The Twisted Presents Kickstarter has funded, yay! But there’s something odd about asking folks to back a book they haven’t read any of. The obvious solution is to share a chunk of the book for people to try. So here’s my story “The Last Hour of Hogswatch.” If you prefer epub, it’s also free on my bookstore.

When the campaign finishes, this story leaves my blog.

If you enjoy this, please consider backing the Kickstarter.

The Last Hour of Hogswatch

 

Snow streamed past the windshield like stars on the Enterprise’s screen, illuminated only by the pickup’s headlights. The distant taillights ahead might as well be as far away as the Klingon Empire for all the company they offered. Merle kept the digital dashboard turned down way low, to protect his vision. Endless cornfields on either faded in and out as ragged clouds veiled and unveiled the gibbous Moon. Straight out of a Hammer film. The dimness would usually make him sleepy enough that he’d have to crack a window so the cold on his face would keep him alert. Tonight he had the windows shut and the heat so up high he could taste the baking dust in the ducts. His heart still felt a puck of hamburger straight from the freezer.

Tires hummed on asphalt, the intermittent double thump of patches the only music.

Merle kept his breathing slow and deep. Panic wouldn’t help.

And he couldn’t just floor it and aim at a phone pole. Devorah still needed him. Needed him more than ever.

Even if she hadn’t shown up today.

For eighteen years, Devorah and Merle had spent every single Saturday before Christmas together. They’d called it Hogswatch, after Terry Pratchett’s fictionalized Christmas. Other people complicated Christmas, but Hogswatch was theirs. They’d watch a movie—Christmas Vacation, or Rare Exports. Something like that. They’d eat tiny bits of fancy food that they didn’t usually bother with the rest of the year, random delicacies that they found exploring weird little specialty shops. Cheese with mango in it. Squid pasta, or the goose pate he’d smuggled back from France. One year Merle had been stuck over in Manchester, in England, negotiating a buyout. He’d taken three torturous flights back starting Thursday night, spent Hogswatch with Devorah, and flown back on Sunday. They called it Jet Lag Hogswatch.

Hogswatch was important.

And Devorah hadn’t come.

They’d promised each other that nothing this side of death would keep them apart that day. The last couple of years had hinted that not even death would keep Devorah away. Not that she was dead. Not quite dead.

Fierce wind skittered snow like hail across the asphalt.

Caught side-on, the truck wobbled.

Merle eased his foot off the accelerator, letting the truck coast. Hit the brakes and you’d go right into the ditch.

Way ahead, distant taillights wobbled.

Vanished.

Twin dots of headlights swept into view and spun sickeningly away.

Merle’s hands clenched the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.

The taillights didn’t come back.

Merle grimaced. The dashboard clock said nine-twenty-seven.

Devorah might be waiting back at home.

Two and a half hours left of Hogswatch.

At ten below zero with wind like the breath of Frost Giants, his problems had to wait.

#

The first Hogswatch Eve after the accident, Merle had stopped on the way back from the hospital for a fifth of Makers’ Mark. He knew if he started drinking he’d never stop, but the next day was Hogswatch and he couldn’t think of any other way to survive the night. He woke the next morning with an empty bottle, an open sewer for a mouth, and a witch’s brew in his stomach.

Through all that, he could still smell the sheets. He hadn’t changed them in weeks. There wasn’t a reason to. The bed made a warm greasy nest that suited the wreck of his life.

But it was Hogswatch. He had to get to the clinic. Soon as he could. They were reading Night Watch. For when his voice gave out, he’d loaded a couple of movies onto a tablet. White Christmas and Gremlins. He hadn’t done much in the way of shopping, but he’d picked up a fruit and nut bar at the hospital gift shop a couple days ago. It was the first treat he’d ever bought her back in college, and all the feast he could handle.

The alternative was to lie here and cry. Again. Crying always made him feel worse.

