It was a Saturday the day I was taken away. I remember clearly because Saturdays are the days I tidy up the things in the basement. Saturday was the day my parents sent me on a trip I haven’t come back from. Saturday was the day that mister Reynolds stopped coming up from the basement. Saturday was the first day I bled on the job. Saturday was the day I filled in the holes in the yard. If anything important in my life at the old home were to happen on a day other than Saturday, I would likely not remember the event as it must not have been that important to begin with. And it was, I believe, Saturday the day I decided to leave.

I worked for a man named Javin Reynolds. He was a horrid, awful, nasty man who made me do horrid, awful, nasty things that I never stopped disliking. But he was the one who made the rules. I never go in the basement, except on Saturdays to tidy up. I never leave the house, except for work. I never touch the phone unless it is exactly 7:24 in the morning, and only if it rings. I don’t go into the yard, except to drop off work and fill holes. I don’t move anything in my room to outside of my room, even if the demons are coming. I never run around or make a fuss, even if the demons are close. I never scream, yell, shout, or be a loud bad girl, even if the demons are already here.

On that day when I came home from the first client, I went around as I always do. If I bring something into my room through the front entrance, I’m not allowed to move it, and I like to use the things I collect as safeguards to help keep the demons away. Also, they do get awful smelly, and if it were trapped in my room that would be unbearable. I dropped a couple of trinkets in with todays load in several of this week’s holes and went inside. Saturday was the day the most demons came, and I did my best to collect as many trinkets during my time out today as I could to drive them away. Six cents pennies, from the man’s pockets. A silver watch from his night stand. Some newspapers out of his rubbish bin. I also found a couple of things on the walk home. A tin can in an alley, and a cane. I knew it belonged to someone, but I needed it more than them. I spread them out among the holes that I’ve used for the last couple of days as well as the one that would be filled latter. I had to spread them the best I could.

After I dropped everything off, I went back inside and peaked out the shutters next to the front door. There were a couple of policemen coming down the street on the other side. I’m glad I didn’t see them on my way home. The probably want me dead, which is why I want them dead. I imagined for a moment all the ways to kill them. The ways that death take them right now and leave their corpses in the streets. I had the means to do that now, but I’m not allowed to leave my room, and I’m not allowed to take anything out of it. Instead, I just sat and watched. I knew they didn’t care about me. If they found out what I had been doing, they would probably arrest me and question me, instead of arresting and questioning the man making me do these things. I’ve thought it over. If the police weren’t so mean and awful, they would help me leave. Even if they weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to contact them. I’m not allowed to leave the house or pick up the phone. The whole conflict is unresolvable, so instead I sit for a little while longer and imagine their deaths.

I glance at the clock, stationed precisely 54 thumbs above the floor and 31 thumbs to the right of the front door exactly opposite from the stove. The time was 3:58 My next appointment is at 7:45 exactly. It will take exactly 21 minutes to walk there. I will leave at exactly 7:24. I’m not to dilly dally or waste time. I am only allowed outside for work, and no other time is allowed.

I watched the back yard. Mister Reynolds bought a very small house with only one room and a basement, but he bought a comparatively large estate to go with it. The yard stretched out far enough for the near endless holes in the ground to be just visible when standing in the house. If the estate were twice the size, the end would glide far past my field of vision. It was filled with holes dug five feet wide by one and a half feet long by eight feet deep. They were each about three feet apart, only enough to walk beside without too much trouble. They were probably dug by whatever girl was trapped here before me. Mister Reynolds never stepped foot in the backyard, so all the work is done by me and whoever came before. I don’t know who she is because when she died, her soul fled and never looked back. It’s the only way she could ever finally be free.

I went over in my head where everything was placed. The pennies were spread out among the four most recent holes, one from today, two from yesterday, and one from the day before that. I placed two pennies in the hole that will be filled this afternoon for today’s second load just incase I don’t find anything on the way home. Perhaps I should have spread them out more. Maybe I should have only dedicated one penny to each day, so that they stretch all the way to last monday. That would cover the week rather nicely, but perhaps having them closer to today will make it harder for them to make the trip. Come to think of it, the ghosts from yesterday will be awful mean. I looked at the placement of the holes as well. Sunday, Monday, and Wednesday were all in a nice neat row. Saturday is in the same row, but skips two holes as those holes were already filled before the week began. Thursday and Friday were on opposite sides of the lawn. I don’t like to waste edge spaces, but those ones are powerful demons. Tuesdays are unimportant, and bland. I wish they didn’t exist. On Tuesdays, nothings happens, nothing is important and nothing exists. There is no threat of demons on tuesday, but that can’t be enjoyed without first existing. However, I still work on Tuesdays. To solve the paradox the best I can, I separate Tuesday's byproduct into equal pieces and spread them throughout the week’s holes. It doesn’t solve it, and the demons know is doesn’t solve it. They don’t like the paradox. They become angry. They are awful mean when they’re angry.

