Mystic Ridge

By Foxglove Lee

When Beverly Landry inherits Mystic Ridge, a glorious yet neglected summer resort, she and her girlfriend begin a new life in the small town of Lament. As soon as Bev’s girlfriend, Cate, arrives on the ridge, she’s plagued by terrifying nightmares involving the death of a beautiful young woman. Everywhere Cate goes, she’s followed by black mist and glowing red eyes. When she sleeps, a demonic force guides her toward the ridge. Every day brings a new vision of death.

If they stay in Lament, someone is sure to die.

Will Mystic Ridge tear Cate and Bev apart for good, or will a league of unlikely friends help the couple defeat the evil living on their land?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rainbow Crush
• Release date: Oct 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005901394

Foxglove Lee

Foxglove’s fiction has been called SPECTACULAR by Rainbow Reviews and UNFORGETTABLE by USA Today!Foxglove Lee is a former aspiring Broadway Baby who now writes fiction for children, teens and young adults. She tries not to be too theatrical, but her characters often take over. Her debut novel, Tiffany and Tiger’s Eye, is set in the 80s and features an evil doll!

Book preview

Chapter One

With a flick of the wrist, Bev turns off the radio.

Cate takes a deep breath.

Inhale, exhale. You need to do both or it’s lights out, Catherine!

The music crackling through the car’s speaker system has filled the space between them for more than an hour. Now there’s nothing to occupy Cate’s ears but the sound of gravel crunching beneath all-season tires.

Keep an eye out, Bev says. There should be a carved sign when we’re getting close. That’s what the lawyer said to watch for.

Cate taps her finger against the passenger window when she spots the mossy wooden sign. There it is! It’s almost illegible after years of neglect. The yellow and white paints are peeling away from the dark brown background. The Resort at Mystic Ridge! Turn here!

Bev hasn’t said much on the drive up, but she goes extra-silent as they pull off the main road. The crunch of gravel gives way to a smoother sensation. The dirt drive is broken only by the odd tree root or fallen branch.

They arrive at a chain barrier with a sign hanging across: Closed for the Season.

Bev parks the car. She sits in the driver’s seat, staring straight ahead at a dirt road that seems to get narrower as it weaves into the woods.

What’s wrong? Cate asks. She glances at the padlock keeping the chain in place. Don’t you have the key?

Oh, probably. Bev feels absently for the envelope from the lawyer’s office. Let’s get out and walk.

How far is the main cabin?

Bev’s brow furrows. She tilts her head and looks at Cate. Aren’t you the one who was all excited about moving here? Moving onto this huge plot of land? You can go for long walks every day and never worry about condo construction or drivers running stop signs or those food delivery guys who ride their bikes on the sidewalk?

Cate shoots her girlfriend a meek smile as she opens the passenger door. Touché.

The air outside carries a fresh spring scent: green leaves and buds bursting into bloom. As Cate steps out of the car, she feels uplifted. Her lungs are two balloons ready to float up to the sky. She closes her eyes and takes a deep, fragrant breath.

I love this place already, Bev says from the other side of the vehicle. We’re going to live well, here. This is our Happy Ever After.

Cate’s breath hitches. She glares at her girlfriend across the top of the car.

Proclaiming eternal happiness is pushing your luck, inviting the universe to prove you wrong.

Come on, Bev says. Once she’s stepped over the chain gate, she extends a hand in Cate’s direction. Let’s check out our new home.

During their drive to Mystic Ridge, the sun had been hovering in the sky like a soft yellow yolk. Now it’s lost beyond a thick spread of arrow-like pines and fluorescent green leaves.

Cate lets Bev grab her hand. She holds loosely to her girlfriend’s long fingers.

The couple who built this resort must have named it in the springtime. There’s certainly a mystical quality to the walk down this long dirt drive. Cate half expects a parade of pixies to cross their path.

Well? Bev asks, squeezing Cate’s hand. You haven’t said much.

We just got here. I’m taking it all in.

Off to the left, mature trees and undergrowth are alive with vernal force. Cate can feel it in her veins.

Where do you think the ridge is? she asks.

Bev nods to the right. My guess is that-a-way. There’s got to be a path through all these trees, but let’s check out the cabins before the natural wonders.

It’s like something you’d see in a movie, Cate says. She’s thinking horror movie, but she doesn’t mention that detail.

What’s like a movie? Bev asks.

Cate would have thought that was obvious. Inheriting this huge property in the woods from an aunt you’ve never even heard of.

Great-aunt, Bev corrects her.

Great-aunt, same difference.

They walk on.

It’s hard to believe this is really happening, Cate says. Did you ever imagine we’d give up our apartment? Move out of the city? Away from our friends? Live the rest of our lives in… what’s this place called?

