Winterwood Read Free

they’d been wearing earlier, and checking to make sure the lights were off in their parents’ room, they tiptoed their way down the hall and then descended the stairs, careful to avoid any spots where the floor had a tendency to squeak. It wasn’t the first time they’d made a midnight raid on the kitchen, and they reached the living room faster and quieter than any burglar could have done.
    The raspy sounds of snoring coming from the guest room told them their grandfather was fast asleep.
    â€œCookies,” Jake said, pointing at the kitchen.
    â€œPresents first,” Nick countered. “We can get the cookies after. If we get caught in the kitchen now, Mom and Dad will make us go back to bed and we’ll never get to the presents.”
    â€œOkay. Where should we start?”
    â€œThe basement.”
    Their slippers shushing on the carpet, the twins crossed the living room, stopping just long enough to pick up and shake the two brightly wrapped boxes under the Christmas tree, boxes that hadn’t been there earlier. The gifts bore matching tags, one To Jake and the other To Nick , both signed with the illegible scrawl they deciphered as From Opa .
    â€œAnother stupid sweater,” Jake whispered.
    â€œLame. C’mon, the good stuff has to be downstairs.”
    At the bottom of the basement stairs, Nick flicked the lights on, revealing the long space of the main area, which their father liked to call his hangout. A pool table occupied the center of the room. To one side sat a cabinet that doubled as a bar, brown and green bottles occupying its shelves. Past the pool table, a dartboard hung on the wall and two couches sat in front of a wooden television cabinet. A green shag rug covered most of the floor and a lava lamp sat atop the TV.
    It only took a few minutes of searching to reveal the complete absence of any gifts.
    â€œNothing,” Jake said, peering under the couches.
    â€œNothing,” Nick repeated, his head inside the cabinet under the bar.
    â€œLet’s try the laundry room.” But a single glance told them that the small, square utility space contained no surprises except for a fat, brown spider that had somehow survived the first half of winter.
    â€œNow what?” Jake asked.
    â€œNow we get some cookies.” They returned to the main room, neither of them talking. In the silence, the humming of the fluorescent lights in the ceiling sounded unusually loud. As they neared the stairs, Jake spoke up.
    â€œI don’t think Mom likes the stories Grandpa tells us.”
    Before Nick could answer, a loud roar filled the air and made them both jump. Jake cried out and grabbed his brother.
    â€œThe Yule Cat!”
    They turned as one, hearts pounding, expecting to see the ferocious man-eating beast coming toward them.
    And found only an empty room.
    The bellow of the imaginary cat changed into the whoosh of rushing air, and they understood how they’d been fooled.
    â€œThe furnace,” Nick said.
    â€œMaybe we should go back to bed.” The safety of his bedroom suddenly seemed a lot more appealing to Jake than even a whole plate of cookies.
    â€œWhy? Afraid the Krampus is gonna get you?”
    â€œThat’s not funny. Grandpa says he’s real.”
    â€œWe used to think Santa was real too. So if Santa’s not real, how can any of the other stories be?”
    â€œI guess.” Jake looked unconvinced. “But Grandpa said—”
    â€œGrandpa says a lot of stuff because he thinks we’re still little kids. It’s all just made up. You don’t believe in ghosts or closet monsters, do you?”
    â€œNo…but that doesn’t mean he’s always wrong.”
    â€œOh yeah? Well, if the Krampus is real, how come nobody at school ever heard of him?”
    â€œI dunno.” Jake wished his brother would just shut up. “But I still think we should go back to bed. If we get caught, we’ll be in