Abigail has never been as physically strong and fit as she is these days, never spent as much time outside—not even outside of her room—as she had during the past two months … She was healthy. Which results in her body resisting the ailment twice as hard now. And this valiant resistance, in turn, causes very high fever along with all sorts of unpleasant symptoms. Her nose is runny, all of her muscles and joints ache, and her head, too; she's weak, nauseated almost constantly, and her throat is very sore.
But the Manor makes plenty of medication for her, as well as tea, broth, and a lot of soft pillows, and the Beast makes sure she takes the pills and drinks plenty of liquids.
He also reads to her and sings her songs, with the Manor turning pages and flying more books in from the library.
They're both so gentle, patient, and caring… and Abigail is so helpless, and she feels so guilty. Whenever she was sick before, especially with a common cold, her father acted as if it was a huge inconvenience, as if she'd had a choice to be sick or not; and her mother, despite taking reluctant care of her, kept on insisting how Abigail needed to get more fresh air and regular exercise. So it was a spoonful of guilt with every spoonful of cough syrup. Mom also tried to feed her rose petal jam instead of raspberry jam with the tea. Ugh.
There's none of it now, but she still feels guilty, out of habit.
The Beast assures her that he's watering the plants, that he threw out some more slugs, and even saw a bumblebee, and there's no more aphids left on their cucumber, and everything is growing, and their potatoes are already grown, and he even harvested most of them and stored them in a cupboard in the kitchen, with an apple that the Manor gave him because they remembered how Abigail had told them that potatoes meant for eating needed to be stored with an apple so they wouldn't sprout in the cupboard in the kitchen. And so on.
He speaks, and she listens, and holds his paw whenever she is able to hold anything.
He brings a vase filled with fresh tulips.
Unfortunately, every time he feeds her soup and crackers in the evening, and the tray disappears, he still asks the question, and does not unfreeze or stop staring at her mournfully until she mumbles another answer.
Abigail barely talks, and she sleeps a lot. The Beast stays with her every night, and pets her hair, and warms her up with hugs whenever she shivers.
He's very cuddly and seems to enjoy sleeping next to her, but he keeps on apologizing for it on a regular basis and repeating that he will go back to his room, and the Manor won't be here either, and they will 'stop bothering' her once she's feeling better. Abigail is delirious with fever, pain and exhaustion, but this one thought is very lucid and pronounced: she no longer wants to sleep in her bed all alone, and the thought of him stopping, and of the Manor withdrawing for the night the way he was doing before, makes her feel sad. She wants to tell him that it's no bother at all, and that she doesn't want either of them to go, but the right words just won't come out.
They even help her get clean; the Beast fills a bath and dunks almost half a bottle of liquid soap into it, and then politely turns away as she undresses, unsteady on her feet. Only when Abigail lowers herself into the bath and lets the bubbles conceal most of her body, he turns around and sits next, and the Manor passes him a big sponge.
The Beast looks very timid and bashful, but his big eyes are wandering as she leans back to be more comfortable…
"It's okay," Abigail croaks through her sore throat. "I don't mind."
Maybe friends don't give each other baths. But they're not exactly just friends anymore.
"You're really pretty," the Beast whispers. "I know it's not the right time and place to say it, and I've never— But just. Sorry. You're really pretty."
Yes, chimes the Manor.
"Thanks," replies Abigail. Right now she's got some trouble discerning if it's the fever that's making her feel like she's burning up, or the water, or something else.
He helps her rinse her hair, washes her with a sponge. The Beast himself looks very disheveled.
"Do you want me to scratch your back? Or brush you?"
"When you're feeling better."
They go back to bed, he gives her more medicine and hugs her very tightly as she falls asleep.
It's been several days, but Abigail is not sure how many. She wakes up to find the Beast sitting in an armchair and reading a book. Two big chickens are perched next to him on the desk, in individual nests made out of his bathrobes.
One is perfectly normal, black and with a blood red comb, and she seems well cared for, too, her feathers are pretty and glossy, her black bug eyes are full of hatred, and from time to time she makes all the regular growling noises and roars boring chicken things, like "Hearye wretches, the Allmother condemns you to pits of Hell!" and so on.
