Chapter 1: A Funny Story About Beans

Chapter 1: A Funny Story About Beans

The bass drum from a cheap speaker vibrated through the floorboards, a relentless, primal heartbeat that seemed to rattle Leo Vance’s teeth. The air in the off-campus house was thick and hot, a humid cocktail of spilled beer, sweat, and cheap floral air freshener failing miserably at its one job. It was the kind of party Leo usually avoided, a chaotic sea of shouting strangers where he felt less like a participant and more like a ghost at the feast.

He was currently occupying a corner of a sagging couch, his sketchbook open on his lap, a pencil dancing nervously across the page. It was his default defense mechanism in social situations: retreat into art. He was sketching the contorted faces in the crowd, exaggerating their drunken glee into grotesque masks, when a heavy arm slung around his shoulders, nearly knocking the book from his grasp.

“Vance, you hermit! You can’t just draw the party, you gotta live it!”

James Cole’s voice was a familiar, booming laugh that cut through the noise. As always, he was the sun to Leo’s shadow—broad-shouldered, radiating an effortless confidence that drew people in. He held two red plastic cups, sloshing amber liquid over the rims, and shoved one into Leo’s hand.

“Drink up. And for God’s sake, talk to someone,” James said, his grin wide and genuine. He gestured with his head towards the girl sitting on the armrest of the couch. “Sam, this is my roommate, Leo. He’s an artist. Don’t let the thousand-yard stare fool you, he’s mostly harmless.”

Samantha ‘Sam’ Reed turned her attention to him, and Leo felt an immediate, prickling sense of being analyzed. She wasn’t like the other girls at the party who seemed to be floating on a cloud of vapid chatter. Her green eyes were sharp, intelligent, and held a glint of something predatory, like a cat watching a mouse. A confident smirk played on her lips.

“An artist?” she said, her voice clear and carrying over the music. “What do you draw? Sad clowns? Bowls of fruit?”

Leo felt a flush of heat creep up his neck. “People, mostly,” he mumbled, closing his sketchbook. “Whatever’s interesting.”

“Find anything interesting here?” she challenged, leaning forward slightly.

James, ever the loyal wingman, jumped in. “Leo’s got stories that’d make your hair stand on end. He’s from one of those weird, backwoods towns where everyone’s probably related.”

“Hey,” Leo protested weakly, but the damage was done.

Sam’s smirk widened. “Oh yeah? Tell me a story, then. Something weird.”

Desire, sharp and unexpected, pricked at Leo. He wanted to impress her. He wanted to be the guy with the cool, weird story, not the anxious kid hiding in the corner. He mentally sifted through his memories, bypassing the ones that were dark and murky, the ones that made the small, crescent-shaped scar on his palm itch. He landed on one he’d polished over the years, sanding off the terrifying edges until it was smooth and funny, a party anecdote.

“Alright,” Leo began, taking a swig from his cup for courage. The cheap beer tasted like carbonated metal. “When I was about ten, my family still owned this huge, old mansion out in the sticks. Elderwood Manor. My grandfather lost it to the bank years ago, but back then it was just… sitting there, rotting. My cousin and I used to dare each other to go inside.”

Sam leaned in closer, her interest piqued. James listened with a familiar fondness, having heard variations of the story a dozen times.

“So one day,” Leo continued, warming to the tale, “we actually did it. We broke in. The place was a wreck, dust everywhere, furniture under sheets like fat ghosts. We were exploring the first floor, in this massive living room with a giant, boarded-up fireplace. And in the middle of this room was a… nest.”

“A nest?” Sam asked, her brow furrowing. “Like, a bird’s nest?”

“No,” Leo said, a genuine smile touching his lips for the first time that night. “A human nest. Made of tin cans. Hundreds of them. All empty cans of beans, stacked and piled into this big, circular wall. In the middle was a pile of filthy blankets and newspapers. It was the grossest, weirdest thing I’d ever seen.”

James let out a hoot of laughter. “The Bean Man!”

Leo nodded, pointing at James. “Exactly. We called him the Can Man. We figured some homeless guy had been squatting there, and for some reason, he only ate beans. We were so freaked out we just bolted. But the story became this legend in our family. My dad used to joke that if I didn’t eat my vegetables, he’d send me to live with the Can Man.”

He finished the story and took a triumphant gulp of beer. It was a good story. Quirky, a little creepy, but ultimately harmless. He expected a laugh, maybe an impressed nod.

He didn't get one from Sam. Her intense gaze hadn’t wavered. She was dissecting his words.

“Did you see him?” she asked, her voice low.

The question caught Leo off guard. It was an obstacle he hadn’t anticipated. The funny part of the story was the nest. No one ever asked about the man.

“Uh, no. We just saw the nest and ran. We were kids.”

“But you called him the ‘Can Man.’ You must have had some idea what he looked like.” She wasn't asking; she was probing, digging. “Was the house scary? Did you feel anything… off about it?”

Leo’s throat went dry. A flash of a memory, unwelcome and sharp, pierced through the haze of alcohol. Not of a squatter, but of something else. Something tall and pale, a shape in a dark doorway. A feeling of cold, paralyzing dread. He rubbed the scar on his palm unconsciously.

“It was just an old, abandoned house,” he said, forcing a shrug. “The scariest thing was the smell. It was this weirdly sweet, rotten smell. Like old beans and… something else.”

Sam leaned back, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features. Then, her smirk returned, sharper than before. It was a turning point, a shift in the air. The game had changed.

“You know,” she said coolly, “I’m not sure I believe you.”

Leo blinked. “What?”

“The story’s a little too neat. A ‘nest’ of bean cans? It’s good, but it sounds made up. Exaggerated for effect.”

The desire to impress her curdled into a defensive pride. “It’s not made up. I was there.”

“Then prove it,” she said, her green eyes locking onto his. The challenge hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown down amidst the pulsing music and drunken laughter. It was a surprise attack, and it had him cornered.

“What, you want me to draw you a map?” Leo scoffed.

“No,” Sam said, standing up in a fluid, decisive motion. “I want you to take me there. Right now.”

A stunned silence fell over their small group. The idea was insane. It was past midnight, and his family’s old property was a two-hour drive away, down roads that had probably been reclaimed by the woods.

Leo started to laugh, to brush it off as a joke, but James, full of cheap beer and unthinking loyalty, clapped him hard on the back.

“A road trip! Hell yeah, I’m in!” James declared, his voice booming with enthusiasm. He grabbed his keys from his pocket and dangled them. “My car’s out front. Let’s go see the Can Man’s bean castle!”

Leo’s stomach plummeted. He looked from James’s eager face to Sam’s challenging, expectant smirk. He was trapped. He had told his funny little story to get her attention, and he had succeeded far beyond his wildest imagination. Now, the story was telling him what to do.

“Come on, Leo,” Sam urged, her voice a silky dare. “Unless you’re scared.”

And with those words, the decision was made. They were going. He was going to have to lead them back to a place he hadn’t seen in a decade, a place he only ever revisited in the carefully edited, safe-for-parties version of his memories. A place he now realized, with a sudden, gut-wrenching certainty, he had never wanted to see again.