Behavior like this is expected from her in these stages, but this 
struck Stuart in particular. The tower is where Stuart lived. And 
rabbits don't climb. It was somewhat unnerving... but it was also 
nonsense. She was most likely imaginating events that she's just 
perceiving as real... but what if she was watching someone break 
in? 


"Uh... did it ever get inside?" 
"|... | don't remember." 


Stuart was suspicious of this. /t wasn't unlikely that she could have 
associated an actual rabbit she saw with a burglar. 


"Excuse me, | have to check on something. I'll be back." 


She didn't seem to care. Stuart ran to check every valuable 
possession he could think of; silverware, heirlooms, caches hidden 
inside of wardrobes and, floor boards. Everything seemed to be 
accounted for. Stuart thought for a second. 


This is silly. If a burglar came in, they would've taken whatever they 
could carry. That aside, wouldn't they have come at night? | would 
have seen them... | suppose it's also not unlikely that she confused 
a squirrel or some other rodent with a rabbit. Why am | acting so 
paranoid? 


Stuart took a long drag on his cigarette and made his way back to 
Acacia's room; this stress was going to kill him one day. He 
shouldn't be worrying about this. It wasn't as if it would matter if 
something was stolen; he was being evicted regardless. 


Stuart entered her room again, to see her still staring out of her 
window; most likely watching for her rabbits. 


"Acacia? | wanted to know if you would like to go out for a walk? It's 
a gorgeous night." 


She looked up at him. "Are we going to see the garden? 


"Yes, | think that could be arranged,” Stuart replied, preparing to set 
up her wheelchair. Fresh air might do her well after being cooped up 
in that stuffy old bedroom. And after all, it had been quite a while 
since the two spent any more time than absolutely necessary. 


Acacia had always been a frail woman. Stuart, lifting her onto the 
chair, could feel just how light she was; she couldn't have weighed 
more than a few ounces. He carried her past the slightly worn stairs, 


and pushed her chair out the door, and across the dirt path. The two 
didn't talk; they didn't need to. Stuart was just happy to be in 
someone's company, and the silence allowed them to fully 
appreciate the garden in front of them. 


Most of the land had been converted to farmland, but Stuart had had 
this part of the land preserved. Acacia had used to take immense 
pride in her gardening; she had used to do it all herself, but now, 
with no one to oversee it, it had become overrun with overgrowth. 


Still, even in its current state, it did still have its charms; the vines 
growing freely over the masonry, the rusted fountains; long since 
been drained of water. It was the type of place that made Stuart 
want to explore in, as if he was playing in ancient ruins, long since 
forgotten... Though sadly, with no one to play with, he did less 
adventuring, and more reading while sitting under a nearby tree or 
pillar. 


He knew she most likely would not remember this, but what he did 
know was that in this very moment, she was happy. He also knew 
that this was most likely the last time he would be seeing her. He 
should be enjoying her company while he had it, but he just couldn't 
get his mind off of losing everything; the house, the garden, Acacia, 
his books. Before he knew of it, an hour had passed. He looked over 
to the old woman; asleep. 


He chuckled briefly, almost like he had expected it, and grasped her 
chair. Remembering his shortage of proper literature, he realized 
that this might be the last time he would be able to hit the bookstore 
before he would have to move out himself. He made his way back to 
the house, aided Acacia in putting herself to bed, and prepared 
himself for the trip, fetching his old books, his tool bag, and 
sneakers. 


After all, if he was going to make his escape from hell, he'd want 
more things to read. 


Chapter 2 


The word around town was that a ghost haunted this little book 
shop. The story changed every time it was told, but the general 
consensus was that an older couple had built the store from the 
ground up before the town settled its roots. The two lived happily 
together until one night, they were visited by a demon, which 
supposedly tore their soul from their bodies, and trapped them 
inside the shop. 


They said that when the clock striked 3:33 in the morning, the 
demon made its rounds, checking on those poor souls who fell prey 
to its horrible clutches... or, the far more likely version, Stuart was 
swapping out his old books for ones he hadn't read yet around that 
time. The locals were quite superstitious about ghosts and demons 
and whatnot. You could hardly throw a stick without it hitting a 
building with some history of a curse put on it. 


Truly the wicked had claimed this old town for their own. 


Stuart placed his hand against the store's back door. He 
remembered his first few times coming here, and how he had to 
crawl through the basement window and fall into the pitch-black 
storage cellar. 


He was fortunate that the lock to the back door was easy to bypass. 
Now, he simply slipped his pocket knife in between the backdoor's 
bolt and the face-plate; comparatively easier than crawling through 
the mud every time he wanted a change in literature. Ever since he 
discovered it, Stuart had visited this shop as often as he ran out of 
books to read; it was like a second home to him at this point. 


