Winterwood (3 page)

When the police arrived, an officer had conducted the same search over again while his partner asked a series of questions. As Anders expected, the officer had cut him off the moment he brought up the fact that the only footprints leading away from the trampled-down area were those of the animal.

“Wind and snow can fill prints in pretty fast, Mr. Bach. That deer probably just walked by afterwards.” The officer, a sleepy-eyed, young man named Billingsley, tapped his notepad with his pen. “Just tell me what you saw and leave the detective work to us, okay?”

After getting a list of the boys' friends and the places they frequented to play, the police departed with assurances to do all they could to locate the missing children, including initiating an Amber alert and assigning several officers to search the neighborhood.

“In the meantime, the best thing you folks can do is sit tight in case the boys come home or call.”

Turning to his daughter, Anders again tried to bring up the subject of the hoofprints.

“Don't start with your superstitions,” Anna had warned. “A goddamned deer ran across our yard. That doesn't mean magical fucking elves exist. Do me a favor and stay here in case they come back. We're going back out to look for them.”

“The police said we should wait,” Paul said and then backed away, hands up in surrender, when Anna turned her fury on him.

“Our boys are missing. I'm not sitting on my ass when we could be out there trying to find them.”

That left Anders to spend the rest of the day in an empty house, staring at the clock while the nightmares of his childhood circled his thoughts like vultures, reminding him of the terrible fate that awaited the boys if something wasn't done. The right something.

Now, with dusk fast approaching, he knew he couldn't wait any longer. Time was running out. He had to get them back before it was too late.

He'd just begun to make a mental list of the things he'd need when the front door opened and Anna walked in, stomping snow off her boots. Paul followed a step behind, his boyish face drawn and tired, the dark circles under his eyes a matched set to his wife's.

“Did the police call?” Anna asked.

Anders shook his head. “Anna, we need to talk. There isn't much time. Those prints. It was the
Jólasveinar
, the Yule Lads, I am sure of it. They were here, and the boys must have seen them and gone outside, why I don't know, but—”

“Stop it! Stop with the goddamned fairy tales.” Anna threw her hat and scarf on the floor. “My boys—your grandchildren—are missing, and all you can do is talk about fucking make-believe elves and magic animals.”

“We can get them back tonight. It's our only chance. When it's dark and the Krampus leaves Winterwood for the Hunt, we can—”

“Jesus, Dad, can't you just shut up?” Tears streaming down her face, Anna ran for the stairs.

Paul stood there for a moment, watching her, then looked at Anders and shook his head, his eyes as cold as the winter night.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Then he crossed the room and followed Anna upstairs. A second later a door slammed.

They've closed me out.
His own tears threatened to fall. How could they think he was trying to hurt them, that he didn't care? He would do anything for the boys, for his family. Sacrifice his life.

In that moment, he made his decision.

He would find the boys and bring them back.

Or die trying.

A few minutes before ten, Anders opened the back door and placed a steaming bowl of
haferbrei
on the porch. He'd made the porridge the traditional way, adding cinnamon, sugar and butter to the steaming oatmeal, just as his mother and grandmother used to do. Then he put on his heavy winter coat and sat down at the table, wondering just when the tradition of putting milk and cookies out for Santa had taken the place of leaving a warm dish for the
Julenissen
, the Yule Elf. Who in their right mind would want cold milk and dry cookies after being out for hours on a freezing night?

Five minutes passed, and he sighed. He had no idea how long it would take for the elf to show. Bad enough he'd had to wait until night before he could even try. How many fresh bowls would he need to make before—?

“So, it seems someone still remembers the ways of old. Should it be gratitude or caution I express?”

Anders jumped and his heart kicked against his ribs. The previously empty porch now held a most amazing sight. A short, thin figure, his red hat just reaching the knob of the door, his coat as green as summer grass. Black pants and boots with buckles of shiny silver completed the outfit. Behind him stood a diminutive goat, not much larger than a medium-sized dog. While the elf appeared cautious but friendly, his Yule Goat glared at Anders with suspicious yellow eyes.

