Baycliff (SHORT STORY EDITION)

-Welcome To Baycliff!-

The sign beckons me as I pass it. I've read that it's made from driftwood from a shipwreck in the late 1800s. It gives the character a rustic, welcoming charm. Any other day, I'd smile at the sign, commenting on the history of the shipwreck to whoever would listen. Now? I just wanted to escape, and Baycliff is as far away from the big city as you can be.

No one knows me here. There aren't any memories to chase or ghosts to vanquish. That's what I need, and what better place to do so than Baycliff? As I pass the sign, I let my mind wander to the town's history.

In the late 1800s, Europeans were leaving their respective countries due to religious persecution. One family, the Hawthornes, rose to establish the town after one of their ships wrecked when they arrived.

Their descendants still live in Baycliff today, named for the cliff the ship ran into. It's their way of honoring the lives that were lost. There are pieces of the boat all over town: it was used in some of the original buildings and welcome signs, the anchor stood in the park, and there was a museum full of artifacts.

Baycliff is known for its beautiful New England architecture, blending eras and beachside cottages, one of which I'll be staying in...but there's something else... there's no crime...not really. There have been odd disappearances, but nothing more than that. No poverty. No racism...any of that. Everyone here seems to be in perfect harmony with one another, no matter their race, gender (or gender identity), sexuality...it doesn't matter to these people.

Their water is the cleanest in America, and so is their air. Somehow, they avoid natural disasters, and the same families have been in elected positions ever since the town was founded. They ran unopposed...every reporter who ever went to investigate never returned. They moved to Baycliff, welcomed with open arms, and the stories were always the same.

Now it's my turn. I'm not here to write anything, at least about Baycliff. I'm here to be a cliche because I need a fresh start. I'm a writer who left town after a brutal breakup. Nothing is keeping me in New York anymore...

As I pull into town, I see how clean everything looks compared to the big city, thankful that I went to the car wash before I got here. People were staring in friendly curiosity, making me a bit self-conscious.

Everyone here is...friendly. Put together. It's early in the morning, but a few people are outside, grabbing their morning papers or mail, jogging, or walking their dogs, and they smile and wave as I pass them. Their lawns are immaculate. The landscaping is perfect.

Every house is painted to complement the other. I admit that it's nice but a little unnerving. Not a hair out of place, not a single wrinkle...no one is tired...how? I shake my head to clear it. Everything isn't a conspiracy. They're not out to get you.

It's not like they know what happened. You're new here. Relax. I took a deep breath, willing the ugly memories away as my GPS led me to my new home. Baycliff has an affordable cost of living, yet every home is spacious and beautiful, and even the apartments are friendly. I make a decent living as a writer, and New York is ridiculously expensive so I can afford a beachside cottage here.

When I pull into the driveway, I see that the movers have been working already, and a couple of people are waiting for me in the driveway...a welcoming committee? I turn off the car and take a deep breath before leaving. I don't have the mental energy to match their smiles.

"Miss Isabel Sharpe!" a petite blonde greets me happily. "Welcome to Baycliff! I'm Elizabeth Hawthorne!"

I ignore the sting in my chest at my maiden name. It's not like she knew what happened with my engagement.

"I guess I don't need to introduce myself, then," I comment dryly.

That made the man next to her let out a chuckle. Hm. He seems friendly enough without feeling as...manic as Elizabeth.