He pulled open eyes like half-dried lumps of Elmer’s, and there she was. Plain as an empty bank account.

His heart stuttered.

Devorah was in her favorite pajamas, a onesie made to look like a NASA space suit. It always made him smile, and not just because she always wanted him to take it off her before bed. It was pure goofy fun, pure Devorah. Her hair was sleep-mussed and her eyes half open.

Merle could see the bedroom door, right through her.

He couldn’t have been more paralyzed if his brain had been damaged.

Her smile warmed him like a midwinter week in the Caribbean.

Then she was gone.

Merle lay there, not daring move. Not even daring question.

Finally he decided that it had to have been a leftover dream, with whiskey sauce. He wanted Devorah to be there. Wanted that more than he wanted to draw another breath. But it wasn’t going to happen. She could wake up. It was possible. She wasn’t going to, he knew she wasn’t going to, but she could. The doctors said there was always hope. The only hope he was permitted was that if she was still in there, she’d recognize his voice and know she was loved.

Drinking himself unconscious had been a mistake. It had been the only choice, but he needed to not do that again.

He guzzled a glass of water, gulped three aspirin, and stumbled into the shower until the hot water pummeled away the worst of the aches and he thought he could shave without cutting his own throat. Drying off, he felt almost human.

When he walked back into the bedroom to find some clothes, Devorah met him.

She wasn’t translucent. She was real. His eyes simply couldn’t latch on to her. She blocked his view of the shambles of a bed, and yet he could see the bed at the same time. She stood calf-deep in a heap of filthy laundry, somehow passing through it while still solid.

Merle’s mouth dropped open. His feet kept moving while the rest of him stopped, and he almost fell before he could grab the wall.

Devorah’s face was stricken. She held a hand at the bed, at the wallet and crumpled wads of receipts and the empty deodorant tube on the dresser. Her perfume and armoire were meticulous, right where she’d left them, but his side was a rat’s nest of belts and underwear and the socks he’d worn for three days. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

Then she was gone.

Gone.

How had he gotten down on the floor? How long had he stayed there? Long enough for the warmth of the shower to dissipate, for the carpet to scrape his naked butt.

His heart screamed Devorah had been there.

His brain knew she was lying on a gurney disguised as a bed.

His soul felt as divided as the sight of Devorah being there and not-there made his eyes.

He needed help. It was Hogswatch. No doctors worked Hogswatch. Mostly because it was Saturday. He could call the doctor Monday. If she kept showing up.

He wanted her to show up.

And the truth was? If Devorah could see him living like this, with dirty clothes everywhere and sheets that hadn’t been changed, she’d cry. The kitchen would probably send her into a barbarian rage.

He needed to get to the clinic.

But putting on a load of laundry, loading the dishwasher, and maybe picking up the trash wouldn’t take him more than an hour. She’d want him to do that. He’d known all along she’d want him to do that. He’d quit because she’d never know.

The half hour drive to the clinic had been spent ruminating on stress, on simultaneously caring for an invalid wife and holding a business together. He couldn’t do both. Not forever.

The clinic was the best his money could buy. The air was always a little bit perfumed, and it had enough air conditioning to suck away the unpleasant smells as soon as they showed. One hundred and twenty-six unresponsive patients made for a lot of unpleasant smells. The staff wore street clothes. Soft Christmas music filled the air, just loud enough to hear but not loud enough to drown out the beeps and the intercom and all the ways the clinic showed itself for what it was. After all these months, he knew the clinic like he knew the sound of Devorah’s laughter.

Merle’s heart still shuddered every day he walked into Devorah’s room and saw her pale face above the sheets. That day, he focused on cradling Devorah’s limp but warm hand in his and reading Pratchett’s tale of Captain Vimes stuck in his own past.

He couldn’t help chuckling at the bit where Vimes faced down an angry crowd with a mug of cocoa.

Devorah appeared again.

