"What's this for?" whispered Maddy. She held up a digital display box while Postmaster Mint tottered atop a step ladder, fixing hooks into the wall. Any moment he'd tumble and fall, shattering his ancient bones like glass on stone.

"It's our 'Till Christmas' clock," said Mint. "Tradition. Put it up middle of the summer. Reminds folks to get started on their shipping and mailing."

"Serious? That's months away."

"Yeppers, that's just how folk think. Put cards and presents off all summer and fall and then come rushing in last week of December as I'm locking up. With their arms full of packages I ain't got time or truck to see delivered. Hand me it now."

He reached down for the display box. His hands trembled, the ladder trembled, Maddy trembled. She handed him the box. He lifted it, working with old-man patience to fix it to the hooks. Maddy steadied the ladder, studying Mint's knees. Skin flecked and freckled with age, the near-transparent flesh stretching over bones knobby as anything in Castle Specter. She wondered why old people wore shorts and long socks and tucked-in shirts and pantsuits and silly clothes that made them look even older and sillier. When I'm old I'll wear a leather jacket, she thought. Hippy glasses and a pirate hat. She wrinkled her nose. And why did old people have that awful smell? I'll wear cologne. Perfume. A string of onions, a dead skunk. Anything, anything to hide that waft of skin dust, moldy cloth and pee.

The bell on the door jangled. Maddy watched a customer poke their head in. A woman, wary as a vampire crossing church threshold.

"Don't let that cat in," whispered Maddy.

"Learn to talk louder, child," grumbled Mint. "This is Texas."

Maddy scowled, took a breath. "Don't let the cat in."

The newcomer looked down, kicked at something with her foot. The something yowled in complaint. She eased herself in, closing the door tight behind. Behold a woman near big as her dad. Maddy watched her edge forwards, looking about for cats and holes in the floor. When at last she arrived at the counter she gained confidence, thumped the bell with a fist. The bell yelped a tin crystal ding.

The orange cat reappeared on the window ledge, staring in with one bright eye. The thing had begun stalking Maddy. Never letting her get too close, never quite out of sight. Last couple of days the ugly beast followed her to work. She felt an urge to make a face at it. But the ladder trembled. Alarmed, Maddy returned her attention to Mint. He stood perched on an infinite ladder that sought to throw him off.

"You'll fall," she whispered.

"Nah, I got this," growled Mint, unconcerned with the earth's foundations. "See to the customer."

Maddy considered declining. The man would tumble for sure. But he growled, the woman thumped. The bell screamed ding. Maddy sighed, straightened, went to the counter, adjusting her postal smock and postal attitude.

"Yes'm?"

"I'm here for a letter sent to me," declared the woman.

Maddy blinked. "Sent to you?"

The stranger frowned down at Maddy. "You think I'm lying?"

"No ma'am." Maddy shook her head, pulling the pencil from behind her ear.

"What's the name?"

The woman considered. "Georgette. But it's just addressed to George. My friends call me that. George."

"Yes'm. Last name?"

"Tumbril."

"How was it addressed?"

"Just 'George Tumbril, in Hell'. No return address. My friend, the one who sent it, was moving. Didn't have a proper address."

"Yes'm." Maddy wrote it neatly down. It wasn't necessary. But keeping to steps reminded people: this was a Process, there were Rules. Maddy went to the dead letter bin, began leafing through. Wondering why the woman bothered pretending to be the receiver instead of the sender. People seemed to prefer tricks and lies just to get what the rules said they could have with a little honesty. Folk walked in claiming to be FBI agents with toy-store cop badges. They inquired innocently what time everyone went to lunch. Declared they were here to inspect for mice. Mint assured her the patch in the ceiling came from some night-burglar with a chain saw. Cut a leg off when he fell through the hole. Mint might have been pulling her leg. Folk did that.

