Shadows of Forks, a twilight fanfic

The day dragged on slowly. I sat on my bed, curtains drawn, immersed in the dim light, trying to quiet the endless stream of thoughts.

I tried not to think. My Twitch stream had just ended—it was exhausting, just like every other day lately. Few viewers, persistent attention from men who often didn't see me as a musician but as a girl who would smile sweetly and cater to their strange whims for donations.

A heavy, unpleasant feeling pressed on my chest, signaling a worsening of the depression I was desperately trying to ignore. I opened the window, squinting against the daylight, and lit a cigarette. As I inhaled the warm smoke, I felt my intrusive thoughts scatter into the corners of my mind, giving me a brief reprieve from my own inner voice. But I knew it was an illusion. Nothing in my life was going right. And my coffee—cold and tasteless—offered no comfort, only making my throat scratch even more after two hours of singing on stream.

Staring blankly out the window, I searched for something—anything—within myself to hold onto, just to get through the rest of the day. But I had nothing left. I was exhausted—not physically, but mentally. Even the simplest daily tasks felt like a struggle. No inspiration, no motivation. Everything around me felt empty and indifferent.

Except for my cats.

Luna and Meatball.

These little troublemakers were the only ones I was willing to spend my last bit of energy and money on. Meatball was curled up on the bed, as always, while Luna had decided to cause chaos. At first, I thought she was just playing, running around. But then I saw it—a jar of oil paint knocked over onto my graphic tablet, the one I had saved up for so long.

Luna, as if nothing had happened, was smearing the paint across the screen with her paws. Oil paint, for God's sake! Somehow, she had managed to tip over the jar, and now my expensive tablet was covered in abstract art, all in deep purple hues.

I cursed under my breath and got up, feeling my heart rate spike. My nerves were already shot, and now this. Meatball sat beside her, looking at me apologetically, while Luna appeared so smug that I wanted to… encourage her to rethink her life choices. The chaos had caught Mealball's attention, and he leapt toward his partner in crime, trying to catch something on the tablet's screen. In an instant, his fluffy little beard and paws were covered in paint.

I froze, realizing that I had no idea how to clean up this oil-based mess on my own. Yelling at the cats wouldn't help—though I really wanted to. I'd probably have to take them to a groomer. Great. Just what I needed. A couple hundred bucks was all I had left.

Swearing again, I grabbed my phone. This needed to be dealt with. Having pets wasn't just about love—it was about responsibility. But at that moment, as they turned my apartment into an art studio, I felt more than just parental love—I felt a very parental urge to kick their furry little butts.

"Luna, Meatball, what the hell is wrong with you?!" I groaned at the two most insufferable creatures in existence. They just sat there, staring at me with their endlessly innocent eyes.

I had to find not the nearest groomer, but the cheapest one, because my finances were already in critical condition.

After making an appointment over the phone, I grabbed the carrier. It was a bit small for two cats, but I had no other choice. I tried to place them inside carefully, but Luna immediately sat on Meatball, who fought back with all his strength. After a struggle that felt like a battle, I finally managed to close the carrier.

Stepping out of my apartment, I was greeted by the symphony of their angry protests.

Well, excuse me, but I'm not the one who decided to roll around in oil paint.

Thankfully, the bus stop wasn't far. My shoulders and back started aching from the weight almost immediately. I tried to straighten up, but each step sent a sharp pain through my lower back. The carrier, which once felt light, now felt like I was carrying a sack of cement.

The bus was due in three minutes.

The weather perfectly matched my mood—rain, heavy air, and swirling fog.

Why do I always end up in these kinds of situations?

The bus arrived on time. I climbed in, trying to calm the tiny, furry monsters still wriggling in the carrier. Settling by the window, I put on an old Linkin Park album. The sound of guitars filled my ears, pulling me into a storm of chaotic thoughts. Music helps me keep my sanity in moments like this.

Raindrops slid down the window as I sank into the music, lost in thought. My life had unraveled. The war had erased my past, forced me to leave my country, abandon my once-busy life, and bury my dreams of starting a band. We had just begun gaining traction, our music finding an audience, touching people's hearts.

Damn it.

Outside, a dense forest stretched endlessly. Tall pines drowned in the twilight, hiding from the curious eyes of passing travelers. The gray, gloomy weather matched my mood perfectly. It made sense—depression has a way of draining the color from everything.

The road twisted and turned, the bus jolting slightly. I was lost in thought when, suddenly, the bus lurched and came to an abrupt stop. I sighed, silently counting down from ten. What now? The engine sputtered and died. It seemed we had broken down.

