The Secret: A Thriller (31 page)

“Warmer this way,” the boy said, nodding at the lantern in approval.

“Well, what shall we do tonight?” Angela asked.

Magnus considered. Left to themselves, he and the boy would generally either read or work on some project or other. He suspected she would need more attention. “I have a deck of cards someplace,” he offered.

“Wonderful!” she said, smiling.

* * *

M
agnus had a generator outside, but it was too expensive to use for electric heat so he’d lit up the woodstove in the corner of the cabin for warmth. But something woke him in the night as he sprawled in his recliner, and the cabin seemed to be colder than he considered reasonable. He rose, and checked: the wood was still lit.

Strange. It was winter, of course—four days till Christmas—but usually the challenge with the woodstove wasn’t getting the place
warm
, it was keeping the thing from
cooking
anyone foolish enough to step into the cabin while it was lit. In fact the cabin was so well insulated that a single oil lantern sometimes made its interior too hot for comfort, down to about twenty degrees outside anyway. And he’d left a lantern burning, too.

Magnus moved to the window. Just how cold
was
it out there?

The moon was still out, but darkness was approaching from the north. Good—clouds might reflect some heat downward. Or at least he hoped they would. Clear nights were always the coldest, in the mountains.

Magnus heard the boy muttering something, and make a strange hooting sound in his sleep, and smiled. A good kid, if strange.

Then he looked at his bed. Angela was lying so still. And—were her eyes open?

“Are you awake?” he asked her, keeping his voice soft. But she didn’t respond.

Maybe she wasn’t so terrible, he told himself. And she was a pretty one. But he’d still be glad to get her out of his hair in the morning. If he could. A city girl like her wouldn’t be used to dealing with power outages, no phone service, and blocked roads. Though she’d kept her chin up so far…

More crashing outside. Giants, indeed, and the end of the world. Magnus had enjoyed telling Angela the old stories as they’d played cards into the night. Enjoyed it, in fact,
far
more than he’d expected to. Maybe a young woman like her could be nice to have around. Once in a while, only, he reassured himself hastily.

Magnus felt a strangely invasive chill reach deep into the marrow of his bones, then laughed aloud at how cold the cabin was suddenly becoming. His breath plumed out in the lantern’s light.

But then his brow furrowed, and he picked up the lantern to lean closer to Angela. He couldn’t see
her
breath. Was she…no, that was ridiculous. He sighed, moving to take a final look out the window as absolute blackness swallowed the last of the moon’s pale light.

“
FIMBULWINTER!
” cried the boy in the loft suddenly, behind Magnus. The child thrashed wildly in his sheets, and gave a strange little abortive howl.

A nightmare, Magnus decided, shaking his head at the way he’d jumped. Maybe he should wake the boy, and give him something warm to drink. And surely the social worker would be stirring now. Perhaps hot chocolate, for everybody, would…

Then the lantern dimmed strangely in his hand, its light barely reaching to the window pane. It felt to Magnus as if hours passed in the time it took him to turn around.

Unsettled and deeply chilled, he walked to the stove and put his hand on it. There was only
cold
. Enough that his hand ached, worse than anything the arthritis had ever done.

Inside the stove, the fire had gone out. But he’d just looked at it a few moments ago…? How…?

Magnus stood in silence, then caught a glimpse of the social worker out of the corner of his eye and turned quickly, not wanting to believe the sparkle of frost he thought he’d seen coating her open eyes—spreading over them in a heartbeat—but as he spun the lantern he carried flared and died.

“No!” Magnus cried, stumbling backward into total darkness, and into a cold so deep it seemed to freeze his soul. And shatter it. Casually, as if an afterthought.

And worse: in the last flash of light his old eyes would ever see—
up in the loft!

Teeth!

Hi, I’m David Haywood Young. Did you enjoy the book? I sure hope so. The whole point of being a writer is, well, entertaining readers. Like you.

Thing is, speaking selfishly here, I get more out of this if I get to
talk
to you guys. I used to do Twitter and Facebook, but just messing around with ‘em took huge amounts of time. So I don’t do that stuff anymore, but I still love hearing from readers--especially those hardy few who reach the end of one of my novels! Or more than one. (Hey, it could happen!)

So...feel free to come by
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But here’s the most important bit, and the way I’d like to finish the book: Thank you for coming along with me on this adventure. I’m having a lot of fun with my writing. And it doesn’t work without you.