Maddy frowned, eyed the big woman sideways. The stranger didn't have any chainsaw. Didn't keep putting hands to any weapons in her pockets. But she kept shifting weight like she contemplated pushing the counter over. Best get her gone. Maddy dug down, finding a folder-sized envelope addressed as described. Light but stiff. A photograph, probably. She brought it to the counter.

"Now we just need some identification, Ms. Tumbril."

The woman stared at Maddy. Tapped heavy fingers on the counter. "I forgot my purse."

Maddy nodded. "Oh, that's okay. You can just identify the contents by saying the first line of the letter."

"If I didn't send it, girl, how would I know what it said?"

Maddy considered being honest. 'Course you sent it,' she could say. But folk came to Hell, Texas to reclaim what they'd said in honesty. And now regretted. Probably they walked out vowing never to be honest again.

"Well, if you knew you had a letter waiting, then you might know what it said."

The woman considered this. Shook head, gave it up for lost.

"Look, kid. It wasn't really sent to me, it was to my husband. I sent it."

Maddy nodded. The woman looked at the rules on the wall, sighed.

"I was kind of hoping if I said it was to me, you wouldn't have to open it."

"Just the top line," affirmed Maddy. "That's all we see."

"Problem is, it doesn't say anything. It's a, a picture."

Maddy nodded. "Oh, that's fine. What I do is I open the envelope and look at the top of the picture. You tell me what that would show, and if that's what I see then we're good."

"You're just going to look at the top?"

"Yes'm."

"First three inches, no more."

"Yes'm."

"Right. Well, hmm. It'll show a blue wall. And two feet sticking up. In the air."

Maddy untied the folder string, drew the single picture partly out. She saw paisley wallpaper, the knobs of a brass bed. And two bare feet poking upwards, toes reaching towards the ceiling like sea creatures seeking the realm of air and light. For a terrible second Maddy fought an urge to draw the picture farther out. But didn't. She hurried the picture back into the envelope, retied the strings tight.

"I'm doing yoga," declared Ms. Tumbril, tucking the envelope under her arm.

"Oh?" said Maddy.

"In bed," declared the woman. "In the picture."

"Oh."

The woman sighed, leaned forwards.

"George always said I was too big and clumsy for yoga. Said an elephant might as well want to be a ballerina. When he died I decided 'Hell with George and his opinion'. Sent him that picture to show him what I could do. Don't ever let people tell you what you can do, child."

"That's just what my dad says."

"Want to see?"

"See?" squeaked Maddy.

"This position is called 'shirshasana'. I can do it fine. Watch." The woman bent down below the counter, out of sight. Then two bare feet rose up, high and higher, wobbling like tight-rope walkers on a windy day.

"Good God almighty," whispered Maddy. She leaned over the counter. The woman's skirt had fallen about her, hiding her face. Revealing bare legs and panties firetruck red.

The bell above the door went clang, in came Frankie.

"Woot!" shouted the girl, delighted. "What's that, yoga?"

The voice of Ms. Tumbril came from below. "This is the shirshasana pose."

Frankie circled Ms. Tumbril, whistling in admiration of pose and underwear. Inspired, Ms. Tumbril rose higher, placing her weight on her head and upper arms. Her feet increased their wobble, dancing on the air.

"Uhm, hey, lady," whispered Maddy.

Frankie hurried to the envelope display table, eased herself up on her own arms. She bent graceful as a waterbird, lifting legs high, coming to rest on the back of her neck. Her skirt settled like a wilted flower, revealing the lower half of her swim-counselor bathing suit. Frankie does yoga? wondered Maddy. I didn't know that. Does everybody do yoga?

"Beat that," declared Frankie.

"Beat what?" asked Ms. Tumbril. "I can't see. Skirt's over my eyes. Post office kid, can you lift my dress up?"

"Uhm, guys?" Maddy whispered. Movement at the window caught her eye. It was the cat on the ledge. It bent its furry, ugly head, then lifted back legs into the air. Waving its furry butt, waggling its tail in time to Ms. Tumbril's dancing feet.

