_I should have stolen a broom from work last night_, I think to myself as I trudge through the storm, muddy boots slapping the sidewalk. Then I could have flown right over this mess of sideways rain and howling winds. _And_ been able to avoid the house on King Street. It’s coming up ahead now on the right; I can see the points of its steeply pitched roof peeking through dying pine trees. The closer I get, the more clear it becomes that the roof is missing shingles, that vines crawl up the sides of the walls, and that the yard is a cemetery for once-loved possessions. A cloud of fog suffocates the piles of abandoned furniture pieces and car parts. Above, dark gray clouds loom. But what prickles my skin with goosebumps is the cold gaze of the Watching Man. Everyone I’ve asked doesn’t know what his real name is, so that's what I’ve started calling him. Because every morning, he sits hunched over on the crooked steps leading up to his porch and stares at me unblinking as I pass by on my way to work. And every morning, without fail, something goes awry after I walk past. I’ve been chased by a three-headed dog who escaped from its leash; I’ve tripped and spilled my ridiculously expensive coffee; I’ve had a cyclist nearly crash into me; I could go on. Today, the old man sits still as a statue while a floating umbrella shields him from the rain. The only moving part of him? His shockingly blue eyes as they follow me along the sidewalk and onto a small wooden bridge. An unruly beard covers the entire lower half of his face. His skin is a roadmap of purple veins and sun spots and wrinkles. I quicken my pace, expecting nothing less than to be struck down by lightning at this point. Under me, the overflowing river gushes with brown water. Cawing crows seek shelter in the trees. The sound of my phone ringing brings me to a stop in the middle of the bridge. I dry my hands on my uniform, then retrieve my phone from my satchel, my pulse quickening with the hope that it’s from Landen. _Mom_, my screen reads. I’ve already been dodging too many of her calls, so I answer. “Honey, I’ve been trying to get to you all week. When are we going to meet up for coffee?” She asks. I press my phone to my ear. “Sorry, I’ve been really busy at work. It seems like we’re the go-to shop for witches in this town, the brooms keep flying off the shelves.” Pun intended. She doesn’t laugh. “How are things going with starting your home renovation business?” “Good,” I lie. I glance over my shoulder to find the Watching Man still staring at me. This is getting out of hand. “Listen, Mom, I’m kinda in the middle of something right now. I will call you back as soon as I can,” I say before hanging up and spinning around on my heel. With a queasy feeling in my stomach, I march back over to the Watching Man, hoping my strides seem confident since I’m feeling anything but. Regardless of my nerves, I need to figure out why this random old man is hell-bent on cursing me for all eternity. I check the time on my phone, I have exactly twenty minutes to spare.  In front of his rusty metal gate, I stop and ask, “Excuse me, sir. Do we know each other?” I see emotion on his face for the first time: surprise and maybe a touch of embarrassment? A tinge of pink spreads across his cheeks.  He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, you just remind me of someone.” Unconvinced, I ask, “Who?” He stands up slowly, and I can practically hear his joints screaming in defiance. The Watching Man waddles over to me, taking his time to step around all the junk that consumes his front yard. An overly formal blazer and slacks hang off his slim bones. He’s only a few feet away from me now, but he has a far-away look in his eye. A bittersweet smile tugs on the corners of his lips. “You look nearly identical to my sister when she was your age.” He pulls out a small black-and-white photograph from his pocket and hands it to me. It shimmers and grows warm between my fingers. Stray raindrops do nothing to mar it, standing no chance against the protective enchantment he must have placed on it. The woman in the picture takes my breath away. It’s almost like I’m looking into a mirror. “You’re right,” I say. We have the same wavy, brown hair and straight eyebrows framing our big, round eyes. She’s gazing towards her left, a wide smile on her face, like she’s looking at someone she loves. She wears a collared sweater of sorts with buttons running down the length of it. “Seeing you is like being able to see my sister again,” he says, his words sincere. “I’m sorry if I seemed like a scary old man, I should have just said hello.” I hand him back the picture. “It’s okay,” I say, and I mean it. “I’m Olivia.”  The gate creaks as he opens it, its hinges desperately in need of some oil, and we shake hands. “Nice to meet you. I’m Herbert.” _Herbert_, it’s a nice name—way better than the Watching Man. I wince, feeling like a horrible person. I let myself blame him for a series of “curses”, when in reality they were just every-day mishaps. And now that I think about it, many of them even had some silver linings. If I hadn’t gotten chased down the street by a drooling, three-headed dog, I probably would have never sought cover in that random spellbook shop where I met Landen, who I am going on a date with tonight and am absolutely crazy about.  I must have zoned out for a few seconds and been absentmindedly staring at Herbert’s yard because he says, “Please excuse the mess. To be honest, I’ve let myself and my home go since Carla passed away.” My throat tightens, I can’t help but think about my mom. She’s a decade or two younger than Herbert, but still. “I’m really sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to lose someone so close to you.” He looks off into the distance again. “Thank you. We were thick as thieves. Even planned to buy houses down the road from each other once we had families of our own. I always pictured my children playing in the backyard with their cousins every day after school. But time slipped away from us.” He chuckles, but his eyes are glossy. “Now look, my neighbors are chain restaurants.” Herbert turns his attention back to me. “Don’t end up like me, kid, a bag of bones sitting alone on a broken step, watching the world go by. Spend your time with the people you love, doing what you love.” I nod, taking his words to heart. I work tirelessly that Friday night to finish designing and printing business cards advertising my passion: home renovation. The next morning, my mom and I get lattes from a cute coffee shop before I stop by Herb’s to give him my business card and a pastry. He tells me he feels blessed to be my first client.