Main Street Novels & Stories

Trying to memorise what I would say and how I would act, all while feeling Alex casually look over at me every five minutes from my peripheral. Suddenly, bright florescent street lights made their impression on the windows and knocked me out of the thoughts. Stores with expensive organic food products and boutiques with 1 exclusive size per item came into view as we rode down the street. Houses made of wood, with hydrangea and peony embellished gardens came and went from view as and the smell of the ocean crept in from the small crack in the driver’s window. We were in Shorecrest.

It was after eight when we got back to Harden, and the dinner crowd had died down, not that there was much of one in this town. Most of the places to eat were fast food, and the few real restaurants only opened on weekends. I pulled into the parking lot of Starla's Diner, better known as the Diner to the locals. I didn't have a clue where the name came from since there was no Starla that I was aware of, and since there wasn't another diner in town, no one used the actual name to reference it.

*** Ten days later. On the way back, we stopped in a village in the middle of nowhere to buy coal, since there the price is much cheaper. We pulled up with the car in one of the houses to buy coal. She comes from a family of one husband, three wives and children of all sizes. One of them had a newborn on her lap and when she saw us, she ran towards us offering her baby: — White has money, white takes baby.

The kind of place where people lingered over coffee and pastries, not the sleek, minimalist coffee chains I frequented in Manhattan. The scenery changed as I drove, with skyscrapers giving way to suburbs and then the charming small-town aesthetic of Connecticut. Maple-lined streets, white picket fences, and the American dream packaged and tied with a bow. I slowed as I entered the town, following the GPS directions. Main Street looked like something from a Hallmark movie, with quaint storefronts, American flags, and people actually nodding to each other as they passed on the sidewalk. "Turn right onto Maple Street," the GPS instructed.

Was he looking at me? Why would he even do that? I shook my head to myself and walked out of the massive gate, saying a silent prayer against the insanity of my mind. “Where are you going, ma'am?” I almost jumped, startled. A cab was in front of me. When did I even stop it? “Uh… I…" I stuttered for a few seconds, “Skyline Avenue. The sixth street after the mini shopping mall.” I regained myself immediately and opened the door. “That will cost you…"

Maybe Willowridge could be that place. I pulled into town on fumes. The main street was quiet, bathed in the amber glow of streetlights. Quaint storefronts with faded signs lined the road: a diner, a hardware store, a flower shop. It looked like something out of a postcard, the kind of town where everyone knew everyone. Perfectly ordinary, perfectly unassuming. But as I coasted down the street, something about the town felt different—like it was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The rain had started the moment Mira stepped off the bus. Cold needles fell from the sky, soaking through her hoodie, darkening the fabric until it clung to her spine like a second skin. The town of Ebonridge was barely more than a cluster of buildings strangled by pine and fog. She hadn’t wanted to come back but when your aunt goes missing and leaves behind a house full of old debts and older secrets, you show up.

It’s just me and the crows and the feeling that every step takes me further from the person I used to be. By the time I reach the outskirts of downtown, my nerves are stretched thin as wire. Thornebrook’s “downtown” is… small. Quaint, someone might say if they were being generous. Rustic. Charming in that way that small towns try to be when they’re hoping tourists might stop long enough to spend money. But underneath the attempted charm, there’s something else. Something that makes the back of my neck prickle with awareness. One street forms the heart of it all. Main Street, according to the faded sign, though it’s barely wide enough for two cars to pass each

“A Place to Call Home.” “Well, that’s depressing,” I muttered. The cheerful message felt off against the dreary sky. It didn’t look like danger lived here. That was the weird part. Fitchburg was the definition of small-town ordinary. A clean, quiet stretch of Main Street with old-school shops, family diners, and a few hardware stores sprinkled in. People bustled around like it was just another Monday. William pulled the car over and killed the engine. Everything felt… normal. Too normal.

Kyra gently offers. Not even bothering to close the jeep door behind me, I took off jogging across the parking lot towards Main Street. Bar Harbors Main Street is lined with quaint two and three-story brick buildings with small alleyways in between, some that are utilized as seating areas arranged with benches and bistro tables off of the main strip. Hopefully, the seating spaces aren't too crowded. “No, that's OK. For right now I really could use some time and space to think. I'll call you in a little while, okay?”