Mystic Ridge, Bev says. You know that.

No, I mean the town. We just drove through it and I already forget what it’s called. That’s how memorable it was.

Bev offers a mean squint, like she’s taking Cate’s derision of the town personally.

Sorry, Cate says, because it’s just plain easier to apologize before the fight breaks out. That pie shop we passed looked pretty cute. Their main street was very… cute.

She can’t think of a better word than cute to describe the strip of tourist trap shops they drove by on their way to Mystic Ridge.

Bev stops abruptly. She holds Cate’s hand tight. She must have spotted a wild animal: a fox or a wolf or maybe even a wild boar. Cate isn’t too sure what’s out here in these woods.

It isn’t an animal. It’s a building: a dark brown two-storey wooden lodge.

Cate isn’t an expert in architecture or design, but she can’t help focusing on the woodwork surrounding the windows. Once white, now yellowed. Chipping paint. The German Arts and Crafts style gives the lodge the look of an artisanal gingerbread house.

Wow, Bev says. She grips Cate’s hand as she takes it all in. They’re twenty feet back from the main entrance, and still it’s overwhelming. Looks just like those pictures the lawyer showed us. When were those taken?

The twenties, I think. This place hasn’t changed since the original owners were in charge.

Well, it hasn’t been an active summer resort in decades. A dreamy smile crosses Bev’s lips. But it will be, once we fix it up: a camp for LGBT kids and teens, a place where they can come and just be themselves, be with other kids who won’t hassle them for being queer. It’ll be amazing. We’re going to change lives here at Mystic Ridge.

Yeah, Cate says flatly. Can’t wait.

Bev points farther down the dirt path, where big trees cause the route to twist and turn. The visitor cabins must be over there. Come on!

Tugging Cate along the path, Bev blathers about how great it’s going to be, living here, setting up camp—literally. Of course, the lawyer warned them this place has no water or electricity. Bev went ahead and hired a plumber, an electrician, and a general contractor to come in and fix things, but that process won’t get underway until tomorrow. She and Cate sure don’t have the knowledge or experience to do it themselves.

Tonight, it’ll just be the two of them roughing it at a tumbledown resort with no running water and no electricity. Just what Cate always wanted! Who needs a shower? Who needs a good cup of tea?

Look! Bev squeals. Here they are! Wow, this is amazing.

The visitor cabins form a little village in the woods. Tree cover is slightly more sparse out here, which allows more sunlight to stream in. Good thing, because the small cabins are painted dark brown on the outside. When Cate peers through one of the grimy windows, the inside doesn’t seem much brighter. In fact, Cate feels as though she’s staring into a black hole, a place where light goes to die.

This one’s open, Bev says, making Cate jump.

Cate hadn’t even noticed her girlfriend letting go of her hand, walking to the other side of the dirt path, testing out doorknobs. How long has she been staring into the abyss?

When Bev opens the cabin door, Cate follows behind her. Bev’s taller, so Cate can’t see over her shoulder, but she probably wouldn’t have been able to see much anyway—not at the outset. Her eyes take their time adjusting to the relative darkness of the cabin’s interior.

Someone’s been in here, Bev says, kicking a dirty mattress that’s been pulled off one of the beds. Teens from Lament, I guess.

Teens from where?

Lament—the town we drove through.

A shiver runs down Cate’s spine despite the warmth of the day. In fact, it feels colder inside this little cabin than it did outside. That’s what the town is called? Lament?

That's what it's called. As Bev lifts the flimsy mattress out of her way, Cate’s eyes adjust to the darkness. Now she can make out two sets of bunk beds pushed up against the walls. The cabin is long and narrow to begin with, so this clunky wooden furniture makes the space feel wholly claustrophobic.

Wow, there’s a bathroom back here! Bev says from the far end. I wonder if every cabin has one. This is the last thing I expected. I figured it would all be outhouses.

A summer resort from the twenties? Cate replies with a bit of a laugh. They would have gone all out for guests. Those Edwardians were demanding.

Was it still Edwardians in the twenties?

I don’t know. Whoever they were, they liked the best of the best, even in a rustic retreat.

I can’t see Edwardians sleeping in bunk beds.

Cate throws her arms in the air. What do I know? Maybe the cabins were for kids and the adults slept somewhere else. Who cares? Can we go now?

Her burst of anger comes out of nowhere, and it doesn’t subside until Cate steps out of the cabin. She walks away from Bev without looking back. She doesn’t stop walking until she comes across a playground that needs to be levelled yesterday.

