark from the recent snowmelt so I had no idea how big the fish actually was.

"That's a honey of a fish you had on just now." A voice drawled from the tree line.

I jumped and looked around wildly for the source of the voice. My blood ran cold and I stood to my feet ready for a fight.

A grey-haired man stepped out into the sunlight holding up his hands in surrender. A black eye patch covered his left eye while a silver-pink scar ran across his right. He wore an old cape over his right shoulder and had a sword belted at his left hip. Along with the green tunic and the slate grey breeches, he was the oddest looking man I had ever seen.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. Old Adolph would often come here to fish in the Spring. It's been many years since anyone's been up this way. The fish are getting complacent."

I didn't respond. Something in my gut was shouting at me that something was amiss. I had a good sense about people and while this stranger didn't make me feel afraid or threatened, I still felt the need to be wary.

He sighed and looked disappointed. "You don't know me."

I shook my head. "Who are you? Why do I feel like I've met you before?"

The man nodded as though I had just confirmed something. "Even after all these years, that curse still has a hold of you. I thought it would've faded by now."

"What are you talking about? What curse?"

The man shook his head and gestured for me to be quiet. "We shouldn't talk out here. My cabin is on the other side of the lake. I think it's time you learned the truth. Come with me."

I took a step back and scoffed. "I'm not coming with you. You're just some random dude who stepped out of the forest. I don't know who you are. I don't even know your name!"

He nodded. "Fair enough. My name is Marlon. I run the Adventure's Guild. Adolph and I served in the same division in the War. Even though you don't remember it, I watched you grow up. Your mom and your dad were looking at building a house in these hills until …" he sighed, "until everything changed."

"That's impossible." I replied but my voice lacked conviction. Something about his story rang true. "My father left me when I was a baby. I don't even remember what he looked like."

As soon as I said those words, I felt light headed and Marlon's warm, calloused hands held my biceps and gently guided me to a boulder.

"It's best if you sit down. This process can be rather traumatic."

"W-what process?" I croaked. My head throbbed. I felt worse than when I came down with meningitis last Fall. It felt like someone was stabbing me right in the back of my brain.

My body felt feverish and my stomach twisted in on itself. Marlon took the fishing pole from my hand and I just let him. Confusion, anger, and paralyzing fear gripped me. My gut instinct was now telling me that something was definitely wrong.

Marlon came back to my side and knelt down. One of his legs was a metal prosthetic. He had lost it in the War when he saved my Grandpa's life. But…how did I know that?

"I know it's hard Morgan, but you need to lean into what your instincts are telling you. Try and remember when you last met me. What were we doing?"

I tried to remember. The words were at the tip of my tongue but I couldn't articulate them into specific details. We were … Yoba what were we doing? I clenched my right hand and desperately missed my fishing pole. I needed to hold onto something. A tool? No. A weapon? But what? Besides Grandpa's slingshot I had never used an actual weapon.

Marlon's left hand rested on his sword hilt as he said something in a soft, encouraging voice. I didn't hear what he said but I felt my own right hand reach across my stomach to grab at something that wasn't there. Why wasn't my sword there?

I blinked at him and looked at my hand grasping at the empty air.

"My sword?" I muttered helplessly.

Then a tidal wave of pain, sensation, memories, and experiences crashed against me

I heard someone screaming from far away. The voice sounded anguished and enraged. That was until I realized that the voice was my own. Then I fell forward into the terrifying black abyss.

I awoke on a dirty wooden floor with a folded up blanket beneath my head and a cool washcloth across my forehead.

"Morgan?" The man's voice asked. "Can you hear me?"

That voice belonged to Marlon. Not only did I know that but I also knew exactly who Marlon was. I knew that he and my Grandpa had been boyhood friends who were more like brothers. They became literal brothers when he married my Grandma's sister. Then I heard myself say in an uncertain, almost childish voice "Uncle Marlon?"

I heard a heavy, relieved sigh next to me. "Yeah kid." He replied. "Yeah it's me."

"Why? What? How?"

His calloused, warm hand covered my entire forehead. "Shh. Just take a moment to rest. Your brain's just gone through some serious mental trauma. Just let the memories come back on their own. Don't think too hard."

"Don't think too hard?" I echoed incredulously. "I feel like my head's been run over by a bus."

"Let's start with something you know. What's your grandfather's name?"

"Adolph Raymond."

Marlon nodded his head. "What's his name?" He gestured at a short, fat man who was now watching us with intent, beady eyes.

"G-Gil?" The name just popped into my head and I had no rhyme or reason for knowing it. "W-what's going on? What's wrong with me? What's happening to me?"

Marlon shifted uncomfortably. "Nothin's wrong with you. Not anymore at least. The curse has finally broken."

I would've laughed had he not looked so stone-faced and serious.

