"Another 'last tag'. What's the score?" asked Sue Ellen. She tossed the letter into the pile by the lantern.

"Five 'last tag, you're dead'," said Huff, making another scratch on the cave wall. "Six 'Fine, you were right'. Two 'Told you so's. Three 'I should have mentioned earlier's."

"This'll be another 'bet you wish'" predicted Jeffrey. "Vacation postcards are always that kind'. He cleared throat, held the card into the light. "Dear Uncle. Bet you wish you'd hired a real lawyer to be executor. Regards from Acapulco, Bob." He tossed it to the pile. "What's an executor?"

"Guy who handles wills for dead folk," said Sue Ellen. "Bob is spending inheritance he wasn't supposed to get."

"Lucky him," said Huff. "Then why the nasty tone?"

"Family fight, probably," said Sue Ellen. "My mom and aunt haven't talked in years. 'Cause of some dumb vase of my grandma. And the cat smashed it to pieces years ago. Jeez."

"Here's another confession," said Jeffrey. "Mom. I never really liked you. Wish I'd told you before. Had to lie at the hospital, at the funeral. So, now you know. Just never liked you."

They considered that sad message in silence. Finally Huff shook his head.

"I like coming down here and reading the letters. It's like, like being between worlds. But seriously, the words are just sad."

"The worst are the creepy ones," said Frankie. She leaned back against the cave wall, seeking a comfortable way of sitting on damp stone. They had pillows and camp lights, a cooler of cokes and camp lanterns. All the stuff you'd expect in a tree house fort. But the fun of being here in the cave below the well was special. Like they were inside a secret passage of a castle, peeking out through the eyes of a portrait.

"Shhh," whispered Frankie. "Voices." She stared up the beam of sun light from the well shaft overhead. "Doesn't sound like the old guy."

"He's got summer hire," said Sue Ellen. "Madeline Rupert."

"Who?" asked Huff.

"Jeez, dude, you've gone to school with her since first grade," said Frankie. "Maddy? Big glasses? Small boobs? Whispers. Tangly hair. Carries 'Wind in the Willows' around for a security blanket."

"Oh, her," said Huff. "Right. Sheriff's kid. Hey, is she adopted?"

The cave echoed giggles. Then a fluttering fall of paper descended the shaft in the ceiling. Everyone quieted, watching the letters settle to the damp stone floor. Sue Ellen picked one from her hair, where it had settled like an autumn leaf. Opened it, held the contents before the camp light.

"Oh, those are some nasty words," she sighed.

She scooped up papers, took them to the pit. Not standing too close. The cave floor was slippery, and only a foot-high circle of stones marked the edge. Years before, flowing water must have flushed the letters down this dark hole. Exactly where this trash belonged, for sure. She tossed the letters in.

"After all, who's going to write a nice letter to someone they think is in Hell?" asked Huff. "It's like real estate. Location, location, location."

"Someone ought to," said Frankie. "I could write my great aunt. She was Catholic. Mom says she went to Hell for sure."

"Pffff," said Huff. "Baptists put everyone in Hell."

"Not everyone," argued Frankie. "Some Presbyterians might not, if they don't dance."

"We ought to write a nice letter," declared Sue Ellen, staring down into the pit. "Don't matter to who. Just once, to balance all this depressing evil petty stuff." She pulled out her summer journal. Sat beside the pit, put pen to paper.

"What would it say?" asked Frankie, searching the cooler for a coke. The boys kept bringing beer stolen from their dads or older brothers. That was going to bring trouble soon or late, for sure.

"Hello from Hell, Texas," suggested Huff.

Sue Ellen nodded. "Makes a good beginning."

"Ask them if they like dancing," suggested Jeffrey.

"Why?"

"People appreciate being asked what they like," he said. "Shows someone cares what they think." Sue Ellen shrugged, scribbled.

"Oh, I know!" said Frankie. "Tell them about making s'mores in chem class. That was hilarious. With the goggles and tongs and smoke detectors screeching and everyone eating the evidence."

Sue Ellen scribbled for half a minute. Nodded.

"Ask them if there are any decent summer jobs down there," growled Frankie.

Sue Ellen shook head. "I'll mention me and you are going to be counselors for the day camp. What else?"

"Tell them Texas is damned dull in the summer," growled Huff. "It's too hot."

"They'll think we're joking," warned Sue Ellen.

"We are joking."

"Well, yeah. But still. It'd be mean joking. 'Hot enough for you?' Every third letter says that.

"True," said Jeffrey. "Okay. Tell them... Maddy Rupert needs a date to the Summer Dance."

"Not nice," scolded Frankie.

"Sure it is," argued Huff. Pulling a beer from the cooler, popping it. "She's too shy."

"Shy is fine," growled Frankie. "You call girls 'shy' when they tell you to stop putting your hand up their shirt."

"Now who's not being nice?" grinned Huff.

"Hmm, I'll mention she needs a partner for the summer dance, if they happen to know of anyone available," decided Sue Ellen. Scribbled away. At last tore the page from her notebook. Folded it, creased it, made it a sleek paper airplane.

"Who in Hell do I address it to?"

"For the Attention of Someone Nice," suggested Huff. "Or what's the point?"

"Why would anyone nice be in Hell?" demanded Frankie. "And I'm not talking our hometown."

Huff frowned, sipped the beer. He hated beer, truth be told. Tasted like pee on a car battery. But that was not a fact one shared in high school. Maybe a senior could say 'I hate beer' without looking like a kid asking for milk. He'd wait till graduation, never touch the stuff again.

"Mistakes happen," he said. "My mom does yoga 'cause years ago she showed up at the rec center thinking it was a class on making yogurt. And my dad says we'd be living in Canada but granddad's car broke down outside Theory."

"Pretty damned big mistake, winding up in the real Hell," scoffed Frankie.

"Reverend King says that Heaven and Hell are the same place," mused Huff. "It's all the same fire. But to some the fire is all bright happy light. To others, it's just an endless burning."

"King is a peppery old fart," scoffed Sue Ellen. "Gives sermons on the sin of not resembling the official picture of Reverend King. That's not spirituality, just conformity."

"He sure is down on role playing," observed Jeffrey. "Told my mom that D&D gaming would turn me into a degenerate lawbreaker progressive singing hymns to the moon."

"That sort of talk is exactly why everyone plays it round here," declared Frankie. "D&D is a nerd game. I wouldn't go near it, except any moment Reverend King could bust down the door armed with warrants and sermons."

"I second 'To Someone Nice'," declared Jeffrey. "If there's anyone nice, they could use a cheering up. If not, no loss."

"Right, then," said Sue Ellen. Scribbled in large block letters on the paper airplane fuselage.

"To the Attention of Someone Nice."

She pointed it towards the pit, sent it flying. They watched, sipping cokes and beers as it gently glided down and away.