“Julenissen.”

“Aye. But if you have something to say, best be quick.” The ruddy-faced elf picked up the bowl and shoveled oatmeal into his mouth as he spoke, “I've no time for idle chat.”

“I've need of your help. A minute of your time in return for filling your belly.” Anders rose and scooped more porridge from the pot, placed the second bowl on the table.

The Yule Elf's eyes narrowed. “I've a long night ahead and few minutes to spare.” His gaze shifted to the hot porridge. “Perhaps just one. Ask what you wish, but I give no promise of answers.”

Fast as a bird, the elf climbed onto a chair and proceeded to dig into the cereal in voracious fashion.

Knowing he had little time, Anders launched into his plea. “My grandsons were taken by the Lads. I need to get them back, and only you can show me the way to Winterwood.”

The elf looked up, his eyes wide. The spoon fell from his hand, the
clink
of metal on glass loud in the quiet room.

“Winterwood? You don't strike me as the foolish type.”

“Not foolish. Desperate.”

“Two and the same.” The elf jumped down from his chair. “I'm sorry, I cannot help you. My thanks for the porridge, and now I must go.”

“No.” Anders slammed the door shut before the elf could reach it. Outside, the goat bleated and kicked at the wood. “Please. Just tell me how to make the crossing. Once there, I'll find them and bring them back.”

The elf leaped for the doorknob and Anders grabbed at him. They fell to the floor and rolled back and forth, Anders struggling to keep a grip on the wriggling figure. A chair crashed over and then Anders got his arms wrapped around the elf, pinning him in place.

“I can't let you go before you tell me.” Anders gasped out the words. His heart danced a rapid beat, and he prayed it wouldn't give out before he could bring Nick and Jake back from the other side of winter's curtain.

“What the hell is going— Oh my God!”

Anders looked up, his attention diverted by Anna's shout. The Yule Elf took advantage of his momentary distraction, slipping free and jumping to his feet. Instead of trying to catch him again, Anders wedged himself against the door, preventing the elf from pulling it open. The door rattled each time the Yule Goat's hooves struck it, sending painful vibrations up Anders's back and shoulders, but he kept his weight on it. With a sigh, the elf stepped away.

“What the fuck is that?”

Paul Willis had joined his wife at the kitchen's entrance. Both still wore the same clothes from earlier in the evening. Their faces showed duplicate expressions of shock, wide eyes and open mouths creating dark circles against pale flesh.

“The Julenissen.” Anders managed to get the word out between deep, wheezing breaths.

“There's no such thing,” Anna whispered, staring at the elf, who glowered back with narrowed eyes. Outside, the goat bleated and stamped its hooves in frustration. “No such thing. I must be dreaming.”

The elf turned his angry gaze back at Anders. “Still, this trip you desire to make.”

Anders nodded, fighting for breath.

“Then you shall have your door.” His mouth twisted into a humorless smile, the Yule Elf raised his tiny, gloved hands and a bitter wind roared through the kitchen.

“But be fair warned, foolish man.” The Yule Elf had to shout to be heard over the miniature storm. “The Holly King will eat your flesh and suck the marrow from your bones if he catches you in his land. So be quick with your task or none might return.”

The wind increased and the lights went out. Anders heard his daughter call for help and then he was falling backwards, the door behind him gone, everything gone. He cried out, his shouts joining Anna's and Paul's, and closed his eyes against the furious wind.

Which abruptly stopped, replaced by a bitter cold much worse than the winter night he'd just left. He opened his eyes and found he lay on a bed of snow. Evergreen trees, larger than any he'd ever seen, towered over him, painted in silver and black by an enormous moon that seemed close enough to touch. The odors of pine, mountain air and burning wood scented each breath he took and woke an intense homesickness for his childhood. Without even sitting up, he knew he'd reached his goal.

Winterwood.

Anders pushed himself to his knees. Every bone ached, but he ignored the pain. Either there'd be time to heal and rest later, or it wouldn't matter. The important thing now was to get out of the snow and find his way to the boys.

