Vic's POV

I watched the colors of the tree lined highway change from crisp green, to deep red as our car whipped forward. My vision was blurry from the quick movements.

When I was a little kid, and my family would take my younger brother and I on trips to the beach, I remember playing a game in my head as we drove.

I would pretend that I was a deer frolicking through the forest just beyond the guardrail. I would imagine myself maneuvering through the leaves and branches, pushing apart the grassy canopy that blocked my path.

As the car went by and the trees became swirls of color, I would imagine myself trying to outrun the car. It was almost as if I was imagining outrunning myself.

I was never good at making decisions. Even the simplest decision, like what should I have for dinner, had the potential to disrupt my day. I didn't like others' expectations of me even though I didn't know what my own expectations were for myself.

It was almost as if I was running to catch up with myself. Like my mind somewhere in the future knew my purpose in life, and if I just ran quick enough, I would be able to finally reach myself and discover what my purpose was.

Now obviously, as a kid when I played this game I didn't imagine myself running to myself. I was just a kid trying to pass time on a long car ride. But now, as a 17-year-old, I'd like to think that I have a more clear grasp on my life.

I'd like to think that I am mature, and I'd like to think that I know what I'm doing. At least that's how I try to come off. That's how I try to be for myself, and for my family, and for my younger brother. But deep down inside I think I am still that deer just trying to reach the clearing.

I put up a front that I don't care what other people think about me. But when I face criticism or even the slightest notion of upset in a person's tone, I immediately think they hate me. I immediately over analyze everything in my head.

My thoughts were interrupted by my younger brother Mike incessantly poking my shoulder.

"Vic look we are getting off the exit." Mike exclaimed wow bouncing on his seat.

My family and I were on our way from the airport to our new home. My dad was offered a higher position at his company in their main headquarters in Boston, Massachusetts.

I would've loved this fact if my dad had decided to move us to Boston, however, he thought our family could benefit from a slower way of life. Thus, deciding to move us to Salem, Massachusetts, which was a small town about 30 minutes from the city.

Of course the only thing I knew about Salem was that it was supposed to have a history of witches. That's pretty much the most anybody knows about Salem.

My dad thought long and hard about this decision to move our family, he knew myself and Mike wouldn't be thrilled to leave our home town of San Diego, California, especially since both of us are in high school and only have a few years left.

But I think that's what made it easier for my dad. When he realized that in just a few years we would be moving and going to college anyway, this would be a good step forward to establish a better life for him and my mom after Mike and I go to college.

College was another one of those things for me that I found myself having no idea what I wanted to do. My parents were very supportive of mine and Mike's life decisions. We didn't have many rules growing up and there was a mutual respect for each other.

I know my parents would respect my choice of not going to college if I found a career path I was passionate about. But I had no idea about that either.

I was pulled from my thoughts again when I felt our car turn abruptly into the exit lane. My attention focused back on my surroundings as we lurched forward as my dad pressed down on the break. We came to a slow stop at a traffic light with only two lanes.

The right lane that we were driving through had a green light above it, signaling the entrance to the town. On the left was a red light, signaling the exit from town.

We pulled through the toll booth and continued forward, as our car passed a huge ornate, hand-painted sign. It read, in reflective gold swirly font, Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts. At the bottom of the sign was a small marking that read "Established 1626."

My mind was overwhelmed with the thought of how much history was hidden in this town. Hundreds of memories swirled throughout the trees, squished in between cobblestones, engraved on headstones, and whispered in the breeze.

As our car slowed to the town wide speed limit of 25 mph, I took in the surroundings of our new home.

Trees lined every street, their hearty trunks towering in front of the light blue sky. Their branches twisting and turning above the road, leaving slits of space for the light to get through, casting sinister shadows on the concrete and cobblestone roads.

We turned a corner and were suddenly driving down a narrow, cobblestone road. Our car bumped slightly as the wheels turned over the misshapen stones. I noticed that there were small signs stuck to the lampposts that read: "Street closed every weekend for walk-thru traffic."

On either side of the road were shops lining the streets. Some stores had billowy striped awnings that jetted out in front of the windows. Others had hand-painted shutters with little symbols cut out of the wood: hearts, moons, and stars.