"There's no such thing as curses." I replied hollowly. I tried to sit up but the room spun like an amusement park ride, so I stopped.

"Told ya she wouldn't remember Marlon. She was only a young girl." Gil's reedy, dry voice interjected.

Marlon sighed. "Think back to your earliest memory, girl. Think hard now. What's the very first thing you remember?"

I closed my eyes and tried to recall memories from my early childhood. There were the common ones like fishing with Grandpa with my pink and purple children's fishing pole and the way his pipe tobacco smelled when he kissed me goodnight. I remember the time he was furious with me because I wandered too far into the Cindersnap Forest. I didn't understand why he was so afraid and upset, but I remember that we never really went towards the west side of the forest; we only stuck to the south end near the cliffs or the east side near the cabin where Leah now lives.

"I don't know." I replied weakly. "Maybe that Grandpa was angry with me? I got lost in the forest as a child. I remember being really scared. I also remember how huge and imposing the trees felt."

Marlon rose from the ground and went to a worn-looking wooden chest. He opened it and pulled out a small, hand-sewn grey cottontail rabbit doll. The eyes were black buttons and the cotton tail looked like it was made from a real tuft of cotton.

"Does this look familiar to you?"

Again, it felt like a switch had been flipped in my brain. Of course the rabbit was familiar. It use to be mine.

"That's Peter the Rabbit! My grandma made him for me while she was in the hospital getting chemo. Grandpa kept it and gave it to me on my eighth birthday. But why do I know that? How did I forget it?"

Marlon helped me to my feet, passed me a glass of water, and guided me over to the other rocking chair that was near the fire. He closed the wooden chest and leaned against it.

"Morgan, there are things…beings… in this world that people have yet to understand. The mines in these mountains are full of strange creatures. The deeper you go in the mines and the darker the magic gets. Rumors even tell of a cave deep in the Calico Desert that hold riches beyond your wildest understanding that are guarded by terrible, terrible creatures. Most people live their entire lives and never see the things that I'm talking about. But your Grandpa and your father weren't them."

I shook my head. "I don't understand. What do you mean by monsters? Monsters don't exist."

Marlon's sterling blue eyes bore into my soul. "Monsters do exist Morgan. Creatures that come from the elemental planes. Malevolent creatures. Terrible beasts. Your Grandfather and your father wanted to protect you from them. One of the most petty and human of those creatures had her sights set on you. So when you were a young child they sought help from a powerful wizard. But someone else got wind of their plans to protect you from her evil and she … intervened."

He spat that last word with such venom that it was almost palatable. However, Gil literally spit into the fire and made an elaborate hand gesture that the devout usually did to invoke Yoba's protection.

"That's why you didn't remember anything up until now." Marlon replied. "The Witch in the swamp performed a dark ritual on you. She took all of your memories. She made you forget your father and grandfather and anyone connected to them. Her magic couldn't make you forget your mother as the bond between mother and child is much too powerful for that."

"But I didn't forget my grandfather." I challenged.

"The witch's spell only works on past memories. It doesn't prevent new memories from forming. Adolph begged the Wizard to undo the curse but he could only limit its duration. The Witch who cursed you meant for it to last a lifetime; the Wizard cut it down to a couple of decades, give or take."

More pieces clicked together in my head. "Were you watching me from the trees when I was on my porch this morning?"

Marlon grimaced, "I'm sorry about that. It's my nature to observe from afar. I knew Henry was planning on calling you today and I was concerned that his conversation might spark this whole process. I didn't want you to hurt yourself during the ordeal."

The water sat in my stomach like a rock so I put the glass down on the floor next to the rocking chair. Despite the sweltering fire, I still felt chilled to the bone.

"Does my mom know about all of this? She must, right? I mean…you said they were thinking about building a house in these hills. So my then my father didn't actually leave me."

Marlon pulled out a pipe and packed the top full of tobacco. I knew by smell that it was the same brand my Grandfather used and my heart ached at the memory. The memory that was my own natural memory, not one that had been apparently cursed from my mind.

"I can't speak for what happened between your parents." Marlon said, "but please believe me when I tell you that your mother and father love you. Henry wished he could've been around more but your Mom and Grandpa thought it was best to limit your contact with the people you knew before the incident."

There was palatable sorrow in his voice.

"And that includes you." I noted.

"Aye." He murmured. "Although you turned out just fine without my help."

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Questions sprouted like weeds in my mind. Each one that Marlon answered would create ten more to pop up. And then there were the memories, over twenty years of memories that just floated through my thoughts.

"I — I can't do this right now." I murmured. Panic rose in my chest and I got to my feet. Marlon got to his and held out his hands like he was trying to tame a skittish horse.

