Beaconfield

by Bri R. Leclerc

  My heart raced and my stomach tightened when we met in the middle. I looked into Ridge’s turquoise eyes and then to his full lips and back to his eyes. His eyes fluttered closed.

  The front door slammed shut.

  A scream loosed itself from my throat and my head snapped in that direction. Ridge jumped up from the counter and ran toward the living room. I followed closely behind him and found myself reaching for his hand.

  “Hello?” Ridge called out.

  No response.

  “Mrs. Gentry?” he called again.

  “Grandma?” I added.

  Nothing.

  “Did you leave the door open?” he asked.

  I shook my head—it should’ve been locked.

  Ridge opened the front door and we saw that it hadn’t been locked. He let the doorknob go and the door swung shut. He pulled on the handle to try to get it to open, but it stayed shut.

  “Maybe it popped open . . . it’s an old door.” He said this quietly, looking confused.

  I knew he was trying to reassure himself. If that was good enough for him, then it was good enough for me. I nodded.

  We went back to the kitchen and ate in semi-silence. It was still strange to see him after all these years. He was older and almost worn. He seemed to hold his stress in his shoulders, the muscles in his neck pulled tight. My grandmother’s trance had put me in a bad mood, but the door slamming had outright scared me. Once we were done with our food, we cleaned up, still not talking, and an awkward silence hung in the air.

  “Wow, it’s late,” I said, glancing down at my phone.

  Ridge stood up from his seat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I should go,” he said. He smiled and then started toward the living room. I watched him leave and was going to let him walk away, but my mouth spoke out of turn.

  “Actually,” I said, a bit abruptly. “I know we haven’t seen each other in a while, but do you think you could stay here tonight? I don’t want to sleep here with grandma acting the way she was…”

  His face broke out into a wide smile that took me back to another time. I felt my heart hiccup.

  “Of course, Mars. I’ll stay in the guest room.”

  “Um, actually, I was wondering if you’d sleep with me?” I asked.

  His head snapped to me, concern in his eyes.

  I recognized my mistake. “No.” I laughed. “Not like that. I mean I was wondering if you’d sleep in the same bed as me. I don’t want to be alone.”

  He let out a breath and chuckled. “Sure, I’ll stay with you.”

  While I got ready for bed, Ridge ran over to his house to change, shower, and see if West was home. I stood in my own shower. Standing under the nearly boiling water, I let out a sigh and enjoyed the feel of it searing into my skin. But it still wasn’t warming me up. It was like the fall air and the hostility of Beaconfield had gotten under my skin. I’d always loved showers, I took them when I needed to think or relax, but this shower didn’t make me feel any better.

  After I was done in the bathroom, I peeked in on my grandmother. She was still sleeping. I placed a hand lightly on her back to make sure she was breathing. I watched her for a few moments before going to my room to change.

  I pulled on my pajama bottoms and a Beatles T-shirt, but my arms were still a bit chilly so I slipped on a sweater. I grabbed my hairbrush from the vanity again and stood in front of the window to brush my hair. I moved the brush down and flicked the water from the end of my short hair, pulling out all of the knots.

  The front yard was dark and foggy. Dark fallen leaves stuck to the grass and there was a bit of a fog over the ground. The apple trees and lavender plants looked even more dead from above.

  I remembered all the times that I’d do exactly this in front of the window after taking a bath or shower. Sometimes my grandmother would brush my hair and then pull it into a French braid down my back. I found myself wanting to braid it like Grandma used to, but my hair wasn’t quite long enough.

  As I finished brushing, I saw Ridge walk into the yard from the path between our houses. He had a utility jacket on over his green T-shirt, some sweat pants, and his old, beat-up sneakers. I smiled and my heart beat irregularly as I stared down at him.

  He turned, and I jumped out of view, expecting him to look up and see me in the window. I grabbed my phone off the bed and ran downstairs to meet him.

