It is a truth universally acknowledged that a snow day is the single-most exciting occurrence in a school year. There’s nothing like it. Christmas break? Spring break? Those you see coming for months ahead of time. Heck, you wait so hard for those, you’ve almost worn out by the time they arrive. No, a snow day is something special, something out of the blue, a reprieve from spelling tests and oral reports and group projects. It’s like a surprise fire drill. Only better because you don’t have to shiver in line next to drippy Miranda Colt while the teacher counts heads. Nope, you’re home with your Wii and your buddies are too and if you’re really lucky, your parents still have to go to work. Then it’s hotdogs and ice cream for lunch. Bouncing basketballs inside the house and running scarf-free when you head outside.

Let’s face it, a snow day is an act of God.

So last January 15? When I saw my school on the list, I was pumped.

Only at the time, who knew we were going to be stuck inside school? With my little sister?

It was me.

When I fell through it was just a [stupid] accident. My cap blew off in that March gale. It cartwheeled over the snow drifts and across the pond. I ventured out after it. Craaack—ker-splunk. I was in the water before I knew it.

That water had a bite to it. It seized my legs, turning them in to logs as heavy as the ones they used to float down the river. Those log legs pulled me down. I remember scrabbling at the edge of the ice. It kept crumbling off in chunks. Then, the weight of my log-legs pulled me under. I settled down on the murky muddy bottom, where all the turtles and frogs had buried themselves to wait  for spring.

Up on the surface, that gale was already licking my footprints in the snow smooth and driving everyone else with a lick of sense inside. By the time I was missed—the next morning—the snow was smooth and the ice had a new crust on it.

That how I come to live here next to Shay’s Pond for so many years. As a specter, you might say.