Work Text:
Lewis spent the night before his late friend's granddaughter arrived making sure her new house was livable. A decade of disuse had the place coated in a layer of dust, the bed sheets yellowed and moth-eaten, the floorboards warped. He couldn't fix everything, but he did clean it up as best he could. At the very least the rodents and bugs that had taken up residence were gone.
That morning found him at the bus stop. He'd been early, but he'd enjoyed watching the forest across from him come to life. The animals were just coming out of their winter homes and seemed to enjoy the returning warmth as much as he did.
The woman that exited the bus was a stranger. He'd thought he'd find his friend in her face, hiding in her smile or the shape of her eyes, but there was no family resemblance. Her clothes were too fancy for his little town, and her white hair was impractically long, hanging nearly to her hips.
Still, he stepped forward and held out a hand. "Yarn, right? I'm Lewis, mayor of Stardew Valley and your grandfather's friend. It's good to see you here."
The pale blue that had looked like the water at the edges of a clear mountain lake in his friend's eyes looked more like a will-o'-the-wisp when set into the blank face in front of him. Yarn shook his hand, then dug a pad of paper and a pen out of her bag.
'Hello Lewis, and thank you for coming to greet me. I'm afraid I've lost my voice. Forgive me for not speaking.'
"No worries, this works just fine. You ready to see the farm?"
He watched her face for any sign of disappointment as he lead her onto the property, but her expression stayed flat and lifeless. Still, he chuckled.
"Yeah, I know. Place has gone a bit wild since your grandfather passed. Some elbow grease should fix it right up, don't worry."
He didn't get much further before Robin breezed in, chatting about upgrades and chicken coops. Yarn took it with the same apathy she gave everything else.
Robin laughed, bright and cheery. "It'll be nice to have another woman around here!"
Yarn's split second of hesitation didn't go unnoticed. 'I'm not a woman.'
"Oh! Sorry for assuming. What should I call you then?" Robin asked, easy as could be.
For the first time, Lewis caught an emotion in Yarn's eyes. Grateful surprise. It made him glad Robin had been the one to come greet Yarn.
'Gender fluid. Non-binary works too. I use they/them.'
"Alrighty. Should we spread that news around town so people know, or do you want to tell them yourself?"
'Tell them.
Please.'
"Can do! I've got to get back to the shop, but stop by soon, you hear? You and I will get this place back to its glorious self in no time."
Yarn waved her farewell, then looked to him.
Lewis chuckled. "She just wants you to upgrade this old place so she can finally get her hands on the house. She's been saying it needs renovations since she moved here. Don't worry about it.
"On that note though, I've got work to do, and so do you. I'll be in town if you ever need me. Come by the saloon some time, you can meet most everyone there."
Yarn nodded. 'Some day. Thank you for greeting me.'
"Of course. It was good to meet you Yarn. Try and remember to say hello to everyone in town, I know they're as eager to meet you as I was. Have a good one."
Lewis looked back once at the edge of their property to see Yarn surveying their newly acquired lands. They didn't look eager, but he saw determination in the way they rolled up their sleeves.
He smiled to himself. At that angle, he could see that Yarn had the same sharp slope to the bridge of their nose that he'd spent decades studying on the man he'd loved.
Morris would tell this story to only a handful of people.
To his son at the dinner table that night the new farmer in town was a bizarre backwoods hick that scoffed at progress before slamming the door in his face. His son nodded at the right times and watched the clock over his dad's shoulder, counting down to his parent's bed time.
To his wife in their bedroom later, as their son's best friend snuck into his window to kiss his secret boyfriend senseless, the farmer became a shadier character.
"Some kind of occultist," Morris grunted, "Had this deranged look in her eyes. Swear she never took her hands off her sword - the psycho had an honest-to-Yoba sword, Claire, right there on her hip - not once the entire time I was there. There's something wrong with that valley. Their hocus pocus bull draws in the crazies - caught that nutcase fisherman out there on the bridge again today too…"
Claire nodded, commiserated, and eventually went to bed wondering if tomorrow would be the day she finally divorced the man.
