Merry Christmas, all! Here's a story I wrote based on the following prompt:
Scrooge was not the first person the ghosts visited that night...
A Ghostly Christmas
Mistake
By Jesse Booth
© December 2017
Torchlight
flickered about, sending shadows rippling around the wooden walls like black
ocean waves. The chilly air of night blew in from holes from rotting wood, as
well as the broken windows and the door-less entryway, snuffing out any heat
that could have lived within the small abandoned cabin. But there was nothing
alive within the cold confines of this forsaken home.
However,
the room looked very much alive.
In
the center of it sat an enormous wooden table full of fresh fruits and
vegetables framing a turkey the size of a cow, cooked to golden perfection.
There were rolls and crescents, glistening with melting butter, followed by
cakes and pies accenting the far end of the table — enough food to feed
multiple large families.
Only
one person sat at this table, holding a cone-shaped torch high above his head,
which happened to be carrying a crown-wreath of holly and ivy.
He
was enormous — a giant compared to any mortal man. His rosy cheeks were raised
up joyfully, causing his big lips to smile as his glistening eyes observed the
feast before him.
He
let out a deep, loud laugh that violently rattled the foundations of the
deteriorating home.
“Could
you keep it down, Present?” It was a hushed voice, like a whisper on the wind.
The quiet question came from the other side of the table. Its owner flickered
his own light, his face encompassed in a flame that caused his wax body to
sweat. Somehow, he never got smaller, and his drips never pooled below him.
“Past,
you need to enjoy yourself from time to time,” the giant said, selecting a vine
of luscious purple grapes from the table. Plucking one carefully, he dropped
the bulging, juicy fruit into his mouth. “You know, live in the present
a bit. You’re always spending so much time thinking about what has happened.”
They
were ghosts, of course. Ghosts who were stuck in the mortal world to find men
and women who had lost their way through life and guide them to become better
human beings.
“I’ll
have you know that the past is —”
“Very
important,” the Ghost of Christmas Present said with another booming laugh.
“Yes, yes. My man, you have said as much incessantly for… how many years has it
been?”
They
had lost count.
“That…
isn’t important, unlike the past,” the Ghost of Christmas Past said with
whispered exasperation. “Regardless, it is once again Christmas Eve, and we
have time to visit one person before we set out to haunt Ebenezer Scrooge.”
The
Ghost of Christmas Present ripped off the thick, golden turkey leg and took a
gluttonous bite, leaving an oily film on his red beard.
Through
a mouthful of the meat, he said, “Can’t we enjoy our Christmas Eve before we go
and do our haunting?” Swallowing down the enormous bite, he sat the leg down on
the white plate before him and reached for a red napkin. After wiping his
fingers, he dabbed at his mouth, missing the residue on his beard.
“Present,
if I have to sit here and watch you pretend to satisfy your eternally unending
appetite, I might just wink out and pass on into the next life.”
The
Ghost of Christmas Present took a long draught from his wine-filled silver
goblet that shimmered from his torchlight.
“Begone
then, Past,” he said, resting the goblet on the table and shooing the
candle-man with his hand. “Let me at least enjoy the present.”
“With
the likes of him?” the Ghost of Christmas Past said with a hushed snort,
pointing himself towards the corner of the room. There, standing alone in the
dark, dark corner was a figure draped in black robes. A boney, lifeless hand
stuck out of one of the sleeves, pointing at Past. It slowly raised up to where
the figure’s neck should be then rapidly moved horizontally with a cutting
motion.
“One
of these days,” Past started, “We’re going to get you to speak, Future.”
The
black hood slowly swayed back and forth in disagreement.
“I
know just the one to visit,” said Past, shrugging off the unseen glare he knew
he was getting from the Ghost of Christmas Future.
“Who?”
Present said, munching on a roll.
“A
young widow,” came Past’s reply. “She lost her husband a month ago, just three
months after being married. A horse-riding accident of sorts — terrible,
really. But since the funeral, she has turned cold to everybody. Her temper is
easily tickled. Nobody wants to be around her because they are afraid of
her.”
Picking
up the turkey leg from his plate, Present pointed it at Past. “Seems to me she
doesn’t need ghosts to help her — she needs a new man!” His booming laughter
shook the cabin once more.
Past’s
flame flickered with annoyance.
Present
needlessly squinted, dropping the turkey on the plate and brought his hand up
to his eyes. “For such a small flame, you put off quite a glare, Past!”
Slapping
his hand down on his knee, he gave another hearty laugh.
“Get
it, Future?” he said, turning his enormous body towards the corner. “Glare? Ha,
ha!”
Future
just shook his black, hooded head back and forth slowly.