He must have read over half the books in the tiny little shop; it was 
such a shame to see that the books would go on without ever being 
read. Most of the authors put so much effort and thought into their 
work, and now this might be the last time he would visit. 


Despite its abandonment, the building appeared very well-kept. 


Each table free of dust, each bookshelf bearing no cobwebs, and 
yet, each room was absent of people. If there truly was a demon or 
spirit possessing this place, it was surely more interested in the 
general upkeep of the house than harvesting souls. Stuart asked 
those living near the shop if anyone stopped by every now and then, 
but they couldn't say anything particularly useful. 


Regardless, Stuart treated the shop as if he was a guest in a library. 
He only picked up three books at a time, made sure to return the 
books he borrowed from where he originally picked them up, and 
cleaned any mess that he could have created. He simply felt it was 
the right thing to do. 


Looking through the available works, he replaced his copy of 
Against Nature by Joris-Karl Huysmans, a piece he rather liked, with 
a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain, an 
American author that Stuart was beginning to hear regularly while 
overhearing various gossip around the town. 


He was about to grab another one of his old books to replace when 
he noticed a bright-red envelope blatantly sticking out from the 
bookshelf. Stuart had been to this area of the shop multiple times; it 
definitely was not there before. That's when he noticed that it had 
his name on it. 


He knew that he probably should have left it there, grabbed his 
books, and never returned, but his curiosity was piqued; who could 
have possibly left this here? And how did they know his name? He 
opened the letter. It wouldn't be something from someone who 
wanted to harm him, would it? After all, it would have been much 
easier to approach Stuart from behind and bag or knock him out, 
compared to warning him with a letter. 


It was unnerving regardless. 
Mr. Stuart Hayward, 


Would you please accompany me 
upstairs? We have some things to 


discuss regarding your inheritance 
and plans for the future. 


Excuse my appearance. 


-A friend of Acacia 


The more Stuart dug into this, the more curious he became. He was 
unaware of any plans Acacia had for him. Actually, he was unaware 
that Acacia had any ‘friends’ outside of her business partners. She 
never left the estate much, even before Stuart moved in. 


He placed his books on the table, and as he approached the stairs, 
he began to hear a voice, faint at first, but as Stuart approached the 
second floor, it became more clear that this voice was singing. As he 
approached the source, Stuart began to recognize both what the 
song was, and the sublime quality of the singer's voice; the Old Maid 
In the Garret, sang under a quality that Stuart could only describe as 
angelic. Whoever this person was, she was definitely very talented. 


Careful not to alert the singer to his presence, he followed the song 
down the hall, and towards the master bedroom. This proved to be 
very easy, since she was obviously already preoccupied. He put his 
weight up against the wall and slowly creaked the door open. Stuart 
looked inside to see a young woman; older than himself, but 
scarcely looking sixteen. 


The girl was wearing a bathrobe that seemed to be ten sizes too big 
for her, and a red bow on the left side of her head, with long black 
hair that reached down to her upper back. She was facing the 
window opposite of the entrance, and appeared distracted. On top of 
her singing, she was preparing what smelled like chamomile tea... 
at least until Stuart opened the door further. 


The creak emitting from the door appeared almost deafening; loud 
enough to wake the dead. As the noise reached her, two long, bone- 
like protrusions rose above her head, as if she were an alert rabbit. 


"Mr. Hayward?" she said with a slight Irish accent, turning her head 
enough to glance at the door, and revealed that the lower half of her 
face was covered by a doctor's face mask. 


"Oh, good, you received my note; | was worried | might have to run 
out after you for a bit. Please, sit, make yourself comfy," she 
continued, motioning towards a coffee table and set of chairs. "| was 
just preparing some tea. You like chamomile, yes?" 


Stuart loved chamomile. 


"Uh, it's fine," he replied, making his way to a seat, knowing full well 
that he should be having the urge to run by now. Perhaps it was the 
woman's soothing voice or polite demeanor, but Stuart had the 
overwhelming impression that she was not going to cause any harm. 


After pouring a cup for each of them, she made her way to the table 
and set Stuart's glass out in front of him before sitting down at the 
chair adjourning his. As she made herself comfortable, Stuart could 
clearly see her red, inhuman eyes. Her right produced a white glow 
in the dimly lit room, but her left seemed almost clouded, and while it 
did seem to give off a slight red glow, it did not seem as prominent 
as her other. 


"|-I'm sorry, who are you exactly?" Stuart sputtered. 


