"It was originally designed as a cards room," Mr. Yang explained, leading the nauseous applicant across the living back toward the kitchen. "I don't play cards, to begin with, but it's functioned quite well for the past few years as a playroom for the children." Passing by the large dining table and around the circular fieldstone hearth of the adjacent fireplace, Mr. Yang threw open a pair of double doors into another light-soaked space.

Matthew turned away, hand over his mouth. “O-oh.”

"I have not been able to detect the smell," he began calmly, folding his hands behind his back, "and previous nannies have no desire to clean a room in this state." He turned to Matthew. "I've decided to make it part of the assessment."

"You c –" He removed his hand from his lips, eyes scanning the space.

The playroom, an awkwardly square room, possessed the same floor-to-ceiling doors with circular motif. A smaller, circular fireplace shared the same flue with the dining room's, its hearth stacked with boxes labeled "TOYS" and "MISC." Toddler-sized furniture lay scattered about the floor, almost every space taken up by either a discarded toy, a toy piece, or scraps of what must've been an art project. The concrete floor glistened from stickiness patches, felt only when Matthew's slippers momentarily refused to leave the ground. Beyond the doors was a sheltered pavilion, half-circled and framed in long ovals, with views of the outstretched lawn.

Matthew turned back to the older man. "I'm doing this alone?"

"Of course not." He paused, which felt deliberate. "You're doing it with the children." Taking in a quick breath, Mr. Yang continued, "You see, getting the children to do anything has been a point of contention with previous nannies. This assessment weeds out those who can and those who cannot."

Matthew swallowed and stared back into the playroom. "Who's succeeded at this so far?"

"Three."

He turned back to the older man. “Success – this is what you consider successful? It smells like mildew and something decomposing This is a health hazard. What's successful about this?”

Mr. Yang's glare could cut glass.

Matthew turned away. He took in a strained breath. 'Maybe this is where the desperation comes into play. The bar's supremely low,' he mused, trying to sooth his nerves.  The new uncomfortable tinge in his stomach made him feel…hopeful, even if it was utterly unearned.

“Such wonderful honesty,” the older man said, his tone dripping in sarcasm.

He kept his eyes turned away. “S-sorry.”

"Again, it seemed my children have the unfortunate power of driving them mad without the need for cleaning." Stepping back, Mr. Yang started walking back toward his office. "I'll send you the children now."

He immediately crossed the room to throw the pavilion doors open. Cool, rain-scented air blew through, but even that seemed to diminish Matthew's spirits. Bicycles, scooters, plastic paint easels, dead leaves, and garbage collected.

"Oh my God," he muttered, turning his back to the pavilion. Matthew popped a piece of nicotine gum into his mouth, hoping that would settle his stomach. It didn't.

Small clusters of flies buzzed about the room.

What smelled like vinegar and wet, hot trash?

"Who're you?"

Matthew looked up as Lilly and Elliot moved around the built-in bench across from the fireplace.

As soon as the children met Matthew's gray eyes, Elliot was the first one to smile. "Hey, it's you!" The boy trotted over and grabbed Matthew's hand. "Did you see the voodoo doll? I took a picture of it and gave it to Uncle Jun. He said he'd send it." His head tilted to the side. "Why's your nose crooked? Was it always like that? I didn't make the doll like that. Can I break it so it matches?"

"What happened?" Matthew asked, pulling his hand away. "How does this, somehow, smell worse than what happened in the kitchen? How did I not smell this?"

Lilly shrugged, knocking her knuckles against the large doors. "They're big doors, and they're, like, Ziploc bags," she supplied, but that seemed like an unsatisfactory answer to him.

Elliot then pointed to a blackened, moldy spot in the corner. "I mean, probably because that smells like pickles, too. I was using pickle juice, too. Oh! I got my lockpicking kit, and – "

Matthew wiped his forehead and sighed. "Okay, we, we've got to clean this up. This is a health hazard, and –"

"No," Elliot replied on cue. “This room is awesome. It's wet and smelly and I lost so many pets in here.”

“Eli, it smells funky!” Lilliana noted.

“That's the decay!” he insisted. He turned back to Matthew. “I'm not cleaning it.”

Matthew's eyes narrowed. "I gave you my hair." He took in a breath. "Also, have you been pricking me in my left arm?"

The boy's eyes widened. "Yes, but – "

"Well, stop it. It's weird and I don't like it."

"You said you wanted to know what it felt like," Elliot replied matter-of-factly.

He clenched his jaw and groaned. "I gave you hair. We're cleaning this room up. Lilly, can you get some gloves?" Matthew caught a whiff of something rotting, which made him turn in hopes of finding the source. "M-maybe some masks, too."

"What kind of gloves? Throwaway-able? Plastic? The stretchy ones? We don't have masks, I think, too."

"Literally, anything," he instructed. "Every single, every single cleaning thing you can find. Rags, vacuums, dustpans, spray bottles. If you have masks, grab them. I'll take rain boots if you have them." He nodded to Elliot. "Can you help her?"