Not Quite a Ghost Story

The dog was usually right

Photo by Kimon Maritz on Unsplash

One moment the curving road was dry, the chill air clear, then slate clouds scudded through the pass so low Kara might reach up and grab a fistful of mountain mist. As she started down the other side, a sheet of rippling white engulfed her. On her right, the mountainside dropped away into a deep valley, but she couldn’t see the edge, the guardrail, not even the asphalt. The snow…