The spirit drifted above the trees, surveying her domain. Frost covered the pine trees as the last day of fall faded, leaving the campground in darkness.
She floated to lake’s still surface, and ice crystals spread like flowers at her feet. She wished she could cry, or scream, or sleep.
Ripples cracked the thin ice as a canoe slipped into the water. A familiar face peered over its bow.
So, he hadn’t gone, and she could still smile.
He held out his hand, and she took it. The canoe drifted away, empty, but not, and two spirits floated away together.
Author’s Note: I never went to summer camp, but they seem like a good place for ghost stories.
Tears froze on Winter’s cheeks as he clung to Fall’s limp hand. She smelled like decaying leaves, overripe apples, cold rain. “Don’t go,” he whispered.
Fall’s smile was sunlight on ripe fields. “You won’t miss me.”
“You’ll bury the world in snow. Revel in your isolation. When you grow lonely, make a daughter, as I made you, as Summer made me.”
“I hate this cycle.”
Frost spread from Winter’s fingers, ravaged Fall’s golden skin. He jerked away. “I always miss you.”
Fall’s eyes drifted closed. “We always meet again.”
Winter walked away, and ice formed in his footprints.
Author’s Note: It was cold and snowy when I wrote this, and I needed to remind myself that winter doesn’t last forever.