"Fantastic," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Now what?"

The cats started meowing, demanding my attention. Luna huffed and squirmed, trying to escape the carrier, while Meatball pressed himself against the side, looking at me with wide, terrified eyes.

The bus didn't move. Resigned, I scrolled through TikTok to distract myself. Panicking wouldn't help—there was nothing I could do, anyway.

The weather had worsened, and the forest outside looked even darker, even more unwelcoming.

When the driver finally announced that we all had to get off, I felt my nerves starting to fray.

We were already late, and this entire circus—with the cats, the broken bus, and the annoyed passengers—was draining what little patience I had left.

Stepping off the bus, I glanced around the stop. Among the crowd was a man in his thirties with a massive dog. It barked, baring sharp teeth that looked more than capable of tearing apart anyone foolish enough to approach.

Of course, the cats immediately reacted. Luna began thrashing in the carrier, making sounds somewhere between a growl and a scream. Meatball, though calmer, still let out pitiful meows.

I knew that if I didn't get them away from this situation, they wouldn't settle down. Hoping the scent of pine trees might distract them, I moved behind the bus stop, away from the dog. Just a few steps away, the forest stretched out, deep and endless.

If I were in a different frame of mind, I might have admired its eerie beauty.

But right now?

Right now, I just wanted this day to be over.

The weather perfectly matched my mood—rain, heavy air, and swirling fog.

Why do I always end up in these kinds of situations?

Fucking hell.

"Fantastic," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "Now what?"

The cats started meowing, demanding my attention. Luna huffed and squirmed, trying to escape the carrier, while Meatball pressed himself against the side, looking at me with wide, terrified eyes.

The bus didn't move. Resigned, I scrolled through TikTok to distract myself. Panicking wouldn't help—there was nothing I could do, anyway.

The weather had worsened, and the forest outside looked even darker, even more unwelcoming.

When the driver finally announced that we all had to get off, I felt my nerves starting to fray.

We were already late, and this entire circus—with the cats, the broken bus, and the annoyed passengers—was draining what little patience I had left.

Of course, the cats immediately reacted. Luna began thrashing in the carrier, making sounds somewhere between a growl and a scream. Meatball, though calmer, still let out pitiful meows.

If I were in a different frame of mind, I might have admired its eerie beauty.

But right now?

Right now, I just wanted this day to be over.

The forest was silent. The fog that had suddenly wrapped around everything filled me with unease, and, to be honest, I just wanted to run.

I inhaled the damp, almost icy air, glancing around nervously. The cats were beginning to calm down, but they were still far from enjoying the oppressive atmosphere.

I set the carrier with the furballs down on the ground. Luna immediately started rebelling, her green eyes flashing as she tried to break out of the damn thing. Meatball looked uneasy as well. He was always the more reserved one, but even his face now reflected the sheer futility of existence.

I slipped my fingers through the bars and stroked Luna's damp nose. She huffed loudly and sneezed. Everything around me felt somewhat eerie, though these sudden waves of unease didn't quite make sense.

The fog was so thick that even the nearby road seemed completely cut off from us. I took a step forward, but suddenly, my foot slipped on the wet ground. My body crashed onto the earth with a loud thud. Cursing everything, I tried to get back up.

"Goddammit…" I muttered under my breath, wincing at the pain in my knee.

Brushing off the dirt, I decided that we all felt too uncomfortable in this place and that we should probably head back to the bus stop.

Pushing damp branches out of my face, I moved forward with purpose.

Something felt off. The area looked slightly different. Everything that had been there before—the wet road, the gloomy trees, the metal bus shelter—now seemed just a little… off. I couldn't quite put my finger on what exactly was wrong, but a dull, unpleasant feeling settled inside me.

The bus stop was empty.

I distinctly remembered the man with the dog, the elderly woman with the teenage girl, and the other people chatting animatedly just a few minutes ago.

I pulled out my phone—no service. Not that this was much of a surprise, but it definitely didn't make things any easier.

I took a deep breath, feeling irritation rise in me again. The bus, of course, was nowhere in sight.

I stood there, watching the carrier, where my cats were staging a full-blown prison riot.

The air felt heavy. Time passed, but not a single vehicle appeared on the road.

After what must have been about forty minutes, I finally saw the silhouette of a bus emerging through the thick fog.

No second-guessing. I was too cold, and the cats were too stressed. I just needed to get back to civilization, and from there, I'd figure it out. Taxi, public transport—it didn't matter. I just needed to get out of this damn forest.