But the other chicken is very unusual because her plumage is bright blue and so far she hasn't talked. Also, she looks snooty and disinterested in everything.
"Shhh! Not so loud!" whispers the Beast to the regular chicken and distracts her with a handful of corn.
"It's okay," says Abigail. "I'm feeling better."
Her throat is as rough as sandpaper, but it doesn't hurt that much anymore.
"Abby!" The Beast springs up and hugs her so tightly that her tired bones creak.
"If it wasn't for you… Thank you for taking such good care of me. I don't know how to repay you."
"You don't owe us anything, come on."
"The shadows gather and a new Evil walks the world!" the normal chicken screams excitedly, then goes back to her corn.
The exotic chicken says nothing.
"I think my fever is gone," says Abigail, smoothing his disheveled tuft.
He stops tilting his head into her hand, opens his eyes again, and pokes his wet nose into her cheek. His nose is cold, but it doesn't feel like an icicle this time.
"I think so too." He sounds a little sad.
"Is everything alright?" Or maybe she's imagining things. Her body temperature is within norms, but her nose is still stuffed, and her head is heavy, and she hasn't eaten much aside from crackers and soup for days. Very weak.
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's all good." He turns away and taps his claws together. "Anyway, when you were sleeping, Uncle Rasmodius came over and brought these chickens from a guy named Shane, and other stuff."
"By the Void, I shall have your lifesblood!"
"Sorry. This is Missy, and this is Tau-zel Obemelekh the All-knowing. They'll have to stay inside for now. But he brought a lot of wooden boards for us to build them a coop. He'll bring more soon."
"The light of creation has forsaken you, sinners!" says Missy. She's done with her corn.
"He told me they're from the local carpenter, and she also sent instructions on how to assemb—"
Some heavy items drop to the floor, startling them.
Abigail looks past his shoulder. The entire room is in disarray, and every surface is cluttered with evidence of her recent sickness, there's still bottles, pills, thermometers, boxes of paper tissues, washcloths, a humidifier, books; everything piled atop everything, and a bit extra.
"Manor was really worried for you, I think, so he didn't clean everything up like he usually does, you know," the Beast explains. "But you'll be alright now, yeah?"
"Yes. I will be, I think. Thanks to you."
They embrace again.
Abigail wants to tell the Manor a lot of nice things, she hates that he's been so worried and got so stressed and helpless that he's still dropping items, but she can't speak for some reason, and there's a new lump in her throat that isn't a remnant of the disease.
She is incapable of moving around a lot, not on her own, so the Beast helps her walk down the stairs and the corridor, and she sprawls her hand on the Manor's wall for support, too, and for a time they sit outside, on the steps, in the sun. The Beast is hugging her around the shoulders, and she is leaning on him. They talk a little, and scrutinize one of the nice big potatoes they've grown together.
Yes, she is doing better, but some hollow feeling keeps gnawing at her heavy head and empty stomach, as if she's forgotten something important. It doesn't go away when Abigail eats some warm applesauce (solid foods still wouldn't be a good idea).
The chickens keep following them around for a time, but decide to make a corner of the dining hall their home. There's a big pile of wooden boards right next to the garden fence, along with coils of very sturdy looking thick ropes, and boxes of nails.
M. Rasmodius probably brought all of that with the help of his magical agents, or maybe in a carriage or a very big wheelbarrow attached to an all-terrain vehicle.
When it gets dark, the Beast walks her to the door of her room, but doesn't come in this time. He looks sad again, and hides his eyes.
Abigail is about to ask him to stay, to assure him that he's no bother, and admit that she doesn't want to sleep alone anymore, when the Beast wishes her a good night and runs off, up the stairs.
She only has enough time to ask the Manor if maybe they're in need of a break from her (he says no very loudly) before he, too, withdraws.
It's puzzling.
Despite how tired and weak Abigail feels, she has trouble falling asleep this time. Laying awake, she once again attempts to fumble for the source of the unpleasant hollow feeling—for these vague things she doesn't remember. She tries and fails, again and again. It's like they're slippery fish swimming in a pond. They've gotten a lot bigger lately—at least that's how she feels—but she still can't catch a single one with her bare hands.
