"I was the one who found Valet’s corpse on the shore, but I wasn’t the one to name him. I wasn’t the one to practically enslave him. I wasn’t the one to study him like he was some specimen. No, that honor lies on Victor Brodeur. 

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Brodeur was a scientist, an outcast from society as he enjoyed rifling through animal carcasses and poking skeptically at reality’s bonds. Despite the violent nature of his studies, he reaped a fortune and built a mansion back in 1845, then he settled down with his wife and daughter. 

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Finding Valet, a living corpse, was a gift from God to him. Brodeur scrutinized the man. ‘How are you alive?’ ‘Were you cursed?’ ‘What happened to you?’ As you can expect, Valet didn’t have the foggiest idea of who he was and how he had died. The only hints he had was an engraved bell of tides and oceans, and his lungs that burbled with water. The poor man was bombarded by Brodeur, and he gave in. Gave in to every little demand or question Brodeur had. He wasn’t as confident then.

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With nowhere left to go, Valet stayed as Brodeur’s personal butler at his mansion, heeling when he was called. I was never fond of this behavior. To listen unquestioningly, refusing to disagree and speak out even slightly? It was criminal.

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But, we did become eventual friends despite everyone calling him a monster, something sent by the Devil. He was a good man and he could quote lines from even the most obscure of literature. Besides, I kept late hours and it was nice to have a companion while I burnt the midnight oil. ‘When my labor contract with Brodeur is up,’ I told him one night, ‘I’ll return home an accomplished man! Sweep into the house, kiss my dear daughters and Celestine on the cheek and maybe write a novel or two.’ He had smiled good naturally then but I doubted he understood what it meant to me. He couldn’t recall anything since his death: no father, no mother, no life besides the mansion’s walls. 

 

God had returned him to Earth with nothing. 

Nothing except the old clothes off his back filled with used tissues, pocket change, letters that had lost their readability, and a bell.

Ironically enough, the bell, the individual thing to possibly tie him to who he was, was his own damnation as well. Even now, its ring prompted him to jump, whatever task in hand slipping from his grasp. I hated that damn bell more than even he did. Why, Brodeur could puppeteer Valet as Frollo did to Quasimodo. 

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‘Valet, I believe it’s just about two past noon, let’s walk,’ Brodeur would say with a Devil’s smile. Walking… his own word for another ‘observational study’ on the curse that Valet was afflicted with.

I, having given up on attempting to convince Valet of otherwise, would watch as he folded his hands together behind his back with a vapidly polite beam and the two would disappear down the plantations, the bell jingling with Monsieur’s every step. 

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That night, I had asked him would he leave Brodeur’s side if he had somewhere else to go. He merely gave an uncertain answer in response. Before I left to bed that night, I suggested to him to try to remember. Maybe a wife or a sister of some kind? He nodded hollowly.

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The next several years were characterized by bits and pieces. Valet took my advice to heart, but he often came up fruitless until the briefest of flashes, similar to hallucinations. The first time it happened, he made a racket pounding on my door and came in, jabbering about this and that. ‘I recall a face, I… I think she was my mother. Yes, I’m certain! And, and a father as well! I--I remember! I had a life, I was free!’ He was the most enthusiastic I have ever seen him, and since then, he would notify me of updates with the greatest of passion. 

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As Valet remembered, I would listen. A music teacher there, an orchestra director here, and a fiancée. I promised him after my contract expired, I’ll help him find these ghosts and spectres.

However, that specific date never came to fruition.

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A year before my contract was to expire and I could return home, I got caught in one of Brodeur’s damned machines. The thing mangled my face, and while one of the doctors did great fortunate work to fix it, it meant another half-decade added to my record. Another five damn years. I was so close to returning home. Almost there, but Brodeur just couldn’t let me go, could he? He wished to profit and profit and profit. 

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Unlike Valet, I was not to be a slave. 

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A rebellion was in order. I led it, told them that no matter how hard we worked or how bloody our hands got, we’ll never be free. We’ll never be truly human. The servants agreed. Many of them have spent their entire lives wasting away here, hoping for God that their contract will expire and they can return home, but to no avail. We were planning to wipe Brodeur off the Earth.

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However, Valet was taken aback. He stumbled away from my cause, and resorted to cowering with Brodeur’s daughter, making friends with her as if it were a fairy tale. I told him it was our duty, and he seemed afraid. Selfish for a moment he was. 

But finally, Valet had given in and agreed. I am proud to say with the utmost pride, ou̵r̵ ̶r̴e̵b̴ë̸̤́ļ̷͆ĺ̸̪i̴̬͝ò̷̧ṅ̶͓ ̷̙̉ẁ̴̱ȧ̵̫s̵̺̿͂ ̴͕̮͆å̸͍̼ ̴̟̦̋s̵̜̞̔͠ů̵̦̮̗̱̞̲̏c̵̨̨͎͉̦͎͔̊̔č̵̼̭̻̀̿ͅȩ̶͆̂̍͌͆̎̊̕͝s̷̠̭̟̥̝̪͇̖̥͛̈̀̓̈͊s̴̱̱͎̰̬̮̙̩͆̎̾É̸̡̧̨̳̬̲̫̥̙̘̯̪͈͈̦͖̣̺̦͓̠̗͆̏̓͊̍̀̋̈́̎̈́̐̆̿̐͑́̌͗̂͜͜͝ͅŖ̵̡̨̧̢̫̜̥̳̪̼̰͇̥̙̱̮͍̻̗͉̰͈͚̥͓̠̦͇̝̗̮͆̊̄͋͌́̄̎̀̓̉̈́̽̏̂̀̽̔̐́̂̿̀̅͛͒̌̃̈̈́́͌̂̔͊̓̄̎̀͘͜͝͝Ŗ̸̛̰̰̠̭͈̯͕͓͉͚͙̰̠̠̱̖̟̝̝̬̝̤̥͚͙̼̆̿̋͂͆̽̅͋̿̇͑̀͑̒͒̂͛͋͂̋͊̌̀̊̅̌̑̇̑͊̚̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͝ͅǪ̶̧̨̨̛̛̤͖͓̦̜͍̼̰̥̠̹͙̭̼̭̖̦̜̲͎̭͇̭͓̜̗͚̪̳̖̝͈̹̼͒̍̋̃͑͊̌͒͆̑̃̈́̾̉̈́̾̓̒̋͛̌̓͗̏͒̊̿̄̾̒̅̈́͂̔̽̕͜͜͠͝͝͠͝͝͝R̷̡̖̜͈̳̺̥̙̼̙̥̳̼̣̩̖͈͋̐̋͆̓͛͌̈̓͆̆̋̔͑̽̽̊̕͘̕̕̚͠͝͠