The bus stopped, and I stepped inside. It was almost empty. I set the carrier down by my feet and stared out the fogged-up window.

My headphones had died at the worst possible moment, so I couldn't help but listen to the people around me. Something about it unsettled me.

The passengers were speaking English.

I knew English well—streaming had forced me to communicate with viewers—but it wasn't my native language.

Of course, this city always had a lot of tourists, and hearing English wasn't unusual. But something about it felt… off. I couldn't make out the words. The conversations blurred together into an indistinct hum, like a muddy stream of sound.

The bus kept moving forward, trees flashing by, raindrops sliding down the glass.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a sign with the name of a town.

Forks.

A green-bordered sign, white letters against the backdrop of a misty forest.

I had passed through places like this in my current city more than once, always resisting the urge to start singing "Hoa hoa hoa hoa hoa…" The landscape was cinematic, reminiscent of a certain vampire saga. But I had never seen anyone actually try to use this setting as some kind of photo zone. Or… was that what this was?

I couldn't help but remember the memes that had given Twilight a second life in recent years. Gen Z loved the early 2000s aesthetic, and Stephanie Meyer's masterpiece had finally had its revival. "The skin of a killer" and "Your own personal brand of heroin" popped up on my TikTok feed all the time.

Even big retail brands had jumped on the trend, releasing sweaters with Edward Cullen's brooding face stretched across them.

If I'm being honest, that ridiculous artistic magnificence was my guilty pleasure too. Every year, as soon as the first yellow leaf hit the ground, I'd start rewatching the series. Or joking on stream about being a vampire. My viewers loved playing along, even sending me donations as Twilight characters.

I glanced down at my cats again.

Luna shot me a heavy look, full of complaints. But what surprised me more was Meatball. That fluffy little ball was trembling inside the carrier. His usual tiny kitten-like voice suddenly let out a deep, piercing growl that made me shudder.

The bus pulled into a nondescript station, and I read the sign:

Forks Bus Terminal.

For a few seconds, I sat frozen in place.

Pirozhok let out a soft, uncertain murmur from the carrier. Luna huffed loudly.

I looked at the cats, then back at the street.

What the fuck is going on?

People started getting up and heading toward the door. I had no choice but to follow. There was only one exit.

Everything was moving too fast, too weirdly.

And then, the situation turned completely insane when I saw him.

A dark-haired man in his forties, dressed in a jacket, dark jeans, and sneakers, stood near the terminal.

Holding a sign with my name on it.

Marceline.

I froze, staring at the paper.

I exhaled sharply, trying to suppress a nervous laugh. Looks like I wasn't making it to the groomer today. I was definitely getting blacklisted as a client.

I hesitantly approached the man, unsure what to say. Everything felt too strange, too unreal.

"Uh… Hi," I said, forcing my voice to sound steady. "Are you… waiting for me?"

I noted, with a sudden sense of unease, that speaking English felt way too natural. My accent was almost nonexistent.

The man noticed my confusion and smiled, tilting his head slightly as if he hadn't just shattered my reality.

"Niece, you've grown so much," he said casually, addressing me like he knew me. "I remember you as a little troublemaker, and now you're all grown up."

I froze. A wave of secondhand embarrassment crashed over me so hard I could feel my facial muscles twitching.

What did he just call me? Niece? Little one?

Meatball let out another distressed sound from the carrier.

I tried to collect my thoughts, but they were all tangled.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

I glanced at my phone—still no service.

I couldn't bring myself to look the man in the eye, my nerves coiling tighter with every second.

"I often think back to when we used to go fishing at the lake," the man continued, ignoring my complete mental shutdown.

I scuffed my shoe against the pavement, forcing myself to look at him.

And that's when I finally acknowledged the obvious:

He's not joking.

He's completely serious.

I was cold. Exhausted. My brain was short-circuiting. I had no idea what was happening, but for some reason, I wasn't as terrified as I should have been. Maybe because I was too overwhelmed to react properly.

But one thing was crystal clear—

I needed to get the hell out of whatever nightmare I had stumbled into.

The man gestured for me to get into the car. Getting into a car with a stranger claiming to be my uncle was insane. But right now, all I wanted was to get warm.

The car rolled quietly down the empty road. I didn't pay attention to the sound of the engine or the houses flashing by. My entire focus was on one simple thought: What happened to me? And where the hell am I?

The man, apparently, decided it was time for some honesty.

"I understand this is hard for you. Your parents left for Europe," he said, trying to get me to talk. "Your dad got a job offer."