Another thing she keeps thinking: it's been months, yet she still hasn't chosen proper names for the Beast and the Manor. It needs to be amended as soon as possible; even if she'll have to go through dozens of books with names, she won't stop until she finds something that they might like, something that will suit them perfectly.
In the morning there's two fresh eggs waiting inside the bathrobe nests. Abigail and the Beast finally make use of the kitchen stove, some of the cutlery, pots, and pans. Most of them are made of cast iron, earthenware, and wood, they look old and rustic, although reliable, and are very unlike the elegant silver and porcelain tableware the Manor is producing and then disappearing.
They peel some potatoes. Abigail shreds a couple and fries them into hash browns, along with the eggs, for the Beast; and he boils one and mashes it for her. After plucking some freshly grown sage and peppermint, they make herbal tea. They let the Manor rest and not worry about breakfast.
Their garden is experiencing another influx of life: honey bees are buzzing, butterflies are flying around, and there's more ladybugs.
All of these beneficial insects are ignoring the remaining roses, as if the roses weren't flowers at all. Well, maybe they're not, thinks Abigail as she remembers the funky powder. They buried what was left, and the pit is empty now, but, as she sits nearby, in the sun, too weak to work, she watches the Beast confidently pick faded blooms and fallen leaves from the ground around the plants, and pluck out weeds, and drop them all into the compost pit. He's gotten much better at it, and seems to be enjoying gardening just as much as she does.
Missy is nice and useful, she is helping him.
"Accursed mortal, thee shall be doomed for all eternity!" she says and eats another beetle from under the nearest kohlrabi. Tau-zel Obemelekh the All-knowing is not interested, she just walks around and inspects things.
Need to get rid of the last roses as soon as possible. Just a day or two, then maybe Abigail will be strong enough to pull them out.
The Beast offers, "What if I try to do it?"
"But you don't have protective gear, and you'll sneeze."
He hangs his head, musing and nodding slowly. "Hmm, that's true. But how about I cover my nose and just slash at them for a while with shears? This way I could at least make them smaller, and it'll be easier for you to uproot them."
He's learned to be cautious, and is experienced enough now, so Abigail agrees that it's a solid idea. He manages to cut quite a lot of stems off before he starts sneezing. But even after this the Beast doesn't give up; he takes a break, and takes a rake, and rakes in everything that's fallen, down to every stray flower and leaf, into a bucket, and upends it over the pit. They're smiling at each other from time to time as he does it.
"It's challenging, but gratifying," he says to her later. "Gardening."
"Couldn't agree more."
"Behold the maw of madness and the dark majesty of despair!"
They only get to the library in the evening, after feeding the chickens, cleaning after them, and making sure they settle to sleep in the dining hall. Abigail finds a bunch of books with names and their meanings, sits down opposite the Beast. He is engulfed in a book about how to care for chickens, and, from time to time, reads some educational passages out loud to her.
She is still convinced that he needs a name that means "sun" or something in the vein of; so Abigail finds those after a while of flipping through the pages. "Anatoly" is a foreign name that means "sunrise" and it would suffice, but she feels alarmed while looking at it, in the way she is when thinking uncontrollable gloomy thoughts; she decides against it in the end. "Areg" means "sun" and seems foreign, too, and for some reason it sounds like an appropriate name for someone very hairy; but Abigail still does not care for it. Enver is alright, but they name boys that in the Gotoro Empire. Better not.
Hold on a second. This one is relatively common.
"Samson. It means sun. I think this is a name that would suit you. I think you look like a Samson."
The Beast scratches his muzzle, frowning a little.
"You don't like it?"
"Nah, I do, it's a cool name. Just seems a bit long. How 'bout just Sam? You know, the way you called me when you were sick."
She does not, in fact, know anything of the sort.
"I was… calling you Sam? When I was sick?"
"Uh-huh. Dunno, maybe it was fever or something, but I really liked that. Think I could be Sam?"
"Yes. I think Sam would suit you even better. Hi, Sam."
"Hi, Abby!" He lolls his tongue out, smiling excitedly. "You called him something, too, but I forgot. It was a long name. Hey, do you remember?"
Yes.
The planchette starts moving and spells out a long name.