I finished looking out the window and decided that the pennies should have been divided among the holes better, and that I should fix that when I come back. I made some tea and drank it. The kettle is one of the few objects I have left in my room. Besides the food that refills in the fridge when I’m working, there’s the kettle, the stove, a couple of pots, and a small sink for cooking. Next to the sink is my toilet, a small bucket that I am allowed to empty every Monday and Thursday. There’s the clock across the room for telling the time, and the bird cage directly under it in case I ever get a bird or small animal, hanging inside is the rag I use to wipe off the blood. I used to use it to clean the dishes, but I’ve grown to hate the taste of blood, so I no longer use it on anything that will touch my mouth. There is nothing else inside my room other than some dull yellow wallpaper that I’ve ripped down as best I can, a gas lamp I keep hanging from the ceiling on a hook, and perfectly straight floorboards that make up the basement’s ceiling. I’m allowed to bring anything I want into my room, but it can’t leave the house, so I keep anything I wish to have just outside the back door in case I ever decide to keep it instead of throwing it in a hole. These items consist of a small bicycle I use to ride to work that no longer fits me, a pearl necklace I took from the one female client I’ve ever had, a mirror I use to clean myself, and a picture of what I think is my mother that I stole from the basement. I threw that one out the basement window, so it didn’t enter my room the opposite procedure of how I get things to Mister Reynolds.

I checked the clock to see that the time was 7:17. I had seven minutes exactly until I had to leave. I never knew what to do with those odd pieces of time where there is too little time to do anything and there is far too much time to do nothing. I watched the clock for three minutes. I considered leaving early, and immediately disregarded the thought. I don’t leave early, that would waste time, and I’m not allowed to be outside of my room for any more time than I have to. I sat, spending time hating. I hated where I was, I hated my life, I hated the person I had become. After a few minutes of that, I noticed I only had three minutes left. I took another look at the back yard. I decided that if I found anything on the way home tonight, I would put everything in today’s hole. If the demons couldn’t get past today, they couldn’t disturb me.

I went on my way to find the address. After about twenty minutes, I came upon the street the building was one. The street’s two sides were similar, but different. Although the buildings were not properly taken care of or well established, one side was lit with a dull staggering light. The street was filled with gas stations and corner stores that were still on into the night. The faint yellow light given off of that half felt like light was bouncing off the windows outward instead of shooting out from the inside. The other side was dark. The apartment buildings and shacks were all off in the rooms with the windows, and the buildings didn’t return the light that traveled to them from the other side of the street. The light that entered the building still hit the walls and glass that should shimmer in theory, but crossed the barrier of the street without intend of return. The disjointedness of the street promised my safety for my journey home.

I came to a small apartment building on the dark side of the street that matched the address I was given. The apartment number was on a door on the third story up. The aluminum stairs went almost straight up a dark hallway littered with vines and litter. For every stair step that was straight, two more were either crooked or missing. I’ve always disliked stairs. They make brining the excess back home for more difficult than it should be. Although there are technically lights on the building, and although the lights were technically on, I was barely able to see my way up. With any hope, that meant no one else would see me. I made my way up the stairs to the correct apartment room. I rang the doorbell and a man stepped out.

He wasn’t large, but he wasn’t skinny either. It was obvious that he would be skin and bones if not for the fat piled on his stomach and arms. His long blonde hair looked like it had either just been washed a few minutes ago, or hadn’t been washed in a couple of months. As is the case with all my clients, his eyes carried evil. The kind of evil that can’t be exterminated, and can only be removed from this world for everyone else. It was unfortunate the evil had to be so close to me.

“You Javin’s girl?” He asked. I nodded. “Huh. Musta been a while since I ordered from him. What happened to Sabrina?” I didn’t know who Sabrina was. Mister Reynolds never spoke about the girls that came before me.

“She died.” I replied. “She wasn’t careful the way I am going home one night and crows pecked out her eyes.” The man looked more confused than horrified. That’s how you can confirm the evil that people have. Nothing scares them. The problem is that you can’t tell the difference between those who are evil, and those who have simply seen everything.

