Almost Familiar

Chapter Seven A Town Full of Ghosts

Ryden

I slid into the driver's seat of my Mustang, the door creaking slightly as it shut. The engine turned over with a satisfying rumble, and for a second, that sound — steady and predictable — was the only thing that didn’t feel completely foreign.

I hadn’t planned to go anywhere. But sitting still wasn’t helping. The walls of Dad’s house felt too tight, too silent. Like they were waiting for something to happen. Or for someone to come home who never would.

So, I drove.

No destination in mind. Just roads and memory.

The streets rolled past, too wide, too empty. I didn’t remember them being this quiet. I don’t remember them being this small, either.

Everything looks smaller. Or maybe I just got bigger. Either way, this place doesn’t fit like it used to, but I keep hoping something will.

I passed the corner where a bakery used to be, now boarded up. The playground where rusted swings creaked in the wind. The gas station with the same flickering sign. It was like time had moved just enough to be unfamiliar, but not enough to feel new.

As I slowed for a red light in the center of town, a figure stepped out of the hardware store.

I blinked. I knew that face.

Baseball cap, relaxed gait, confident like he’d never once questioned if he belonged here.

The guy from the café. Jensen.

I hesitated for half a second before pulling over. My tires crunched softly against the curb as I climbed out and crossed the street.

"Hey!" I called.

Jensen turned, surprised at first, then recognized me. "Hey, you’re the guy from the café, right?"

"Yeah," I said, offering a small smile. "Good memory."

"You weren’t hard to miss yesterday. The whole place kind of stopped when you left."

I gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Didn’t mean to make such an impression."

"You just visiting?"

"Not exactly." I rubbed the back of my neck. "I grew up here. Left when I was six. Just… back for a bit. Staying with my dad, Reid Walker."

Jensen paused, “Walker?” he repeated, and something shifted behind his eyes.

“Ryden Walker. I haven’t said that name in years.”

"Yeah."

His eyebrows rose. "No way. Dude, we used to run around like maniacs in the Winsleighs’ backyard. Water balloon fights, dirt wars… Easton wouldn’t leave you alone."

I froze for a moment. That name — Easton — struck something in me.

Easton. A girl with sun-warmed skin and skinned knees. A laugh that always arrived before she did.

"I think… I remember her," I said slowly. "Sort of."

"She was wild," Jensen grinned. "The two of you were always covered in mud. I think there’s still a dent in their fence from one of your stunts."

A flicker passed through my chest. Like my body remembered even if my mind couldn’t. The way nostalgia sometimes punches you in the gut without warning.

"I didn’t know anyone remembered me," I said.

I hesitated, then asked, "Wait… are you JJ?"

Jensen blinked, surprised. "Yeah… to my friends, anyway."

My expression shifted — something settling into place. "I remember you now. We were best friends in pre-K."

Jensen let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, we were. You, me, and Easton — running wild until the streetlights came on."

"You kinda just… disappeared," Jensen said after a pause. "One day you were here, and then you weren’t."

"My mom passed," I said quietly. "I left the next day with my aunty."

"Shit." Jensen’s expression sobered. "Sorry, man."

I shook my head. "It was a long time ago."

"Wanna drive around? See what’s changed?" Jensen suggested.

I hesitated for a second, then nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

The passenger seat of Jensen’s beat-up truck smelled like old cologne and sawdust. We drove in loops, past the new subdivision that replaced the old baseball field, the revamped skate park, the movie theatre that still only played two films at a time.

We laughed over how the diner still made the worst pancakes in town. Talked about which teachers had retired. Which hadn’t.

Then we passed the preschool.

I leaned slightly toward the window, eyes locking on the jungle gym.

A flicker. A boy running after a girl. Sand in their shoes. Her laugh like sunlight. A scraped elbow. Popsicle juice down his shirt.

It wasn’t a memory. Not quite. More like a shadow of one. But it curled warm and aching in my chest.

"You okay?" Jensen asked, noticing the way I had gone still.

"Yeah," I said, though my voice was a little rougher than before. "Just… familiar."

Jensen didn’t push. Just turned the wheel and brought us back toward my car.

We pulled into the parking space where I had left my Mustang.

Jensen threw the truck into park. "Well, that’s our grand tour. Town hasn’t grown much — but it’s still got charm, I guess."

I smirked. "Thanks for playing tour guide."

"No problem. There’s a hangout by the lake on Sunday. Low-key. If you’re up for it."

"I’ll think about it."

"Cool. Give me your number, and I’ll flick you a text," Jensen said, handing over his phone.

I punched in my number and passed it back.

I watched the truck disappear down the street, then got back into my car.

I sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the preschool just barely visible in the mirror.

My phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Keaton.

I answered.

"Yo," came the familiar voice, lazy and amused. "You alive? Or did your dad finally chain you to a mower like he always threatened?"

I smiled faintly. "Alive. Took a drive."

"Anything look familiar?"

"Some things." My gaze drifted back to the preschool. "Some things feel like they’re right on the edge."

"Like ghosts?"

"More like echoes."

There was a pause at the other end. Then Keaton said, "So… you really went back, huh?"

"Yeah. Just for a bit."

"You sure about that?"

I didn’t answer right away.

In the rearview mirror, the preschool remained, still and silent. But the swing swayed slightly, even though the breeze had long stopped.

Like something was still there. Waiting.

I don’t know if I came back to remember or to forget. But either way… I wasn’t leaving just yet.