"Kinda suits him! It's pretty, but also nerdy. Like he is."
"Sebastian. What a beautiful name, and very fitting," agrees Abigail. "I just wish I remembered, too, why I called you that. But would it be okay if from now on I call you Sebastian?"
Yes.
"Hooray! How are you feeling?"
"I'm much better. I think we should try and uproot the last roses tomorrow."
"Totally. I'll help you. 'Cause I was thinking, you could tie a rope around a bush and I'll pull it, and this way I won't sneeze or anything."
"That's a great idea!"
"Dunno why I haven't thought of it sooner, to be honest. Sorry. Anyway, we'll get rid of them all tomorr—"
The planchette scrapes the surface, turning abruptly, and Abigail smiles in anticipation of Sebastian talking (it's a rare occurrence, after all), but then something weird happens: it dashes to the other side fast as lightning, and back, and left and right again, and the table the spirit board is on starts swinging and rattling. The planchette quivers in the middle of it, rising up an inch over the surface, and it would have looked like there were two people clutching it and tugging it in opposite directions, but… there are no people and no hands.
"Sebastian?"
At once, everything turns into ruckus: he starts banging on the fireplace grating with a poker, and it sounds like a tocsin or fire alarm bell as books are dropping all around them, and pipes are screeching and groaning, and ashes are flying, and most of the lights go out, and wind is blowing as if it was an open field and not a library, and. And Abigail gets a distinct feeling that someone is here. Someone other than the three of them.
"Quick! Place your paws on the planchette!"
Sam does, and so does she, but they can't seem to bring it down, no matter how hard they try to push on it.
"Presence! Show yourself!" Abigail shouts. "Speak to us!"
It's very hard to hold on to the planchette as it scampers this way and that. Also, it seems to be spelling out gibberish. If this is a ghost, it's one fuming with rage.
GJI|KYF[EQBDFY
Then the planchette drops, and their hands are left poised over it.
"Touch it, lower your hands!" yells Sam.
There's a pause before it starts moving again, and it forms an entire phrase.
HOW2SWITCH2CYRILLIC
"What's going on, what does this mean? Sebastian, is it you doing this?"
No!
She believes him. Whatever is happening, it absolutely is not a prank; nothing about the energy surrounding them is light and funny. The air is heavy despite the wild drafts, and, Abigail thinks, it smells like Alex's Grandpa. Like old people do. Maybe even worse than Alex's Grandpa. The stink is so pronounced that even her nose, weakened by the flu, wouldn't have mistaken it for anything else.
LJK,J|,S
"I'm scared," Sam whispers.
Abigail is scared now, too, although she would never admit it. This new presence feels ancient, dark, and—
SCREWUIVAN
And so angry. Its hatred stretches for miles.
Abigail does her best to continue looking at the spirit board, in case the ghost will make its intentions clear, or pass a message to the living.
SCREWUVASILISA
But the ghost isn't even talking to them—simply channeling its rage. A horrible suspicion is starting to form in Abigail's head.
"Sebastian, are you haunted by a malevolent spirit?"
Yes!
Both of them jump up in unison, and the planchette flies into the empty fireplace and goes up in flames, and the board hovers above the table for a few more seconds, unmoving, then crashes into the nearest wall, and crashes again, and again, until nothing but splinters is left.
The ghost is trying to frighten them, maybe even attempting to take over the house or at least the library. Sebastian seems to still be resisting with everything he's got, but some furniture items are being wrestled out of his grasp and flown around, and it appears like he's wrestling them back, and not all of it is successful. More books are dropping, and the process is gaining in speed.
Sam is whimpering and shaking. He's paralyzed with fear. But they can't stay here! If more books start falling, especially from the shelves high above, Abigail and Sam could get buried under them in a matter of seconds!
Abigail grabs his paw, pulls him by it, and, dodging the flying heavy volumes, they sprint towards the door, then down the corridor where lights are flickering, and the old fashioned glass shades over them are chiming as if they're about to break.
She's still very weak, and her lungs and legs are screaming at her, and she nearly stumbles several times. She might have fallen if it wasn't for Sam.
The chickens have left the dining hall and are running panicked circles on the stairwell, flapping their wings, startled by the commotion.
