Frosty Wind Made Moan

24

24

With a start, Toby opened his eyes. He still saw the devastation he had caused to the Christmas decorations, but he saw no sign of the old man. No magical fireplace to transport them to the roof of the tower block. No remnants of glittering snow-like material that had hit him in the face. No lump of coal on the coffee table Even the plastic bag that had held food and a drink had disappeared. If any of that had ever been there at all.

He had to have dreamed it all. Had to. Otherwise something terrible would happen to his Mum in too short a while. He glanced towards the microwave to see it flash over to the next minute. A minute that stayed at the same time during his dream. He switched off the tv, the movie still not started, and chewed a thumbnail.

Were it all a dream, he could sit here and wait for his Mum to walk through the door, collapse onto the sofa and Toby would make her a well-deserved cup of tea. If it wasn't, his Mum may never come home again. At this hour of the night, it could be dangerous for a young boy to head out into the streets, Christmas Eve or not. But, he couldn't take that chance. He absolutely could not. Not if there were even the tiniest chance that it wasn't a dream

He had to go. Picking up his phone, grabbing his coat from the hook on the door, he pulled his keys from the pocket, unlocking the door, slamming it closed and locking it. Luck stayed with him and he found the lift on this floor, waiting for him. He pressed the ground floor button repeatedly, knowing it wouldn't make any difference, but impatience forcing his hand.

As soon as the doors opened on the ground floor, Toby began to sprint out of the tower block. If he had a bike, he could get to the hospital in no time. Running, he wasn't certain he could make it. He had to try, though. He had to try even if it turned out to be a silly thought brought on by guilty feelings. Because, if he didn't try, he could never live with himself. He'd rather his Mum shout at him for being out so late than to not go at all and find out it wasn't a dream

He ran faster than he had ever run before. So fast that his feet almost couldn't keep up, couldn't move fast enough to carry him at that speed. Several times he almost tripped, catching himself before he fell headlong to the ground. And still he ran. He ran until his chest felt about to burst and cramp seized his sides. His lungs struggled to catch enough air to breathe and, after a while, he had to stop.

His head felt dizzy as he leaned over, coughing as he tried to gasp in air. He had managed to run quite far, but he still had too far to go. He looked at the clock on his phone and it was as though time had now sped up. Almost ten o'clock. In mere moments, the ambulances would scream to stops outside the hospital. Fractions of moments after that and the knife would enter his Mum's stomach.

There seemed no other option. He had to keep running. Even if he collapsed, he would crawl. He had to get there in time. Even if he looked like an idiot when he did arrive. He heard bells ringing the time. Ten o'clock. Bong, bong, bong. The bells tormented his too small legs. Bong, bong, bong. They counted down, telling him he would never make it. Bong, bong, bong, bong. Then he heard something else.

Sirens. Ambulance sirens and not from one ambulance, but from many. They came from behind him and he leaned over again, feeling sweat drip from his forehead and chin, even though it felt so cold his cheeks tingled. Then he saw the ambulances roar into view, passing through the quiet streets at great speed, passing by Toby as he forced himself to stand straight once again.

With renewed determination, he chased those flashing lights until they turned a corner, passing from view, but he could still hear the sirens. A glance to the side and he saw a side-street. A one-way side-street, but that one-way only meant cars and other vehicles. He bounced from a wall, changing direction and began to run once more, up the side-street.