Winter Comes but Once

Winter Comes but Once.

Winter had taken so long to arrive that Bill wondered if Spring would
overtake it. He needn't have worried. The weather was about to suddenly
change. Bill was lounging in his back garden, enjoying a very late
Summer, sipping at a glass of fruity Burgundy. A blackbird sang his
song on the rooftop, as though oblivious to the impending change of
season.
The sky went dark. A freezing wind howled through the trees at the
bottom of Bill's garden. The last leaves of Summer, torn from their
branches, battered him on their way passed. Bill put his glass down on
the table next to his garden lounger. It stuck to his fingers, frozen.
The deep red Burgundy froze solid, rigid wavelets on its surface
testament to the icy blast.
Bill wrenched the glass from his fingers and reached for his sweater
before he froze to death.
"You won't need that," a deep voice boomed slowly from behind.
Bill turned to see a tall stranger, dressed in a long black cape, with
the hood over his face.
"Who the hell are you?" shouted Bill over the howling gale.
"Yes. That's right. Hell." The stranger spoke deliberately from under
his hood.
"Hell?" asked Bill, his voice weakening.
"Yes. Hell. That's who I am. How clever of you to know."
"I don't know you from Adam," said Bill.
"Ah. Adam. Now there was a sinner." The appreciation of the Original
Sin rolled around the dark form's mouth. "What an episode that was.
Very difficult to find so much fun these days."
"I'm sorry?" Bill did not know what was going on.
"They all say that. 'I'm sorry.' It doesn't help you know."
"I didn't mean, I am sorry. I don't know what you are on about." Bill
was exasperated.
"They all say that, too. Deny all knowledge of their sins."
"Who are you?" Bill's teeth began to chatter as he spoke.
"I am Hell. I though it was obvious from our earlier
conversation."
"But hell is hot," Bill did not believe this was happening.
"Ah," said Hell. "Sorry about that." He waved a cloak covered arm. The
wind stopped. The sun came out. The icicle on Bill's nose began to
melt. The Burgundy waves melted to a calm lake. Bill looked at the
restored glass of wine. Hell followed his gaze. "It's not the wine, you
know. This is really happening to you," said Hell in a most reassuring
voice.
"Are you the Grim Reaper come to take me away?"
"Oh, no. The Grim Reaper doesn't make an entry like mine. He just
appears and off you go."
"So what are you?" Bill was beginning to worry.
"I'm the Hello Angel, hence the nickname, Hell."
"I've never heard of a Hello Angel."
"Ah. No one has and lived to tell the tale," said Hell in an ominous
way.
"What do you do?"
"I greet people on their Judgement Day. Hello. You see?"
"Do you mean I am dead?"
"Not yet. You have been given a choice." Hell threw back his hood,
revealing a kindly face, almost cherubic.
"Do I get to live afterwards?"
"That depends on your answer."
"What is the question?"
"That also depends on your answer."
"Answer to what?"
"The question."
"What question?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, 'I don't know'," Bill mimicked.
"I do not ask the question, so I don't know."
"Who does ask the question?"
"You will know when it happens."
"When. Give me some idea."
"I'm afraid I can't. Rules, you know."
"I don't believe all this."
"Please. Do not say that. You must believe."
"Why?"
"If you don't believe, then I have to go."
"So?"
"The question will not be asked."
"So?"
"You won't answer."
"So?"
"If you don't answer, there is no choice."
"I really can't understand what all this is about," Bill was getting
very frustrated.
"Good. Nor do I."
"But you started it."
"Strictly speaking, no."
"Yes you did. You just waltz into my garden and pronounce that
Judgement Day is about to begin."
"Well, no. You have done something, so I have been called."
"What have I done?"
"I was hoping you would know that."
"What sort of thing would I have done?"
"That depends."
"On what?" shouted Bill.
"The answer to the question."
"Oh God."
"He's listening."
"Is there any way out of this?"
"I thought you'd never ask."
"Is that the question?"
"Yes."
"What happens now?"
"You have to answer it."
"How do I answer a question that I have asked?"
"People do it all the time."
"What on earth have I done to deserve all this?"
"I really shouldn't say."
"Go on. I dare you."
"I really shouldn't."
"Who's to know?"
"You'd be surprised."
"Would you lose you job?"
"No."
"Well then?"
"Oh. All right. But I really shouldn't."
"Please."
"Well, &;#8230;"
"Yes?"
"You forget your aged mother's birthday, next week, and she dies of a
broken heart"
"But it hasn't happened yet."
"No."
"But I won't forget."
"You do." Hell took out a notebook from under his cloak, opened it and
studied a page.
"I won't now. Honest."
"Nothing has changed." Hell looked at the notebook again, "still
nothing has changed."
"I promise I will not forget."
"I'm sorry, but the entry for next week has not changed," said Hell,
sorrowfully.
"I double promise. Cross my heart and hope to die."
"That's more like it." Hell brightened up. "That's much more like
it."
"Oh. I didn't mean the bit about dying," Bill said hastily, "just a
figure of speech."
"I fully understand."
"It will be all right, won't it?"
"Oh yes. Very much," said Hell smiling.
"So. Have I answered the question?"
"Very much so," said Hell as he closed the notebook and put it
away.
"And I will continue to live?"
"Of course."
"So that's it then?"
"Yes. I will go now."
"Bye then."
"Good bye. See you next week."

END