“‘The Perfect Garden’ was what people called it. Its fragrant scent of jasmines and roses attracted crowds of travelers from all roads, its elegant ebony branches reaching past the sleek redwood gates, beckoning, welcoming. A marble path led to the center of the garden, where a stone fountain the size of a willow tree sat, spewing shimmering azure water day and night. The garden was perfect. Almost too perfect. No one trimmed the rose bushes. No one watered the primroses and weeping willows. No one planted the flowers, the trees, or the berry bushes. They didn’t need to. However, the garden harbored a secret that only the residents knew. The secret? I’m afraid it will be too dark for your young ears. I don’t want to send you to bed with nightmares about Harkness. Maybe when you’re older.

“Now, where is this garden, you ask? Well, nobody knows, my darlings. Now go to sleep. You don’t want to wake up late on a school day. Sweet dreams.” 

The old women turned off the electric fireplace as the children scampered to bed. From the shadows came a hiss. “Hello, Harkness. Long time no see.”

The old women grinned. “Ah, Syrus, my old friend. Good to see you.”