Ryker

Beauregard House

As if on cue, the entryway filled with light and the door hinges creaked. However, the wood swung toward us instead of away.

"Hello? Is someone there?" A woman called, her voice high-pitched and wavering. "I have pepper spray."

I held up my hands in a shrug. "Sorry, ma'am. Just taking a walk and admiring the mansion."

"Oh," her eyes lit up at the mention of the monument. "Why don't you come in?" She stepped back and motioned into the foyer. When I saw Caleb slip right past her, I resigned myself to my sudden visit.

"Okay."

∆

"Thank you for the tea, I didn't realize just how frozen I was." I told my host, wrapping my fingers around the mug.

She returned from the closet she'd been digging around in, now with her own arms clad in a warm sweater. "It really isn't a problem. I can drive you home after, if you'd like."

"No, that's fine. I only live a couple blocks away."

"Oh? Where exactly?"

"Spirit Apartments."

She chuckled. "I'm a little surprised. That's a haunted apartment."

Furrowing my brow, I glanced in the corner to where Caleb was. He shrugged; neither of us had seen any ghosts in our new home. Well, aside from the obvious. "Are you sure?" Come to think of it, we hadn't seen many humans, either.

"It's why they are particularly undesirable."

"Must be why they were so cheap." I joked, then realized it wasn't that funny. "I, uh, didn't catch your name."

"Jessica Peters. And you?"

I almost forgot to reply, I was so shocked. Then I literally shook myself out of it. "Isabella Ryker." Wait, what? Since when did I use my full first name? I must have been thrown off because I knew her name. Or more accurately, Caleb knew it.

"It's very nice to meet you, Isabella." Jessica told me. When she sat down, she added, "Why were you on a midnight stroll, anyway?"

"Three in the morning stroll," I corrected, "And I had a dream about the Beauregard House. I wanted to see it for myself."

"A dream? Does this happen often?" The other woman leaned forward. As her face moved closer to me, I realized that even though she looked my age, she was probably in her late thirties.

I denied this quickly. "No, I just moved here. I heard of the Beauregard House for the first time today. Or yesterday, I suppose." After a second, I realized she may have meant dreams in general. "And I'm not a big dream person."

"Interesting."

"I wanted to ask about a couple things. In my dream, the front door swung inward. But when you came and opened it, it did the opposite."

Jessica looked toward the front of the home; we were in her apartments, situated in the back. "Maybe the old door was hung the other way around. You see, when I got this place, it had been vandalized. The front door quite literally hung from one hinge, and I didn't exactly check whether it moved one way or the other. The newer installation goes out, but maybe the original hardware didn't."

I nodded, then questioned, "And the color of the house?"

"It's a pretty shabby gray right now—the paint I could afford back when I was opening the mansion for the bed and breakfast I originally imagined was not the best. It was color matched to the house's previous lead-based paint, though. It used to be blue and green."