She was sitting on her bed, her rear planted in her unknowing body’s shoulder and her legs hanging over the edge. Silent laughter split her face. Quick as a flash she put her there-not-there hand over her own. Right where Merle was holding her.

A tiny bit of pressure, like a kitten’s breath, against his fingers.

And gone.

She reappeared to urge him to eat the chocolate bar.

A whisper of laughter at a White Christmas dance number.

A flash of a pointing finger when the aide offered him dinner, commanding him to accept.

Merle left the clinic that night with his heart overflowing.

He’d had to stretch that heartfull out for an entire year.

#

The road wasn’t slippery right here, but someone ahead had spun out. Merle put the high-beams on and let the pickup slow to a near coast. The snow shooting past the windshield slowed from warp five to warp one. Just the thought of going out in that made him feel even more chilled, but he already had the heat all the way up.

He could stop. Make sure everyone was okay. Maybe call for help, or a tow truck or something. It wouldn’t take long. He’d still have time to get home before Hogswatch ended.

Devorah hadn’t shown. He’d spent all day in a knot of trepidation and anticipation, and she hadn’t shown. Not once.

She wouldn’t know to look for him out on this empty road. Even if she did know, could she get here? Merle knew business, he knew law, and while he’d read everything he could get about Devorah’s conditions—both the one everyone knew of and the one nobody knew of—he had no idea what the rules were here. He had to get home, where he knew she could find him.

But he couldn’t abandon someone to freeze either. He wasn’t that kind of person. Devorah wouldn’t love that kind of person.

Eight miles home. Seven more to town. He’d be home before ten. Ten-thirty at the latest. Lots of time.

The truck crept forward. Merle kept his attention on the road.

Snow started filling the tire tracks on the asphalt. After an endless half mile, the road disappeared in a gleaming, shimmery reflection. Maybe a hundred yards past that, headlights shot up out of the ditch into the sky like the saddest film premiere.

Merle hit the four-ways, zipped up the parka, and got out.

The cold wind hit like a mattress dropped from orbit, pushing his whole body aside before he could catch his balance. His khaki pants chilled instantly, and sweat from the car heater froze in his leg hair. His feet stayed warm inside the snug shoe boots, though, and the double-layer gloves did a decent job, but the little bit of exposed face around his eyes and nose instantly tightened. His sinuses burned with his breath. He wasn’t driving onto that sheen before he figured out what it was, though. A dozen short steps on increasingly cold legs brought him to the edge.

It creaked and cracked under his foot. Fresh ice, covered with a sheet of flowing water.

A winter water main break was the worst. You could drive on it, if you had four wheel drive and were real slow, but any extra speed and you’d be in the ditch.

It was hard to hurry with tiny steps, but Merle managed. Climbing back in the truck cab, he hissed as his bending legs pressed against his chilled pants. A terrible night on the worst Hogswatch.

Leaving the flashers on, he inched the truck towards the headlights.

A sedan coalesced from the darkness, its tail in the ditch. The front tires were off the ground, the headlights feeble beams illuminating sideways snow. A rag of cloud veiled the moon, dimming the cornfields and making the night look even colder.

Merle grimaced and climbed back out into the storm. You got used to midwestern winters, where the wind screamed for miles across barren ground like a DA with a discovery order through a company whose staff had turned on the board.

The car wouldn’t be safe to be in, hanging up there like that. But being out in the wind was a whole different sort of danger.

“Hello?” The wind ripped his shout away.

The water-covered ice made each step treacherous, but he edged closer.

Was the driver sheltering in the ditch, behind the car? No, the ditch was full of water.

He took a deep breath and bellowed, loud as he could. “Hello!”

The darkness on the asphalt ahead moved. Just a suggestion of an upraised arm.

Merle’s heart thrummed. Was it her?

The moon cleared the clouds.

No, two ordinary mortals. An adult, towing a child. Had they been trying to walk to safety? In this?

