Ridley Road Novels & Stories

My wolf pushed forward, telling me to stay, and for the first time in my life, I wanted to obey it. Then Jace spoke quietly from the hall. "The north has already crossed Ridge Road." Grandma Dawson inhaled sharply. That did it. Ridge Road sat less than a mile from town, less than ten minutes from this house. Whatever choice I thought I had vanished. I turned toward Elias. "Who else knows?" "Everyone who needs to." Elias looked at the medallion. "And probably several who shouldn't." I reached for the linen. Analiese's hand came down over mine, not gently. Her palm slapped against my knuckles and held them there. I looked at her, and she looked right back.

Chapter 120: The Ridge Sentinel The storm over the Hudson Valley was really bad at midnight. It tore through the pine trees that lined the steep road to the ridge. The armored Escalade drove through the storm, its windows getting hit with rain as it made its way up the final mountain turns. After the corporate wars in Brussels and the problems in the French Riviera, going back to their private place felt more like a military deployment than coming home.

she said to me. I smiled at her again and headed outside where I’d parked my bike. It was a beautiful day, not too warm yet and I took a deep breath as I mounted my bike. My phone was on vibrate because I couldn’t afford any distractions. I rode away from the house and headed to Sobre Vista Road where Anthony Campbell lived and I smiled as he drove past me in his car. I parked the bike in a grove of trees a few yards from his driveway. I loved it when a plan came together.

Morticia stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his torso from behind, her expression bright. "I wish we could stay like this forever," she mumbled. Klaus's movement halted, his mind drifting to his mother. He muttered, "Me too." - Rhea walked down the cold, dark street of Benning Road; the streetlights cast long shadows behind her. She knew she was crazy for coming here, especially when the street looked eerily odd and creepy. "341..." she paused, forgetting the last number of the address. Pulling out her phone, she checked it. "Ah, 3415."

There is something so lost and forlorn about the defeated droop to his shoulders that I bleed inside. The driver gets into his seat and the car starts to move. I stare out of the window seeing nothing. All I can think of is Nigel standing at the window. As the car leaves Earls Court and takes the M4 out of London, I start to pay attention. We make steady progress until the car smoothly joins the M25. There is more traffic here, but less than twenty minutes later we take the slip road out of the motorway. After a little while, I see signposts for Virginia Water, Surrey. I’ve been there once. One of Nigel’s friends lives on the Wentworth estate.

It was a spring morning, not too cold, nor too hot. The sun was mild in the sky, its usual hotness dulled by a looming sense of change. The Wyatts were still asleep in their opulent mansion. The workers were milling around, cleaning here, dusting there. They had to wake up early and satisfy Rosalie Wyatt's OCD by bleaching, sweeping, dusting and mopping the whole compound. Short, plump and with a sharp tongue, Rosalie was feared by all her workers.

We pulled out of the drive, and I noticed Brodie pulling his phone out and putting it to his ear as he continued to stare down the street. That was weird. Loose dog, my ass, I looked around, trying to find what he saw as Wyatt drove us out of the neighborhood but I didn't see anything of concern. I bit my thumbnail. I don't think Rob would show up and cause problems but he always seems to surpass how far I think he'll go. Wyatt's phone rang and he answered. He looked in his rearview and said "Gotcha. Yep. I'm on it, okay man, later," I turned around and saw a black escalade pass the car behind us and come in behind us.

Mark replied confidently. “Where do you live, Hannah?” Chris asked. “Royal Park Apartments on Willow Street,” I replied. “Okay, is the access there safe, Mark?” “Yes, sir. Willow Street is not flooded. But what I’m worried about isn’t flooding; it’s landslides. Heavy rain has been pouring down on Riverford for several days now. Usually, it only rains for two or three hours, but for the past few days, it’s been raining almost all day. Meanwhile, your house is in the upper part of Riverford, and the main road leading to your house is prone to landslides. That’s what I’m worried about. I hope what I’m thinking won’t happen,” Mark replied without looking worried.

They walked the Ridgeway on a Saturday in the last week of May. Not the full path — the full Ridgeway was eighty-seven miles and required planning that neither of them had undertaken for this particular iteration of the list item. What they walked was the section closest to the estate: a fifteen-mile stretch that began at a car park near the village and followed the ancient chalk ridge west through a landscape that had been walked for five thousand years and that showed it in the bone-deep quality of a place that knew it was significant.

Welcome to Jolly Road. Raverine read the huge and torn billboard on top of an under-construction building. Rustic beauty and some vintage aesthetic would be its description for tourists, but eerie and deadly for someone who lives for a long time near this road. It’s the road of the dead, mourning souls, and a hideout of evil. Raverine parked his car beside a street light that emits a flickering, low light. He turned off the engine of his car and examined the sidewalks. Raverine looked for his gun underneath his car's passenger seat and tucked it into the right side of his jeans.