It was him. Oh god oh fuck oh christ, the ghost was him. He rubbed a hand over his face to make sure he was really seeing what he thought he was seeing, but the dim figure of a somewhat older him never wavered.

What could he do but laugh? A little too loud, and definitely unhinged, and Wolfwood immediately slapped his hands both over his mouth to stop any more of that crazy noise from happening. Because this was crazy. It was impossible.

Damned if he was going to avoid the city of December for the rest of his life, though. Assuming he survived wherever this was.

“This isn’t possible.” The ghost didn’t move -- it didn’t attack, or spit green snot or anything, so Wolfwood scrambled his courage together and cautiously hauled himself to his feet, a pebble secreted in his hand. “I’m seeing things.” He looked around, as though expecting his own body to appear in the sand nearby. “I’m dyin’ up here from no water for too long, and I’m seein’ things, that’s the only explanation.”

Quick as anything, he flicked the pebble right at the ghost, aimed for center mass. Was it solid after all?