Europe?? I nearly lost it right there in the car. "And where the fuck am I right now?! An hour ago, I was in Poland!" At some point, I just stopped trying to make sense of anything. It was too strange, absurd, and unrealistic.

Though the thought of my parents leaving me behind made me smirk ironically. At least that sounded believable.

I was drowning in questions, but the man kept talking:

"You know, I think moving to Europe would've been much harder for you—new culture, local teens… Staying here to finish school was a smart choice. Don't worry, things will settle down."

SCHOOL?! Are you fucking kidding me?! I barely held back a full-blown meltdown. What the hell was this nonsense? I graduated high school like eight years ago, then spent six years in college! I couldn't explain what was happening, and I couldn't stop my thoughts from spiraling. Until I figured out what the hell was going on, I had to stay as neutral as possible.

"If I don't like school, I can always go live in the

woods," I muttered, trying to turn the conversation into a lame joke.

In reality, I couldn't shake the nightmare that had been haunting me for years: I go back to school, familiar teachers talk to me—an adult—like I'm a kid. I'm trapped, unable to escape, like a character in a low-budget horror movie. If this was some ridiculous dream, I had to wake up before a chemistry teacher started yelling at me.

The car was warm and comfortable, especially after the hour I'd spent freezing at that damn bus stop. But the situation made my skin crawl. I tried piecing everything together, but nothing made sense.

Then, suddenly, I remembered my cats. The sheer shock of everything had made me forget why I left my house in the first place—they were covered in oil paint! And paint can be toxic to animals, so this had to be dealt with ASAP.

"Um… excuse me," I said, trying to steady my trembling voice, "I have a bit of an emergency with my pets. They… they got into some oil paint, and they really need a groomer. Could you recommend someone? Preferably as soon as possible."

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on me—I didn't even know the name of the person I was asking for help.

The man chuckled, as if trying to reassure me that it wasn't a big deal.

"Of course, I'll take care of it. Don't worry," he said with a genuine smile. "By the way, you can call me by my first name."

And that was when the real panic set in.

It hit me like an invisible hand tightening around my throat—I could barely breathe, and the inside of the car blurred before my eyes. I tried to focus, but everything was distorted, out of focus.

My body felt foreign, completely disconnected from me. The sensation was crushing. He was looking at me, waiting for an answer, and I mentally cursed everything in existence.

I could feel it—if I didn't say something normal, something appropriate, he'd realize I was a fraud, a complete impostor.

My gaze landed on a business card under the windshield: Joe Foster, Family Dentist.

A dentist. Oh, fuck me. The thought made my skin crawl—I was terrified of dentists. I hated pain. Always had. And as an adult, that fear had evolved into sheer panic at the thought of dental bills.

I took a deep breath, trying to pull myself together. My thoughts were spiraling, my voice unsteady:

"Oh, right… Of course… Joe!" I let out a nervous laugh. "I'm just exhausted from the trip. My brain is barely functioning."

My voice was tense. I was trying to look calm.

Internally, though, I was ready to fling the car door open and jump out, just to escape this insane situation.

Joe, for what it was worth, seemed friendly enough.

The cats meowed from the back seat, and Joe turned toward them, speaking softly:

"Alright, alright, settle down. Everything's gonna be fine. If the paint is toxic, I'll drop your owner off first, then we'll take care of your little art project."

His easygoing demeanor calmed me just a little. This day was completely insane, but at least the cats were in good hands.

Joe turned on the radio. A punk rock beat filled the car—it was The Offspring, "The Kids Aren't Alright". The bass rumbled, the drums pounded. I pressed my lips together, trying to distract myself. I had zero control over this situation.

A few minutes later, we turned onto a narrow road, and a street lined with houses came into view. Joe pulled up in front of one of them.

It was a classic American home—sturdy brick walls, shingled roof, windows framed by greenery. The front yard was large, with a well-kept lawn and a few pine trees.

"We're here," Joe said, and I realized it was time to get out.

He turned down the music and stepped out to help me. We walked inside.

I forced out a nervous smile and followed him. The house was cozy—heated floors in the hallway, the smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen.

I passed through the spacious living room—plush couches, a TV, bookshelves—and stopped at a wide staircase.

"Come on, I'll show you your room. It's upstairs," Joe said, smiling. "Then I'll take the cats to the groomer."

I followed him up the stairs. He opened a door and gestured inside. "Make yourself at home."

It was surreal—this place felt like me. Even though I was sure I had never been here before.

The room was decorated in soft, pastel colors. The windows overlooked a dense forest, plants lined the windowsills. Posters of rock bands covered the walls, fairy lights added warmth, and by the bed stood an easel—just like the one I used for painting.