Merle raised an arm to wave them in. The adult said something, but the wind stole the words so he just got them in the passenger side of the truck before scurrying around and eagerly climbing in himself.

He didn’t even get the door shut behind him before they said “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“No problem.” Merle slammed the door behind him, started the car, and hit the buttons for the heated seats. They didn’t work quickly, but anyone out there more than two minutes needed every scrap of heat they could get.

Next to Merle, the kid wiggled like he needed go run around the yard.

“I’m Silva.” She pulled her hood back to bask in the heat blasting from the defroster. Merle couldn’t see anything of her face beyond the outline of a button nose above a chin that could break ice. “Silva Cantrill. This is Billy. Say hi, Billy.”

A person stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a kid, on a night like this, had no choice in whose help they took. But a woman would be afraid. “Merle Tremartin.” He tugged off one glove, then the other. “I promise I’m not a crook. My crimes are all legal.”

Her shaky laugh didn’t reassure him. “We spun out.”

“I noticed.” The dashboard clock road 9:36. He tried to put a smile in his voice despite his tension. “I can drive you up to the station in town.”

“I called,” Silva said. “They said they’ll have a truck right out here.”

Merle’s breath caught. Tow trucks could take forever.

Devorah’s face had thinned even more this year. She might not make another Hogswatch.

He had to get home. He had to. He waved a hand. “You want wait out here?”

In the darkness of the cab he caught the outline of Silva’s worried frown and the bend of her eyebrow. Basic self-defense said you never went anywhere with a stranger. Silva needed Merle, but didn’t have any reason to trust him.

“We can wait,” he said before she could speak. “It’s just… been a long day.”

“I hear that,” she said.

Billy sneezed.

Merle flinched. It’s not that he was a clean nut, but that sounded pretty wet.

“Billy!” Silva heaved a purse the size of a backpack up from the floor and rummaged inside to extract a tissue. “Blow your nose proper.”

Silva’s embarrassed tone shattered Merle’s annoyance. “It happens. So long as you don’t freeze to death tonight, it’s okay.”

“He’s six,” she said. “We’re still working on things.”

“You’ll be working on them for a while yet.” The road outside was still shimmering with freezing ice. “I don’t want the tires to freeze to the road. We need to back up a bit.”

“Sure.”

Was that a pause before she answered? Probably. Silva had to be leery of sitting in a stranger’s truck. Merle moved slow and careful, trying not to worry her. The tires creaked and cracked as he dropped the truck into gear; the ice was already freezing around them. Gaze bouncing between the blurry image on the backup camera and the side mirrors, his sight turning red and black from the four-way blinkers, he gingerly backed the truck up to the edge of the leak.

“Just a touch more,” he said.

She didn’t answer.

He stopped with ten feet of snowy asphalt visible in front of the truck. “That’ll do. I know you called the tow truck, but how about the police?”

She grimaced. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Let’s do that.”

Billy squirmed next to him. He was doing pretty good, for a six year old.

911 came through loud and clear on the truck’s speakerphone. Silva seemed to relax at the sound of the officer’s voice, and even more when Merle offered his name and address. A mad rapist wasn’t going to identify himself to the cops.

“Are you safe?” the operator asked. “Anyone hurt?”

“Yes,” Silva said. “I mean, we’re safe. We’re in the ditch, but Merle’s letting us stay in his truck to stay warm.”

Her easy tone relieved some of Merle’s tension. The clock reading 9:56 PM cranked it back up. “Any news of a tow truck?”

“There’s a few spin-outs tonight,” the operator said. “You might be there a while.”

Merle’s back felt like a rope ready to snap. If Devorah appeared at home, or at the clinic, and he wasn’t there—if she’d thought he’d abandoned her—

Building his company had taught him the necessity of keeping his nerves cool and his body relaxed even when gambling with millions of dollars, but he’d never played any game with stakes as high as Hogswatch. “Thank you.” He managed to not spit it out.