Someone coughed behind him and he froze, thinking he'd already been caught. Then a muttered curse stole one fear and replaced it with another. He turned, praying to be wrong.

He wasn't.

Anna and Paul lay in the snow, just regaining their senses after their trip through the Veil.

The elf's revenge for what I forced him to do. Or maybe not his fault,
Anders amended his thought.
Perhaps the doorway takes everyone within a certain distance.

Either way, he now had an additional problem. What to do with his daughter and son-in-law while he searched for Jake and Nick. The urgency of it compounded when he saw that neither of them wore coats. In the frigid temperatures of the forest, their clothes wouldn't be enough protection. They'd die from exposure before too long.

At least they're wearing shoes.

“Come, we must get you somewhere warm,” he said, helping Anna to her feet.

Although he wobbled a bit, Paul rose on his own and didn't pass out as he took in the unexpected sight of the skyscraper-high trees surrounding them.

“Where are we?” Anna asked, her arms wrapped around her chest.

“Winterwood,” Anders said, slapping the snow off her back.

Anna gasped. “That's not possible. How—”

“There's no time for explanations right now.”

“What the fuck is Winterwood?” Paul's voice rose with each word, taking on a hysterical note.

“Quiet!” Anders guided them behind a nearby tree. So far, the noise hadn't attracted any attention, but that could change at any moment. “We must find shelter before you both freeze to death.” He'd noticed his son-in-law had already started shivering. Unlike Anna, who at least wore a heavy sweater, Paul only had on a cotton turtleneck to protect him from the elements.

Anders glanced around and saw they'd ended up in the middle of a long, wide road that carved through the forest. A few yards to their left, a wide, shimmering square stretched across the path and stood ten feet high. To their right, the path led deeper into the woods.

“This way,” Anders said, pointing in the direction away from the Veil. “Hurry. We haven't much time.”

Very aware that the clock had begun ticking, Anders headed off, doing his best to kick up the ankle-deep snow as he walked, not only to make it easier for Anna and Paul to walk in their low-cut shoes, but to create a trail they'd be able to follow when they returned. Behind him, Anna and Paul hurried to keep up, their arms wrapped around each other for warmth.

“Dad, wait. Where are you—?”

Anders turned and let some of his frustration escape. “Hush, for
gottverdammt's
sake. If they find us, they will kill us. And you'll never see your children again.” He put his back to them and continued walking. Their questions would have to wait. He still had no idea what they'd find at the end of the road, or how he would rescue the children. He only knew that in less than six hours, the Veil would close for another year.

And that meant certain death for all of them.

Trudging through the snow, with the trees all around and the night silent as a church, Anders could almost imagine he'd been transported to the Black Forest of his childhood, back to a time when it hadn't yet devolved into a tourist destination for the rich and arrogant and when winter meant an endless supply of snow to play in and meat pies, sausage and sweet pastries to feast on.

All good things, but always lurking in the deepest shadows were the dangers to beware of. His hand went automatically to his left side where the scars served as a permanent reminder that what most people called legends or fairy tales were in fact warnings to be heeded.

And now they were heading right into the heart of those legends.

Ahead of them, the path widened and angled down a gradual slope. Sitting at the bottom of the slight hill was the most incredible sight. A village, but one like nothing else in the world.

All the houses and buildings had been carved from living trees whose trunks were wider than a two-car garage. Two stories, three stories tall, the homes had shuttered windows and oval doors and balconies whose intricate woodwork reminded Anders of his childhood home. Towering bonfires placed around the outskirts of the clearing created a mad, flickering glow that illuminated the buildings and made the shadows dance with wild abandon. Similar fires blazed at strategic points throughout the village.

Closer to the village proper, the tree houses grew less frequent and shops of various kinds took their place. Anders made out stables and a blacksmith and a bakery, all tended by tiny figures in peaked hats. More of the elfin men and women hurried through narrow, muddy streets and alleys between the trees, some laden with sacks or baskets, others herding poorly dressed individuals or dashing from place to place on mysterious errands.