It was warm, bright, and something about it made me feel… at ease.

Joe called from downstairs, saying he'd be back in an hour or two. Letting a stranger take my cats was stressful, but he seemed trustworthy enough. Either way, the problem needed solving.

I still had no idea where I was. Forks? Hogwarts? Narnia? But Joe, despite the weirdness of it all, seemed nice.

I walked over to the mirror and looked at my reflection.

A tall brunette with long hair, wearing an oversized Iron Maiden T-shirt, black jeans, and white sneakers. Bold makeup, a black choker, chapped lips I hated for their dryness.

At first, I looked like myself. But then, the details started to stick out.

First of all, I looked shorter. Maybe by an inch or two—not much, but enough for me to notice. The dark circles under my eyes were less pronounced—thank you, unexpected portal to… wherever the hell this is.

And my cheeks. Oh no.

The round, teenage fullness in my cheeks was back. My sharp cheekbones—the ones I'd loved in recent years—were barely there.

In the mirror stood a teenage version of me.

Well, hello there, dumbass, I thought sarcastically. You look way too… unprepared to be twenty-five.

But it wasn't funny. Not even a little.

I had no idea where I was or who I was with.

Why did he call himself my uncle? Why was he acting like this was normal?

And why the fuck did I look younger?

I sat down on the bed and finally paid attention to the bag I had been carrying around this whole time. Inside, I found some cash, my favorite hairbrush, a mini bottle of Black Opium perfume, my phone, a charger, and two pairs of headphones—wired and wireless.

And that was it. No toothbrush, no spare clothes. Fantastic. Just great, Marceline, I thought. Why didn't you prepare for an unexpected trip to another world?

The thought of "another world" made me shudder. I could try to convince myself a million times that nothing weird was happening, that Joe had simply mistaken me for someone else. But the fact that I was no longer in Poland was undeniable.

Maybe I got into an accident and died? Then why the hell was I running around the "afterlife" worrying about my cats?

I got up, glanced around, and hesitantly approached the closet. I pulled the handle, and the door creaked open, revealing its contents—socks, underwear, jeans, t-shirts, and sweaters, many of them still with tags. I felt something close to relief, as much as that was possible in this ridiculous situation.

Grabbing some clothes, I headed to the bathroom. It was quiet, clean, and cozy—except for the nagging feeling that I was somewhere I didn't belong.

Hot water did its job. I could feel the tension slowly fading, and my thoughts stopped racing. All I could focus on now was the fact that I had a place to sleep, my cats were getting their paint-covered butts cleaned, I was still alive (probably), and I was relatively safe.

Joe returned a couple of hours later. I stood on the stairs, watching as he opened the carrier, letting out two grumpy but now clean cats.

Meatball, my shy boy, was the first to bolt out, immediately diving under the couch. I could hear the soft scuffling of his chunky little paws against the floor. His fluffy tail barely peeked out from underneath.

Luna, on the other hand, strolled out slowly, her head held high. She glanced around, sniffed the corner, then gracefully leapt onto the couch like she owned the place.

"They'll settle in quickly," Joe said, watching them. "Meatball's a little shy?"

"He's always like that," I muttered. "And Luna, well… you can see for yourself."

Joe chuckled and headed toward the kitchen. A few minutes later, I heard the fridge open and the sound of a box being pulled out.

"Pizza and Coke okay?" he called out.

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me.

"Yeah, that works."

Joe asked about my parents, how my trip was, and if I liked the house. I gave neutral answers, trying to focus on eating rather than spiraling into thoughts about being in some unknown place. Surprisingly, his casual kindness made me feel a little better. It seemed like he was really trying to make me comfortable.

"You're probably exhausted from the trip, huh? Maybe you should get some sleep?" he asked as I finished my last slice.

"Mm-hmm," I mumbled. "Thanks for dinner."

I pushed back from the table and headed toward the stairs.

As if on cue, the cats jumped up and followed me. I climbed up and opened the door to my new room. Luna immediately hopped onto the bed, making herself comfortable near the foot of it. Pirozhok peeked into the room from the hallway, then slowly crept toward the bed and cautiously climbed up from the other side.

I lay down between them, feeling like a ragdoll. All this afterlife, parallel universe nonsense had drained me completely. Normally, I had trouble falling asleep—sleepless nights and intrusive thoughts about the past had become routine.

But right now, I was so exhausted that I passed out the moment my head hit the pillow.

The bed was spacious. No one was in anyone's way.

For the first time in a long while, my brain just shut off.