The Ghost of Julia Wood

"Connor," the ghost said again.

It's her voice, Connor wept silently, his lips pulling back in anguish. I would know the sound of it anywhere.

". . . Julia?"

He spoke her name softly, as though she was a young deer that would spring away at the first sudden move. As if she might blow away like yesterday's wind, and he'd never have the chance to talk to her again.

Julia's luminous eyes softened with a smile, and Connor felt like he was shattering into a million pieces in the snow. He must be going crazy.

"You're a ghost," Connor rasped. "You . . . you're dead."

"I missed you," she whispered. Her voice was as silvery as her mist-wreathed form. Was he imagining it, or were her eyes glimmering with something other than ghostly light?

The fluffy earmuffs Connor had given her last Christmas still sat snugly over her ears.

How beautiful she had looked on Christmas morning, his confession still caught in his throat as he watched a pretty blush spill across her cheeks.

Suddenly Connor was filled with panic. "Julia," he half-sobbed. His jaw ached with the cold, and he found it was getting harder to form words. "I don't—can't you—please don't go. I don't want to lose you again."

Julia smiled, but it was the same sort of smile Connor had given people at Julia's funeral. The sort that carried all the sadness in the world, but he'd wanted everyone to know that he was still okay.

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere," she assured him. But her expression quickly morphed into one of horror as she ran her eyes over him. "Oh, Connor, you're turning blue."

Connor glanced down at himself. Indeed, his fingers were starting to turn numb, and they had a bruised colour in them. His teeth were chattering so hard his eyes rattled.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his lungs were so tight it was all he could do to keep air flowing in and out of his lungs.

So cold.

Julia stepped forward, reaching for him with both arms as if to warm him, then froze, remembering what she was. Her eyes were filled with urgency. "Connor, you have to go back inside."

Connor tried to nod, but the numbness was spreading up his arms.

Too cold.

Everything was blurring before his eyes, and his head was spinning alarmingly. He didn't want to leave Julia, but he couldn't just stay here and die. "I'll c-come . . . b-b-back."

He turned with agonising slowness, and raised a foot to step laboriously toward the light spilling from the cabin, barely visible through the trees. But he had barely taken his second step when he toppled over, unable to move except for the weak twitching of his muscles, still desperately trying to keep his blood flowing within his ice-bound veins.

And it hurt. Somehow, the snow was no longer cold, but every frozen inch of him ached.

"Connor!" Julia cried. Suddenly she was there at his side, but when she reached out to help him, her hand went straight through his shoulder.

Connor looked up at her, panting shallowly. The air didn't even mist up with his breath.

I can't get up, he realised. His mind was telling his body to move, but his limbs stayed half-buried in the falling snow, heavier than stone.

Julia's silvery face flickered over him. Although Connor's eyes swam, unable to focus, he could still make out her typical messy braid, the familiar planes and angles of her face. He could still make out the emotion that transformed her lovely face, one of grief and fear and indescribable sorrow.