11
“Max, wake up.”
Someone was calling to him. It was tinny and far away. He was safe and warm right where he was and ignored it.
“Max, wake up. Now.” The voice grew more insistent and his mind moved towards it. The air had suddenly become so cold and he reached for his blanket. When he couldn't find it, he grunted with frustration and opened his eyes. He wasn't in his bed.
His room was engulfed in a thick, white fog. It was so quiet, his ears began to ring. He sat up and looked around. “What happened?” he asked. He looked down at himself. He was wearing the same clothes from the night before and his shirt was stained with blood.
“Am I dead?” he asked. He remembered the witch and lifted his shirt. The holes in his chest were still there.
“Max, you have to leave. They're coming,” said
