Winterwood by JG Faherty Page A

here to see it. Your clock is ticking, old man, ticking the last of your time away. Can you hear it? Tick…tick…tick…”
    The witch raised her staff and pointed it at Anders. “Oh, too bad. No more minutes.”
    Agony exploded in Anders’s chest, radiating out from his heart to his shoulders and arms and down to his belly. His throat tightened, turning a cry of pain into a wheezing gasp. His legs gave out and he fell, one hand pressed against his sternum. Rank straw and dust filled his nose, but the invisible band around his chest wouldn’t let him cough. Dim light turned to complete darkness. From far away, he heard Anna shouting at him— “Father! Father!” —but he had no strength to respond. Other sounds reached him in his lightless world. The metallic clank of the lock being opened. Voices shouting.
    â€œHelp!”
    â€œTake them, Mother! We brought them just for you.”
    â€œLeave them alone!”
    Then the clang of iron striking iron, which grew louder in his head, became a booming thunder reverberating in his skull, drowning everything else out as it beat in time to the tortured pounding behind his ribs.
    My heart. Pills. Must reach them. Can’t let…
    It was no use. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He’d failed. Failed to keep his family safe, failed to return them home. Hopelessness washed through him, bringing the bitter taste of defeat to his mouth. The roaring in his hears faded, taking the pain in his chest with it, until only a final thought remained.
    I’m sorry.
    â€œDad?”
    Anders opened his eyes. A blurry, ghostly face hovered in black sky. He blinked and then wondered why he had to.
    I died. Didn’t I?
    He blinked again, and the face resolved into Anna staring at him from a couple of feet away. Tears carved dark streaks through the dirt on her cheeks.
    â€œThank God.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek.
    â€œWhat—” Anders stopped. The bitter taste in his mouth. Dry lips. A hint of nausea. All too familiar. “My pill. Who?”
    â€œI knew you had to have them with you. As soon as you collapsed, I searched your pockets. But you didn’t wake up right away, and I thought…I thought I was too late.”
    Anders managed a weak smile. His daughter knew him too well. He never left his bedroom without his nitroglycerin pills stashed in the pocket of his robe or pants, not once in the ten years since he’d developed angina after a mild heart attack.
    â€œNo blockages,” the cardiologist had told him. “But try to avoid stress.”
    If only he could see me now.
    â€œHelp me up.” He let Paul and Anna guide him into a sitting position. As always after one of his episodes, his arms and legs felt weak as a newborn’s, but that would pass in a few minutes. In the meantime, his mind still worked, so he might as well use it.
    â€œWhat happened after I…?”
    Anna bit her lip and shook her head.
    â€œThey took Jake and Nick. I tried to stop them, but that old woman, she did something to me. And to Paul. We couldn’t move.”
    â€œShe’s not a woman, she’s a witch.” Anders took a deep breath, then regretted it when the stink of mildew and piss filled his lungs. He tried not to think about all the diseases floating in the air. “We need to get out of here. We have to find them before…”
    â€œPlease don’t say it,” Anna whispered.
    â€œSay what?” Paul asked.
    The feeling of defeat returned, falling on Anders like a sodden blanket. They were alive, yes, but still trapped. How long had he been unconscious? Long enough for…?
    â€œGryla is the Holly King’s wicked bride, the mother of the Yule Lads and the evil sister of Mother Earth. She’s a witch with a fondness for children.”
    â€œA fondness… Jesus, you don’t mean she—”
    â€œNo.” Anders read the revulsion on