He’d barely hung up from 911 when Silva said, “I need to call my Mom. She’ll be worried.”

“You do that,” Merle said. 9:59 PM, and no tow truck. The snow was starting to come down more heavily, flakes big enough that the wind couldn’t drive them so quickly. He was thawing out, thanks to the incessant heat battling the icy windows, but the car was picking up a distinct aroma that could only be a damp six year old boy. The sooner the truck got here, the sooner he could get home for Devorah.

There was still time. Still.

Silva fumbled in her purse and drew out her phone. “Hi Mom!” Her voice had gotten lighter all of a sudden. “We’re gonna be held up. We’re fine, just some car trouble. No, someone stopped to help us. His name’s Merle Tremartin.” To Merle’s surprise, she rattled off Merle’s address and phone number. “He’s waiting with us, so we’re warm. Right, right. No, Billy’s fine. I think he’s going to sleep. We’ll be there, but real late.” Her tone got a little impatient. “No, don’t wait up! Put the key under the mat, same as always. Right. Right. Yes, I got it. Love you too, Mom. Dad too. Bye. Bye. Bye.” Lowering the phone, she said “Sorry about that.”

Merle made himself smile. “Off to see the folks?”

“First time in two years,” Silva said. “Billy’s out of school.” Hearing his name, Billy leaned up against his mother. “It’s okay, sweetie. You take a nap. We’ll be there soon.”

Billy made an indistinct noise.

Silva lowered her voice a bit. “I saved my vacation time. We’ve got a whole week. Billy wrote a letter telling Santa where to find him Christmas morning and everything.”

Merle stared out the windshield. The snow wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “That sounds like a really nice Christmas.” He knew his voice sounded too hollow, but didn’t know how to sound any more like a human.

“How about you?”

Our holiday was today, and she didn’t show up. “My wife isn’t well.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” It had been three years. He’d grown accustomed to telling people the story. It was like growing accustomed to stabbing yourself in the heart. “She tripped on a curb a few years ago and hit her head. She’s in a coma.”

“Oh, that’s awful.” Silva’s shadowy arm went around Billy, cradling him closer. Everyone he told the story to held their loved ones. Maybe Merle had gotten used to saying what happened, but nobody ever got used to hearing it.

“An accident,” Merle said. “It could happen to anyone. Nobody’s to blame.”

Having someone to blame would have been so much easier. Hunting down the guilty person, dragging their name through the mud, capturing everything they loved just to destroy it, would have given Merle the sort of goal a businessman understood. He’d never run his business that way, but he understood it. Without that sort of goal, all he had left was his helpless love.

“I am so sorry,” Silva said. They all said that.

“There’s a chance,” Merle made himself say. “She could wake up. Any day.”

Silva’s hand came up to squeeze his shoulder through his parka. They all did that too, touched him or hugged him. “Of course she could.” In that tone of voice that said comfort the hopeless man.

Her face had been more drawn today. Her skin more slack. Her breathing seemed to rattle. “I know she’s still in there,” Merle said. “She is.” The skeptical voice that had guided him through his business successes cruelly whispered: if she’s still in there, why didn’t she come?

No. Devorah coming to him on Hogswatch wasn’t about logic. It wasn’t anything you could explain with any stupid-fun TV show or any writer’s book. More things on heaven and earth and all that. Devorah would come to him on Hogswatch no matter what.

“I’m so sorry for you,” Silva said. “When did it happen?”

“This is the third Ho—uh, Christmas. Third Christmas.”

He had to be home for when she came.

10:07.

Merle couldn’t shove them out of the truck. Couldn’t leave a woman and a kid to freeze.

But he had to be rid of them. Soon.

#

That second Hogswatch Eve, Merle couldn’t get to sleep until well after three AM. Sunrise through the blinds woke him a little after eight.

His eyes flew open, not even daring hope.

Devorah was there.

