Name: Ryver Morgan Age: 26 Birthday: July 9 Hometown: Red Bank, New Jersey Gender: Trans man Sexuality: Demisexual Career: Ghost Hunter/Psychic
These days, Ryver has little memory of his childhood. If he thinks about it hard enough, he can sometimes remember his mother’s face, but the memories have faded over the years.
He was born on a commune in Oregon. Ryver learned to speak French with his mother, a language nobody else in their community was fluent in. Camille kept him close to her most of the time, though when their leader wasn’t around he was able to run around barefoot with the other children. His life was peaceful, because his mother shielded him from the not-so-peaceful parts of living in their radical community. When Ryver was five, his father took an interest in him and in showing his child (his daughter then, but truth be told gender was considered a construct even then, so Ryver’s transition was an easy enough move even as a young child) the true purpose of the commune they lived on. The dark, illegal parts.
Ryver changed after that. He was quiet, withdrawn, and with nightly bad dreams that had him sweating and crying and clinging to Camille, who didn’t know what to do to help him. Ryver witnessed people being hurt, and was even occasionally forced to take part in the hurting. It seemed to get even worse when their leader, his father, could start calling Ryver his son. Ryver became more of an heir than ever, important to the group in ways Ryver had no way of understanding.
When it became too much, his mother took him away from the only home he’d ever known in the hopes of getting him a better life. Camille escaped in the middle of the night with Ryver, finding her way to a police station by daybreak with her son in tow. Ryver was nearly ten years old, barefoot and sniffling as a kind officer tried to get him a snack while his mother was questioned. Ryver was able to say good-bye to his mother, who kissed him and in French told him how she loved him more than anything and would do anything to find him again. It was in vain, however. The police managed to get Ryver quietly to a foster home in Portland, with plans on moving him much farther away the second they could. They couldn’t save Camille. Not for long, anyway. Ryver’s father, the leader of the cult they’d been a part of for so long, found her. But Ryver wouldn’t learn about that for many, many more years.
It wasn’t long before the Morgan’s were contacted about the sweet, quiet boy staying with a foster family in Portland. His case worker knew he needed to get out of the state quickly, and the Morgan’s seemed like a good fit. He moved out to New Jersey with only two outfits and a knitted sheep his mother had made him as a baby.
For a full year, Ryver did not speak. He stared, wide-eyed, at anyone who spoke to him, and he flinched at every comforting hand on his shoulder or attempted hug. Eventually he got comfortable enough to communicate in other ways though; he smiled sheepishly at the older kids or he slid between his new moms on the couch while watching a movie, oftentimes he would just rest a hand on whoever was near him, whoever he felt most comfortable with. After living with the ever-patient Morgan family for a year, he spoke for the first time. He was at the bank with one of his moms, and he overheard a woman speaking French on her cell phone. Ryver tapped the woman on the arm and said something to her in French, something that made her laugh, which in turn made him smile. When his mother, surprised, asked him if he understood English (thinking maybe that was the reason for his long silence), he looked at her with a confused expression and replied “of course.”
Ryver was still quiet, but he spoke up from time to time after this. When his adoption became official he even became a little chattier, pointing out different plants and trees that he knew about, begging his mothers to start a garden with him just like his mother had done when he was a toddler. Growing plants was something he knew, and he’d been good at even at such a young age.
He struggled in school, having never experienced anything quite like it before. Ryver was too soft, too quiet, too prone to daydreaming to really excel in academics, or excel socially. He dealt with bullying on a regular basis, never really picking up on how to fight back. Over the years, things improved little by little. Ryver started speaking up for himself, and people began to leave him alone.
Ryver slid by in everything he did. He didn’t put a whole lot of effort into most of the things he did, and he always spent too much time lost in his own thoughts. He showed some natural talent in a middle school photography club, and he had always had a green thumb (gardening was one of the few times Ryver could come out of his shell no matter who was around him), but otherwise he seemed average, or even sometimes just disinterested.
Maybe it stemmed from his endless knowledge of plants and their many benefits, but Ryver became interested in holistic healing and other spiritual matters very young. Eventually this turned into all kinds of spiritual and mystical things. Ryver’s first apartment was above the crystal shop that he worked at; the owner enjoyed allowing him to hold seances and even occasionally give palm readings and crystal ball viewings to customers. Ryver loved to do it, and the owner of the shop liked the additional income.
At nineteen, Ryver became interested solely in talking to spirits. It wasn’t super clear why, but his family was pretty sure it had something to do with him turning 18 and finding out how his mother had been murdered after saving his life. Along with his best friend at the time, they started traveling with what little money they had, camping in places said to be haunted and recording their findings. Their blog grew in popularity, and from there they started their own podcast, which also became pretty popular. At twenty-one he was able to quit his dayjob and start traveling to different haunted locations for a living.
The news of Abigail’s death wasn’t that groundbreaking or dramatic, really, but the anonymous messages and call-ins Ryver and his friend were receiving about it were enough to peak their interest. They’re staying at the Arconia because some stranger who knew of them asked them to, and because a part of them believe whoever wanted them here also wants credit for being involved in her death.
