#turtlebells

The thought made him shiver more than the nippy air did, and Wirt huddled over underneath the navy blue cape he was still wearing for some unfathomable reason. It wasn’t as though people at school made fun of him for it. He hadn’t talked to many other kids his age since the Halloween incident.

Wirt had been unconsciously heading towards the Eternal Garden, only veering off course when he saw its ominous gates looming in the distance. He took a sharp right instead, a few blocks past the historic cemetery and over a concrete bridge, no destination in mind.

His feet slowed their pace when he neared a gas station, the only one in town that was at least nominally open twenty-four hours, though he didn’t see any cars in it.

There was a noise in the distance, an echoing cheer and the discordant blaring of Wirt’s high school marching band. Right, the football game. Everyone was probably there. The idea made Wirt picture Sara; his heart sank, and he wandered to the back of the gas station, picking his way across dim-lit yellowing grass and weeds and briars.

There was an empty lot there, and though it was run-down and scattered with litter, it also faced the pond he and Greg had almost drowned in. The lot was on an overhang, separated from the steep drop by a flimsy four-foot wire fence that really wouldn’t stop anybody who wanted to climb it.

Wirt had been planning on sitting down, finding a place to sit among the broken beer cans and weeds, but he was already walking toward the fence. A foot found purchase against it and he heaved himself up, perching on top of the wires that only shakily held his weight.

He was living in two worlds, Wirt thought to himself as he stared at the moon. It was a half-moon, the same phase as it had been on Halloween, and there were two of them. The second one was only a reflection of the real moon in the rippling blackness of the pool of water below.

It looked so small from where Wirt was, like it couldn’t possibly contain an entire other world.

Wirt sighed, his breath fogging up and clouding the moon above him for a moment.

Which side was he supposed to be on? Was he living in the real world now, or only a reflection of it? And why did he seem eternally destined to stay on the fence between them?

Wirt stared at the moon until his eyes watered, pricking with pain. He didn’t feel as cold as he should. The memory of last night was too warm, and he was almost there now - could almost feel her arms around his as he leaned backward into the comfortable crook between her neck and shoulder. He smiled despite himself. He’d go home tonight and he’d be there again in the place they both called “home.”

The sooner he went to bed, the sooner he’d see her.

But also, the sooner he’d wake up in bed alone again. Wirt’s smile disappeared as if it were never there. He didn’t know how many times he could do that before something broke.

He turned away from the moon and hopped off the fence, stumbling on the dismount and lowering himself into a patch of weeds that seemed trash-free. Wirt had half a mind just to sleep there in the empty lot, overlooking the cemetery. He could almost be mistaken for a bag of trash himself, huddled against the fence and shielding himself from the north wind’s fury. But apparently he couldn’t fool mortals as well as he could fool himself, because with an almost inaudible flick, Wirt was bathed in harsh manmade light.

The gas station’s overnight attendant must have seen him. Wirt raised a hand, squinting at the buzzing lights that made it seem almost like daytime, and groaned.

He wasn’t alone out here. He’d have to head home.

It’s not like he was hiding anything, he thought in a grumble as he heaved himself up and trailed around the darker edges of the empty lot until he reached the road. He just wasn’t in the mood to be around other people.

Except for her, of course. She was always the exception nowadays.

He watched his feet again, though with more difficulty, since he couldn’t see much in between streetlights as he passed them.

“Lorna,” he finally said quietly, weakly pretending she could hear him. “This isn’t going to work. Not this way. I have to choose. Living with you, living at home, I can’t do this anymore. But I, I l-love you, Lorna. I just, I don’t know if it’s worth dying for. Do you… Do you think so? Do you want me here, or…? I can’t imagine staying at home forever without you. Would you even want me?” His voice faded at the end of each sentence, springing to life again at the next one, until he whispered, “What do I mean to you?” and let the night steal any subsequent words away.

Then he let out a frustrated noise, both hands tugging at his own hair before he buried his face in his hands.

