 I heard the bells jingle on the door and looked up for my sweeping to say, We were just getting ready to close up shop. I was the only one working, but my boss insisted I always use we. I suppose he thought it was safer that way. The old Boston neighborhood sometimes got a little dicey at night. The gentleman smiled politely and nodded. I'll be quick. At least I'll try. He said, tipping his silver-topped cane. He was young, looked to be in his late 30s, well-dressed with a long black leather coat. He walked, favoring his left leg. As he perused the aisles filled with bouquets of lilies, daisies, and carnations, he made his way towards our largest display, roses, of every color imaginable. I was in no hurry. It was Valentine's Day, and my work part-time at the flower shop over the last three years had taught me that going above and beyond on this particular day could yield some extremely nice tips. Between the fact that my car payment was due on the 15th and after making said payment I would be left with exactly $172 in my bank account. I had told my boss that I would be happy to keep the flower shop open late. As a guy, I knew that Valentine's Day could kind of sneak up on you. And as I was not in a relationship at the moment, the least I could do was assist my fellow travelers in their romantic endeavors. Are you looking for something particular? I asked. Searching, he paused, then smiled. I'll take two dozen of these. He pointed towards a vase filled with dark red roses named Eternity. They were so dark in color that they were almost a velvety black. And I would like one single white rose at the center. Very nice choice. Would you like them in a gift box or a vase? I asked. Looking up to the counter, he paused. As he looked directly at me, I could see a hint of sadness in his eyes. The thing is, I have a rather unusual request. I need them delivered tonight. And to my exact specifications. I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was just past 10. When I looked back at him, he was pulling an envelope from his coat pocket. There's $2,000 cash inside. You can keep it for yourself. Off the books, so to speak. I glanced at the packet as he said it on the counter, hesitated, then asked, what exactly would I be delivering? He chuckled and shook his head. Just the flowers, that's all. It's the location that you may have a problem with. Allow me to explain. Many years ago, I met my one true love. I won't go into detail, but for me, there will be no other. It became our tradition, if you will, on every Valentine's Day and exactly midnight. I would present her with a single white rose, surrounded by dark red roses. Pausing, his voice turned grim as he continued, a few years ago, she was taken for me. I wasn't there. I would have stopped. He paused to gather himself, then went on. That's then, every year and exactly midnight. I place the flowers on her grave. She is buried at the Forest Hills Cemetery, it's not far from here. The main gates are locked by 11, but there is a small iron gate that is left open. I always do it myself, but this year, he lifted the cane. So will you make the delivery? I was silent for a long moment. I thought about my car payment, and I thought about how long it would take me to earn $2,000. Okay, I said, I'll do it. He nodded and handed me another envelope. These are the instructions. I filled them explicitly. Turning away, he moved slowly towards the door. The bells jangled again. I watched through the window as he walked across the darkened street, and disappeared around a corner. I busied myself closing up the shop, all the while thinking about my bizarre assignment. I considered letting my boss know, but I wanted to keep the cash for myself. So I put on my jacket, pocketed both envelopes, picked out the two dozen red roses plus one white, and headed for my car. It was cold, so as I waited for my car to warm up, I opened the set of instructions. Nothing too strange, just directions to the cemetery and the location of her grave with a little hand-drawn map. I was to place the roses exactly at midnight and light a candle. Entering Forest Hills Cemetery into my phone, I pulled out of the parking lot. Twenty minutes later, I was parked along the street adjacent to the cemetery. It was 11.30. I found the small gate unlocked and walked through. It opened onto a path that meandered and branched out to several other paths. I referred to the hand-drawn map included with the instructions to keep from getting lost. The place was vast and surrounded by woods. There was a light breeze that kept the clouds moving slowly across a near full moon. As I walked, I thought ironically what a perfect night for a walk through an eerie cemetery. After about 15 minutes, I arrived at the final turn-off. The marker said coves rest and it looked to be in the oldest section. The stones were large and worn, some had statues of angels and huge marble crosses. The path the dead ended at her grave, which turned out not to be a grave, but a small mausoleum, a little stone house with four pillars, and a door with a small window. A few feet in front of the door was a bench facing a stone circle, with a large gray marble vase at the center. Sitting the flowers down on the bench, I checked my phone, 1155. The second I laid my eyes on the little stone house, which, by the way, looked absolutely ancient, I began to feel on edge. I started to think about the nameless gentleman who paid in cash, and the thought occurred to me that he was the only person on earth who knew where I was. 1158. Two minutes to go. I could wait two minutes. Looking back at the mausoleum, I noticed a small ledge just under the window. It held a candle, presumably the one I was supposed to light, and what looked to be a box of matches. One minute left. I gathered the flowers, put the white rose hastily in the center, and stood at the ready, because when my phone clicked over to midnight, I was getting the hell out of there. The wind picked up. Even so, I thought that I heard something scurry inside the little stone house. Probably just rats. The final second ticked by. It was midnight. I practically threw the roses into the urn. Then half ran the few steps to the door of the mausoleum. With shaking hands, I opened the matchbook. The first one didn't light. Swearing now, I tried another. It burst into flame. Protecting it from the wind, I lit the candle. The sudden light from the match had temporarily blinded me, so I didn't see the woman's hand reach out from the window. I felt it close like a vice around my wrist. I screamed and tried to pull away, but she held on. Her grip was like steel, and it was as cold as ice. The grip tightened until I felt the bones in my wrist stress to the breaking point, and I was pulled forward. I was being slowly forced into the crypt. First my fingers, then my wrist disappeared through the window into darkness. And in that black darkness, I thought I saw two cold blue eyes looking back at me. Be desperate now, I reached for my pocket knife, snapped it open, and stabbed at her hand. I must have hit something, because she loosened her grip. Pulling back with all my strength, I heard a snapping sound. Then I landed hard on the cold ground. I was up and running in a millisecond, and I never stopped, even when I lost the path. I just kept running until I found a section of fence. Then I practically threw myself up and over the top. It took me quite a while to find my car, but I finally made it home. Some time has passed now, and I try not to think too much about it. Not if I want to sleep at night. But on some cold winter nights, I wonder. I wonder about the other people he sent as a gift on Valentine's Day's past. And I wonder about the inscription above the door of the Little Stone House, Love Eternal.