“Olli!”

The silence of the room had only been interrupted by an occasion listless page turn, as Olli had taken to attempting to read some of the books left in her bedroom. However they were mostly using large words that she did not understand, and almost none of them had any pictures to look at. She had been very disappointed, and extremely bored, since coming back from Saint-Grey.

“Olli!” Motzy called again. “Olli, I am going to Watshire! Would you like to come?”

“Yes!” Olli closed her book to hop off her chair and rush over to Motzy’s side at the doorway.

Motzy’s withered face smiled, “aye wonderful! But go put on your bonnet, or mayhaps the straw hat, yes that one it looks quite nice, and your frock before we go! Perhaps the thicker stockings too, ‘tis a bit cold… oh! A shawl! I have knitted a nice new one recently…”

After appropriately attiring herself (with some help from Motzy), Olli and Motzy walked together down the creaking corridor to the stairs. Wane light cast floating dust into specks of light that swirled around the two as they walked down the steps and into the main hall, where dour faced portraits and forlorn landscapes greeted them on the walls.

Outside awaited a horse wagon, with a small body, two seats, and two horses patiently waiting. “We will be going to Watshire to pick up a few items, perhaps get you a lolly,” Motzy winked. “Usually, Mister Burke does this but Theodore came in late night and so Mister Burke is attending to him still, luckily I am the one who writes the lists in the first place, so we will have no trouble finding what we need!”

Olli nodded, simply happy to be out of the house, even as a question fluttered around her mind. Theodore had made himself scarce after they returned from the Greenes, and Olli had learned that Theodore often kept to himself for a while after social activities he disliked, (“‘tis to say… all of them,” Motzy had sighed.) so Olli had not seen him for nearly two weeks. Sometimes she had heard his voice but just missed seeing him in person. So she had no idea he had left and then returned. “Where did he go?” She asked as both Motzy and her climbed into the wagon.

“Ah, I do not know! He sometimes leaves to attend to business in Takesea or Saint-Ceald’s, or even converse with the…” she glanced around them. The moldering walls surrounding the manor stood as resolutely as ever, and the rusted gates stood open but with nothing behind them except a path. “...The Neighbors.” Then Motzy straightened up, taking the reins and giving them a little flick to set the horses at an easy trot.

Olli still did not quite understand what the Neighbors were, but she had come to understand nobody very much liked talking about them.

The road was dusty and unpaved, with tall grass poking through the compacted earth. The trees themselves stood near the road, bent by years and leaves, although neither root nor leaf touched the road itself. Even the shadows of branches left it bared to the sun as if the branches abruptly terminated about two feet from the path.

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“What are we going to get?” Olli asked.

“Ah, well some more jars first, some of the ones in the kitchen have cracked. Paper, we need more paper, and wax as well. Also an order of candles and flowers for distilling…” Motzy’s chatter suddenly died and Olli followed her gaze.

There was a man standing on the side of the road. He wore clothes similar to the gardener at House Graef, a large dirty canvas shirt and dingy woolen trousers. A misshapen cap was on his bowed head.

Something heavy was set into Olli’s lap, and she looked down to see a horseshoe. Motzy also now had one in her lap as well as she brought the horses to a stop beside the man. “Hello sir,” she spoke kindly, yet stilted. “Where d’ye be headed?”

The man was silent for a long time, everything was silent around them. Olli could not hear herself breathe, yet making any sound beyond such felt terribly wrong until the man himself spoke.

“I need…” the voice was a strange wooden rasp that made Olli’s bones lock up. “I need… to go… to Watssshhhiiiireeee…”

“Ah? Then come on board, sir. We too are going to Watshire.” Motzy said, unfazed by the rasp. Then she turned her head to face the road again. “Do not look at him, Olli,” Motzy warned under her breath.

Olli needed no further encouragement. She could feel unseen eyes staring at her back. It sent a cold shiver through her body and made her feel like needles were gently pushing against the flesh on her back.

“We will be reaching Watshire soon,” Motzy said. Her voice sounded distant and muffled, although Olli gripped her skirt tightly in one hand, tight enough she felt her nails biting through the fabric and back into her own skin.

The chill was spreading through her, the needles pressed deeper. She could feel it right behind her now. Not by its breath or the rustling of clothing, since there was none. But through a creeping slow tension in her body. She could imagine roots sprouting from her spine and spreading to her other bones, hooking into each of them and holding her still.

“Where iissss… Maya?”

The voice was right beside her ear.

Only her eyes would move. She looked up at Motzy who was staring resolutely ahead.

“Look… at me…”

Olli felt the roots in her neck, lacing further around her spine, trying to push.

“We’re here!” Motzy declared as the horse wagon came to a very slow stop before a vine-eaten stone arch that spread itself over the dirt road. Beyond that, light mist was filtering from the trees to the roads of a small village where most of the cottages still had thatch roofs and stone buildings loomed like crouched giants. People and animals moved through like ghosts in the mist. “Thank you for your patience, sir.” She still did not look behind herself.

“Thaank… you… goodbye…”

Motzy waited. Olli felt the roots quickly recede, the chill vanished, the needles stopped biting into her. She took in a deep gulp of air and her entire body slackened. Motzy gently patted her head. “It’s scary, but that Neighbor was harmless.”

“What?” Olli tried to regain strength enough to sit up, but nothing was coming. Her body had spent too long tensed and now refused to move. She considered asking Motzy if she had heard the Neighbor speak about ‘Maya’, but Motzy’s gaze was still focused on the road ahead. Her wiry old hands were holding the reins in a white-knuckle grip, and thin tears fell over her wrinkled cheeks. But still she did not look away from the path. It was as if Motzy wanted to get away from the spot they had stopped in, and wished to acknowledge nothing else about their encounter.

Olli decided to keep her question to herself. Briefly the desire to look behind her rose in her chest, but the weight of the horseshoe in her lap kept her looking ahead.