My Husband Dies Every Midnight

The Ledger Hunters

The voicemail finished playing and the hushed silence that followed was almost as terrifying as the message itself. Elena turned to Nathan, her mind whirring with sixteen years of memories.

"Maris... My mother," she whispered.

Nathan's grip on her hand tightened. "Your mother died when you were six, Elena. How could she possibly—"

"Someone knows her name," Elena countered, her voice steadying as the initial shock wore off. Survivor's instinct. "Someone who was there when she disappeared."

She pulled away from his grasp and walked into the bedroom, her heart hammering against her ribs. With careful, hesitant movements, she opened the closet and dug past the shoes until her fingers brushed against the edge of a small cardboard box. Hidden behind her childhood collection of stylish footwear.

She pulled it out and opened it to reveal the few personal effects she'd managed to save over the years.

A picture of a building Maris had only ever described, a tattered leather journal with pages that had been ripped out, and the charm bracelet.

She'd worn the bracelet every day since her mother's death, every day her father had taken it off, every day since that morning, its missing charm replaced.

Elena flipped open the journal. The few legible marks were scrawled in her mother's messy script on the few remaining pages; the rest water-damaged and destroyed. One passage stood out, hastily written and prominent.

If they call the debt, find the ledger. It's in the place where the old miners prayed. The chapel below the chapel. E.H. knows.

E.H. Elena Hart. Maris had made sure that she knew.

"Nathan, we need to go to LoDo. To Father Tomas's church."

She barely registered his confused expression as she pulled her coat over her shoulders, her voice steady and demanding. "My mother spoke of a chapel beneath a chapel and there's only one that fits that description in Denver. Saint Agnes in the Lower Downtown."

"Wait, Elena," Nathan said, pulling his wrinkled dress shirt over his head as he walked into the living room after her. "Think about this. You're talking about chasing ghosts because of a voicemail from a dead woman!"

"Not a dead woman." She whirled around, her heart pounding in her ears and her breath coming in short, quick gasps. "A warning," she said, pointing at his chest. "Someone sent that message. Someone who knows what's happening to you."

She paused, the full implications of her words sinking in and settling heavily between them like cement. "Someone who knows you're going to die tonight."

Nathan went white, opening and closing his mouth. For the first time since she woke him up, he looked like he was having second thoughts.

"How do you know that?" he asked quietly.

Elena swallowed, her throat tight with fear. She could not tell him. Not yet, not maybe ever. "Because I remember," she said simply before walking out the door.

And leaving him to ponder the things she knew but wasn't prepared to explain.

Saint Agnes's Church stood on the edge of the Lower Downtown, its steeple piercing the gray clouds overhead. It was an imposing structure built of stone and wood, the kind of place that made people feel small. It had been built in 1892 by the miners who found silver in the veins of the Rocky Mountains, men who had wanted to thank God for His generosity.

Elena had been there before, as a little girl, holding her mother's hand as she and Maris talked to a priest in private. This place smelled of incense and candle wax, the same as it had back then, and the stained glass windows let the light dance across the worn pews.

She pushed open the heavy doors and stepped inside the empty cathedral, save for the lone figure kneeling in the front pew. An old man with thinning white hair and a black cassock turned to face her as she walked up the aisle.

"Maris's daughter," he said, his voice echoing off the stone. "I wondered when you would come."

Elena stopped in her tracks. "You knew my mother?"

The old priest turned to face her fully and she got her first real look at him. He was lean, his face lined with age, but his eyes held something behind them, a sharpness. His gaze was heavy and sad as he studied her.

"I knew your mother," he said softly. "In fact, I was the one who warned her to hide the journal. Warned her that the debt would be called again."

Nathan stepped forward, his brow furrowed. "What debt? What is happening to my wife?"

The priest looked up at Nathan, his gaze piercing the man. He gestured for them to sit next to him on the pew. "Sit, both of you. What I am about to say will change your perception of this city, of your families, and possibly yourselves."

Elena sat, Nathan settling down beside her with stiff movements. As the priest looked at them both, he sighed deeply.