“Well you’re a bright little ball of sunshine aren’t ya? What are ya, like fourteen? Aren’t you a little young to be in this business?” I’m not aloud to answer that question. I did nothing. “Whatever. If I was able to ponce the way Javin does, I wouldn’t be askin too many questions either.” He looked me over one last time. “Come on in.”

That was the end of our pleasant conversation. He lead me in. The room was empty. Usually people who were often patrons of my type of business knew not to keep valuables in sight. It’s a shame, as his is a difficult demon to keep away. He did horrid, awful, nasty things to me, and as per instruction I did horrid, awful, nasty things to him. After I was finished, I took what was mine and began working my way home.

A wonderful thing happened on my way home. As I was talking down the street, I noticed a small bird stop on the road and look at me. As it starred, I felt something strange about the way it looked at me. There was something encouraging about the bird that I believe was a crow watching me. I almost figured it out before it was hit by an oncoming car. I stood for a moment and realized that this has to be a sign. Almost as if it was trying to get killed, the bird was offering me my last chance at peace and freedom from the noise in this world. I realized all at once that if I could stop the demons from coming for just one night, I could end all of it once and for all. I ran to the bird and picked it up. It would make the perfect item to throw into tonight's hole.

I made it home as quickly as possible. I dumped today’s deposits into the hole, as well as the dead bird from earlier. I looked over at the few items that I own for myself. I threw the bicycle, pearls, and picture into the hole. I stood for a moment examining the mirror. It was the only one of my personal objects that I still used. With little grieving, I threw it into the hole along with everything else. I grabbed the shovel and filled the week’s holes as quickly as possible. After I was finished, I went inside and checked the clock. It was 10:38. Plenty of time to tidy up the basement and still be back in my room before tomorrow.

I made my way downstairs into the basement, filled with random and intricate trophies and valuables hanging on the wall. I was always jealous of Mister Reynolds for having these at store. If I were allowed down here more often, or if I could take it’s things up to my room I wouldn’t ever have to worry about being bothered by anything ever again. I took the duster that was nest to the stairs and began tidying up. I made sure that Mister Reynolds was comfortable. I dusted the dust off the top of his head and off of his clothes. He hasn’t been able to take care of himself lately.

“Is that alright?” I asked. He didn’t respond. I didn’t expect him to. He doesn’t talk much anymore. I felt that after what happened, he may be angry with me. Mister Reynolds was often angry with me, even for doing the smallest of things wrong. Eventually he got me doing everything right, and that’s why I don’t think he’s mad about about it. He taught me everything that I know in his business. He was very explicit about after people to the horrid, awful, nasty things to me, I do horrid, awful, nasty things to them. One night, no customers called in, and he called me downstairs. He did the horrid, awful, nasty things to me that my customers do to me, and in return I did what I do to my customers. The knife is still there. I know he’s not angry. I did everything exactly as he had taught. He looked to be smiling, but only because he no longer has the muscles to frown. There is no longer evil in his eyes, but only because there are no eyes for it to come through. I finished tidying up and went back upstairs.

It was 11:37 when I got upstairs. The second I crossed the barrier of the door at the stairs, I was struck with a cold dead feeling. Filled instantly with regret, I had realised that the things that I had put in the holes didn’t hold anyone off.

“I had assumed you would be a little prettier considering what I’m being charged.”

“You ought to be lucky this is all you have to do tonight, a lot of other people do a lot worse.”

“Please, I’m sure you can help yourself. You have to stop living like this.”

“Don’t be a bitch and cry tonight. Otherwise you’ll have a lot more commin”

“If I was able to ponce the way Javin did, I wouldn’t ask to many questions either.”

They last forever. Once the extra evils penetrate my soul, they stay with me for eternity. I thought that I may be able to ward them off this week, but I was wrong.

I quickly glanced at the clock. It was 11:58. There was technically still enough time to get downstairs before tomorrow. Downstairs is safe, right? I didn’t leave time to think. I ran downstairs as quickly as possible and went straight for Mister Reynolds. I took the knife that was between his ribs and placed it between mine.

I’ve often wondered about the girls that have come before me. Unlike the evil that haunts the estate, they had all left. They probably took their own lives the same way I did. It’s likely their physical bodies were buried in the holes, next to the bodies they helped provide. It seems that every young woman who came before me managed to keep enough of their innocence to escape, and be released free upon the world, no longer trapped in a place where all the evil is kept in one spot to be guarded by someone undeserving of their fate. If only I could say the same for me.