“Well, come in, come in!” she said, her fake teeth sparkling as her face lit up like a giddy clown. “I need to sit these bones down—my bunions are inflamed like you wouldn’t believe. Take off your coats and such—especially that hideous scarf, young man.” She gestured to the side of the foyer where they put their coats and bags—Tick left his scarf on by habit, despite what she’d said—then Mabel led them into a small living room where a couple of couches covered in orange velvet beckoned for them to sit. A dusty lamp with beads hanging from the shade glowed a dull yellow from its stand on a chipped wooden end table. The entire house looked like it had been decorated with props from a really old TV show.

Once they were settled, Aunt Mabel brought in three steaming hot cups of herbal tea; it tasted like boiled cardboard but warmed Tick very quickly. He leaned back on the soft couch and put his foot up on his knee, eager to see Mabel in action.

“Well, land’s sake, it’s a delight to see you boys,” she started. “Living up here at the North Pole with nothing but seventeen quilts and a couple of icicles to keep you company makes a woman grow old quicker than she should. And let me tell you, when you were born before any of your neighbor’s grandparents, you can forget having friends come over to play pinochle and watch reruns of Andy Griffith.” Mabel paused, but only long enough to take in a huge gasping breath. “There’s this boy that lives down the corner—mean as a snake, I tell you. He came over to shovel my driveway after the last storm, but he didn’t put salt on the sidewalk to melt the ice. The nerve of that young troublemaker . . .”

After coming from the wintry air into a nice warm house, and after a long day of busy travel, Tick felt his eyelids dropping as Aunt Mabel continued to rant about each of her neighbors and their various faults and crimes. He tensed his muscles in an attempt to wake himself up.