Chapter 10
Noelle
“Wait a fucking second—you’re staying?”
I held the phone away from my ear as my co-host Shane’s volume increased on the other line. He was understandably shocked…and more than a little annoyed that I’d ghosted him in Atlanta.
“Yeah,” I said. “I just…I think there’s a story here.”
He harrumphed, and I could feel him roll his eyes. “Is that story six foot three and muscular?”
I didn’t dignify that with a response.
“Well?” he pushed. “Is it?”
I exhaled and slumped back against the porch swing at Mabel’s, pulling my legs up under me. Beau was in the restaurant, giving me space to take my call while he made smalltalk with some tourists from up north—but I wanted nothing more than to go back in.
Not to listen to the conversation, just…
…just to be with him.
Damn it.
“It’s research,” I said.
“You’re unbelievable,” Shane snapped. “You drop off the face of the earth, skip out on the Atlanta con, leave me to schmooze with TikTok demonologists—alone—and now you’re holed up in Hicksville playing Scooby-Doo with some lumberjack?”
I winced. “It’s Willow Grove. And Beau’s not a lumberjack, he’s—”
“Tall? Hot? Emotionally available for once in your damn life?”
I groaned. “Why are you like this?”
“Because one of us has to be the responsible adult, Noelle. And last I checked, we’ve got a panel in Austin next Thursday. Live taping. Full house. Sold out.”
Shit…I’d totally forgotten.
Maybe Beau had brainwashed me with his dick after all.
“Right,” I said quickly. “I know. I’m—I’m coming back for that.”
“You’d better. Because if I have to do an hour of Q they looked like each other’s type.
“And you’re Noelle,” Whit said. “The radio girl?”
“Yeah,” I chuckled, shaking his head. “The radio girl.”
“Delilah said you’re lookin’ for stories about the Gloamstrider,” Whit offered. “I’ve got one. That’s why I’m here—plus, I wanted to get a look at Beau’s—”
Beau cleared his throat.
I narrowed my eyes, looking between them.
“Beau’s…friend,” Whit said, cocking one scarred eyebrow.
Wow. Subtle.
I didn’t point out the other thing less than subtle about him—how he edged close to Delilah, how she didn’t push him away. She claimed he wasn’t her boyfriend…but I wasn’t buying it.
Maybe not officially, but there was something going on.
“Okay,” I said. “So…you’ve got a Gloamstrider story? You mind if I record it?”
Whit shook his head. “Go for it. Been wonderin’ when I would get my moment in the spotlight.”
“Your head is so far up your own ass it’s ridiculous,” Delilah muttered.
“What can I say?” Whit grinned. “I’ve got a nice ass.”
“Jesus,” Beau grunted.
I laughed as I got my recorder out and put it on the table between the four of us, the pressed record. Whit glanced down at it.
“Is that all?”
I raised my eyebrows. “My apologies, Mr. Ward,” I said. “Didn’t realize you had 60 Minutes standards.”
Whit grinned like I’d handed him a trophy.
Beau groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Too late,” I said, settling back in the booth and folding my arms. “Alright, spotlight’s yours. Let’s hear it.”
Whit leaned forward, hands wrapped around his coffee mug like he was about to deliver a ghost story at a campfire.
“Foggy Creek. Six years ago. October, just before the first cold snap. I was leavin’ a girl’s house out in the boonies, sneakin’ out before her husband came home.
It was maybe four in the morning, pitch black, fog thick enough to—”
“Of course you saw something while you were busy getting laid,” Delilah interrupted.
“Hey, like I said—I have a nice ass,” he muttered. “Someone should appreciate it.”
Beau snorted.
“Anyway…I’m halfway up the ridge when I hear this sound—like breathin’, but not human. Deep. Wet. Like something draggin’ air in through the back of its throat. Gave me goosebumps straight through my jacket.”
Delilah made a face. “Disgusting.”
Whit ignored her. “I turn, and there it is. This shape—long limbs, all bent wrong, with these glowin’ eyes. Not red. Not yellow. White. Like headlights cutting through fog. It was crouched on a rock, just starin’ at me.”
“Did it move?” I asked, totally enraptured.
“Oh, it moved,” he said. “But not like walking. It glided. No sound. I don’t even think it touched the ground. Just…slid across the ridge like smoke. And I swear, it looked right at me and smiled.”
Beau exhaled sharply. “Jesus, Whit.”
I nudged him. “You scared?”
Beau shot me an accusatory glance, a blush creeping up his neck. “Hell no.”
“Don’t worry,” I teased. “I’ll protect you.”
Beau’s blush deepened, but I turned my focus back on Whit, fascinated. “How long did it watch you?”
“‘Til I blinked,” Whit said. “And when I opened my eyes again, it was gone.”
I glanced at Beau. “You really don’t believe him?”
“I believe Whit saw something,” Beau said carefully. “I just don’t think it was the Gloamstrider. Probably a shadow, a sick deer, or his own reflection.”
“Or he was stoned and saw absolutely nothing,” Delilah said.
