Driftwood & Ghosts
The sky was the color of wet concrete, heavy with the promise of rain, as Ashur sat on the hood of their Bronco, a cigarette burning low between their fingers. The salty breeze from the bay curled through their ginger dreads, catching on the gold rings threaded through them. The ocean stretched out in front of them, restless and grey, waves crashing against the jagged coastline. Port Angeles had a certain eerie beauty to it, the kind that felt like it belonged to another time. The kind that made you believe in ghosts. Their phone buzzed beside them, the name Blair flashing across the screen. "Finally," Ashur muttered, swiping to answer."You act like I don’t have a real job," Blair’s voice came through, dry and amused. Ashur snorted. "Sitting at a desk listening to professors complain about how broke the school is doesn’t count as a real job." "Uh-huh. And working the night shift at a gas station does?" Ashur took a drag of their cigarette. "It builds character." "It builds your caffeine dependency." They could hear Blair shifting on the other end, probably leaning back in their chair, glasses sliding down the bridge of their nose. "You busy?" Ashur asked."Not really. Just watching some freshman cry because financial aid lost their paperwork." "Ah, the circle of life." Blair hummed in agreement. "What’s up? You sound weird." Ashur hesitated, flicking ash onto the gravel. "You ever meet someone and immediately know they’re bad news?" Blair let out a short laugh. "Yeah, that’s called having a type." "I’m serious." Blair was quiet for a beat. "Who is it?" Ashur exhaled, running a hand through their dreads. "Some woman came into the station a few nights ago. Tall, rich-looking, dressed as she stepped out of a beige fashion catalog. And her eyes were—" They hesitated. "Weird. Gold. Not, like, hazel. Gold." Blair made a thoughtful noise. "And she gave you serial killer vibes?" Ashur frowned, kicking at a piece of driftwood. "Not exactly. She was… cold. Distant. But the way she looked at me—" They shook their head. "I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it." Blair sighed. "Ashur, babe, you love a mystery. Your ass would run straight into a horror movie just to ask the ghost if they’re okay." "Not true," Ashur protested. "I’d ask why they’re haunting the house first." Blair snorted. "Look, just be careful, alright? Creepy hot rich ladies don’t just show up in gas stations for fun. You sure she’s not some weird sugar momma trying to pick you up?" Ashur laughed. "If she was, she did a terrible job of it." "Well, if she comes back, tell her you have a very protective best friend who will drive two hours just to fight a vampire." Ashur rolled their eyes. "No one said anything about vampires." "I’ve seen your movie collection, Ash. I know how your brain works."Ashur smirked, shaking their head. "I gotta go. Shift starts soon." "Alright, but call me if she shows up again. I wanna know if your goth ass is about to be swept into some Crimson Peakbullshit." Ashur hung up, tossing the cigarette into the sand before sliding off the hood of their Bronco. Blair wasn’t wrong. They did love a mystery. But something told them this wasn’t the kind they wanted to solve. And yet, when they clocked into work that night, some part of them was waiting—anticipating. And at 2:16 a.m., when the bell above the door chimed and Victoria stepped inside, Ashur wasn’t surprised at all.