I came across an advertisement while sipping a cup of joe; a secretary request for the very blessed Mrs. Undertow. Free room and board stated the ad, all the food you could eat, handsome pay, no delay, an urgency to meet. Yet in the print below so haphazardly miscue where the only qualifications listed....to have eyes of blue.

Sure it seemed a tad bit off and strange to enquire, but having no home and no income, my situation was dire. So I called the Mrs. Undertow to verify the position and if God be kind, keep me in mind, to give off a decent disposition. Such an awkward conversation ensued that I nearly refused the work, but I held on true and pushed on through trying not to be a jerk.

"Do you believe in ghosts, sir," whispered the uncanny Undertow. "Do you believe in evil and its efforts to bring us woe?

"Of course," I said mockingly, lying through a laugh. "I am a believer, yet never been a seer. Don't count me as daft."

"And, sir, I care to ask, but are you alone? No family, no lover, no one to atone? Just you and you I pray be all that reside, if so happens you so happen to disappear or die?"

I found my words in hesitation, lost between a breath and a blink. What questions, what confessions, I needed to rethink. But as I came to say good day and decline my approach, the lady offered a final say that gave me reproach.

"I am but an old woman too feeble and too frail. I need only sweet company, and I will pay handsomely well. I promise you, sir, if you prove your worth to me, I will leave all my assets to you if you agree."

I agreed to the conditions and instantly the job was mine. I hung up the phone agast believing I had swindled the old swine. Though some dark cloud shifted and in my mind it grew....for not once did she ask my name or if I had eyes of blue.

The house stood on a pleasant avenue away from all the crowds, the hustle and bustle did little to rustle this part of the town. I took a step past the gate and felt an unpleasant chill, as though a demon had come to take and push me against my will. With windows painted black where in places the shutters lacked, an observer might lose track of any occupant that occupied this sublime shack.

The bushes slightly overgrown and vines greatly overthrown climbed the walls and hung from the sides hiding what color the home once called its pride. Now wearily I approached the door and beat the old knocker. Bangs echoed through the structure beaconing the old gawker. A tapping of feet, then the sliding of shoes, I was ready to meet this Undertow, this reclusive shrew.

"Hello," came a voice like the one on the phone, "are you my new secretary who will call this place your home?"

"Aye, madame," I said sharp and quick. "I phoned yesterday. It's Rick. Rick Standler. The purveyor of elderly assistance. I arrive very credited with a history of consistence."

"Come in, good sir, and bring your wares. A room is prepared for you just up the stairs."

The door opened wide and there stood my employer. Dressed in white with frills on her wrists, she hunched over in the foyer holding an exceedingly long list.

"Once you get acquainted, join me in the den, and we will go over your employment and what I expect from then."

As I entered the home I noticed a common theme, a certain decor that would drive many to the door, one that might make an unsuspecting visitor scream. Eyes, blue eyes, made of glass, dangling, strangling every ounce of space. A hundred watchful glares, haunting stares, looking up from every place.

"The Evil Eye, a circle of blue, keeps away the wickedness thrust upon you. Call me superstitious or a tad bit insane, but I believe the eyes keep these old bones from unnecessary pain."

The old woman moved with a hobble in her step. Beyond the grotesque baubles she swayed and left. I stood alone and looked around. Many rooms went up but only one went down. This door, this door, with locks of four, spelled 'do not enter' and 'enter no more'. So away I went climbing the stairs, as a fickle energy tickled my hairs.

After trying each doorknob to find it locked, I located my room when one door rocked. A simple interior with a bed made of pine and five feather pillows all in line. A writing desk and a chest of drawers rested beside a black window, my only view to the outdoors. The paint was fresh, in places still wetter, where someone had etched six horrifying letters.

"Help me," I whispered, running my thumb on the paint. "Who and why wrote these?" I didn't have time to wait. I dropped off my luggage and rushed down below ready to meet and greet Mrs. Undertow.

"Took you a moment," she snapped with a hiss. "I wrote all your duties down on this list. And just a few rules before you settle in. The basement is not welcomed; it is forbidden. Otherwise, you have the rule of this house, come and go as you please but be quiet as a mouse. My room is down here and come when you hear a ringing, a dinging, a chatter of bells. For I need your assistance. Be it perfectly clear. I will not be singing, or pinging; I rather not yell. So tell me, sir, is this all fine and fair? Do I have your word or should I look elsewhere?"