If she were to guess, she’d say it was built in the 50s: a dangerously steep slide, the metal dull in the best of spots, rusty in the worst. Not that you could climb to the top. Most of the ladder rungs are mysteriously absent, probably rusted to the point where local teens could yank them right off. The climbing contraption hasn’t fared much better, but the straightness of its lines remind Cate of a prison. Would this structure ever have appealed to children?

The swing set is another story. It draws her in. She can feel the grit of its rusted chains without touching them. One seat has been broken through. Looks woven out of horsehair. Long strands hang to the sandy ground.

The other two swings are still intact.

Cate! What are you doing? Bev asks, appearing behind her.

I was just gonna swing.

Well, don’t. Look at the state of those chains. You want to pinch your fingers?

Cate forces a smile. Guess not.

Bev doesn’t mention Cate’s explosion in the cabin. They’re trying to stay out of each other’s way these days, emotionally. Moving is a big deal, a big decision. Just because Mystic Ridge is the start of something new doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten the life they lived before. Cate has given up a lot to come out here, to this long-abandoned property bordering on Lament.

Yeah, it’s a big deal.

What’s down that way? Bev asks, pointing to where the dirt path disappears beyond the rusty playground. See? The trail keeps going.

They follow it to a beachy clearing that dips its sandy toes into water so crystal clear Cate can see every grain, every pebble, every piece of nature lapping the shore.

A swimming hole! Bev says, bending low to dip her fingers in the water. And it’s warm!

Ha-ha.

No, really.

Cate shoots her girlfriend a look that says: give me a break. Can’t be warm this time of year.

Well it is, Bev says playfully. She rises and flicks her wet fingers at Cate, sending droplets flying. Cate barely feels them, but if Bev’s making the effort to be playful, Cate feels she ought to give it a shot.

Crouching at the water’s edge, she plunges her hand into the natural pool, fully intending to splash her girlfriend with all her might. When she feels its balmy temperature, she looks at Bev in awe. Holy Crow, you weren’t kidding. It really is warm.

Told you so.

How is that possible? It must be a relativity thing, like the air is cool so the water feels warm?

The air isn’t that cool, not for spring.

Yeah, I know, but you don’t usually plunge your hand in a lake in the spring.

I wouldn’t call this a lake.

Oh my God, Cate growls, pulling her hand from the water and flicking droplets across its glassy surface. Can’t we have a simple conversation without arguing?

She looks at Bev, who seems like a giant from this perspective, expecting anger to flicker across her girlfriend’s face. But no. If anything, Bev seems distant, tired.

Cate is tired, too. Tired of this tension between them.

Rising to her feet, she says, We came here to relax, right? Guess I’m still in city mode.

The smile returns to Bev’s lips. We’ll get there. She takes Cate’s wet hand in hers, brings it to her lips, and gently kisses Cate’s cool skin. This is home now. We’re in it together.

Chapter Two

Look at this as an adventure, Bev suggests.

Cate’s helping her set up the tent and thinking: if there’s one thing Bev has in spades, it’s foresight. Bev knew there’d be no power when they first arrived, so she made sure the flashlights were stocked with batteries. She’s got matches on hand to light a fire. She even brought along marshmallows to toast on the open flames.

But why bring a tent when she’s just inherited an entire summer resort?

Well, the lawyer advised them the structures might not be liveable right away. The main cabin and all the baby cabins have fallen into disuse, and their state of disrepair could only be properly judged by an experienced home inspector.

Of course, Bev, being blessed as she was with the gift of forethought, hired a home inspector even before they started packing up their apartment. He looked the place over and sent a report so they’d know what they were dealing with.

The resort at Mystic Ridge isn’t as bad as it could be, structurally speaking, but the amount of dirt and dust in the main cabin means Bev and Cate need to do a massive clean-up before spending leisure time indoors.

This first night is an adventure, just like Bev said. No water, no power, just a campfire in the sandy soil down by the water, and a tent set up nearby.

They’d peeked inside the main cabin earlier, of course. It would be their new home. How could they resist?

The space was huge, with a rustic sort of grandeur. They’d entered into a large open-plan room with lots of dark wood and a spectacular stone fireplace. Someone had the foresight to cover the gorgeous leather furniture with drop cloths—probably Bev’s great-aunt Zola, if foresight ran in the family.

Looking around, Cate said, It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.

Bev’s eyes bugged. Not as bad?

The cleanliness factor.

Oh, I thought you meant the building itself.

No, the building is beautiful. Obviously. A little dark, but look at the carvings going up the stairs. More of that German Arts and Crafts gingerbread house style. It’s amazing. Someone obviously put a lot of time and effort into building this place.

And money, Bev pointed out, grabbing a wobbly railing as she headed up the stairs. Oh, careful there. We’ll have to get that fixed.