"Hugs, cupcakes, rainbows, and butterflies!" screams Missy. The poor thing is terrified!
"Grab them, grab them!"
Not without effort, but still careful not to use his claws, Sam scoops up the chickens with his arms, presses them to his chest, and Abigail starts running again, panting, and so does he; they don't stop until they're both in her bedroom and the door shuts behind them.
Complete silence descends, and it doesn't seem like the presence has reached this room, but they are still shaking. Abigail can't remain standing anymore, she plops down to the bed and pulls her legs up on instinct, in case anyone or anything is hiding under it. She's breathing in shaky gasps.
After catching his breath a little, Sam barricades the door with every chair in sight.
It's an aimless activity because ghosts can certainly go through doors, but it calms him somewhat. Missy shelters herself under the desk.
"Sebastian, are you alright?"
Yes.
"Are you hurting?"
No.
"Are you scared?"
No.
Unsure if it's bravery or bravado. Feels like a large portion of him is concentrated inside this room, too, as if he's withdrawn from everywhere else, as if he's also frightened and is trying to hide alongside them.
Abigail asks a few more questions to determine if he needs help, but he insists that he doesn't and that the evil presence is no longer active.
After sniffing around every corner and making sure there is no danger, Sam turns back to her. "Can I stay with you? Feels safer here."
"Yes, of course."
Then, in a very quiet voice, he asks, "And lay down next to you?"
She nods.
Abigail and Sam hide under the covers and shake like children in the darkness, until their fear subsides a little. Outside, nothing seems to be on the verge of breaking, and everything around them is silent, and crickets are chirping through the window, but—
"What even was that?" mumbles Sam.
"A ghost of someone evil," Abigail tells him, with confidence, and hugs him tighter. "I think. Ghosts can't do a lot of damage normally, but Sebastian isn't normal, and this place is already cursed, and—"
What if it was the same person that had placed the curse? Does this mean they're dead? How come the curse hasn't been lifted if they're dead? And what exactly caused this entity-person-thing-ghost to become so agitated?
Normally, ghosts are raging when they have unfinished business in this world, or when the body hasn't been buried or cremated in a proper way. She wishes she knew more about it, she wishes she could find the right books about this aspect of the occult, and read them, but the library is out of reach for now, it wouldn't be wise to try and go there.
"What were we talking about when it appeared? Do you remember?"
"Yeah, actually, I do. I was saying that we'll get rid of the last roses tomorrow."
Abigail's heart starts pounding once more.
"And you also said that you'll be the one to do it."
He's helped her a lot with the garden, but so far he hasn't uprooted a single bush on his own.
What if it's not a ghost of a person at all? What if it's those nasty stinky useless roses, what if this is their last ditch attempt to survive or keep the curse going? Yes, they haven't talked before, but who knows, maybe they needed time to find a way, a channel; to recognize that the spirit board was it?
Sam falls asleep with his arms clenched around her, yet Abigail stays awake for a long time after, alert, strained, thinking, wondering, listening for any suspicious sound. Sebastian seems to be awake, too, and right here.
Abigail's fear is getting replaced by determination. If the roses are so scared of Sam pulling them, then he should absolutely be the one to pull them.
Plus, although she thinks it's not the proper time to feel excited about such things, she is really glad that Sam hasn't retreated into his own room, and is sleeping next to her again, and that Sebastian is here, too.
As soon as the light of dawn starts streaming through her window, Abigail is awake and resolute. She disentangles herself from Sam's warm and fluffy embrace, and, after placing a kiss on his muzzle, gets up and goes through her morning routine.
There's a tray laden with food waiting for her when she comes back from the bathroom, and chickens are already eating whole grain feed in the corner. They didn't lay any eggs; either it's too early, or they have been too stressed out by the evening's events.
"We need to get rid of the roses," she whispers, addressing Sebastian. "As soon as possible."
Yes, he taps quietly in response.
"Feast your wretched ears on demonic billows as they roll across the underworld!"
Must be some very delicious feed, Missy sounds excited.
"Shhhh!" Abigail says to her. But it's too late, Sam is awake.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he mumbles. "Did anything happen while I was out?"
No.
