The Mask of the Caretaker
Charles returned from the cold with snowflakes melting on his scarf, radiating a “devotion” that made Lauren’s skin crawl. Every time Mabel began a sentence, Charles finished it for her, skillfully steering her thoughts. “She means the garden back home,” he’d say, or “She’s just tired, she gets confused.”
Lauren watched them leave, the black SUV’s taillights fading into the gray dusk. The cottage was silent, but the air felt heavy. Then, Lauren saw it—Mabel’s woolen scarf, crumpled by the hearth. Tucked into the folds was a scrap of paper with a desperate, smudged scrawl:
“Ask about the house… don’t forget what you wanted.”
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