(Ford x Reader) Hickory Pines

CH.2 With My Own Eyes

As I leave the library, I make my way home, absently brushing my thumb over the floppy disk tucked in my jacket pocket for some sensory comfort while I gaze up at the darkening sky. Stanford's words replay in my mind, especially his gentle repetition of my statement—he sounded so disappointed. I glance at the trees surrounding me, their branches swaying with golden and red leaves, while the cold air nips at my ears.

I follow the cracked sidewalk to my rental, nestled deeper in the woods on the outskirts of town. I chose this secluded spot to avoid distractions—after all, when does an author really need sunlight? As I step onto the porch, I exhale, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts from earlier. I twist the rusted doorknob, but freeze when a sudden echo rings out in the distance.

Turning my head toward the sound, I take a shaky breath, only to find nothing there. Why do I always get distracted by noises? But then another crackle catches me off guard, and I squint into the darkness. I swear I see a dark figure moving among the bushes, sending a chill down my spine and tightening my throat. Stanford's voice echoes in my mind: "Believe it when you see it..."

The rustling continues, and my paranoia reaches its peak as I step off the porch, gripping my jacket for stability. Just as I get close enough to see, the dark figure skitters away. Frustration surges within me. To hell with this! Desperate for answers, I bolt after it. As I run, I spot specks of red glinting in the moonlight, guiding me further from home. I glance back at my house, relieved to see the porch light shining like a beacon, just in case I need to find my way back.

I manage to corner the creature, but as I step closer, the darkness obscures my view. My mind battles between Stanford's bizarre theories and the logic I've relied on for years. Anxiety knots in my stomach as I reach out and push aside a large leaf. My jaw drops in disbelief.

"Excuse me, madam, but it's rude to stare!" the creature huffs, crossing its arms. I stare at it in stunned silence. "I—I'm sorry?" I stammer.

"What?" it scolds. "Never seen a gnome before?" The way it says this makes me feel incredibly foolish. Stanford was right... I clamp my mouth shut, drawing my lips into a thin line. As the gnome glares at me, I realize I should probably respond. "I've seen gnomes before, but they've never been alive."

He looks at me with a mix of disgust and surprise, as if I've confessed to a crime. But when he senses my confusion, his expression softens. He falls silent for a moment, tapping a finger to his chin while his other hand rests behind his back. "Of course..." he murmurs, scanning me from head to toe. I glance down at the hand behind him, and when he notices my gaze, he shifts his position slightly.

Something sparkles behind him, but before I can fully process it, he clears his throat. "Well...!" he exclaims hurriedly, "I should get going!" Dust kicks up as he darts back into the forest. I lean against a nearby tree, blinking in disbelief. Then I can't help but laugh nervously to myself, "What the fu—"

Dawn isn't the only thing on the verge of breaking as I fling open the doors of the Gravity Falls Library with both hands. I stagger inside, breathless and disheveled; I just sprinted here. After that encounter with the gnome, I need answers—anything to make sense of what I've seen. Nothing feels real anymore, and I can't shake the feeling that I might have imagined it all.

The teenager from earlier jumps back at the sound of the slamming doors. She takes me in with a surprised frown. "Ma'am..." she stammers, "It—it's six in the morning."

I let out a manic laugh. "And? I haven't slept a wink!" I bury my face in my palms and lean onto the front desk. "I saw something...!" I declare, but she regards me with a mixture of pity and skepticism. "Right..." she mutters, leaning toward the phone.

"No!" I shout, quickly covering my mouth at her glare. My voice comes out muffled and strained. "Security isn't needed; I just—" I take a deep breath, straighten up, and remove my hand. "I just need a moment. Do you know Stanford?"

I run my fingers through my sweaty, tangled hair. The teenager awkwardly pulls her hand back into her lap. "Well," she says, rolling her chair over to the chunky computer on the desk, "I don't think I know him." She shrugs dismissively, trying to wave me away.

"Yes, you do," I insist. She raises an eyebrow, her nose crinkling in challenge. "Oh really?"

"Yes, really," I huff back. "You talked to him yesterday?"

"I talk to a lot of people," she replies with a smirk that makes me understand why older folks often find teenagers so frustrating. "The—" I snap my fingers, trying to find the right words she might understand. "The crazy guy!" I nearly shout, causing some patrons to glare at me.

Her expression shifts into a silent "oh" of recognition, and she snorts. "That kook?"

I fumble and nod quickly. She types something into her computer, glancing at me every few seconds, making me feel judged. "Lucky for you, he comes here daily," she comments, pulling up a tab on her screen. "I have the timestamps of our customers based on their library cards. Just take a seat—" Her voice lowers as she looks to the side—"but don't bother me with your paranormal nonsense."

"When should he be here?!?" I blurt out, clearly pushing her patience. I just want to get this over with so I can collapse into a chair. I'm exhausted. She sighs and removes some books from under the desk. "Around eight. You're early. He usually comes here during the day, leaves, and then looks for God knows what at night."

Defeated, I slump over the desk, pressing my face against the cold wood. Realizing how pathetic I must look, I pull myself back up and force a grateful smile. "Thank you—" I mumble. She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "Whatever, don't mention it." She waves me away again, and this time I comply. My legs tremble as I stumble back to the beanbag where Stanford had sat. I sink into it, feeling exhaustion wash over me.

I groan and shut my eyes, struggling to find rest. I have two hours to kill, and I haven't slept at all. It's hard to quiet my thoughts after what I've seen. I still can't believe it. But deep down, I suspect it was all real. As my mind races, I try to use that energy to keep myself occupied enough to drift off.