Page 1 of The Sasquatch and the Hairdresser

CHAPTER ONE

Dear Journal (NOT a fucking diary!),

Not real sure how to start using this thing. I’ve never kept a journal before. Seems weird to me. Like, am I talking to myself or someone else? I don’t fucking know.

My life’s a mess right now, so I don’t have a lot of positive stuff to share. One bit of good news—Damien took the plea deal, so he’s in prison and I don’t have to testify in court. Thank fuck for that. I would’ve done it, but I was dreading it. Unfortunately, my d-bag ex won’t be in jail for long enough. Three years probably means eighteen months and then parole if he behaves himself. I’m glad the prosecutor told it to me straight. It helped me kick my Escape-from-New-York plan—not quite as cool as the movie—into action.

Right now, I’m on a bus heading upstate to some small town called Mystic Hollow. I can’t quite believe the place is real. Everything I’ve read about it sounds like something out of a fantasy book or a fairy tale. Real life isn’t like that. I’ve learned that the hard way. But I gotta see the town because if it’s the lifeline I desperately fucking need right now, I’m gonna grab it and hold on tight.

Is there really a place where I can be totally safe and happy in this fucked-up world?

—Skylar Wright’s Personal Journal

Late September…

Skylar

“Are you gettin’ off here or not, kid?”

I jolt out of my stupor and give the grizzled old driver a weak smile. “Yeah, man. Sorry.”

At thirty-two, I still look a lot younger than my age. It’s not something I love. So far in life, it’s brought more trouble than good.

I hastily exit the bus—just me and my beat-up duffle bag with all my worldly possessions crammed inside—and stand at the side of the road, inhaling a cloud of exhaust as my only form of transportation disappears from view.

It’s mid-September and the signs of fall are way more noticeable here than back in Brooklyn. All around me, tree leaves are starting to change colors, and I can tell it’ll be beautiful in a few more weeks.

I need some beauty in my life.

A cold wind whistles past me, and I shiver, grateful I have my thrift-store leather jacket to keep me warm. It should be good enough until winter hits and the snow starts. By then, I’ll hopefully have a roof over my head and be earning enough for me to buy a real winter coat.

That is, if I can make my dream of opening a salon happen.

I stare down at the wrinkled scrap of paper I’ve been carrying around and treating like it’s the holy fucking grail. To me, I suppose it kind of is. It’s what guided me on the weird journey here, after all.

All-Species Specialized Employment Services (A.S.S.E.S)—Business Opportunities Exclusive Bulletin

Want to start a small business? In need of a fresh start? Looking for a safe and welcoming place to call home? If you’re open-minded (and not a bigoted jerk), then we have just the town for you! Come to Mystic Hollow, the premier Sanctuary Haven of northeastern United States, where you can embark on a new path. One that can bring you greater harmony, health, happiness, and if you play your cards right, maybe even love! Mystic Hollow is seeking new residents to open small businesses that can provide valuable services to the town’s diverse population and its needs. Please call 555-892-1565 for more information.

I’d found the odd ad pinned to a corkboard on the wall of a coffee shop I hung out in a lot after Damien got arrested. When I ripped it off the board and held it in my hand, I swear I felt some kind of electric spark go all the way up my arm, leaving goose bumps along the way. It was fucking freaky, but part of me wanted to believe there was something special about it, like I was meant to find it.

Like it might be the answer to my desperate need to get the hell out of Brooklyn and as far away from Damien’s reach as possible.

Before I could think about it too long and talk myself out of it, I called the number. The receptionist on the other end confirmed that the offer was real. If I wanted to nab this almost too good to be true chance, all I needed to do was get myself to Mystic Hollow.

Until this very second, I’d been fifty-fifty on whether or not I’d find myself dumped in some kind of creepy cult in the middle of nowhere. While it is pretty damn rural out here, especially compared to what I’m used to, it’s not scary. Kind of peaceful even. Right ahead of me is the main road that’s supposed to lead into the town.

I gulp. “Get your ass moving, Skylar. Standing here isn’t gonna make your dream happen. You gotta take charge of your own destiny.”

With that pep talk done, I haul my duffle over my shoulder and make my way toward the road, where I walk along the shoulder. My boots have seen better days but they should last me another winter if I’m lucky. Striding forward, I keep my gaze focused ahead. Looking back is so not fucking worth it, in my experience. I follow the tree-lined road as it curves around a bend, and within ten minutes, the town comes into view.

It looks like something out of one of those cheesy Hallmark romance movies my grandma used to watch. Main Street is lined with cutesy little shops and cheerful storefronts, and it’s cleaner than anything I’ve ever seen before.

When I spot Cumar’s Coffee, the place I’m supposed to meet my mysterious contact, I hurry inside. I’d caught the ass-crack-of-dawn bus out of the Port Authority a few hours ago, so I’m in desperate need of a caffeine fix. I also want a cigarette so fucking bad I can taste it.

But I’m trying to ignore that self-destructive impulse, as Dr. Patel—or Dr. P as she has most of her patients address her—calls it. Quitting has been harder than I ever expected.

Since it’s late morning on a weekday, the coffee shop is pretty mellow, with not that many customers in line or at the tables. A handsome satyr with dark skin and dreadlocks half-wrapped in a colorful ombre scarf smiles at me from behind the front counter.