Hogfather by Terry Pratchett

GAWAIN?
    “I…suppose it’s a good strong name for a fighter…”
    A SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY, I SUSPECT. I SEE THE GIRL WRITES IN GREEN CRAYON ON PINK PAPER WITH A MOUSE IN THE CORNER. THE MOUSE IS WEARING A DRESS.
    “I ought to point out that she decided to do that so the Hogfather would think she was sweet,” said Susan. “Including the deliberate bad spelling. But look, why are you—”
    SHE SAYS SHE IS FIVE YEARS OLD.
    “In years, yes. In cynicism, she’s about thirty-five. Why are you doing the—”
    BUT SHE BELIEVES IN THE HOGFATHER?
    “She’d believe in anything if there was a dolly in it for her. But you’re not going to leave without telling me—”
    Death hung the stockings back on the mantelpiece.
    NOW WE MUST BE GOING. HAPPY HOGSWATCH. ER…OH, YES: HO. HO. HO.
    “Nice sherry,” said Albert, wiping his mouth.
    Rage overtook Susan’s curiosity. It had to travel quite fast.
    “You’ve actually been drinking the actual drinks little children leave out for the actual Hogfather?” she said.
    “Yeah, why not? He ain’t drinking ’em. Not where he’s gone.”
    “And how many have you had, may I ask?”
    “Dunno, ain’t counted,” said Albert happily.
    ONE MILLION, EIGHT HUNDRED THOUSAND, SEVEN HUNDRED AND SIX, said Death. AND SIXTY-EIGHT THOUSAND, THREE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN PORK PIES. AND ONE TURNIP.
    “It looked pork-pie shaped,” said Albert. “Everything does, after a while.”
    “Then why haven’t you exploded?”
    “Dunno. Always had a good digestion.”
    TO THE HOGFATHER, ALL PORK PIES ARE AS ONE PORK PIE. EXCEPT THE ONE LIKE A TURNIP. COME, ALBERT. WE HAVE TRESPASSED ON SUSAN’S TIME.
    “Why are you doing this?” Susan screamed.
    I AM SORRY. I CANNOT TELL YOU. FORGET YOU SAW ME. IT’S NOT YOUR BUSINESS.
    “Not my business? How can—”
    AND NOW…WE MUST BE GOING…
    “Nighty-night,” said Albert.
    The clock struck, twice, for the half-hour. It was still half past six.
    And they were gone.

    The sleigh hurtled across the sky.
    “She’ll try to find out what this is all about, you know,” said Albert.
    OH DEAR.
    “Especially after you told her not to.”
    YOU THINK SO?
    “Yeah,” said Albert.
    DEAR ME. I STILL HAVE A LOT TO LEARN ABOUT HUMANS, DON’T I?
    “Oh…I dunno…” said Albert.
    OBVIOUSLY IT WOULD BE QUITE WRONG TO INVOLVE A HUMAN IN ALL THIS. THAT IS WHY, YOU WILL RECALL, I CLEARLY FORBADE HER TO TAKE AN INTEREST.
    “Yeah…you did…”
    BESIDES, IT’S AGAINST THE RULES.
    “You said them little gray buggers had already broken the rules.”
    YES, BUT I CAN’T JUST WAVE A MAGIC WAND AND MAKE IT ALL BETTER. THERE MUST BE PROCEDURES. Death stared ahead for a moment and then shrugged. AND WE HAVE SO MUCH TO DO. WE HAVE PROMISES TO KEEP.
    “Well, the night is young,” said Albert, sitting back in the sacks.
    THE NIGHT IS OLD. THE NIGHT IS ALWAYS OLD.
    The pigs galloped on. Then, “No, it ain’t.”
    I’M SORRY?
    “The night isn’t any older than the day, master. It stands to reason. There must have been a day before anyone knew what the night was.”
    YES, BUT IT’S MORE DRAMATIC.
    “Oh. Right, then.”

    Susan stood by the fireplace.
    It wasn’t as though she disliked Death. Death considered as an individual rather than life’s final curtain was someone she couldn’t help liking, in a strange kind of way.
    Even so…
    The idea of the Grim Reaper filling the Hogswatch stockings of the world didn’t fit well in her head, no matter which way she twisted it. It was like trying to imagine Old Man Trouble as the Tooth Fairy. Oh, yes. Old Man Trouble…now there was a nasty one for you…
    But honestly, what kind of sick person went round creeping into little children’s bedrooms all night?
    Well, the Hogfather, of course, but…
    There was a little tinkling sound from somewhere near the base of the Hogswatch tree.
    The raven backed away from the shards of one of the glittering balls.
    “Sorry,” it mumbled. “Bit of a species reaction there.