“Can you make it out to Christine, please?” The woman’s cheeks were plump and rosy. A crimson suede coat and complementary lipstick. “She’s my mother. Ill, you see. She couldn’t make it out today, but I promised I’d get you to sign for her. She’s a big fan of the fantastical. Loves your work.”
Alex nodded, already scratching the pen on the page. His wrist hurt from signing, and his shoulder throbbed dully, yet he looked as fresh as ever, offering a curt smile to the lady as he passed the book back and wished her a great day.
The queue filed down, but Alex never saw its end. He never really expected to, given that his latest book had turned into a global bestseller. The book idea that he had taken to Denridge Hills with him had morphed into something else entirely, fuelled by a research project he never dreamed he’d survive, and would never hope to attempt again. For the last twelve months, London had reclaimed its place as his home, a strange concrete jungle of thousands of impatient creatures, barging their shoulders to take your place on the tube, sour expressions on their faces as they speed-walked with unjust urgency through the grey-stained landscape.
A city that was infinitely better than the alternatives that Alex had experienced.
For as long as Alex could remember, his feet had been itchy for travel. His entire being longed to see the world, yearned to soak up the many cultures of the globe and to lose himself in every aspect of what it meant to be human. That urgency had faded. The anchor he refused to toss from the ship had been secured the moment the wheels of the plane touched British soil. He was home. This was home. London was…
“I don’t suppose you write in memoriams?”
Alex was shaken from his reverie, a familiar voice that he couldn’t quite place cooing him from his thoughts. A woman with salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and a thick, grey coat. She stood out from the other preened and fashioned women in the queue, her own attire more basic and suited to the functions of a much colder climate. All that said, Sherri Dutton looked well. Surprisingly so, although age had finally caught up with her.
Alex smiled and rose from the table, offering Sherri a hug. Sherri leaned into it while the guard watched with a scrutinous eye and those patiently waiting in the queue prickled with jealousy.
“A lot has changed for you,” she said.
“I hope that’s true for you, too.”
Alex offered to meet Sherri after his business at the bookstore for a drink, and found the woman waiting patiently in the rain outside an independent cafe, the windows steamed with condensation and the smell of freshly ground brew in the air.
They took a table in the back corner, a young waitress trying her best not to let the tray slip from trembling hands as her eyes flickered between Alex and the drinks.
He thanked her with a twenty-pound note.
“How are you finding London?” Alex asked.
“Different. I always imagined what somewhere like this would be like; a big city, bustling traffic, grand buildings. I never really understood just how alone you could feel surrounded by so many people.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” He sipped his drink. Burned his tongue. “I’ll be honest, I never dreamed you’d take the plunge. I figured you townsfolk would remain where you were forever. Too scared travel.”
Sherri furrowed her brow. “Well, a lot can change. We’ve learned that the hard way.”
Alex nodded solemnly. He hadn’t waited around in the town all that long following the clear up. The numbers of the townsfolk had been slashed by more than half, and there was a great deal of repair needed doing. Alex’s chief concern had been returning back to the house with Sophie, ensuring that Damien and Alice were okay.
He hadn’t factored in losing another of their number before the dawn broke. For the first time in some months, his thoughts strayed to the innocent young girl and her strange disappearance…
“It’s a heavy business,” Sherri said solemnly, shaking Alex from his thoughts.
Alex nodded, composing himself. “That’s all over, now.” A group of teens turned away from Alex as he caught their eye. “I’m glad you managed to fight it all off. How’s the healing?”
Sherri’s hand moved absently to her chest. Even now, over a year later, Alex remembered the blank animal fury in her eyes as she had reared back to attack her own son. Even now, he looked into those dark eyes, the rings where colour had once been now shaded permanently in black, and he wondered if any of those touched by the wendigo would ever heal.
“It comes and goes.” Sherri sighed. “Less so these days. The… I guess you could call them ‘waves’ of darkness peter out in the end. They’re easier to control when you feel them coming. Time heals all wounds. At least, that’s what they say.”
Alex nodded, eyes downcast.
Sherri reached for his hand. “It’s not your fault…”
But it was, wasn’t it? Alex had given up. Sherri proved that the affected could still live normal lives, so why did he give up on Cody? Was he still out there, somewhere? Lost in the woods with that beast and his minions? Could Alex have saved him? Dragged him back from the precipice and made everything okay?
“I know… It’s just…”
They fell into silence.
Sherri cast her eyes to the teens, now standing at a strange angle as they tried to get in a selfie with Alex from a distance. “I see the book is selling well?”
Alex chewed his lip and took a deep breath. “Yeah, you could say that. I was light on certain details. Twisted the narrative a bit. But even if I didn’t, there would be few who would believe that any of that was real.”
Sherri nodded, her turn to fall quiet.
The coffee machines spewed out their heat, the warmth of the moving bodies inside the café only driving up the temperature. Sherri removed her coat, and through the thin white cotton of her undershirt, Alex’s eyes were drawn to the dark mark on her chest, nestled in her solar plexus. He hated to remember, wondered why he’d written a book about it all in the first place, but his fingers wouldn’t let him forget. For nights on end he typed until the sun rose, the book forming itself without much conscious thought. Before he knew it, he was done. His agent was ecstatic, the publishers entered the most ferocious bidding war Alex had seen. His final contract put his old agreements to shame.
A story that just wanted to be written.
A story that wouldn’t let him forget.
