The Last Ghost Whisperer

The wind whispered through the dark, empty trees like a warning in a foreign language. Winter was coming, and with winter came the beings that created the season. The angels. Seeking refuge from the hot summers, bright springs and exaggerated autumns. They're not your ordinary snow angels on the ground. They're the ones responsible for the snow. They're the ones that delicately make each individual snowflake. Taking care of all the sleeping creatures in the forest. Keeping the trees alive during the cold season.

They weren't really angels. More like elves with large white and grey wings who emerge from their magical forests to bring winter to the world. Someone had named them many centuries ago when man was still sitting in huts. They weren't godly or heavenly creatures. They were the ones who froze people to death. The masterminds of frost bite, their deadly kiss. Creatures of sharp icicles that kill a man with one hard drop to the cranium. It was December, 1875. I lived with my two daughters and wife. I had received a letter from my father, telling me about my mother's illness. And that she doesn't have much time left. I left urgently. Leaving my dearest loves safe in their suburban home. Promising to return before Christmas. I arrived roughly after sunset. The lone little house was silent and dark. I knocked at the door but there was no answer. No smoke coming from the chimney either. To my surprise the wooden door was unlocked. I entered with no welcome. There was no sign of my parents in the family room or the kitchen. I climbed the stairs to the second floor. That's when I found my childhood best friend in her bed. No air filling her lungs, no blood flowing through her heart, no thought in her head. I was too late. I walked over to her. Kissing her forehead, saying my last goodbye. But where was my father? I assumed he was out getting firewood so I proceeded outside into the dark night. Looking around I couldn't see much. But I could hear a faint cry. Coming from the forest.

My first thought was that my father was hurt. I ran to the cry. Along the way I realized in the moonlight that the snow around me was covered in blood. I followed the trail to a horrific scene. My father kneeling beside a tree. Containing his energy. Just breathing. An icicle found its way into his shoulder. My father fell as I reached him. Falling into my arms before hitting the ground. Around us the wind picked up and whispered strange things I could slightly understand. Things like, "he will soon join us, he doesn't have much time left, say your final farewell." As my father took his last breath in this world he told me, "I should've told you this years ago. Don't let it frighten you. It's a power not many posses. But you can talk to the deceased. And they know you can see them. That you carry the gift. You understand the wind in the trees. The cold and darkness that is winter." His head slowly drifted backwards as he said, "the snow angels have finally found the last ghost whisperer." He was lost. Tears flowed down my face only freezing before reaching my chin. I whimpered, not realizing a young man with sharp ears and wings was walking towards me. It was my father's ghost. His figure from his younger years. A snow angel.