Phoebe looked up into the night sky to see if there was anything there to hold on to, but so far - nothing. She squinted her eyes to get a better look. Not even the moon was out tonight. That was one of the worse things about having moved to the city. Not a star in the sky. Nothing to guide her path . . . to help her figure out what to do.** **For the first time since leaving her hometown, she felt truly alone.

_“Pull yourself together, Phoebe,” _she sighed. But self-talk wasn’t really helping. Phoebe had been out of work three months. Once she paid the rent, she’d have exactly $72 and $.53 left for food and utilities. It was hard not to just break down. Without a job, she’d soon be without an apartment and without an apartment she’d be sent to a work camp for the homeless. There was no way out once you were forced into one of the camps. “_But that’s not going to happen, Phoebe_, she told herself. _Maybe I can do without electricity this month. That’ll save me a few bucks.” _She took a hand and wiped her face. She still had a month to figure something out.

After another week of intense searching, Phoebe found temporary work as a maid. Things were looking up. A light beginning to shine through the darkness. She pulled up to a house that was more like a castle in her eyes, but then all the homes in this neighborhood looked like castles when compared to her tiny apartment on the west side. She straightened out the agency issued uniform, the blue top already adorned with a tiny stain from this morning’s coffee.

Phoebe gathered her cleaning supplies and headed to the door. Upon knocking, she was greeted by an unusually tall man dressed in what looked like a tuxedo with a long-tailed jacket. “_He’s got to be at least seven feet!” _She thought. “_The butler, maybe?”_

“Hi, I’m Phoebe, your maid for today. The agency sent me.” Mr. Butler Maybe frowned at her appearance, but his hand gestured her to come in.

Outside, it was a comfortable and sunny 77 degrees, but inside, the house was cold, gray, and drafty, and smelled like old socks with a hint of mold. Her paper face mask offered little protection from the smell. “_Turn around and run, anytime now, Phoebe_.” But the thin line between rent and the work camps kept her in that cold, smelly house.

“Nice neighborhood,” she said.

Mr. Butler Maybe still wasn’t talking , but picked up a brass bell the size of Luna’s head and rang it. Loudly.

“Charles! Charles!” Phoebe’s insides nearly jumped out of their skin. “I told you. You don’t have to be so loud.” A small, but muscular woman, not even touching five feet, greeted Phoebe. “Hello, sorry about that. Charles lost his tongue last year in a cooking accident. You must be Phoebe.”

Phoebe looked over at Charles who flashed her with the pointiest toothed smile she’d ever seen. In that creepy moment, she decided to smile back. A brief, instinctive smile. Then she turned her attention to the tiny woman offering to shake her hand. The nails on her hand were long and pointy.** **The woman wore a suede-like face mask over her mouth and nose. What should have been the whites of her eyes were red. Blood red.

Phoebe had to remind herself that she still had her tongue. “Yes, the agency. . .” Her legs struggled to remain standing.

“Not too skinny.” The woman’s eyes appeared to twinkle.

“What?” Phoebe’s brain struggled to process the environment.

“Well, we’ll need you to start in the living and dining rooms, the main bathroom, and then the kitchen so we can get dinner started.”

Somehow, Phoebe managed to pull herself together and get to work. She swept and mopped the living and dining room floors, fought angry creepy crawlers, and dusted furniture covered in dust so dry and thick, it seemed to penetrate her masks, which she ended up changing five times. When she finally made it to the bathroom, she closed the toilet seat and sat down. It smelled like something had died in there, but she herself was sweaty and smelly and needed a break.

_“This is what it’s come to, Phoebe.” _She didn’t stop the tears from flowing, but sat a long while.

A knock at the door got her heart pounding. Reluctantly, she opened the door.

“Mistress said to bring you a snack.” A young woman, wearing the same agency issued uniform as Phoebe, appeared with a tray attached to some kind of sling over her shoulder. Her one working eye appeared wide and frightened.

“What happened to your hand?” Phoebe noticed that the young woman’s right wrist was wrapped in gauze. Apparently, it was still healing because a bit of blood seeped through where her hand should have been.

“A cooking accident ma’am.”

Phoebe took the tray. “Thank you.”

After the woman left, Phoebe placed the food in the trash and the drink down the toilet. Then she started cleaning. She just needed to finish and go so she could get paid.

Her agency issued bathroom cleaner wasn’t strong enough for the tub so she searched for bleach. An even fowler stench swept her senses when she opened the cabinet beneath the sink. In it, along with a near empty bottle of pine cleaner and a few bubblegum wrappers, lay what appeared to be an old shriveled hand with a finger pointing at something in the back of the wall of the cabinet. Phoebe felt her body shaking uncontrollably. Still, she had to see what the finger was pointing at. In small letters, in the back corner of the cabinet, written in dried blood, was a word.

RUN.

Phoebe bolted for the front door.

She was almost outside until Mr. Butler Maybe stepped in front of her, right between this house of horrors and freedom. Stopping herself mid-run, she tripped and fell over her own feet. It took everything inside her to not dissolve into a full blown panic attack. Mr. Butler Maybe stared at her, but said nothing. Phoebe made herself stand up, then proceeded to dust herself off to try and calm herself before speaking. There was blood on her hands from the fall. She ignored the pain.

“Hello, Mr. Charles,” she smiled. Phoebe could not tell if her voice sounded calm or if it shook with fear. “I’m cleaning the bathroom, but the cleaner isn’t working. I have more and better supplies in my car. Perhaps, you could help me bring them in.” She put a bloodied hand in her pocket to grab her car keys.

Mr. Butler Maybe stared at her for the longest forty-five seconds of Phoebe’s life. Then, slowly, he opened the door.

Evening had fallen.

Something growled behind her. “Charles? Phoebe? What’s going on?”

Phoebe could tell it was the woman who greeted her, but didn’t turn around. Instead she bolted out the door and straight to her car. She heard feet running behind her but dared not look back.

She got in her car and sped off. When Phoebe looked up at the sky through her car window, she saw a full moon and a sky full of stars. The handle of the Big Dipper pointing like an arrow showing her where to go and the moonlight lighting her path.