“Can I see him?” Sherri asked the question Alex knew was coming but wasn’t sure how to approach.
His indecision was clear enough on his face that Sherri added, “You promised. I’m okay. Honestly.”
Alex nodded, thinking of the kids back home. Sophie stepping into her own as chief guardian to Damien. Adopting the role of big sister to the bright, talkative boy. Alex’s new apartment was large enough for each of them to have their own bedroom, and slowly they were finding their own sense of normal. Slowly they were letting the memories melt and fade into the past. Occasionally Damien’s memory would trigger, and his questions would catch Sophie by surprise, but eventually it would pass. All things do.
Alex checked his watch and took a long breath. “Sure. I think it’s time.”
It’s time… Words that’ll echo in his head forever. Words that he’ll never fully understand. Words spoken as Tori lay lifeless on the ground and an ancient woman claimed a new protector for her realm. Words spoken moments before Cody was taken by the darkness and entered the Drumtrie forest forever…
A line from an old novel formed in Alex’s mind, words uttered from the hands of a greater writer than he’d ever dream to become. Words he had since stuck on the wall above his desk to serve as a reminder that it wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t change what had happened. Life had its way.
There are other worlds than these.
After draining the final dregs of his coffee, Alex shrugged on his jacket, offered an arm to Sherri, and headed outside into the storm.
If you could call it that.
Author Note
s
There it is, folks. The journey of Cody, Alex, Sophie, Kyle, Tori, Karl, and company is complete.
The storm has passed, and the world keeps on spinning.
When I first set out to write this epic, I knew that something special was coming. I had the world built in my mind, and I knew a smattering of the cast. However, I didn’t know exactly where the journey would take us.
Stephen King describes the writing process best. Writing is akin to sitting alone in the middle of the woods, staring at a campfire. The cast of your tale linger on the peripheries of your vision, nothing more than silhouettes in the darkness, and as you put your fingers to your keyboard, those figures make themselves known. One by one they silently tread into the light and join you around the conflagration. You see them in technicolour, and you know that, on some level, they’re real.
I always had the ending of this story in my head, which was a first for my writing process. Ordinarily I write into the dark and I let the story guide the way, but I knew that with so many characters and such a big story I needed to have an anchor. Tulimaq was the binding monster, and his minions led the way, carving out the path that led to his eventual encounter. I never originally saw his storm as a character of its own, but over time that all unfolded. Story has a way of telling itself, and for me that’s the hypnotic power of what we do as writers.
There are a number of people I’d like to thank for this story’s inception, production, and eventual publication. Special mention goes to the Lincolnshire Writers Group, from where the initial idea was created. I still have it written down in a diary somewhere, nothing more than a few lines of character names and the premise of the teens trapped in the storm. Thank you to Steve Cawte and Eddie Chandler for being gracious hosts and kickstarting a writing career that I never saw coming.
A special thanks goes to my beta readers and my patrons who have supported me on this project from the very beginning. Live writing a book is a strange experience, posting chapters online before they’ve even been edited so that people could see the reality behind the writing process. An extra special thanks specifically to Julie Hiner and Joshua Boucher for your diligent and kind feedback, and for your enthusiasm from the beginning of this story, right to the end. You guys rock.
And to everyone else who has supported this story along the way. To those who have pre-ordered, reviewed, commented, shared, and pumped those fists in the air on launch day. Writers are nothing without their readers and supporters, and I’m blessed to have each and every one of you.
The next part of the journey is going to be fun. Although this part of the story is over, that doesn’t mean I’m done. Now that the story is complete, I’m feverishly prepping the collector’s edition release, scheduled for 2021. This complete collected version of When Winter Comes will come with all new cover art, the entire works bound into one volume, will release on audiobook, and may include some extra special deleted scenes that never made their way into this version. If you’d like to get your hands on this, then be sure to become a “Darksider” over at www.danielwillcocks.com
Thank you, dear reader, for joining me on this journey. I’ve had a blast, and I hope you have too.
Until next we meet…
Daniel Willcocks
November 14th 2020
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About the Author
Daniel Willcocks is an international bestselling author and podcaster of dark fiction. He is the CEO of Devil’s Rock Publishing, one fifth of digital story studio, Hawk & Cleaver, co-producer of iTunes-busting fiction podcast, 'The Other Stories,’ as well as the host of the 'Great Writers Share' podcast, and the ‘Next Level Authors’ podcast.
Residing in the UK, Dan's work explores the catastrophic and the strange. His stories span the genres of horror, post-apocalyptic, and sci-fi, and his work has seen him collaborating with some of the biggest names in the independent publishing community.
Find out more at www.danielwillcocks.com
Devil’s Rock Publishing
A new home for horror
If you enjoyed this title, find more A-grade horror and dark fiction at
www.devilsrockpublishing.com
Other titles by Daniel Willcocks
The Rot Series (with Luke Kondor)
They Rot (Book 1)
They Remain (Book 2)
They Ruin (coming soon)
Keep My Bones
The Caitlin Chronicles (with Michael Anderle)
(1) Dawn of Chaos
(2) Into the Fire
(3) Hunting the Broken
(4) The City Revolts
(5) Chasing the Cure
Other Works
The Other Side: A Horror Anthology
Twisted: A Collection of Dark Tales
The Mark of the Damned
Sins of Smoke
Keep up-to-date at
www.danielwillcocks.com
When Winter Comes | Book 6 | Winter Comes Page 8