"Not that I'm aware of," confirms Abigail. "But I think we should get to work."
"Agreed."
Some furniture is still scattered around, but there is no unpleasant smell, and nothing is getting broken. They tell Sebastian not to worry and promise to clean him up right after they are done with the roses.
Sam's method works quite well. They help each other tie the rope—one brought along with the wooden boards from the town's carpenter—around each bush, and pull it out, then drag it to the pit, and drop it, and repeat. They take breathers to eat and rest, and do not talk much, concentrating on the task at hand.
Abigail thinks, now that the end of this endeavor is finally in sight, perhaps she may allow herself to be even more optimistic than just 'cautiously optimistic'? But she is very superstitious, so Abigail pushes these thoughts away so as not to jinx anything.
They uproot rose bushes until there is only one left, in the very middle, and it's a big one. Unnaturally big. Perhaps the biggest one of all.
They tie a long rope around the last bush, and Sam takes hold of the rope and starts to pull the rose bush out of the ground. He pulls and pulls, but it is just too big for him alone, and he cannot pull it out. So he calls Abigail to help.
Abigail takes hold of him, and Sam takes hold of the rope tied to the rose bush, and they pull and pull, but cannot pull it out. The rose bush is just too big for the two of them. So Abigail calls Sebastian to help.
They tie the other end of the rope to one of his window panes, he takes hold of the other end of the rope, Abigail takes hold of Sam, Sam takes hold of the rope tied to the rose bush and they pull and pull. But the rose bush is just too big for the three of them, and they cannot pull it out.
So Sebastian calls the chickens to help. The chickens are supposed to take hold of him, Sebastian's window pane is supposed to take hold of the end of the rope, Abigail is supposed to take hold of Sam, and Sam is supposed to take hold of the rope tied to the rose bush and pull and pull until they pull it out.
But the chickens are just chickens, and all of this is, frankly, not working out at all and might have been a stupid idea in the first place.
"Behold the oceans of lava and the bottomless abyss of—"
"Shhh." She turns to Sam. "Any new ideas?"
Sam scratches his muzzle. "Well, he can't pull with his window pane. Maybe because it's a pain," he giggles sheepishly, "in the a—"
"Got it," Abigail interrupts, stifling a giggle too.
"But let's see if he can help pull it with his foot!"
So they decide to dig out his nearest foot and see if it would be able to take hold of the rope. And, indeed, his chicken foot takes hold of the rope, and in this way Sebastian takes hold of the rope, and Abigail takes hold of the rope, and Sam takes hold of the rope because physics-wise it's much more logical, and, of course, the chickens don't take hold of the rope because they're chickens, and they pull and pull and finally manage to pull the last rose bush out and out comes the rose bush. The lesson here is that there is value in working toge— Value in the. The.
"Damnit."
That's one way of putting it, thinks Abigail after they drag the bush away between beds, step closer to the cavity and their eyes fix on what was hidden beneath the very last rose bush that they just pulled out and out came the rose bush.
In addition to the "damnit", Sam utters a couple of expressions that once again mention mothers in an unseemly way.
At least now Abigail knows what's been fertilizing the soil around them.
"Is that a dead human person?"
"A skeleton," says Abigail. Wide pelvis, short legs, small hands, small feet. "Of a woman."
The bones that the biggest rose bush was seemingly growing out of are also very frail.
She was very old when she died, and had a disfigurement in the form of a hump. But the most unusual thing of all…
"Is that a nose bone?"
"Yes, I think it is. A nose bone. A bone nose," Abigail replies, stuttering a little and still gawking at the skeleton. "Noses don't usually have bones sticking out, but this is. A nose. Bone. And a hump. And I think that's a hip replacement."
"Right. Well," mutters Sam, scratching the back of his neck, "I'm pretty sure I killed this lady."
She swings around to look at him with eyes wide. "What makes you think so? Do you remember anything about her?"
"Not a thing. But come on. I'm a Beast, I have claws and fangs and stuff. What else could have killed her, who else? Then I just forgot about it."
Abigail shakes her head. "No. It's impossible, I refuse to believe it. You wouldn't kill anyone, you're way too kind. And I think it's her ghost that was trying to scare us yesterday, and she had been old when she died, so… Not such a big loss either way, let's be honest here. But if she was the one who cast the curse, then maybe we are on the cusp of having it lifted."
