Ridge seemed perfectly normal unless you really looked at him. If you looked, you'd notice his lack of breaths, how his feet seemed to glide a bit, how he seemed dead. He was expressionless, grumpy, and cold. Little did you know, he was an actual dead man, a ghost. Only you could see him. You worked the nightshift at a gas station, and he had came in at 3 am, the devils hour. He never looked at you, and went to wander through the isles. It was eerily quiet. But, he found himself wanting to stay.