The wood was a white wonderland, the snow undisturbed except for a single trail of footsteps that weaved through the thick trunks of giant trees. A boy struggled with his load while a girl with crystals in her hair that glistened like ornaments followed behind him.

“You’re slow,” he complained teasingly, not bothering to turn around.

“Why am I here again?” she asked, confused. “Who are you?” Though she’d had the dream many times in the past, this was the first time there’d ever been another person in it. It was always the same forest, with the same powdery snow that seemed almost artificial in its familiarity.

“Just enjoy the scenery,” the boy said. “There’s nothing to worry about here.” His tone was gentle, but it seemed to her that he was used to giving orders.

“I want to know,” she insisted, stopping in the snow. She felt the cold wind settle on her bare shoulders and shivered.

“Why does it matter?” he asked, continuing on his way. “You can’t get out, so why bother trying?”

“Am I dead?” she asked, suddenly scared. Slowly, she felt her pulse and screamed when she only heard silence. Her shrill cries pierced the tranquility and she could hear the startled birds that took flight. The boy winced, and turned around. With purposeful strides, he reached her in a matter of seconds.

“Please, be quiet,” he said, raking his hands through his hair. He breathed in her face, and a scent of peppermint washed over her, calming her frayed nerves.  

“Then where am I?” The whisper was barely audible, and the boy looked at her uneasily. His lashes were darkened by the melted snow and his wind tousled hair hung in his face. He had nice eyes, she thought absentmindedly. They were like melted chocolate with swirls of caramel added in. All in all, he was a decidedly good looking boy. If she wasn’t so afraid of him, she might’ve blushed.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it?” he asked. “You never get this kind of peace in the real world.” He looked at her expectantly, but her mind only drew a blank.

“This is the closet you hide in every time your parents fight. It’s where you go when you can’t think or when you can’t handle the fake smiles and laughs.” He tousled his hair and laughed bitterly. “If you think this is death, you’re mistaken. Death is lovely compared to this hell. At least in death, you know you’re really dead.”

“This is the In-Between. We call this the Ghost Light.”