"Really? So what do we do now?"
"We can cremate the skeleton. But this might change everything right away, turning you back into humans."
A large canister of gasoline appears right next to them again.
Looks like Sebastian has finally made a decision.
…It changes nothing. Well, not any of the things Abigail was hoping would change, but at least the ghost has departed this world and will not be returning, or so Sebastian assures them.
As they, still in shock, distract themselves by burying Sebastian's foot, reading the assembly manual for the chicken coop and sorting out the boards and nails, nobody gets turned back into humans, and Sam still can't leave, and the metal fence is not collapsing, and after they tidy Sebastian up and eat supper together, Sam still asks the question.
Even worse, he once again hastily wishes her a good night and runs up the stairs to his own room, and she remains all alone once more.
Abigail is having trouble sleeping. So if that old lady was the one who placed the curse—she did look like an old witch, after all—then why is it not going away? What is Abigail doing wrong?
And why do Sam and Sebastian keep avoiding her at night? She should ask them outright. Maybe it's somehow tied to the curse as well.
Early in the morning she gets up and goes to inspect and water the garden. Now that the roses are gone, the whole area looks much more pleasing to the eye: everything is growing very well, and if Sebastian was a regular house or, better yet, if there was a regular house in place of Sebastian, his grounds would have reminded her of that big farm—only, surrounded by woods.
At the thought of the three of them living here like normal humans, in a rustic farmhouse, with a garden and a well and a pond and a coop with chickens, Abigail smiles, but then immediately feels like crying. What if it's never going to happen?! What if he will remain a house forever?
She is about to head back when M. Rasmodius shows up.
Usually he comes in the afternoons, and he explains his non-traditional timing right after asking how she is doing; turns out, his agents have returned and brought news.
Abigail tells him about the skeleton.
"Ah. About that. The reason for me not being able to enter is indeed a family issue."
"So it was your ex-wife?"
"Not quite. You see, Baba Yaga, my ex-wife's estranged grandmother, had settled here some years ago. A wealthy immigrant, allegedly a political refugee. Claiming persecution carried out by her ancient nemesis who went by the codename of either 'the Fool' or 'the Ninny', she had decided to escape and spend her retirement in Stardew Valley, right in this forest clearing, according to my sources. No doubt intending to cause additional trouble and succeeding... Her nemesis did not follow, having earned half a kingdom to rule and a princess to marry shortly before her departure. Priorities, I suppose. But I am guessing that the skeleton explains what ultimately happened to Madam Yaga."
"To a c-certain point," Abigail says with caution. "If he didn't follow, then it's still unclear who or what killed her."
Because it definitely wasn't Sam.
Pursing his lips, M. Rasmodius shrugs, and his tone of voice is lugubrious. "I reckon, age. She was really very old, you see." He counts on his fingers, curling them one by one. "Osteoporosis, coronary heart disease, deep vein thrombosis, strokes, shingles ... Being elderly is not fun at all, or so I hear." He shakes his head and sighs deeply. "Although she was supposed to be immortal. But, of course, immortality is quite a relative concept. Perhaps she should have stayed in her home country instead of coming here."
Oh God, he's not one of those people, is he?!
"Immigration helps the economy," declares Abigail, feeling defensive again, and folds her arms.
He heaves another deep and mournful sigh. "Sure. But not this type of it, I am afraid."
Maybe it was his former grandmother-in-law. Maybe it is, indeed, her skeleton that they found in the garden. It all checks out.
But a curse that continues after the evil witch's death might be a problem more serious than Abigail anticipated. Yes, the old evil lady will do no more harm, but if it's something so strong that it remained after her demise… Logically, it's much more tricky to lift.
Whatever, she's not giving up. She's never going to give up, not until Sam and Sebastian are free.
After voicing her inconclusive conclusions, Abigail admits to M. Rasmodius, "But it's discouraging. Do you have any suggestions on how I should proceed?"
"Indeed I do."
"And the rivers shall run red with the blood of the nonbelievers!"
"But perhaps you should be responsible and feed the chickens first."