"Oh, how rude of me; | didn't even put my name on that card, did I? 
My name is Clovis. You can think of me as a sort of... personal 
servant to Acacia. It's a pleasure to finally be speaking to you." 


"Wait, you're her servant? How come | haven't seen you before?" 


"She specified that she didn't want you to know of me until it was 
necessary, and you have inherited my services: my apologies, | 
realize how off-putting this might sound to you. It's not exactly how | 
would have liked to have been introduced either." 


She took a sip of her tea, and continued. "Mmm. You have truly 
great taste. This was one of Acacia's blends, wasn't it?" 


Stuart hadn't even picked up his cup yet. He was too taken aback to 
appreciate it. 


He started to regain his composure "Oh, maybe; | haven't started on 
it yet. Clovis, was it? May | ask what you are? Aside from a 
servant?" 


Clovis paused. "An angel." 


"| haven't heard of many angels offering their 'services' to people, 
and Acacia doesn't strike me as particularly religious. But those... 
ears of yours, along with those eyes, lead me to believe you aren't 
particularly lying either. Forgive me if I'm jumping to conclusions, but 
I'm inclined to believe you are instead the opposite." 


Clovis set her tea in her lap. "You are a smart boy, Mr. Hayward. | 
call myself an angel because ‘a devil’ has too many negative 
connotations to it. It always gives the impression that | mean to 
deceive or hurt you." She began to chuckle slightly. "And rightly so if 
you have ever taken a look at me. But | can assure you, | only have 
your best interest in mind." 


"Which is why you wanted to offer me something in exchange for 
‘my soul’ or something of that nature, is that correct?" 


"Well, no," said the woman, her happy demeanor suddenly 
vanishing. "Unfortunately, for now, I've come to tell you that Acacia 
will—... she's—... I'm sorry, | saw her earlier today and... she 
doesn't look like she's fairing well." 


"W-what?" 


"Her sickness is getting the best of her. She will survive the night, 
but by dawn, I'm not so sure." 


"... How do you know? How do you know she will die this morning?" 


"It's... something | was born with. | knew her well; Twenty-three 
years of service, and there's not a single moment | regret," she 
continued. "She hasn't passed yet. We should see her." 


Clovis offered her sleeved hand to the boy, but he could not bring 
himself to accept it. He stood up from his seat, and made his way to 
the door. "If you want to follow me home, you're welcome to." 


And, of course, she did. As the two walked home, Clovis 
occasionally spoke out to Stuart if only to break the silence, but she 
received no response in turn. He skipped his chores, and did not go 
to bed at the right time, but instead stayed up to sit at the foot of 
Acacia's bed as Clovis stood silent next to them. 


Stuart could not recall the exact moment when he saw Acacia die 
that morning; all he could recall was seeing Clovis seemingly 
whisper something into Acacia's ear before she carried him off to his 
bed, and tucked him carefully under his blanket. 


Chapter 3 


He would have thought the events of last morning were only a 
dream if he didn't wake up to the breakfast set on the table. The 
sudden discovery of warm flapjacks and bacon was somewhat 
unsettling at first, but the realization of the cook's identity now made 
it even more so. 


Choosing not to partake in his breakfast just yet, Stuart made his 
way downstairs to entertain his... guest. She was not hard to find, as 
she was still singing the Old Maid in the Garret, albeit in a slightly 
slower, sadder tone, with her back turned to him like when they first 
met. 


"You seem to really enjoy that song." 


"Gah, Lord!" She exclaimed, quickly turning around, clutching the 
space where her heart would be as she composed herself"... 
Forgive me, it's been a while since | stayed with someone. Good 
evening Mr. Hayward; how are you feeling?" 


"As best as one could, given the circumstances." 
"... Yes. Again, | want to offer my condolences. | lo-" 


"Don't," Stuart said, raising his palm. "| want to ask you something; 


why are you still here?" 
"W-what?" 


"Why are you still here? | just woke up to flapjacks in my room. Did 
you want something from me?" 


Clovis sighed. "Well, I'm here partly because of a deal | made with 
Acacia, but mostly because | care about you, Mr. Hayward. | would 
like to extend my terms of employment to you, not only as a servant, 
but a friend. Perhaps as a tutor or counselor." 


"What's the catch?" Stuart replied, nearly baffled. This creature, 
whose ilk is infamous in their lies and deceit, is offering her hand in 
friendship? 


"... Pardon?" 


"Why would you be doing this for free? There has to be a reason as 
to why you're doing this; if this is going to loop back to handing over 
my soul to you, I'm afraid the answer is no."