This time, she wore her favorite slouchy jeans and a T-shirt that said OH NO IT’S PEOPLE. He only saw her smile, big as the day they’d married.

This time, the house was clean. He’d washed and folded all the clothes. The kitchen was scrubbed. Selling the firm had given him all the time he needed to care for Devorah as well as himself. And what had he built the company for if not that?

He’d made a proper Hogswatch feast for them, all tidy in their big wicker picnic basket. Loaded a movie she needed to see onto the tablet, a zombie Christmas musical Anna and the Apocalypse. She’d flashed in and out of sight a dozen times through the day, smiling and laughing and spilling love out of her eyes.

She’d whispered something, but an announcement for Doctor WhoCares had drowned out her whispers.

When the staff finally said he had to go, he’d bent to kiss her cheek.

A butterfly had breathed into his ear. Love.

It had been enough.

#

Waiting interminable minutes for the tow truck, Merle let Silva run the conversation. It was always easier that way. If he’d been widowed, folks would have demand he move on. With Devorah still breathing, everyone felt obliged to fill empty space with cheery chatter. At least Silva didn’t say any of the bad things. Like how he must wish that she’d move on. Or advising him that he needed to live his life without her. He could imagine a life without Devorah, but he sure wasn’t abandoning her.

He tried to make the right noises and ask the right questions, all with one eye on the clock. If someone wanted to be cheerful at him, hoping to buoy his spirits, the least he could do was ask where they worked and a question or two about their kid. Silva worked in medical billing, Billy was a star pupil in kindergarten, and his father hadn’t been in the picture for years.

Her voice got cold as the wind at that. A story there. Something she didn’t want to talk about with him right there.

The clock moved too fast, and too slow. Ten-fifteen. Ten thirty.

Merle fought not to scream. Not to let his heart rip its way out of his chest.

Devorah might have come home, and gone. She had so little to give him, and Merle was both grateful and greedy for every drop.

Plus, Billy every time Billy shifted in his sleep, he farted.

The clock tore him to pieces, and Merle held a civil conversation throughout.

At ten forty-four, the blinking red lights of a tow truck appeared in the rear view mirror.

The suffocating tension dissolved. His breath wasn’t easy. It wouldn’t be easy. Not until he was home. But he felt like he could breathe.

Merle pumped the brakes three times to signal the driver.

“Thank you,” Silva said. “You saved our lives, Merle. I hope you know that. Thank you.”

He knew that, but it was nice that she knew it too. “We still need to get you out of that ditch.”

The tow truck slowed and pulled up three inches from to the pickup. The passenger window ground down.

Merle grimaced and switch the heat off. “Zip up, he wants to talk.” Pulling his warm insulated hat back onto his head, he tugged his coat closed and hit the button to drop the window. “Hello.”

The wind had slowed, but the driver still shouted. “You folks all right?”

“Yes sir,” Merle said.

“Sorry I’m late.” The driver sounded like he had a mouth full of mush. He had the interior light of his truck on, but it only haloed his head. His eyes were pits, his mouth a black void. “The cops closed the road up by the Bennaway, had to come the long way around.”

Merle’s chest squeezed. Bennaway River was between here and home. He’d have to go back to Route Twelve and around. Home wasn’t eight miles away, more like twenty.

Ten forty-six.

He could make it, even in this storm, if the driver got to work like was supposed to.

The driver drawled, “You got a Missus Cantrill with you?” Perhaps he didn’t have teeth.

“Right here,” Merle said. Come on. Hurry up!

“Got some paperwork for her to sign.”

Silva glanced at Merle, at Billy, and back at Merle. “Can he stay with you? Just a minute. I don’t want him to be out there too long.”

Of course she didn’t. And only a monster would say no, let him freeze. “Sure.” He knew he sounded grouchy. He didn’t care any more.

Silva slipped out of the car, leaving him with the kid.

Ten forty-seven. Forty-eight.