  When we got into bed an hour later, I had a hard time falling asleep. I stared at the ceiling and listened to the steady sound of Ridge’s breathing. It was comforting, both knowing that someone else was in the house and that it was Ridge.

  I could feel the weight of Ridge’s body on the other side of the bed. While getting ready for bed, Ridge had been a perfect gentleman. He’d let me get into bed first and then lay on top of the covers on the other side with a blanket from the living room. He’d suggested sleeping on the floor again, but I told him that was ridiculous, we could share.

  I reached out and hovered over his bare shoulder, feeling the warmth coming off his body. I wanted to feel his skin on me, I wanted him to hold me. After everything that had happened, I needed someone to comfort me.

  Before I could think better of it, I softly touched his shoulder. First with my fingertips and then with my palm.

  He shifted under my hand, making me pull back quickly. Ridge groaned slightly and rolled over onto his back, then reached out and pulled me into the crook of his arm.

  I held my breath as he squeezed me tight against him. When he stopped moving and I knew he was sound asleep again, I let out that breath and felt myself relax into him.

  I pressed my cheek into the warmth of his bare chest and felt the soft beating of his heart in my ear. It was simple, but the steady beating of his heart made me feel better. My heart slowed to match the pace of his and felt myself grow tired.

  My eyes fell shut.

  People say you always remember your first crush, that they hold on to a small part of your heart. Ridge was my first crush. The first time I saw him, when he was climbing that tree in his front yard, my young self knew—I was in love. Maybe it was his floppy brown hair and those freckles. And he had blue eyes like mine, but his were darker with a hint of green.

  We spent that whole summer together after my grandmother and his mom had introduced us. We did everything together. There were some days where we’d leave in the mornings and not return until the last wink of light was in the sky.

  We used to get into so much trouble.

  We’d play tag or cops and robbers, hike through the trees, and, when we got older, go ghost hunting. Ridge had always said that he didn’t believe in ghosts. I wasn’t so sure either, but one summer, my grandad showed us a book full of ghost stories. He’d read them to us at night while we all sat by the campfire. I was always on the edge of my seat with excitement and Ridge was always a little bit scared.

  We’d search for the “haunted” places in Beaconfield and try to find the ghost before getting too scared and having to run home.

  But there was one time that we may have found something.

  I’d been maybe nine or ten years old, Ridge a year older than that. We’d gone to the ice cream shop with one of the local kids, Billy Johnson. Billy was the oldest of his six siblings and his favorite pastime was terrorizing those siblings.

  Billy sat in front of us on the bench, slurping his melting ice cream and waving mosquitos away. He’d been babbling for the past half hour, but none of his words had registered with me. I didn’t particularly like Billy. He was a loud kid and me being an only child, I didn’t understand the reason for being that loud.

  But on that day, he told us something that I did listen to.

  “There’s a ghost in my house,” he said matter-of-factly. He took a big lick of his chocolate ice cream, which was dripping down his wrist, and continued. “I saw the ghost last night.”

  “No way,” Ridge said with a laugh.

  “I swear!” Billy sprayed ice cream from the space between h
is front teeth.

  “What did you see?” I asked, leaning forward, my own ice cream forgotten.

  “He’s a sailor. He walks around in my little sister’s room. He opens doors and turns on lights. I saw him walking down the hallway last night.” Billy continued to slurp his dessert while Ridge and I exchanged a look. He knew what I was thinking.

  Two nights later, Ridge and I were decked out in all black clothing. We had backpacks full of snacks and headlamps strapped to our foreheads. I grabbed two fire pokers from my grandparents’ living room—I’d read somewhere that ghosts hated iron. We’d both stuffed pillows into our beds and snuck out of our houses.

  We approached the Johnsons’ house, making sure they were in fact away for the Fourth of July. There were no lights on in the house and no cars in the driveway. We snuck around to the back door and found that it was unlocked, just as Billy had said it would be.

