WATTYS 2023 SHORTLIST
Cara, a troubled college dropout, finds herself slowly falling for a handsome stranger - who turns out to be Death incarnate. But the arrival of a mysterious being puts Death's home for lost souls and his very existence at risk...
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Mem has the kind of car that, by all laws of physics and common sense, should not still be running. When she first led me towards it, parked in one of the street-side spots behind the cafe, I thought she was playing a practical joke on me. The old Chevy looks like it has been perfectly preserved from the 50's; hell, it's painted a shade a baby blue so intense that I'm sure it is visible from the space station. For all intents and purposes, it could be one of those touristy photo spots for Instagram models.
But then we are climbing inside, and she is starting it up, and I feel the engine rumble the seat underneath me. While I expect Elvis Presley or Chuck Berry to start crooning over the radio, the voice that meets us instead belongs to Dua Lipa. The culture clash is jarring, and I choke out a laugh.
"This is your car?" I ask, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She looks way too proud of herself, but even I have to admit that this is pretty cool.
"What do you think?"
"I think that I'd expect you to be wearing a poodle skirt and driving me to the nearest soda fountain."
Mem laughs and starts to back out of her spot. "I've lived through a lot of eras, but there was something about the 50's that felt so...exciting. Wholesome. That is, if you ignore the racism and misogyny."
"Yep, if you ignore that stuff," I mumble, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Mem has lived through a lot of eras and still looks young and beautiful. Suddenly, the classic car and old-fashioned establishments surrounding the town square make more sense.
"How many people in this town are like you?" I ask. "I mean, how many of them are..?"
"Immortals?" Mem finishes for me. She quirks her lips and flips on her turn signal. "Not as many as you'd think. But enough to make visitors suspicious of Neverton, to make them think that this town isn't normal."
I'm about to ask more about why the living embodiment of Memory would choose to run a cafe when she pulls into a spot in front of the corner grocery store. It's the only place open at this time of the morning, and the windows are trimmed with garlands and tiny hanging pumpkins.
"Why are we stopping?" I ask, nervous about yet another delay when everything inside of me is screaming to leave this town as soon as humanly possible.
"I'll only be a moment," Mem says, not quite answering my question. She leaves me sitting in the running car and enters the store. This is an odd time for her to stop for groceries, but who am I to tell her what to do with her car? I'm the one intruding on her life. I fiddle with my hands and try to tap my feet to the rhythm of the new pop song that comes on the radio, but I'm far too riddled with nervous energy. My mind keeps falling back to my first encounter with Death and the way he looked at me.
He was afraid of me. He was trying to help me, to be hospitable. He spoke to me gently, offered me food and drink, allowed me to stay in one of his spare rooms. A horrible new thought occurs to me.