The sidewalks in front of the stores were made from different shades of red and brown brick. It was obvious that this street had been around for a long time, with how many bricks were tilted and pulled up, causing it to be an unsightly scenario for daydreamers, children, or probably me who liked to get around on my skateboard. One misstep and you would come crashing down onto the hard ground.

Each store had a hanging sign positioned in the view of passer-byers. The signs swung back and forth slowly in the wind, communicating with the world what wares could be found inside the tiny stores

My eyes scanned across some of the signs as we drove through. Signs depicting a bookstore, a coffee shop, a pizza joint, a library, a music shop, a diner, and a small clothing boutique. There wasn't a name branded store or restaurant in sight.

The last store on the corner caught my attention immediately. The entire exterior was jet black, the only color that came from the store was the sparkling glass door knob on the door that glittered gold onto the sidewalk.

The swinging sign read "Sleepy Hollow Cavern: a store for the unusual."

My face perked up as I read the sign, as silly as it sounded I couldn't help but feel intrigued by the description.

It seemed impossible that this tiny town across the country, could be even the slightest bit as interesting as my home in San Diego. I guess I had all the time in the world to find out.

Back home I was used to being able to walk down the street and visit some of the best concert venues in California. A street over from there were dozens of record shops, arcades, clothing stores, and skate and surf shops.

San Diego was a bustling city filled with culture and excitement. My normal usually nights included going to the local punk and hardcore shows with my friends, surfing at the beach, or hanging out and just smoking.

It didn't look like Salem had as much of the night life. Not even close. Since everything was walkable in my old neighborhood, I hadn't learned how to drive yet. I was used to being able to skate everywhere. But seeing that this town only had a handful of things to do or places to go to, I would have to get my license and save up money to buy a car.

Our car came to a stop and brought me out of my thoughts. We were stopped at a light in what appeared to be the center of town. To the front of us was a circular area made up of red brick, benches outlining the area.

In the center of the grassy area was a statue of a woman standing strong as she looked out onto the town. Behind the statue was a building carved from alabaster stone, with copper and gold accents.

Brick stairs lead all the way up to the front of the building, and I could make out the inscription in the stone that read Town Hall.

It was only September and the town square already looked like a goddamn postcard. There were pumpkins everywhere. All different shapes, sizes and colors of pumpkins lined the sidewalks. Some were perched in entryways of the shops, and some decorated the steps of the Town Hall.

Hanging baskets swung from the lamp posts, holding overflowing pots full of yellow, orange, and red mums. The trees had yet to change color for fall. This was something that I came across in a book on Massachusetts that I checked out of the library back home.

I knew the leaves changed colors in autumn in certain parts of the country. I watched enough movies to know that. But I had never seen it for myself, and I'd never admit it to my family, but I was most excited about seeing it.

"This place looks like the set of a movie!" Mike exclaimed.

"Oh it's just lovely Victor, it's absolutely beautiful here. The air smells so fresh." My mom squealed from the front seat as she rolled her window down further, sticking her head out to smell the air.

"I knew this place was going to be perfect for our family. It's just what we need to slow down and start appreciating nature and life." My dad answered, turning to smile at Mike and I.

I gave my dad a blank stare as I shrugged my shoulders, offering a weak thumbs up, not sure how to react yet. I wasn't sure what to make of this new experience and this new life just yet.

Mike seemed to be much more enthusiastic about the move than me. That was one of the things I envied about my younger brother, his ability to adapt.

He was always better at making friends then I was growing up. He could get along with just about any group of kids. He had so many friends back home and was always in and out of the house.

Now I'm not saying that I didn't have friends. I did. But it was a small group. We were very close knitted and had been since kindergarten, so leaving them sucked. I was pretty anti social when it came to new experiences and preferred doing things within my small circle. Plus, I guess you could describe us as outcasts, burnouts. We had a reputation for being kind of tough.

We didn't go out of our way to find violence though. We just stood our ground and we didn't get along with the "popular kids." Especially in the hardcore and punk scene, it could get a little rough and there were distinguished communities.