"The ledger," he said, "is not a thing, per se, but more a concept. A metaphysical list, of sorts, detailing debts owed to forces ancient and unknowable. Your ancestors made a pact with those forces, as was their custom long before Denver was even founded."

"Pact?" Nathan echoed, his voice rising in confusion. "My ancestors are contractors. Builders. We don't make pacts with—"

"Your great-grandfather was a mining engineer," the priest cut in. "He worked in Eldridge Hollow with many other men in 1879, but he was the only survivor when the collapse came. Can you tell me, son, how many men died that day?"

Nathan stared at the old man in confusion, his face red. "I... I don't know."

The priest nodded solemnly. "There were 47 men that died that day, but your great-grandfather walked away from it all alive. He made a bargain with whatever it was that came out of that cave and took those men with it."

"Futures," Elena whispered.

The priest gave her a long look before turning back to Nathan. "Every generation, when the time is right, the debt must be paid in the future. Sometimes only one person is marked for the harvest, but other times..." He trailed off, his eyes dark. "Other times the debt is heavy and must be paid in kind."

Nathan's hand sought out Elena's and he gave it a tight, desperate squeeze.

"How do we stop it?" he asked.

The priest's eyes turned to her. "Your mother tried to stop it all sixteen years ago, but she failed. However, she did manage to leave you with something that might help you now."

He opened his cassock and pulled out a small, worn book bound in leather. Cracks of dried blood painted some of the edges, but the cover was otherwise intact.

"The fragment of the ledger," he said, placing the book in her hands. "It contains the names of those whose futures have been claimed, as well as those who are yet to pay."

Elena opened it carefully, her trembling fingers brushing against the pages. Some names were written on torn pieces of paper, others carved directly into the leather. One page, however, stood out from the rest, written freshly in dark, sharp ink.

Hart, Elena & Hart, Nathan. Debt called: October 22, 2026. Payment required: One future. Alternative: Both die at midnight, every night, until the debt is paid in full.

Elena's breath caught in her throat. "Both die?"

The priest's expression was grave. "Yes, I'm afraid so. As I said, sometimes the sacrifice called for is great. If you cannot free yourselves by midnight tonight, Nathan will most certainly not be the only one to die. And you won't wake up afterwards either."

Nathan pushed himself off the pew in alarm. "This is insane! This is superstition! We can't just accept that we're destined to—"

"Nathan," Elena said firmly as she held up the book. "Look at the date. Tonight."

He turned, stunned, his face whiter than she'd ever seen it. "Tonight..."

"Yes," the priest said gravely. "Tonight you must find a way to stop this, to break the curse before anyone else can take the payment. There is always a sacrifice, but it is not inevitable. Someone must willingly give up their future, but that doesn't mean it has to be you."

Elena closed the book and looked up at him, her heart pounding. "How do we break the curse?"

The priest met her gaze, eyes deep and searching. "Your mother hid the ledger in the place where the old miners used to pray. The chapel beneath the chapel—but understand this," he warned. "There are others who seek it as well. People who would see you fail just as they saw her fail."

"Who?" Nathan asked.

"The Vale family," the priest said grimly. "Ingrid Vale, specifically. Her ancestors were the caretakers of the ledger and they believe, wrongly I might add, that it should remain as it is. They will stop you from breaking the curse."

Elena stood and tucked the book back inside her coat. "Then we best get moving. I don't intend on dying tonight."

As she turned towards the exit, Nathan caught her by the arm. "Elena... If... if one of us has to sacrifice... I'll do it. I won't let you—"

"We'll decide that later," she assured him, her tone gentle but firm. "After we find the ledger." With that, she walked out into the night.

The sky was growing darker by the minute, the sun setting faster than it should have. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she looked down to see a text from an unknown number.

You have the fragment. Good. Now find the rest. But be careful, Elena. The Warden is watching. And it does not forgive those who break their promises.

She looked up at the sky, her mind whirling. Somewhere way up in the heavens, perhaps beyond time and space itself, something ancient and hungry waited for her to come to it.

Something that would claim what was owed to it.

She gripped Nathan's hand tightly and began walking.