Whit flipped her off. I had more questions. “You ever see it again?”
Whit tilted his head. “Once.”
The table went quiet.
“I was drivin’ home from a job upstate. Pulled over near Foggy Creek to take a piss. It was raining. Fog again. And I saw it in the trees. Just…standing there. Same eyes. Same stillness. I didn’t stick around to find out if it wanted to say hello.”
I nodded, frowning. “So…that’s twice in the same spot,” I said. “Is that where it’s most commonly sighted?”
Delilah answered before Whit could.
“Yeah,” she said. “If you look at the local maps with pins for all the cryptid sightings, it’s always in that triangle: Foggy Creek, Devil’s Ridge, and the old stone quarry. Locals call it the Gloam.”
“The Gloam?” I repeated.
“Old nickname,” Beau said. “No one knows who started it. Just kinda stuck.”
Whit nodded. “You get too deep in the Gloam and weird shit happens. Lights flicker, phones die, you lose track of time. And I’m not talkin’ drunk-lost—I'm talkin’ full daylight to moonrise in what feels like five minutes.”
“Anyone ever disappear?” I asked, half-joking, half-not.
“Not recently,” Delilah said.
“Hold up,” I said, raising my hands. “You’re saying people did disappear?”
“Fuck yeah they did,” Whit muttered.
“Like who?”
“Kids going missing in the 50s,” Beau said. “A couple hikers in the 70s. Park ranger who got turned around and ended up twelve miles from where he swore he’d been. Nothin’ concrete. Just rumors. Campfire bullshit.”
“But that’s what you came here for, right?” Whit added, eyeing me. “The bullshit?”
I smiled. “Pretty much.”
Whit grinned again. “Then you’re gonna love this place.”
Beau groaned. “Don’t start.”
“I’m serious,” Whit went on. “If she’s lookin’ for weird, we’ve got it in spades. Glowing eyes, vanished hikers, ghostly angels…hell, Beau, have you even told her about the wexorcism?”
Beau’s groan seemed to drag out into more of a long, pained sigh.
“There’s more than just the curse?” I asked him.
“Ah,” Delilah said. “So he told you about the curse that Rhett and Willow fucked away—but he didn’t tell you about the wexorcism.”
“That was also Rhett and Willow,” Whit said. “They used a wedding to exorcise an evil presence from their property.”
“I mean, it was really more June’s thing,” Delilah cut in.
“Who’s June?” I asked.
“My best friend,” Delilah said—
—at the same time that Whit said, “Our sister-in-law.”
Delilah and Whit glanced at each other like they’d accidentally stepped on a rake, then looked back at me.
“My best friend and their sister-in-law,” Delilah amended. “She’s married to Silas.”
“Brother number two?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Beau nodded. “Brother number two.”
Whit leaned forward again, clearly unable to help himself. “June’s a preacher, came to town to restore the old church. Fell in love with our brooding brother, fought off a ghost, exorcised a curse, and got herself a man in the process. Classic small-town romance shit.”
“Right,” I muttered. “Sounds like your usual rom com.”
“You know,” Delilah said, “Rhett and Willow host dinner at their place every Sunday night—even festival night, and it’ll be way less packed there than at Mabel’s. You should come.”
I glanced between them, caught slightly off-guard by the invitation. “Tonight? I mean…are you okay with that?”
Beau grinned. “Can’t see nothin’ wrong with it. And besides…Rhett has to play the big brother even though we’re all adults now, and if you don’t introduce yourself soon, he’ll track you down himself.”
“Oh,” I said, blinking. “He…knows I exist?”
Delilah smirked. “Babe, you’ve been sleeping in Beau’s bed. Of course he knows you exist.”
My cheeks went warm.
Beau didn’t deny it.
“Besides,” Delilah added, reaching for the last bite of pie on Whit’s plate and ignoring his grunt of protest, “I already told June about you. She said she’s dying to meet the girl who’s got Beau all tangled up.”
“I ain’t tangled,” Beau muttered.
Delilah tilted her head toward me. “He’s tangled.”
I laughed despite myself, and then looked back at Beau—his arm stretched across the back of the booth, his fingers grazing the top of my shoulder like he hadn’t even realized they were there.
I wanted to go. God help me, I really wanted to go.
But I hesitated, because this…this wasn’t just sex anymore, wasn’t just a story. This was his family. His people.
And if I said yes, I wasn’t just playing tourist.
I was putting down roots.
Still, I heard myself say, “Alright. I’m in.”
Beau’s lips twitched like he was trying not to smile too wide. “Really? I mean…my family can be a lot. You sure?”
No.
“Yeah.”
Delilah clapped her hands together. “Perfect. I’ll text Willow and tell her to set an extra plate. You’ll love her—she’s like if a midwife and a tree nymph had a baby.”
“That’s not inaccurate,” Whit said thoughtfully.
I laughed, unsure how much of this was supposed to be funny.
“Welcome to the family,” Delilah said, like she meant it.
And that was the part that scared me the most.
Because I didn’t want to leave.
And I was starting to think they didn’t want me to, either.