"Oh, that ain't right," said Mint.

Maddy whirled, sure he'd blame her for the legs in the air, the red panties glowing like a burning bird's nest between shaking tree branches. The maniac mocking cat. But Mint wasn't even looking their way. He'd climbed down from the ladder, stood staring at the countdown clock.

"I keep resetting the dang date." He wiped sweat from his bone-shiny head. "But look how fast it's going. At this rate it'll be Christmas in a week."

"Uhm," whispered Maddy. She looked at the box, mind still on all the legs waving to the sky behind her. The tail. The countdown box held glowing ember digits for days, hours, minutes, seconds... The number under seconds clicking by in blurs.

She watched the 30 under 'minutes' click to 29. In the space of a breath it descended to 28. It was like watching a clock bleed to death, hemorrhaging red gouts of time. The diminishing seemed to quicken, rushing towards zero hour. Maddy turned away, feeling dizzy.

She observed Frankie lower her legs, bend back down to the ground. That is so graceful, thought Maddy. Maybe instead of guitar I should take yoga. Or ballet... she pictured herself posing in graceful cat positions, making water-bird bends. Then shook head. Her glasses would fall off. People would laugh at her knees. She'd tumble over and make a fool of herself...

But there stood Ms. Tumbril, straightening her dress, her hair. Putting away the picture she'd sent to her dead and doubting husband, the picture declaring 'see what I can do!' Probably the picture wasn't really showing yoga. But still, still, she had a point.

"What happens then?" asked Ms. Tumbril. She wobbled upright, face red. Probably not with embarrassment, just blood to the head. Stared past Maddy towards the diminishing numbers.

"Uhm," said Maddy.

"The countdown. What's that for?" repeated Ms. Tumbril.

"Uhm."

"Don't you speak, child?"

Do I? Wondered Maddy. She gave it a try.

"I don't know. What happens, I mean."

Ms. Tumbril shook head. "Seems kinda ominous, a countdown to something you don't know." She turned away, disappointed in Maddy's 'uhms'. She gave a thumb's up to Frankie sitting on the envelope table. They started chatting about blood flow and breath, balance and weight as though these were not personal qualities but fashions of hat. Maddy tasted Tumbril's last word. Ominous. The word described itself. It tasted ominous. Gave a metallic tang to the tongue. Like a penny dipped in vinegar, with a tad of cyanide.

Maddy turned back to watching the countdown to Something Ominous. Was it going faster? Omens. Yep. Good word, that. But Mint shook his head at the fool display, hobbled into his office searching for his back liniment. The bell on the door jangled as Ms. Tumbril departed.

"Hey, Val," called Frankie, coming up to the counter. "Don't laugh. But I swear I saw that cat at the window standing on its head."

"Uhm," said Maddy, turning to check the window. The cat sat upright and innocent, giving its tail an orderly wash. "Uhm." At last Maddy grew annoyed with the repetition. WWVD: What would Valentine do? Joke, of course.

"Hey, Rowena," she said. "You here to buy stamps?"

Frankie puffed in dismissal. "Never stamped a letter in my life. Do people really lick them?"

Maddy nodded. "Whole business is a dying art. Old folk come in and grouch about it."

"Heard that, punk," grumbled Mint from his office.

Old Grump, mouthed Maddy. Frankie laughed, then widened eyes, stared past Maddy to the countdown clock. Maddy refused to look. But Frankie shook head, face turned serious. Focused again on Maddy.

"You know where Sue Ellen's house is?"

Seriously? Are they going to ask me over? Maddy's heart beat. She tasted an 'uhm' coming, like a hiccup. WWVD? Valentine would laugh, would sass.

"Near enough to mine I heard her scream when she got ate by those goblins."

"Come over after work, then," ordered Frankie. She didn't smile. She returned her gaze to the countdown behind Maddy. "We're going to show you some dance moves. While there's time."