“Everyone over eighteen,” said Benjamin. “Everyone below that age is locked away in the panic rooms. Near every home in this town has one. The kids can’t get out and the adults can’t get in.”

“And … and what happens then?”

Benjamin smiled, but there was no humour in it. “The people in this town … they attack each other. The whole year, they’ve been saving up their badness for Hell Night, and when that night comes, they let it all out. They do … they do terrible things to one another. Terrible, shameful things. In the morning, everything’s back to normal and most everyone’s healed up. Most. Not all. We lose about five people a year to this, people who’ve been hurt too bad or just outright killed in the streets.”

“Jesus.”

“You know the funny thing? No one talks about it. No one mentions it. Your neighbour might have tried to gut you during Hell Night, but next morning both of you are pretending everything is sunshine and daisies. Resentment builds up. That adds to the bad thoughts.”

“You said everyone over the age of eighteen changes,” said Amber. “Do you?”

“I’m over eighteen, aren’t I?”

“Do you know why? Why this is all happening? Was it ever explained to you?”

“No,” said Benjamin. “And I never bothered to ask. I know it’s got something to do with the mayor. That’s obvious. One of our little pastimes here is doing what the mayor says but not … but not actually talking about him. You talk about him and sooner or later you’re going to have to admit to one another that he’s always been here. Things are easier to ignore when you don’t talk about them.”

“And what about the kids, Benjamin? What about the missing kids?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve never wondered how Hell Night is powered? Or have you decided you just don’t want to know?”

Benjamin didn’t answer.

“You have a chance to do good here,” Amber said. “Whatever sins you’ve committed in the past, whatever you’ve ignored or allowed to happen, I don’t give a crap about any of it right now. My friend is dying on the back of your truck and I need to get him to his car. The cops, I think the cops have probably taken it.”

“It’ll be in the impound lot,” Benjamin said. “On Maple.”

“Can you drive us?”

“I don’t … I don’t usually involve myself in these things.”

“I know. I know that. I wish there were some other way. But I need your help. Please, Benjamin. I’m begging you.”

The old man rubbed his forehead. His hand was shaking. He cleared his throat, nodded, and stood. “I can drive you,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Amber. “Thank you. You’re a good man. You’re a good, kind—”