"I deserved the divorce. But no one deserves what happens to me at 3:00 A.M."

Alimony isn't the worst that can happen to you. Blake Hinkle is faced with a tough decision when his ex wife's mysterious new lawyer comes to collect more than money

Posted short story in lieu of the usual Author’s notes. Before we begin:

This short story acts as a preview to one of my favorite pieces, set to come out this Sunday. Consider subscribing now if you haven’t yet — wouldn’t want you to miss it!

Also looking to get some quick feedback. You may have noticed on the home page, I’ve been making special animated thumb nails. They feature a looping video and title text. I think some of them — namely Houston — look cool. But they’re a bit time consuming to make if I’m the only one who likes them.

Photo by Malcolm Lightbody on Unsplash

Settlement Offer

Alimony bleeds me dry every paycheck, but that’s nothing compared to what I have to do each night.

Last week, I came home to an intruder in my crappy studio apartment. He sat on the edge of my sagging Murphy bed, strangely out of place with his tailored suit and briefcase. His hawkish face was overshadowed by all-black eyes, staring at me behind silver spectacles.

“Don’t be alarmed Mister Hinkle. I am Grk-Krk-hck—“ his name came out like a guttural coughing fit, “—but you may call me G. I’m here to discuss a settlement.”

I wanted to run from the intruder. But the name… I actually knew it. “You sent me a letter a few weeks back. Big wax seal. You’re a lawyer?”

He nodded.

“Sorry, I read ‘Temporal Tribunal,’ and thought it was a prank.”

“Afraid not.”

I didn’t understand. “If she wants more money, I’ve got nothing else.”

G laughed. A wheezing, sickly laugh. “I’m not here to collect your money. I’m here to collect time.”

“Time?”

“The Temporal Tribunal collects stolen, wasted time, and restores it to the rightful owner,” G said. “My, how you robbed your wife of her formative years.”

I hung my head.

“Before we take you to court, she asked to try a settlement. We’re proposing you repay her 5 years, a few hours at a time, over the 12.”

“And if I refuse?”

G shrugged. “The Tribunal despises adulterers. You’d probably owe double.“

I was going to wake up. This was a booze-fueled nightmare. “Deal.”

G licked his pale lips.

“Shake on it.” He held out his hand.

His skin felt fibrous and coarse, like cheap sheets at a seedy motel. There was no border between the edge of his sleeve, and the beginning of his flesh. His suit WAS his skin.

“You’ll be seeing me again.”

True to his word, I see him every night at 3AM, leering at me from the foot of the bed. When I blink, the clock jumps to 6– just minutes before my alarm.

Figured it was a recurring nightmare, until last Friday night. I turned off my alarm, planning to sleep as late as my body allowed. I blinked away an entire weekend, walking at 6, Monday morning.

I caught on slower than I’d care to admit: That thing my wife loosed on me was collecting my debt every night. A few hours each day, a few days each week.

Worse; I still have no idea exactly what happens to me during that missing time. I guess I’ve got 12 years to figure it out.

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