  Ridge led the way as we crept through the house to the second floor. We set up in the hallway, sitting with our backs against the wall, and waited.

  I remember sitting there for hours with Ridge, chatting in shushed whispers, not wanting to disrupt the spirits of Beaconfield and the Johnsons’ home.

  It was just after 1:00 a.m. when we heard a creak come from the bottom of the stairs. Ridge spun in that direction and opened his mouth to speak. My hand flew to his face and silenced him. He turned to me, question in his eyes. I put a finger to my lips, shushing him.

  The ghost was there.

  The creaking continued, slowly, getting louder and louder. Goosebumps rose on my neck and tears of fear sprang to my eyes.

  The ghost was climbing the stairs.

  Just before I thought the ghost’s head would poke up over the stairs, the door behind us slammed. Ridge and I screamed and leapt to our feet.

  I held the fire poker up like a baseball bat, waiting to be attacked.

  But the house was silent.

  “Mari,” Ridge whispered, panic in his voice.

  “What?” I asked, my back to him. I kept my eyes on the door, not wanting to miss anything.

  “Mari!” Ridge was truly scared now.

  I spun to him. When I did, I saw a fine white mist float toward the ceiling and disappear. I looked to Ridge. His eyes were wide, his shaggy hair tousled.

  “It was him,” he said, his voice shaking.

  “Who?” I asked, looking around.

  “The sailor. Mari, I saw the ghost.”

  We left immediately, making sure we locked the house up behind us. We chattered about the ghost the whole walk home.

  When I opened the garden door into my grandparents’ house, Grandma was in the kitchen waiting for me. I hung my head and apologized immediately. When she asked where I’d been, I didn’t lie to her, I told her all about Ridge and the sailor ghost.

  Grandma had simply smiled and sent me off to bed, reminding me to put the fire pokers back where I’d found them.

  My grandparents had always loved Ridge. They treated him like another grandchild. My grandmother had always teased me about my crush on him. She’d say that we were married or that we’d get married when we were older, which Ridge and I would laugh about and be grossed out by.

  Ridge was the whole package, but my favorite thing about him was his compassion. Ridge and West’s dad left when they were young. I’d never met him, because he was in and out of the house and always traveling. One day, he just didn’t come back. That put a lot of pressure on their mother. Shay was such a lovely woman, sweet and welcoming, but her husband leaving turned her into a different person, according to Ridge.

  Between running the restaurant in town and her youngest son having a mental illness, it was a lot for her to handle. But she had Ridge. At a mere nine years old, he took on the role of caretaker for his brother. He’d talk him through his episodes and take him on walks when he wasn’t feeling well. He did so much for him. His kindness was what I loved most about him.

  A child showing signs of schizophrenia at such a young age was extremely rare. The doctors said that it was something he was born with and the act of their father leaving was what most likely set him off, but they didn’t want to treat him for psychosis until he was older. They said he might grow out of it. They were wrong.

  For West, it was a delay of speech, fearfulness, and hallucinations. I’d never seen West in a state of hallucination, but Ridge had said they happened mostly at night.

  As I dreamt that night, a young Ridge Abbott floated through my head. Being in my grandparents’ house and having Ridge around for it was surreal. He and I had just jumped back into it like nothing had changed. We were the same, just a bit older.

  I’d forgotten how much I had missed him and how much he was a part of my life. He’d been there for years and helped me develop into the person that I’d become. How could I have forgotten him?

  As I lay there, trying to fall back asleep, I found my mind flirting with different scenarios where Ridge would kiss me. The thoughts made me smile, and I cuddled farther into the side of his body.

  Ridge smiled down at me. As he flashed his white teeth, my heart grew. He had a collection of freckles across his nose, eyes the color of the sea, untamable hair, and a small scar on the side of his head from the summer I was nine. I’d pushed him into a creek, playfully, but he slipped and hit his head.

  That’s what I felt myself doing now. My hands came up and roughly shoved against his chest.

