There was was a little girl named Annie. She couldn't have been more than ten. She had long blond hair and eyes that shown like a fall day's sun. She had two brothers and a mother and father. They owned a house in Cardiff, but she spent all her time at the big building on the hill. It was full beds, and ladies in puffy dresses, and men in long white coats.

Little Annie was sick. She layed down all day in the same room, in the same bed. Her eyes, once so bright, were dulling. Her hair was a mess no one bothered with anymore. She barely moved, and barely talked, but she hadn't given up.

Annie believed. She believed in Santa Clause, and the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and the Sand Man. But most of all, she believed in miracles. She believed that she could, and would get better, even after the doctors and her family had given up hope. She had made plans with her brothers to have snow ball fights with them every day it snowed, once she got better. Her brothers just smiled sadly and nodded, being old enough to understand what the doctors were saying.

Jack Frost visited her every night that winter. He used to love playing with her and her brothers in the snow, but when she wasn't there, he decided to go out and find her. The big building on the hill was right on his nightly route through the town, so every night he saw her dream.

She dreamed of picking apples, climbing trees, helping her mother and aunts make the Thanksgiving meal, playing with her brothers in the leaves, and listening to her father play his violin by the main room's fireplace. She dreamed of curling up with a book in the light of the winter sun, making snow angels, having snow ball fights with her brothers and her friends, of helping make cookies, and of opening her Christmas presents at home. She dreamed of seeing the first flower bloom in mother's garden, of finding Easter eggs, of sitting under a blossoming tree, and of pressing flower petals with her father. She dreamed of sleeping in her own bed, of running with her brothers, going church, going to school, of sitting up on her own, and of being able to feed herself.

One night, she wasn't in her bed in her lonely room in the big building on the hill. Jack looked all through the building for her, but she wasn't there. He looked in her home, but only saw her wiping mother, crying brothers, and her angry father. He looked everywhere in town, not wanting to jump to conclusions. During that next day, he saw the carpenter build a wooden box, the stone mason finish a slab, and the grave diggers dig a new hole, because it was late enough in the spring, and Jack was slacking off. He saw the new headstone be placed, a funeral to take place, and the little box get placed the ground. He still hadn't found Annie. Then he read the headstone.

Annie Grace McGregor

1847-1858

A true believer

Let our little girl finally

be free in the next life.

Jack shook his head. No! That little girl couldn't have died! I saw her earlier this week! She can't be dead!

Then he saw something in a tree near graveyard. A movement without a breeze or animal. There was a clear little girl floating through the trees.

"Hello, Annie," Jack said quietly, not wanting to startle the new spirit.

"Hello, Jack Frost," the little girl replied happily as always, "I'm the whispering wind now."

"Then let's be friends. I'll show you the ropes of how to be a spirit. Plus, I can only fly with the help of the wind," Jack suggested.

"That sounds fun. I haven't had fun in a long time," The Whispering Wind responded,

"Then let's go have some fun," Jack said, grabbing her hand and leading her to a new life.

This is a one shot that came out of no where, and it might now be very good, but I liked it enough to actually write it here, so that's something. Reviews would be good!