"Woah. You can't leave yet." He said. "You're going to experience some intense moments as your brain tries to reconcile the memories you've just regained."

I shook my head, "Then I'll try to deal with that as they come. But I —" I checked my cell phone and saw that it was 6:15pm. Elliott had called three times but my phone had been on silent. "Oh Yoba, I'm so fucking late!"

I reached for my jacket. Elliott was probably worried. Maybe he was out there looking for me. Oh Yoba, I hope he wouldn't be too upset. Dammit…

"Wait Morgan! You can't leave just yet!" Marlon protested. "You should really stay here so we can help you work through everything."

I hopped on one foot to get my boot on. "I'm fine." I replied. "I'll figure it out and if there's any problems, I'll come and see you."

"But —"

I threw the door open and the cold Spring air blew across my face. I hadn't realized how hot it was in the cabin until now.

"Morgan, please…" Marlon said. "At least come back tomorrow."

I shrugged and avoided his eye contact. "Maybe. I'll see if I can make the time."

I slung on my backpack and turned on my headlamp. I felt Marlon's gaze on the back of my neck. I also knew that Marlon was a salt-of-the-earth kind of man. He rarely tolerated flakiness or defiance.

I turned to him and extended my hand, "Thank you, Uncle. I'll stop by tomorrow. I promise. But right now, I have a man who probably thinks I've drowned in the mountain lake, and I need to get back to him."

Marlon accepted my hand and shook it. His skin was warm and dry, yet the callouses and scars on his palm reminded me that he was still a capable and strong man despite his advanced years.

"See you tomorrow then." He said.

He let go of my hand and closed firmly closed the door behind me. Crows took flight from a nearby giant oak tree and a cold wind blew my ponytail into my face.

I jogged down the path and past Robin's house. By the time I passed the old Community Center, I was running full speed towards the lazy whips of chimney smoke and the smell of Gus's delicious cooking.

I slowed to a fast walk once I passed Pierre's if only to not look conspicuous to anyone who might be out for an evening stroll. But when I turned the corner, I saw Elliott walking up the path that led back to the farm. He was carrying a brown paper bag and was checking his phone.

"Elliott!" I called out.

He spun on his heels and sighed in relief. "Morgan! Where have you been? I was starting to get worried."

Words failed me so I rushed towards him and hugged him with such force that we both nearly toppled over.

"My dear, you're trembling. Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you hurt?"

My throat was too tight for me to speak so I hurried my face in Elliott's chest and held him tighter.

"I am so so sorry." I murmured.

He cupped my face with both hands and made me look at him. His eyes glimmered beneath the dim streetlights and his voice was rough. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head. "No I'm fine. I promise. But…something's happened and I don't know how to explain it."

I took his hands and held them in mine. The sides of his index fingers were stained with ink and he had pulled his hair back into a low ponytail.

He brought my hands to his lips and kissed my knuckles. "I'll believe whatever you tell me. I was just worried that something had happened to you — like you had another unfortunate spill while fishing or a wild animal had attacked you or —"

I silenced him with a firm kiss. He tasted like ale and I wished that I could get drunk on that taste alone. He deepened the kiss and I felt his anxiety melt away with each needy touch and gentle caress.

His hands slid down my arms and slipped beneath my open jacket. My breath caught in my throat as his hands skimmed down either side of my body. He was judiciously avoiding the more fun parts and I knew he was touching me to reassure himself that I was indeed unharmed.

He let out a low sigh of relief when we both came up for air. "Would you like to eat at the Saloon or eat at home? I had Gus make our orders to-go. I also got us some wine to celebrate the one year anniversary of your arrival to Pelican Town, but I'm sure Gus wouldn't mind if we went back inside to eat."

Gus would probably have questions for me if we went back inside. As a bartender, he was unbelievably astute and I didn't really want to unpack everything that was on my mind with an audience.

"Elliott, I have some things I need to tell you and I don't really want an audience for it."

His expression dramatically changed and I realized how my words came across.

"No! No no no! I didn't say that right. I'm not breaking up with you! Yoba —I just — With my Dad's call this morning, and the creature I saw in the forest, and now this — I just — I need to be alone with you. Alright?"

He chuckled and pulled me into a tight embrace. I nuzzled into his neck and laughed as well. "I think that wine is calling both of our names."

"Indeed." He agreed. "C'mon. Let's go home. I want to hear every detail about your day."

Elliott grabbed the brown paper bag off the clinic's concrete stoop and took my hand into his. We walked through the slush and mud in silence. My headlamp light bounced with every step and there was a prickling in the back of my neck; it was the same feeling from this morning — I felt that someone was watching me.

My hand tightened on Elliott's and he squeezed it back. That one touch reassured me that everything was going to be okay. With Elliott at my side, I could handle anything.

Or…at least that's what I hoped.