  His smile faded and turned to terror. But he wasn’t falling into a creek, and I wasn’t playing. Ridge’s arms windmilled and he fell backward. I looked over the end of the platform we were standing on.

  I watched him fall, screaming the whole way down, and just before he hit the rocks at the bottom . . .

  I woke suddenly, taking in a deep breath and sitting up in bed. I panicked for a moment, looking around quickly, but I soon realized that I was in my grandparents’ house. I laid my head on the pillow and pulled the sheets back over me. I looked over to Ridge and smiled. He was safe, and it was just a dream. He was curled up on his side of the bed, sound asleep.

  A scraping noise came from under the bedroom door. I paused, listening for it again. When I didn’t hear it, I cuddled back into bed. My heart rate returned to normal as I regulated my breathing. Worry for my grandmother still sat heavy in my stomach. I needed to remind myself that I hadn’t been around her in a while, and maybe she acted differently now. I couldn’t worry about her too much.

  But there was definitely something off about Beaconfield. I decided I’d go to the library tomorrow and find a computer to email my parents since none of the phones had service.

  Just before I fell asleep, I heard a bang just outside the door. I jumped and Ridge stirred beside me.

  “Ridge, are you awake?” I asked.

  He took a moment to respond. “Yeah,” he groaned. “Did you hear that?”

  “What was it?” I whispered.

  “Don’t know,” he said as he sat up and wiped the sleep from his eyes. He yawned and stretched in the dark.

  I tried not to look at his bare chest but it was a bit difficult. I had to force myself to look away. Wrong place, wrong time.

  “I’ll check it out,” he said. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table and turned on its flashlight. Slowly, he opened the door and looked both ways. He walked out of the room and crept down the hallway.

  I watched him go and listened. It was eerily quiet in the room. The dread rolled around in my stomach, making me shiver. I scrambled out of bed and ran after him. “I’m coming, too,” I said, grabbing his arm. Ridge was headed toward the stairs to the first floor. I turned my head back and forth, searching for the source of the noise. The moon was shining in through the windows, casting long shadows on the floor and walls. The shadows in the hallway kept me on my toes.

  I pulled Ridge to a stop and put my finger to my lips to shush him when he turned to me. I pointed to my grandmother’s room. I wanted to check on her before investigating. Pushing open
her door, I peeked in. It was dark, the heavy curtains had been drawn, and the only light came from the moonlight in the hallway.

  In the bed was the shape of my grandmother. My breath released. She was okay. I tapped on Ridge and motioned for him to continue downstairs.

  We crept down the steps, taking them one at a time, careful to make no noise. We both still knew which stairs creaked and which ones cracked, even after all these years.

  From the bottom of the stairs came a clicking sound—click, click, click. My body grew cold as fear crept into me. I gripped tighter onto Ridge’s arm as we walked through the entryway and into the living room. The clicking sound stopped suddenly and the quiet was deafening. Ridge and I held our breath.

  The noise started again behind us. I turned and let out a scream. The noise was coming from upstairs now. I covered my mouth to block the sound of my heavy breathing.

  Ridge looked at me. “Are you okay?” he mouthed.

  I nodded and grabbed on to him again.

  “It’s just the pipes making noise,” Ridge whispered close to my ear.

  Another shiver crept down my spine, and I nodded. “Let’s go back to bed,” I whispered, nearly inaudible.

  Ridge grabbed my hand and led me upstairs.

  I glanced over my shoulder for one last look at the living room, but nothing was out of place. What had I heard?

  We climbed the stairs again, this time not bothering to be quiet. I still held onto Ridge as tight as possible, not wanting him to leave me behind. I stroked the back of his hand with my thumb. His skin was soft and it comforted me for a moment.

  At the top of the stairs, the banging noise started again. We stopped dead, waiting to see where it was coming from. Nausea rolled in my stomach. We listened and realized it was coming from the hallway. Ridge turned to me and raised a finger to his mouth, telling me to stay quiet.