The Ghost of Julia Wood

The Worst Christmas

Connor kicked the porch railing, watching as a shower of snow cascaded off the shuddering wood.

I hate Christmas.

The sound of laughter swelled from inside the warm, orange-lit cabin behind him, and Connor balled his hands into fists, trying to block out the mocking sound.

Thankfully, that wasn't hard to accomplish, between the freezing air and the howling wind rushing past him.

He hadn't always hated Christmas. Last year, when his friends came down to their "Cabin In The Woods," he'd been just as excited as the rest of them to spend a week in the middle of nowhere, enjoying the adventure of being somewhere mysterious and unexplored.

Connor's opinion of the forest hadn't changed—it was still as dark and as ominous as ever. But his heart no longer quickened with excitement when his eyes fell upon the snow-laden branches, the urge to push them aside to explore what lay beyond all but vanished.

On their last day at the Cabin, December thirty-first the year before, his best friend of ten years had gone missing.

Connor had known Julia since forever, and after refusing to come with their friends to the Cabin for the first few years, she had finally agreed to join them. They'd all been ecstatic about the trip—especially Connor.

Unfortunately, however, Connor had ended up spending most of his time in the woods moping, anxiously wondering how to break the news to Julia—and how she would react—when he told her that he had fallen in love with her.

Connor put his head in his hands, trying to hold back the sudden wave of grief that threatened to pull him under.

Everything in this place reminded him of her. The crisp scent of the pine trees, the Christmas crackers and hot chocolate, even the chill of the wintry night air . . .

Connor had confessed to her right here on this porch, in the pool of flickering gold light emitted by the lamp above the front door, after hauling her out of bed at midnight.

She'd squealed and thrown her arms around him, before kissing him shyly on the cheek and telling him how long she'd been waiting for him to say something. Then after an hour or so of talking, they both went back to bed, promising to speak more in the morning. It had been the best Christmas ever.

But the next day, Julia was gone.

Connor grabbed a handful of snow from the porch and hurled it into the night.

I hate Christmas.

As he stared out at the dark forest, grateful that the cold wind prevented his eyes from moistening, he thought he saw something flicker briefly in the shadows. At first, he was sure he had imagined it, but then it flickered again, a kind of silvery-blue light weaving in and out of the trees.

Connor squinted. Perhaps it was someone with a flashlight, trying to find their way out of the forest. But what were they doing out there at night, anyway?

Fear gripped him. He couldn't let this person get lost in the forest the way Julia had.

"Over here," he called, waving his arms. The keening wind drowned out his voice, but surely the person would see the warm light of the cabin and would know to come this way.

But the silvery light continued to roam the trees, and it seemed to Connor as if it were moving further away.

He couldn't leave them to die.

Connor darted down the porch stairs, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck against the freezing air. His boots sank deep into the snow with every step, but he pushed forward relentlessly, heart pounding.

"Wait!" he called. "Over here!"

The light paused, wavering between two trees.

Connor shuffled a few steps closer, ducking his head to walk beneath the branches. Odd. The light seemed to have a form, with edges and parts that moved. Its silhouette was almost . . . human-like.

A shudder rippled through him, and Connor realised he was only wearing a thin sweater. Where snow landed on his thin clothes, it had begun to melt with the heat radiating from his body. One flake trickled slowly down the side of his neck, pooling above his collarbone. He wrapped his arms around himself, hoping he could return to the cabin soon.

Trying to ignore the chill and his own looming uncertainty, he stepped further into the trees—only to freeze in place as the light moved toward him. Almost as if it were walking, with two arms and two legs and two feet.

He flinched. Should he run? What was it?

"Hello?" he called, watching warily as it bobbed closer.

". . . Connor?"

Connor's heart nearly soared right out of his chest, his ribs the only thing keeping it from breaking right through his sweater and disappearing into the night. His shivering limbs were all but forgotten in his shock.

The light had just talked to him.

And, now that it was closer, he saw that it wasn't a light, after all. It glowed, yes, but it was—

A girl?

It couldn't be. But it was almost as if he knew this girl. Was she perhaps . . .

He dared not hope.