(It wouldn't be. However, eight months from then, the day Morris screamed at his son that no child of his would ever be gay, she would tell him to leave. With her son and the boy her son loved behind her, Morris would have no choice but to listen. The very next day she would finally go to him with the divorce papers in hand.)
To his boss, the tale was short. Morris had gone, said hello, and passed the farmer the booklet of coupons and sales he'd requested. The email ended up buried and deleted amongst hundreds of others.
Many, many years later, drunk and about to pass out, Morris told the real story to an unimpressed bartender.
It went - removing the sidetracked verbal wanderings, cursing, creative wording, and drunken slurring - something like this.
It was precisely nine o'clock on the second day of spring that Morris set foot for the first and last time onto the decrepit farmland known as Stardrop Farm. It was as unimpressive as when he'd last seen it eight years ago. The same worn, squat shack of a house, surrounded by wild grasses and trees and the tiny puddle they called a pond.
The only new addition was already out and about, sweat dripping down her skin as she broke down a fallen tree. Long white hair hung loose and wild over her face, and Morris stumbled when he caught sight of the sheathed sword at her hip.
She heard him, spine snapping straight as ghostly blue eyes locked onto his. For all her hard work her skin stayed bone white in the early spring light. Her eyes were cold and vacant. He felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.
Still, he stepped forward and extended a hand. "Hello! You must be the new farmer everyone's been talking about. Yarn, I believe it was? My name is Morris."
Yarn ignored his hand. She blinked once, twice, and stayed silent.
"Well then!" Morris said cheerily, dropping his hand, "Beautiful plot of land you've got here. I assume you're going to be planting soon, and I thought I'd best come see you. I run the local Joja Mart, you see, and I wanted to be sure you had our spring catalog. I've added a couple of coupons as a welcome gift of sorts."
This time Yarn took what Morris offered. She barely graced the cover with a glance before her eyes locked onto his. Morris felt a chill cut through him to his very bones.
When she spoke, her voice was cracked, grating on the ears like sandpaper. Like someone who'd smoked two packs a day for decades and then gargled tacks. Her words were slow, measured, and sinister.
"Joja Mart is not welcome on my land. Leave." Her hand clenched around the hilt of her sword.
Morris stumbled back a step, raising both hands in surrender. "I- ah, excuse me if I offended you, ma'am, I assure you that was not my-"
The sword slid free of its sheath. "Leave."
"R-right! It was a pleasure, I look forward to seeing you again, farewell!" Morris stammered, backing away before turning and sprinting out of the madwoman's sight. Dead eyes haunted his steps until he reached the safety of his store.
If Shane or Sam wondered why their boss spent his entire day in his office jumping at every sound, neither said a word.
It was while Morris once again started on about how terrifying the woman's eyes were that the bartender interrupted him.
"Sir, we're closed," she said.
"Bu' her eyes! 'S not nat'ral, eyes like-"
"Your Uber is outside. Have a good night," the bartender said, bored out of her mind and ready to be done with her shift.
Morris left slurring something about ghosts and demons and 'eyes that belonged to a corpse'.
The shop bell dinged cheerily, and Pierre called a distracted greeting to whomever had entered. It took several moments for him to look up to find ghostly eyes watching him.
"You must be the new farmer," he said. "I'm Pierre, good to meet you."
They whipped out a pad of paper. Their handwriting was neat, sharp cut cursive. 'It is my pleasure. Please tell me that you sell seeds.'
"Only the highest quality ones in town," Pierre said, smug. "Far superior to what you'd get at Joja Mart, of course."
'Good, I won't shop there and Zuzu is too far.'
Pierre brightened. "You have better judgement than most then! Joja Mart is set on taking over this town, but I'll be damned before I let them run me out of business. Let me show you our catalog…"
By the time Yarn left his store, loaded down with bags of seed and fertilizer, Pierre could confidently say three things. One, he had gained a loyal customer. Two, said customer had horror movie eyes and all the expressiveness of a corpse, and three, he couldn't possibly care less as long as they kept scoffing any time Morris' name came up in conversation.