Whistlestop Read Free Page B

be around for a few
days. He said you needed to decide what you want to do.”
    “ What I want to
do?”
    “ He said the memories would
come back to you. He wants you to remember the tales of Winterpast
that he told you, and especially he wants you to remember about
your granddad.”
    The image of his grandfather lying on
the floor of their home in a pool of his own blood burned into his
mind. The events of that evening were still a blur of flashing
lights, terrible screams and the wicked blade that sliced through
Mort Winslow, almost cleaving him in two. Jerry could not recall
the attacker’s face, but there seemed to be several of them,
cackling in joy at the death of the old man. In an instant they
were gone, leaving only Jerry and his father to deal with their
grief. Tears streamed down Jerry’s cheeks at that horrible sight,
now replayed more than twenty years later. “I wish you could have
known Grandpa Mort, Jeremy. He was a special man.”
    “ Jeremiah called him by
another name, Dad.”
    “ What was that?”
    “ He called him Mordecai
Davis Iron-heart of Winslow.”
    Jerry remembered that name now as
well. Where were those magical memories for all of these years, he
wondered. Why were they coming back now, and why through his son?
“Jeremy, let’s keep this story between us for now, okay? I don’t
think your mom and sister are ready for this yet.”
    “ I know. They’ll think
we’re crazy!”
    Jerry chuckled and stood up, but did
not reply. The thought of them both being insane was too likely
true to be joked about.
     
    Jerry Winslow could not sleep yet
again. Lynn and the children had gone to bed upstairs hours ago.
Jerry sat on the couch, nursing his second glass of whisky over
ice. The odd encounter with Brad’s softball team, followed by a
reunion with his old imaginary childhood friend was more than his
mind could handle. He spent the afternoon trying to remember the
time he spent with Jeremiah, but all he could muster were bits and
pieces, instantaneous flashes of memory and nothing that made
sense. Then he had decided to put those childhood memories behind
him and focus on reality. His grandfather’s murder had stained his
entire life. His father’s desire to avoid as much of the world as
possible forced young Jerry to make up his own reality, and the
place called Winterpast. He was almost certain he had made it up,
but could those tales have been told to him by Jeremiah? It had
been so long ago, and why was his imagination bringing him back
now? “No!” he exclaimed. “I’m not going to be a child anymore.
Those were just make-believe.” He drained his glass and set it on
the table, grabbed the remote control and turned on the television.
The final part of one of his favorite movies was on, so he slouched
down into his seat and began to watch. His eyelids became heavy and
he was fighting to stay awake. Soon, he did not know whether he was
still watching or dreaming he was watching it.
    After the closing credits, an
announcer said, “Stay tuned for our next feature, Tales of
Winterpast.” After the title screen, the scene changed to an aerial
view of a very long and broad valley filled with a dense forest,
bordered by tall snowcapped mountains on one side and rolling hills
on the other. In the middle of the forest was a large medieval city
built from lumber and stone. On the outskirts of the city, most of
the buildings were built in the tree branches, harkening back to
earlier times. At the city center was a large castle. Hundreds of
colorful flags flapped in the breeze above the many spires inside
the protective walls. The narrator spoke, “The city and valley of
Thrace are the dominion of the trehbor, absolute ruler of the
planet Winterpast, one of the few remaining places not absorbed
into the Empire of Axis. It is said that only the power of the
Temple of Light has protected the freedom of its citizenry.
Winterpast had a remarkable history back in the time of the Knights
of