I reviewed the list, tasks easy enough to do.

"Happy to assist," I said with a smile too.

Then off she sent me to start my job not knowing that I had no intentions to complete. I was here to observe, then ready to rob, and leave this woman penniless in the street. Yet little did I know at the time I agreed, that she had other plans for me, dastardly ones indeed.

The days went by and by slowly at first. I came when I heard the cry and Mrs. Undertow I nursed. I ironed her clothes and dusted her wares. The many blue eyes about the house constantly stared. She seemed a feeble woman of discontent ever since her husband vanished. Details she hovered over and bent until the topic she banished. Still clues rested on every dusty surface from letters poking out of books to suits hanging on wires and every time I thought to look, this inquire was met with backfire.

"My husband, devil rest his soul, be no more of discussion. Speak anymore of that troll or you will face repercussion."

But still as I looked for her fortune, I was met with many questions. Objects from others, not her husband, were left to my own discretion. A suitcase from Marcel tucked away under a couch; a mirror from Michelle hidden inside an old embroidered pouch. And as I researched and the locals I did chat, I noticed one distinct indistinguishable fact, that each one had gone missing after working for the old bat.

I started pacing in my room leaving marks on the rug as a terrible feeling of dread began to push and tug. What was the old maid's secret and what was she hiding? I could run, I could leave, but what was I denying? She had me trapped financially with no place to go. And now I was looking over my shoulder for any strange signal from Mrs. Undertow. Feeble, my ass, that woman was something more. A wicked whirling wrestled inside me like nothing before. And where once she frowned when I entered the room, she now grinned a smile bigger than a rose in bloom. Then at night I could hear her scurrying about, outside my door she leaned an ear no doubt. Her heavy breathing and faint cough echoed like a banshee; my room might have been locked tight, but she, only she, had the key.

Finally Sunday came around, and I had to take Mrs. Underow into town. And while she prayed in the church, I saw my moment to make the search. So I rushed back to the house to look beyond the basement door, the only place I had yet to check, and what I found there was something to abhor, that no man would ever suspect.

Smashing the wood and the locks with an ax, I broke down the barricade. Into darkness I wandered passed pedestals of melted wax as the light began to fade. Dimly I saw a dirt laden floor from which grew a smell, the worst I've ever smelt before.

My feet crunched in the mud as I steaded my frame. Looking for a light, my back hit a swinging chain. A tiny bulb illuminated the basement in a blanket of dim. My eyes dilated, shadows abated leaving behind the truth within. The ground was more than a mixture of mud and stones, but littered here and there were hundreds of human bones. No eyes could deceive but all could perceive. This sight for sorry eyes that made me heave. A jar of eyes, blue eyes, floating in a solution. No angel or devil could absolve this absolution. Nearby rested vats of resin and rounded molds, the perfect shape for trinkets made by this lady of old. Fragments of flesh so cruelly displaced, how much anger it took to rip eyes from a face. This pressure to leave; I was so naive. How could I not see? She wanted my eyes, she wanted a piece of me.

I stepped back, momentarily displaced. My shoe slipped on a skull and my knee popped out of place. Tumbling in pain and writhing in the dirt. My Sunday best became one muddy, bloody shirt.

"Help," I cried in fear. "Anyone, everyone, I'm down here."

I pushed my weight ready to climb the stairs. My body tingled and terror raised my hairs. Then came a shadow at their top by the door, a hunched figure stood proudly wanting more.

"Many men and women have graced these halls with the woo of money acting like a siren's call. You are nothing different than a dirty swine, scouring the streets for every nickel and dime. You remind me of my husband and his obsession with golden things, until I stole his eyes to be my prize and protect me from any evil his evil might bring."

"You're mad," I said, pushing up a little higher. "Blue eyes won't protect you from God's wrath and hell fire."

"Maybe you're right and I've become what I despise, but whatever that may be I will still have your eyes."

One step then two, she descended the stair, raising high the ax transcended in the arid air. In one great swing, I sang a final scream, until everything became a dark disappearing dream. Mrs. Undertow cackled and twisted my head, making sure the life in my eyes had gone dead, but what she noticed made her twitch and screech, my eyes had shifted, different in each.

I would never get to witness her face fall to a frown when she discovered the contacts that covered my eyes of brown.