Plus, me being bisexual caused me to develop thick skin at a young age. I was lucky to have grown up in California though, because it was probably one of the most accepting states right now.

All of my friends back home were totally accepting of my sexuality. That sort of thing wasn't really an issue in San Diego. It's the 90's, out there everyone is just having a good time, chilling, smoking, not making who someone likes to kiss an issue.

It wasn't something that I brought up unless someone asked. It wasn't anyone's business. Simple as that.

Now it wasn't like we were moving to some middle of America small town where hate ran deeper. But this was still a new environment, the complete opposite side of the country. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

As we passed through the center of town, we came up on a street lined with houses. Most of the houses were close to the sidewalk, with not much front yard space.

I was beginning to realize that most people must walk everywhere in this town.

Suddenly though, the houses stopped and trees lined the streets. We came to a stop sign in front of a huge house on the corner.

It was white and had a bunch of windows lining the front, decorated with black shutters. Upon closer look I could tell that the shutters had tiny moons carved into both sides.

There were balconies above the garage area and a huge blood red door. It looked like the most picturesque New England town. It looked right out of a movie where a lawyer or politician would live.

What caught my attention the most was the fence that stretched across the whole front of the sidewalk.

It seemed the most out of place in contrast with the crisp, white home.

The fence was matte black and ornate. It had gothic and century old looking details. Twisting and pointed edges that towered over passerby's.

The entrance of the fence was a huge curved gate with metal accents that looked like spiderwebs. Two pillars stood on either side with carved gargoyles that weren't gargoyles at all. They were actually slick black bats.

On each door was a circle nameplate with the numbers "47" stamped into each in gold writing. That must've been the house number.

The tops of the doors curved into a crescent shape. Upon further glance it wasn't just a crescent shape. The metal twisted into two giant Q's.

Huh. I wonder who lives there.

As we turned the corner down a side street, I noticed that the house sat on a large amount of land. The property was lined with trees so I couldn't see their back yard but it was clear that it was all woods.

We turned down a few different roads and I started realizing we must be driving into neighborhoods. Those first houses we saw were right off of main street and provided a slightly more "urban" feel.

If you could call Salem urban. That was probably a stretch.

But now the space in between each house grew bigger. The houses had more land and were all backed up by forests.

We turned down one more street. Acorn Lane. How cute.

Suddenly, our car bumbled up and over a small incline in the sidewalk as we turned into what was our new driveway.

My parents had flown to Salem a month ago to visit open houses and took lots of photos. This wasn't the first time I saw what our new house looked like, but honestly, pictures could never do it justice.

No wonder why my parents wanted to move here so badly. I couldn't help agreeing that it was picturesque as fuck.

Our driveway was slightly curved and lined with cobblestones. The steps leading up to the front door were also unconventional curved, giving off a total cottage look.

The front door was rounded at the top and had a circle stained glass window cut out, letting light shine in and project colors on the wooden floors.

The outside of the house was a dark brick with sweeping woodwork and white accents.

It wasn't as flashy as that White House but it was certainly bigger than our old house in San Diego.

Back home we had an ocean view, most houses in our neighborhood did. That is what drove the cost up. People didn't mind the size of the house if they could walk right out onto the sand.

Mike and I had to share a room there. it wasn't awful. I was lucky that we were close in age and had similar tastes in music. But Mike was loud. Too loud sometimes.

So the fact that I was going to have my own room here, definitely helped sell me on the move.

I grabbed my guitar and skateboard from the trunk and hauled my duffel bag over my shoulder.

The movers were just about finished bringing all of our boxes in off the moving truck. i knew I would be too lazy to unpack stuff tonight so I brought an overnight bag with a couple of outfits and shampoo.

And there was no way I was leaving my guitar in that moving truck. So obviously, that came with me on the plane too.

I walked up the wide wooden staircase, hearing the small squeaks underneath my shoes. The staircase also curved at the top with a warm paisley patterned rug going up the middle.

I nudged open the last door on the left with my foot.

Mom and Dad showed us both photos, horribly shot by the way (my mom didn't know how to work a disposable camera) of the two bedrooms for mine and I to choose from.

I chose the room that looked out onto the backyard while Mike picked the room looking out on the front of the house.

