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Madeline Smith didn’t believe in ghosts. Not until the night Jon Barnett walked into her life, anyway. Maddie drew her legs up to her chest and held them close. Maybe walked was the wrong word to use—his method of movement seemed more like floating.
Outside her bedroom, the branches of an old elm scraped back and forth across the tin roofing. The wind howled through the night, an eerie cry that matched her mood of anticipation and fear. Snow scurried past the windows, silvery drops that glittered briefly in the light.
It felt oddly fitting to be sitting on her bed, waiting for the arrival of a ghost while an early winter storm raged outside.
Only he insisted he wasn’t a ghost at all.
She tugged the blankets over her knees and wondered if she should stoke the fire with a little more wood. Maybe the heat would keep him away. Or maybe he’d gotten tired of his game and simply forgotten about her. Though she believed the desperation in his eyes was real enough, she just didn’t believe he was real.