It was silent tonight. No croaking or chirping or cooing, since it was getting too chilly for most animals to survive without hibernating or moving to warmer climes. The football game must have been over, because the only noise distinguishable was the low distant whine of a siren.

Briefly, Wirt irrationally decided that the siren was for him, somehow supernaturally sensing how he’d been teetering between life and death for so long, and ready to yank him back to the world of the living the same way the ambulance had the first time.

But the screaming siren died away again. Wirt kept walking. The sidewalk was frosting over already, the evening dew having collected and scattered itself into beautiful bone-white fragments that Wirt could just barely make out.

It was still snowy in the Unknown, he remembered, but it was a billowing snow that prevented travel. Lorna’s front door barely opened when he was there last night, the stoop having been covered in heavy white stuff that replenished itself continuously with thick grey snowfall.

Wirt had made her a cup of tea. He wasn’t sure how he’d brought the teabag across the boundary of their worlds but he’d had it when he arrived, and she had marveled at the invention and the novelty and the taste, though Wirt privately thought that her home-gathered pine tea was much better than any storebought stuff. It was comforting, warm, familiar.

The next morning, Wirt had awoken without any covers on and with his window cracked open. At this rate he’d die of cold exposure, and his choice would be made up for him.

The thought carried him to the threshold of his own home. It wasn’t too late, but the outside lights weren’t on. Greg was probably in bed already. Maybe Wirt’s mom and stepfather had gone to the game, or maybe they had an early night and didn’t notice Wirt’s absence. All the better.

Wirt tried to push open the door only to remember he needed the key that they kept in a fake rock beneath the porch. Lorna’s home - their home, ever since she and Auntie Whispers had generously offered that Wirt stay the night and never rescinded the invitation despite him involuntarily showing up every single evening - had no lock. He’d asked her about it once and she had seemed confused at the concept, then pointed out that if she could keep her doors shut against invaders, they never would have met.

Shutting the door behind him and turning the lock, Wirt felt fondness for her swelling up in his chest until it became unbearable. Mechanically, he took off his shoes and cape, then climbed the stairs to his room, not bothering to undress before he lay down on top of his covers. Wirt didn’t feel himself falling asleep. He only found himself in front of a familiar door, creaking it open without a knock and entering the run-down home. The cellar door was open for him, a flickering light beckoning him inside.

She was in there, a low-burning candle beside her cot. Her skin, more than usual bared in her plain white underdress, had the healthy pink glow that Wirt had become used to ever since he had banished her evil spirit.

Lorna cracked open an eye, drowsy but still awake enough to wave him over to the bed. Wirt, too, stripped off some of his clothes, the freezing air nipping at him until he slid beneath the blankets. Like he’d been gone much longer than a night, Wirt grasped for her, pulling her close until he could feel her hair tickling against his chest.

She could probably hear his heart. No, she could definitely hear his heart, based on the soothing circles she traced against his side, trying to get him to calm down. But Wirt was anxious now, thoughts from earlier bouncing around in his head and against his skull.

He very nearly opened his mouth. He very nearly said it. “Is this real?” he wanted to ask. “Is any of this real?”

But he was frightened of the answer, whether it be yea or nay, so he just held her, letting her calming patterns trace against his cold skin.

“Just a second,” he eventually said with a peck on her lips as penance for leaving her, and Wirt stood and left for the fireplace. He picked out a few deep-red coals with a metal rod, putting them in the little contraption Lorna had shown him how to use - a metal drum with a wooden handle, which he brought back to her and slipped underneath the sheets. Now they wouldn’t freeze to death, at least, as if that were possible here.

Lorna giggled and thanked him, taking his hand and pulling him back to bed with a kiss.

“Is this real?” Wirt kept thinking, over and over throughout the night until Lorna was asleep, face pressed into his back and knees behind his own, arms curled over him protectively. The bed was warm now, and the body heat moreso, to the point that he should have been sweating. But all Wirt could do was shiver and grip Lorna’s hand in his own, making her murmur in her sleep. “Is this real?”