Chapter 1
​
The road to Grimhaven twisted through miles of pine and rock, a dark green tunnel that swallowed the Crowe family’s station wagon whole. Rain slicked the windshield in long, silver streaks, and the wipers squealed like something in pain. Ethan’s dad muttered something about the weather, but he was not paying attention. His mom had her head buried in a stack of papers on her lap, lips moving silently as she skimmed.
Ethan sat in the backseat with his knees pulled up, headphones around his neck, though the tape deck had died three towns back. His chrome BMX bike—his one treasure—was strapped precariously to the roof rack, its frame gleaming whenever lightning forked across the sky.
“Almost there,” his dad said for the third time in as many miles. His voice had that tired edge, the kind of tone that made Ethan stop asking questions halfway through the drive.
They hadn’t said much since leaving the City. Grimhaven wasn’t where anyone dreamed of moving. It was the kind of town you ended up in, not the kind you chose.
Ethan pressed his forehead against the glass. Pines thinned. The road straightened. Ahead, a shape figure rose out of the mist—at first just a silhouette, then sharper, stranger. Looking down from the mountain road, a clock tower, taller than anything else in town, with a spire like a needle stitched into the low, gray clouds.
The move was supposed to be a fresh start. That’s what his mom kept saying anyway, smiling as if saying it often enough would make it true. His dad nodded along whenever she said it, too busy unloading boxes from the back of the car to notice whether Ethan actually looked convinced.
Grimhaven didn’t look like the kind of place anyone would need a fresh start. The houses along Ashwood Drive were nearly identical—two-story colonials with vinyl siding in muted shades of beige or blue, wide driveways, and small squares of green lawn kept so perfect it seemed like someone had measured the grass with a ruler. It was late Summer, warm enough that sprinklers clicked rhythmically in front yards, sending arcs of water glittering in the afternoon sun.
Ethan leaned against his bike—the chrome BMX he’d begged to bring along despite his parents’ insistence it wouldn’t fit in the car—and squinted at his new street. The place smelled like cut grass and gasoline. Lawnmowers buzzed somewhere down the block, and the hum of cicadas pressed from the trees that lined the neighborhood.
On the surface, Grimhaven looked like the kind of town that could have been printed on the front of a postcard. But underneath, there was something else. Ethan couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t one thing, but a stack of little things.
The air felt heavier here, thicker somehow, even when the breeze rustled the maples overhead. Or the way every house had the exact same mailbox—black, curved, a little brass flag polished bright. Or how, when the big town clock tower struck the hour just then, it rang out one long toll even though his Swatch watch read three thirty PM.
He frowned, checking the watch again, then looking back at the tower that rose above the town center a few blocks away. Its copper roof was green with age, the clock face a pale yellow circle staring down like a lidless eye. No one else seemed to notice the mistake.
Janice Crowe, Ethan’s mom, came bustling out of the house with a roll of paper towels tucked under her arm. “Isn’t this just perfect?” she said, beaming at the porch like she’d built it herself.
“Big kitchen, nice yard… you’ll make so many friends here, Ethan.”
“Yeah,” his dad added without looking up from carrying in another box. “Whole new chapter.”
They meant well—Ethan knew they did—but they were already gone in their own heads, caught up in the adult world of mortgages and promotions and neighborhood associations.
Their smiles were genuine, but their eyes skimmed past him like he was part of the furniture.
He swung his leg over his bike. “I’m gonna ride around,” he muttered. His mom only said, “Don’t be gone too long! Dinner soon!” without asking where he was headed.
The neighborhood streets rolled smoothly beneath his tires as he pedaled away. He cut across Maple Street, then onto the sidewalk that led toward the town square. Kids played in yards and driveways, bouncing basketballs, chasing each other with water guns. Some of them waved. Ethan waved back, but didn’t stop.
Grimhaven had that picture-perfect symmetry that almost looked staged. The streets radiated out like spokes from the square where the clock tower loomed. Every storefront had painted wooden signs—Grimhaven Deli, Mason’s Hardware, Evergreen Books. A barbershop pole spun lazily outside a narrow corner shop. Cars moved quietly down the roads, all of them clean and polite, no mufflers rattling, no radios blasting, though in the distance he could hear the faint sound of what he assumed was an ambulance.
Ethan slowed near the square, coasting to a stop as he tilted his head back to look at the clock tower again. Its gears creaked faintly in the breeze, a sound too quiet to carry this far, but he swore he could hear it. A crow flapped up to perch on the weathervane. Another joined it. Then three more. Within a minute, a dozen black shapes dotted the green roofline.
He looked on curiously.
Suddenly, the bell tolled again, one long, drawn-out toll that vibrated the air and sent the crows fleeing. He checked his watch; it had only been ten minutes since the last chime.
No one looked up. A couple holding hands strolled past the fountain, smiling. A group of teens lounged outside the ice cream shop, laughing. Cars idled at the light. No one flinched, no one paused, no one even seemed to hear it.
Ethan pushed off on his bike, coasting faster down Walnut Street until the tower disappeared behind the roofline. The strange feeling didn’t leave, though.
He pedaled toward the edge of town where the houses thinned and the trees grew denser. At the corner of Alder Lane, he found the cemetery. Rows of gray stones sloped gently down the hill, names carved into marble leaning with age, some so worn the letters blurred into nothing but shallow grooves. The grass between them grew long and uneven, dotted with patches of yellow weeds that swayed in the evening air.
A wrought-iron fence circled the place, its bars black with rust, topped with spearheads that caught the low light of the setting sun. A faint squeak carried on the breeze as the open gate shifted against its hinges, as if it had been left ajar for him.
Ethan coasted past, craning his neck. The air felt cooler here, damp in a way that clung to his skin. For just a second—only a flicker—he thought he saw someone standing in the shade of a sycamore tree halfway down the hill. A tall figure, unmoving, dark against the grass, its outline stark among the crooked stones.
His hands tightened on the handlebars.
The figure didn’t move. Didn’t wave. Didn’t breathe. It only stood there, silent and still, like a sentinel cut out of the earth. Ethan blinked, heart stuttering, and the space was empty—nothing but the rippling grass and the silent stones.
A crow croaked from somewhere deeper in the cemetery, the sound harsh in the quiet. He realized his mouth had gone dry. Without meaning to, he pushed down harder on the pedals, tires bumping back onto the pavement, the cemetery sliding out of sight behind him.
By the time he got back to Ashwood Drive, his parents were just finishing unloading boxes, now chatting with the neighbors across the lawn. His mom waved enthusiastically. “Come meet the Hendersons!” she called, like this was the most important thing that could happen today.
Ethan braked hard at the curb and stood straddling the bike, breathing heavy. He forced a smile and rolled up the driveway, but his eyes drifted past them, back toward the town square where the tip of the clock tower rose just above the trees.
He felt as if it was watching.
​
And for the first time, Ethan wondered if coming to Grimhaven wasn’t a fresh start at all.
​
Back the Kickstarter today to help bring this chillingly fun trilogy to life!
https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/jonathancashline/talesofgrimhaven?ref=9uc1gf