“The
widow…” Past said again.
“Fine,”
Present sighed. “But I’m taking the feast with us.”
Standing
up, Present snapped his fingers and the table folded in half, slamming loudly
but keeping all of the food within. It shrunk down until it was as small and
thin as a napkin. It floated up to his outstretched hand and he slid it into
the pocket of his fur-lined green robe.
“Remember,
I have to be in Scrooge’s bedroom at one o’clock on the chime,” Past said.
“It’s about to turn nine o’clock now, so we should each get an hour to guide
her.”
“What’s
the widow’s name, Past?” Present asked, finding a piece of bread in his beard
and slipping it into his mouth.
“Daphne
Hastings.”
Wiping
the rest of the crumbs out of his beard, Present said, “How unfortunate — a
pleasant name for an unpleasant person.”
“We’ll
guide her back to pleasantness again, right Future?” said Past, looking back
with his flaming head.
Future
shrugged his shoulders lazily, hovering behind them.
“Of
course we will,” Past said, answering his own question as he turned back
around.
“That’s
the spirit, Spirit!” Present said, earning himself another glare. Changing to a
more serious tone, Present said, “Listen, Past, I’m on the hunt to find a pun
that will straight up put you out…”
Silence
filled the cold, quiet cabin.
“Enough,
Present,” Past said with annoyance. “I’m about to perform, so if you’ll excuse
me…”
Past
suddenly spun around, going faster and faster, ending with one last flicker.
And then he was gone.
“Light
‘em up, Past,” Present mumbled with a smile.
***
Past’s
light filled the dark room right as the clock struck nine. He glanced around,
hearing heavy breathing coming from the quilt-covered bed.
“Such
a nice home,” he said, seeing the pink wallpaper that covered the wooden walls.
There was a wooden dresser nearby, and in front of the bed was an open box full
of… small humanlike models? Dolls?
His
fiery face furrowed. “What an odd thing for a widow to keep.”
Daphne
Hastings stirred at the sound of his breezy voice.
“That’s
right, Daphne,” he said. “Time to wake up. Daphne… Daphne…”
The
sleeper bolted upright, tired eyes opening wider than a door.
She
was a little red-headed girl — she couldn’t be more than four years old. She
scrunched her blanket up close to her with a fearful squeak.
Past
cleared his throat.
“I’m…
assuming your name is not Daphne,” he said with a nervous chuckle.
“It
is,” she said quickly. “And who are you?”
“Me?”
he asked, as if it was the most absurd question he could have been asked.
“That’s… not important right now. Are you Daphne Hastings?”
The
little girl shook her head ever so slightly. “My name is Daphne Hastine.”
“Hmm,
well isn’t that odd?” Past gave another nervous chuckle. “I sure hope you have
not been married recently.”
Little
Daphne gave him a curious look. “Married? Oh no, no, no. I’m too young for
that. Are you a candle?”
Past’s
head flickered as he considered how to respond.
“I
suppose I am,” he said at last.
“A
talking Christmas candle!” said Daphne, excitement in her voice. “Did Papa buy
you as a present for me?”
“A
ghost cannot be bought, child,” Past said, taking offense to such an idea.
“Then
why are you here in my bedroom on Christmas Eve?”
Past
thought about explaining himself — his purpose. It would be too much for a four
year-old to understand.
“I
came, young Daphne,” he said, “to tell you that what you did yesterday will
determine who you are today, and what you do today will determine who you will
be tomorrow.”
Daphne
cocked her head to the side. “What do you mean, candle man?”
He
flickered in thought. “What I mean, dear girl, is that despite what you go
through as you grow, you can always try harder to be better to those around
you. Learn to help others, and you will learn to love helping others.”
He
began to swirl again, sending dancing shadows around the pink room. Daphne’s
eyes widened momentarily as she watched Past’s mesmerizing spinning, then lay
gently in her bed and fell back to sleep.
Past’s
light escaped the room, and he reappeared within the abandoned cabin in the
woods, next to the Ghosts of Christmas Present and Future.
His
abrupt appearance caused Present to shout with alarm.
“Oi!
What are you doing back so soon?” he demanded. “Why, you haven’t been gone even
ten minutes! Did the young widow scare you away?”
Past
didn’t immediately respond.
“Go
on, man. Speak!”
“I
went to the wrong person,” Past whispered. “But seeing an innocent youth in the
present… my friends, there is much hope for the future.”
The
three ghosts of Christmas communed with each other, two of them speaking words
while the third nodded, right up until the clock approached one o’clock.
Past
chuckled airily. “Let’s see what we can do with old Ebenezer Scrooge, shall
we?”
