Never Fear by Heather Graham Page B

begged for mercy. Here is my judgment.
    I will leave you one child: the boy,
Leifur, or the girl, Lilja. Which will it be?”
    “ No, please. You cannot do
this,” wailed Snorri.
    “ You cannot make us
choose,” Berglind cried.
    Grýla slowly nodded at the
desperate couple. “You are right. That would be exceedingly cruel.”
A low, insidious cackling started at the back of her throat, then
built to a crazed, high-pitched, hysterical laughter. “But I am
cruel!” she screamed. Decide!
Decide! Or my Jólaköttur will
decide for you!”
    It was too much for the
parents.
    “ Save my
Leifur,” Snorri yelled.
    “ Save my
Lilja!’ Berglind
shrieked.
    Grýla’s voiced boomed, silencing them,
“Aaaahh, cannot decide?” she raised her arms above the children’s
heads and began to wave them back and forth.
    Leifur and Lilja, both frozen in
place, silent as tears ran down their cheeks, looks of horror and
fear in their eyes.
    “ All
right then, my pet. You will decide. Who will be the tastier treat, hmm?”
Grýla continued to stroke the Cat’s head. “The boy or the girl?
Which will it be?”
    The Cat lowered his face to the
children, sniffing one then the other.
    “ Yes, my
pet, smell them. Delicious, young flesh. My sweet Jólaköttur, you
must choose. Choose now !”
    The Yuletide Cat opened its enormous
mouth…
    … and bit down.

 
     
     
     
     
     
    A FAMILY CHRISTMAS
TERROR
     
    CHAPTER
3
     
     
    “ That was rough!” Nick
said.
    “ How awful for that
family,” Judy said, holding the book to her chest.
    “ Yeah, sorry, Mom,” Jack
said. “You being a mom and all.”
    Judy said. “As horrible as the story
was, it’s only a story. Worse things happen every day in the
news.”
    Jack jumped in, “But remember: basis
in fact. All legends come from somewhere.”
    “ In ye olde Europe,”
Grandpa said in his best old Irish lilt, “many of the Christmas
stories are not happy. They believed in fear to help make their
children behave. You should use your Google or one of those other
fancy computer thingies, or maybe a library and research these old
legends.”
    “ Really, Grandpa?” Nick
said.
    “ Yes, those
legends—”
    Nick cut off the old man. “No,
Grandpa... I meant, you really know what Google is?”
    “ Of course I do.” Grandpa
held out his hand to Judy. “Give me that damn book; I’ll read the
next one.”
    He took the book. “Hmm...”
rubbing his unshaven chin. “Now this one might be even rougher than
that last one. Carol of the
Refugees ...”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    CAROL OF THE
REFUGEES

    AIDAN RUSSELL
     
     
    “ Do not let go of my hand,
Sabra. Do not let go.” Her father held her hand and pulled her
along the side of the building. A screech echoed through the narrow
street as a rocket flashed by overhead, a shooting star with no
accompanying wish. Sabra in turn held on to the hand of her younger
brother, Fahim, the four-year-old squealing at her tight grip. She
dreaded losing him in all the confusion. Mother and her older
brother, Qadir, trailed behind them, but she would not risk losing
her younger sibling. If any of them were left behind, the militants
would give them one choice: convert or die.
    The shelling had started
earlier that morning. The first rounds fell among the city of
Sahiliya’s residential bazaar. The militants adjusted their
artillery and mortar fire and resumed the bombardment on their
intended targets: The small Army base and police station. With
explosions tearing apart their position, the Army jundis and police
abandoned their posts.
    With the city defenseless and night
falling, the militants advanced. That is when Father abandoned
trying to start the old truck he had been hired to fix and made the
decision to flee the city on foot. None of his three children
questioned the decision. Fahim was too young to truly understand
what was happening, but Sabra could read quite well for a
nine-year-old and would often study her schoolwork on the floor