Merle split his glance between the sleeping boy and Silva’s shadow playing against the driver’s dome light.

Ten forty-nine.

At ten fifty-one she scurried back around and pulled the pickup door back open. To Merle’s surprise, instead of grabbing Billy and saying bye she hopped back in. The tow truck’s air brakes squealed and it lurched forward.

“He said we can follow him,” Silva said.

“Fine.” If he could leave by eleven, he’d be home by a quarter of twelve. In time. Even if it was the last minute, he had to make it. He had to see Devorah again. See her smile, hear the hint of her laugh and the butterfly touch of her hand, even if it meant abandoning Silva and Billy with a truck driver with no teeth. They wouldn’t freeze.

Silva gave a little chuckle. “The GPS said we’re only half an hour from Mom. This has been the longest half hour of my life.”

“You’re telling me,” Merle growled.

Silva’s car had seemed further, the first time he’d driven up. Driving through the dark and snow and wind, to a destination you weren’t even sure was there, always seemed to take a lot longer than it should. The snow was falling more heavily now, but without the wind lashing it on it seemed gentler. Less angry vengeance, more an omen of a peaceful Hogswatch.

Peaceful once he got home, that is.

The tow truck’s brake lights came on. Merle put the car in park and turned to say goodbye.

Silva already had her hand on the door.

Before he could speak, she threw the door open and hopped out, slamming it behind her.

Billy farted again and shifted. The hood of his parka looked a black hole, just like the tow truck driver’s mouth.

Ten fifty-one. The minutes were just slipping by.

If he didn’t make it in time—

Unthinkable.

He set a time limit.

Time to be a jerk. Get out. Tell Silva to put her kid in the tow truck, he needed to get home.

And Devorah was next to him.

She was sitting on and through Billy’s legs, simultaneously solid and intangible, just like Merle remembered. She hadn’t ever been so much herself, not since the accident. Her eyes cradled him.

“Dev,” Merle whispered. He couldn’t look away from her face.

Her hand rose—no, it didn’t rise. One moment it was in her lap, then next it was by his face.

Merle couldn’t move. He didn’t dare breathe.

A gossamer drifted across his cheek. He smelled her gardenia perfume.

He could feel her effort. Like nothing she’d ever done before. She was straining, hard, as if trying to use all her strength for one massive push.

The snow against the window nearly drowned out her words.

love everything

tell me everything

A final glimpse of a smile, and Devorah was gone for the year.

Hogswatch was over.

Tears filled his eyes.

He’d wanted a long slow day with her, but she’d chosen to give him three full seconds instead. Like she’d saved up the day’s time and used it all at once.

She had her reasons.

He shouldn’t have doubted her. Nothing would keep them apart. Not today. Not now, in the last hour of Hogswatch.

He’d been at her side all day. He’d read her a big chunk of Hogfather, they’d seen Die Hard and Christmas Vacation—again, yes, but the bit with Cousin Eddie draining the tank into the sewer left her in stitches every time. Why had she waited until now?

Merle drew a deep breath. He’d never know why. He’d never know the rules. He could only be grateful they’d had another Hogswatch.

He leaned back in the seat and tried to ease his galloping heart. His shoulders unclenched for the first time since he woke up.

Billy farted again.

The kid had a right to, after Devorah sat right on him.

The tow truck’s big spotlight carved a giant white cone into the night.

Merle concentrated on letting his heart soak up everything he could of Devorah. It had to last him a whole year.

Minutes later, Silva swung the passenger door open. No, not minutes—eleven thirty-one. Merle had been lost, basking in Devorah’s spiderweb touch across his face. “How goes it?” he asked.

“It’s not drivable,” Silva said tightly. “Something caught, you can smell the gasoline. The driver’s gonna give us a ride into town.”

“How are you getting to your parents’?” Merle said.

“Uber or something,” Silva said.

Uber was chancy for a woman on her own. Most the drivers were fine, but the ones that weren’t made a stranger in a pickup on a dark road seem a paladin. “You want a ride?”