We should make a list, Cate said, trying to be organized for once.

Later, Bev replied as she proceeded up the staircase. First, let’s check the place out.

The upstairs looked out over the downstairs, which meant that when you entered the cabin you could look all the way up to the magnificent roof beams.

Cate couldn’t help feeling glad she wasn’t scared of heights. Looking out over the second storey railing would have made anyone a little loopy if they had the slightest tinge of vertigo.

As they looked from the second floor down to the first, Bev took hold of the wooden railing and gave it bit of a shake. Feels sturdy to me. Amazing to think this place was built almost a century ago and it’s not falling to ruins.

They don’t build ‘em like they used to, Cate said as she peeked in the empty rooms off to one side. Which is the master bedroom, do you think?

Bev pointed to the landing at the far end, and Cate followed in that direction.

Wow, Cate said as she took it all in. This is more than a bedroom. This is its own little apartment.

The suite of rooms included a separate sitting area, an office space with a roll-top secretary, and a generous bedroom with a carved wooden bed so huge it must have been constructed inside the resort. How would you get it through the door?

As Cate reached out to touch the rounded wooden finial, Bev shrieked from the adjoining room.

Cate raced to see what was wrong.

A bathroom! Bev shrieked. With one of those beautiful old claw-foot tubs! Oh my God, it’s gorgeous!

Marble and glass, Art Deco elements, light sconces that seemed to be inspired by ancient Egypt. It was almost too much.

I can’t believe you own all this, Cate said, in awe.

Bev shot her a look. "We own all this, babe. It’s ours."

Right, Cate said. "But, I mean, your aunt left it to you, so, legally…"

Bev’s brow furrowed. She kept pretty quiet for the rest of the tour.

On their way out, Cate wandered to the old stone fireplace. She just wanted to touch the pebbled rocks. She liked things that were rounded, soft and hard at once.

Hey, watch out! Bev called from across the room.

When Cate looked down at the floor, she realized she was about to trip over… what was that? The floor in front of the fireplace was draped with the same canvas as the leather furniture, maybe to protect an old rug, but there was something anomalous at one end. That’s what Bev was drawing her attention to: the large lump sticking up from the floor, as if some ghoul were sticking his head out of the ground.

What is it? Bev asked, stepping cautiously closer.

I don’t know.

Cate couldn’t say for sure why goosebumps were growing across her skin, even though she was dressed in long sleeves and a spring jacket. She should have been warm, indoors, but her body felt cold through and through.

Grabbing the dusty canvas, she lifted the corner and dragged the heavy fabric from the floor.

Bev must have seen it first, because she jumped back, clutching her chest. Oh my God!

She was already laughing by the time Cate caught sight of it.

You have got to be kidding me, Cate said as she pulled back the canvas.

It’s too perfect!

Perfect? If you mean creepy as hell, yeah, sure, couldn’t be more perfect.

Helping Cate to uncover their new discovery, Bev asked, What’s a cabin in the woods without a bearskin rug?

You’ve got a point, there, Cate conceded. Christ, would you look at those teeth?

Bev made a show of creeping up behind her. All the better to eat you with, my dear!

You’ve never needed teeth to eat me with.

That’s because I’ve never eaten you… like this! Bev dug her teeth gently into Cate’s neck, nibbling just hard enough to make Cate giggle uncontrollably. It felt good to laugh like that, so hard it hurt.

It had been far too long.

Far, far too long.

Shame we’re not sleeping here tonight, Bev whispered. Roaring fire, bearskin rug, bare-skinned babe.

Nice that Bev was making the effort. Still, Cate rolled her eyes and stepped away. Yeah, right.

But Bev wasn’t kidding. She’d rolled up that rug and convinced Cate to help her carry it outside.

They wouldn’t be sleeping indoors tonight, but they’d have their roaring fire, they’d have their bearskin rug and, if Bev got her way, the bare skin soon would follow.

* * * *

This is nice, Bev says as they sit together on the bearskin rug.

A ratty blanket around our shoulders, Cate adds. Toasting marshmallows over the crackling flames.

Just the two of us under a velvet sky, stars shimmering above our heads like diamonds, fireflies like tiny lanterns in the forest of our dreams.

Cate can’t handle the poetry. She says, Hot dogs for dinner. Real gourmet.

She braces herself for Bev to snap back, to ask why she can never just enjoy a romantic moment, why she always has to ruin it with some snarky comment.

But Bev either doesn’t hear the snark, or decides to let it pass, because she sighs and smiles and says, There’s nothing like a good hot dog cooked over a campfire. I love how the skin gets sort of crispy and black. Can’t get that in the city.

True, Cate