One morning the Wasp will find coffee already prepared, steaming and inviting. There’s warm cookies, not a speak of burnt dough around them, they pull apart in an ooey-gooey mess of melted chocolate.

Next to the plate is the gleam of metal. Keys, to the home the wasp had rested these passed nights, and to Edna’s where many lost had done the same, on a ring with a fabric wasp charm, embroidered by hand.

Under the keys is a paper full of a messy scrawl of ink.

Coco ,
Sorry. I just, I need to do this and I’m sorry to have to up and leave, but you’ve seen my mantle I’m full of fear. So of course I’m a coward.
I’m not going to be gone forever.
And you have my number, bug me all you want!
The place is yours, and Edna’s is yours in trust for the next Autumn to come. Move it back, or leave it as Funderland’s Haunted House, I trust you to make the right decision.
Love, Mhairi