Silva stopped. “You seemed awful tired.”

Merle’s smile came easy this time. He’d had his Hogswatch. “I got my second wind. But I’m getting a coffee back at the gas station.”

Silva glanced at the tow truck. “Okay, let me tell him.”

“You can throw your suitcase in the back,” Merle said.

Silva grimaced. “They’re in the trunk. Everything’s soaked.”

“Ouch. Well, get back in here and get warm.”

Billy farted again.

“Oh, Billy,” Silva said.

“Besides,” Merle said, “he wasn’t nearly so bad when you were holding him upright.”

She laughed. “Two minutes.”

Like everything else tonight, it was more like five. Soon enough, he’d turned the truck around and they were rolling through the snow. The wind had almost stopped, and the snow drifted down like it didn’t have anything better to do. Coffee or not, they’d need to stop so he could fill the gas tank.

Peaceful silence filled the cab.

No, it was the same silence that always filled the cab. But it was a silence with Hogswatch. The weirdest Hogswatch yet.

Maybe he couldn’t say that. The Hogswatch with the kippers and Mexican sushi had been pretty strange.

And he didn’t know why Devorah appeared when she did. Maybe next year, she’d flicker in and out again. Or maybe she’d only be a kiss on the cheek and invisible laughter.

Whatever she wanted was fine.

Even if it ended with him driving down a desolate road at close to midnight, taking a strange woman and her kid to see her parents.

Civilization was a crossroads with an all-night gas station. He pulled up to the pump and Silva said, “Coffee?”

“Please,” Merle said. “Big and black.”

Where the darkness had obscured Silva’s face before, the gas station’s halogens made her seem washed out. Like she could have been in Anna and the Apocalypse. She wasn’t smiling, but it was what came before a smile.

“Hang on,” Merle said.

Silva paused, one foot out the door. Cold air gushed around her.

“I’m sorry I was crabby.” The words spilled out of Merle. “I spent the day with my wife and… and, she wasn’t there.” The truth. Even though she wouldn’t hear it.

“It’s okay,” Silva said. “I think anybody would understand.”

He cocked half a grin. “People get tired of it.”

“Listen,” Silva said. “You have family around?”

Merle shook his head. “Not near here.”

“Where are you going for Christmas?”

“I’ll be with my wife.”

She smiled now, but sadly. “She’s a lucky woman. Hang on.” She tugged out her phone and tapped it. “You shouldn’t be… alone at Christmas.”

His phone buzzed. A text message danced across the in-dash display.

“You remembered my number?” He managed a chuckle. “I’m impressed.”

“I remember everything.” Silva’s face got intense. “But you shouldn’t be alone at Christmas.”

“I won’t be.” She’s there. She came back from a coma for me.

“I know, I know. But Mom’s always up for more company. Just remember, okay?”

Of course she couldn’t understand. He couldn’t explain. But he’d take her offer in the kindness it was meant. “I’ll remember.”

“At least text me, okay? Tell me you’re all right.”

He nodded. “That, I’ll do.”

The speakerphone rang.

The clinic’s phone number wiped out Silva’s text message.

Merle’s stomach fell into a hole.

There wasn’t any (good) reason for them to call at midnight.

He stabbed the button. “Hello? Hello?”

“Mister Tremartin?”

Silva stopped, catching the distress in his voice.

“Yes! Yes, what is it?” Merle said.

“Are you driving?”

“No.” Dread bubbled up the hole where his stomach had been. “I’m parked.”

The words regret to inform and peacefully washed through him. He didn’t have to hear them. Somewhere very far away, he heard Silva say about him not being alone.

Devorah had waited. Waited until he wouldn’t be alone when the call came.

She’d waited until the only sound was that of snow pattering on the windows, so he could hear her real last words.

love everything

tell me everything

Hard words to live by.

But for her, he’d do it.