The World Before Later On

I don't know where I am. I was sitting at the bus stop waiting for another Greyhound. Waiting to be taken to another city to stay in another motel.

And I fell asleep. I've been trying to stay awake. I've been drinking lots of coffee (which I hate) and taking caffeine pills, but I must have slipped. My eyes closed and I must have fallen asleep.

Because when I woke up, everything was covered in snow.

I'm still at the bus stop. But there's nobody else here. The city is silent. The street is covered in snow and ice. I can barely walk without slipping.

It isn't going away. The last time this happened, it snapped back, but now it's not. I waited ten minutes, twenty minutes, and it's not going away. I don't even know if I can update my stupid blog because I don't know if the internet works here. I hope so. I hope I can tell people what happened to me.

I saw somebody. Just now. They just ran into an alleyway. Should I try to find them or leave them alone?

I peeked inside the alleyway. It was empty. Nobody there. And then I heard a whisper and a giggle and I turned and there they were. The black-eyed children. The Children of the Cold, that's what Holly called them. I shivered. They looked at me and then turned and ran down the street, their feet sliding on the ice like blades.

"Hello, John," a voice said behind me. A voice I remembered. I turned and looked down the alleyway again. There she was. Claire. She still looked beautiful, even though I knew she was evil. "Bonjour," she said.

"Where am I?" I asked.

"You are in the world he made," she said. "A world in between." She smiled and then ran past me laughing.

I turned and watched as she skated down the street and turned to face me again. "Welcome, John!" she yelled. "Welcome to the Winter Court!"

I watched as she skated away.

She is gone now. She and the others have left me here, in the snow, in the cold, with no way to get back. I can feel the cold creeping up on me. The tips of my fingers are numb.

And worse: I can feel His presence sometimes. The boy. Sometimes, when I'm trying to breath warmness back into my hands, I'll see him out of the corner of my eye. Always waiting.

I'm going to die here. Or I am going to become like them. Because I don't think I can stand being cold. Not like this. Not here.

I don't want to be cold.