My room was a little smaller than his but it was cornered against the garage. Meaning you could go outside the huge white paned window and sit on the garage, looking out at the trees.

I knew it would be a perfect place for me to play my guitar and come up with melodies and lyrics.

I was going to miss the warmth and the beach but there was something intriguing and comforting about the cold and the forest. I was looking forward to exploring this new environment.

After dumping my stuff on the bed, I walked over and opened up the windows. Letting the crisp 4 PM breeze air out the room that was sealed up for months while on the real estate market.

I decided to use this time to go explore our backyard. Mom and Dad said we had quite a bit of land that was part of our property. Again, something I was not used to.

I rummaged through my duffle bag and pulled on my oversized leather jacket. I usually only wore it for the look and instantly sweated my ass off in it. But it looks like it would finally get the proper use.

After pushing open the wooden double doors off the kitchen, my feet sunk into the dirt. My shoes crunching over fallen leaves as I trekked through the slightly overgrown lawn towards the woods edge.

I pushed through shrubs and ducked under a few branches before I found a small little creek. The water was moving just slightly and it was probably only four feet wide. If I got a running start I could probably make it over. It was most likely man made because there was an oak colored bridge stretched across it.

It was just big enough for two to sit or stand on and look out over the scenery.

I decided to plop down on the bridge, leaning back against the sides so peek through the slates.

Small frogs croaked and swam through the clear water. Yellow leaves fluttered from the huge tree towering above, before dropping into the water.

I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath of fresh air before fishing around my pocket for my little metal tin. After popping open the lid, I grabbed my lighter and lit one of the joints my friend Vince had given me as a goodbye gift.

After taking in a deep inhale, holding it for a moment while that familiar herbal scent swirled through my lungs, I exhaled slowly, enjoying the instant relaxation I felt.

Hey, I'm from California, let me be a little cliche. I didn't smoke often. But this was a gift and there was something finally worth celebrating. I was looking forward to this fresh start.

I was just about to head back, as it was starting to become dark, when I heard a noise through the trees.

I clearly wasn't paying attention because our property backed onto someone else's.

The big white house with the spooky fence.

It was pretty dark out and I was shielded from the trees so the person that had just walked towards the edge of their property couldn't see me.

Our house was on the market for awhile and then for longer before we were able to relocate, so I'm sure the person wasn't used to the chance of there actually being someone on the other side of their see-through fence.

A guy that was probably my age stood, leaning against the fence. He lit a tobacco cigarette and held it against his lips. I could tell because the flame from the match was the only source of light back here.

Once he brought it to his lips, it illuminated his face and oh did I like what I saw.

He was tall and lean. He had a mop of dark brown hair that was almost black. It wasn't close to as long as mine was but it wasn't short. It felt just below his ears and cascaded around his face. He kept pushing it back though and out of his eyes.

His eyes.

Even in the glow from his cigarette could I see how big and blue they were.

He had delicate and almost slightly feminine features. He was gorgeous.

He was hot.

He was wearing tailored slacks, suspenders and a crisp white collared button up shirt. His beat up black, Chuck Taylors looked out of place against his pristine and proper attire.

As my eyes landed on his jacket I almost groaned out loud.

He had a black letterman jacket with white details. A huge orange S was embroidered on the top, no doubt for Salem High School.

He was a jock.

I rolled my eyes.

Jocks were not my thing.

"Kellin! Do I smell smoke?" a female voice called out.

"Fuck." The boy, Kellin, muttered and flicked the ash on the ground, stomping out the cigarette and kicking it underneath the fence.

"No, Mom!" He answered.

"Well get back here. We're going to be late for the banquet dinner and you still need to change those shoes and get your sport coat." The female voice called from the house.

Of course, fancy jock is rich and lives in the biggest house in town. Typical.

Well, at least I knew that our neighbors certainly wouldn't be people I'd be spending any time with.

I couldn't wait to start school tomorrow and find more about the way this town ran. I was ready to make my mark.

Author's Note

Well here we are again! Chapter one of the new Kellic!

What do you think so far? What are you most excited to read about in this story?

Thanks again for sticking around and please stay safe everyone!

-Cassidy :)