The Unwanted Winter - Volume One of the Saga of the Twelves by Richard Heredia

So how did he manage to get here, if he’d come to them? How
could he have…traveled? Unless, this was a dream, could he be
dreaming?
    “ Listen, child, you must
hear what we have to tell you.”
    “ But, how did I come here
if I went to bed in my house, in Los Angeles? I’m dreaming, right?”
Anthony asked pressing the issue, his was voice insistent, but
fraught with fear.
    “ It is
not important,” came to voice again,
inside and outside of his head. “Now
Listen.”
    “ But –“
    “ It is
time, my child, to unlock the potential living within you. It is a
thing we must accomplish posthaste, for time is of the essence, so
focus, young one, and listen –,” attempted
the voice once more, but Anthony still did not
understand.
    “ But, I don’t
–.”
    “ If you will not listen,
then we will force you! There is not enough time for us, for you,
to exist in this place, together!”
    There was such desperate
ferocity in the tone. Anthony’s train of thought broke. He cocked
his head to the side, grasping at understanding, feeling an eerie
tingling beginning to crawl up his spine and lodge at the very back
of his neck.
    “ What do you mean -?” was
all he’d managed to say when the cavern suddenly exploded with
light. A white, searing light, that blinded him, burnt him, pain
lancing through his eyes and into his head. He was unable to
contain it. It flowed freely throughout his body.
    Anthony screamed for the
second time - harrowing, from his very marrow. Once more, a wail
unlike any he’d ever uttered before. It came from his
soul.
    “ This is the only way. You
are the lynchpin. You must be unlocked. There is no
time…”
    Standing, rigid with
agony, unable to raise his hands to his exploding brain, Anthony
seemed to snap, break, and fall. He was a heap, collapsing onto the
ground before he knew what was happening. His head smacked horribly
against the granite of the cavern floor, blood and brains both
squirting from his hideously cracked skull.
    He was vanquished in a
moment. All he knew, all he was… died.
     
    *****
     
    Anthony vaulted from his
bed with a blood-curling howl. Instinctively, he reached for his
smashed head, searching, questing, feeling… and
finding…nothing.
    He wasn’t
injured.
    A god damned dream! he thought to himself, glancing at the clock
beside his bed. It read: 12:43 am. Jeez,
man, I have only been asleep for a half-hour! His thoughts continued with the images, the sensations, of
his dream. They flooded back to him like a mental levy breaking in
his mind.
    There was a series of
thunderous thuds sounding outside in the hall, and then upon his
door. A heartbeat later, his father burst into the room like some
deranged firefighter. “ Tony! Are you ok?” was his father’s
exclamation as his bedroom door crashed into the wall. The doorknob
imbedded itself into the drywall and on came the lights in what
seemed a millisecond to him.
    “ Whoa!” Anthony reacted,
shielding himself from the instant brilliance.
    “ Tony! ” His father rushed to his
bedside, hands and arms extended, pulling covers back to see if he
was all right.
    Anthony’s pajama covered
legs were exposed to the cold air within the house. “Dad, Dad, I’m cool! It was a nightmare, Dad,”
rushed the boy, trying to get his father to calm down, pulling the
blankets back over himself. Damn, it’s
cold tonight!
    “ A… what...?” asked his
father, wiping his hand across his forehead. It was beaded with
sweat. He stood there next to Anthony’s bed, in his boxer shorts
and t-shirt with the arms cut off, “Viva Las Vegas!” written across
the bottom. There was a cartoon-like version of Elvis emblazoned
about the entire front of the ancient looking garment.
    “ It was a…a
nightmare.”
    “ Jesus Christ, Anthony, I
thought you were being chopped in half or something,” replied his
father still panting and looking about the room to see if there was
anything else amiss. His hands were on his hips, rubbing at