And somewhere above, in Room 7, a single lamp flickered on, casting a warm golden square onto the rain-slicked pavement below.
Then he walked inside.
Behind him, the door to the street clicked shut and locked itself. The grandfather clock with no hands began to chime—thirteen times. Welcome to the Peeg House-
The first was a pig. But not like any pig on a farm. This one was the size of a bulldog, with bristly ginger hair and spectacles perched on its snout. It held a tiny cup of tea in its trotters and was reading a newspaper upside down.
Leo took a breath.
“Mr. Morning,” the pig said, finally lowering its newspaper. Its eyes were small and kind and terribly old. “He comes by on Tuesdays. Nice enough, for a thing that collects debts in screams. You’ll be in Room 7. Rent’s due on the full moon. We take cash, canned peaches, or secrets you’ve never told anyone.”
Room to let. Cheap. Inquire within.
Leo stared at it, then down at the flyer crumpled in his fist.