You would have thought that ghosts would have a better sense of timing. They’ve had practically all their life, well death in this case, for planning and such. So why was dead Uncle Barry deciding to make his spectacular, spectral surprise while I was busy writing my taxes? If there is one thing that is guaranteed to make your mind as numb as possible, it’s taxes. It should not have been such a surprise for him when I barely registered the rattling of chains, enveloping mist and sudden appearance of a pale, white figure.
“Just one minute.” I said, dotting the i’s and crossing some t’s.
“Um... I’d rather you... um... pay attention now?” dead Uncle Barry stammered, beads of spectral sweat appearing on his translucent brow. I sighed, putting down my quill.
“Fine. Oh.” I just looked up, now seeing the ghost of my dead uncle. “I thought I killed you?”
“That was you?!?”
My eyes narrowed and looked away, “No... Of course not.” I slowly pushed my drawer filled with various murderous instruments closed. “So. Uncle.” I nodded.
“Nephew.” he nodded back, slightly intimidated. Why wouldn’t he be intimidated, well apart from the fact a ghost should not really fear anything. My office was built to be intimidating, designed by the one and only O. Minous of Bloodshed Lane. With a name like that, one can only really design intimidating looking furniture. My large, throne of a chair stood looming over the cowering ghost. The problem with looming chairs is that they are terrible for back support, deliberately slanting forward for the most optimum fear inducing angle. Hopefully my uncle would not notice the small pillow just behind me for a little comfort.
“What do you want, uncle? I’m a busy man.” I tapped my finger on my dark wooden desk.
“Well... I, uh, have to tell you...” he stuttered.
“Spit it out man!”
He recoiled slightly into the floor. The visible top half was shaking.
“I’ve been sent, nephew, to tell you that as the second most evil person in town that-”
I had to interrupt him.
“Second? What do you mean second? I have dedicated my life to being as evil as possible. Why just this morning I was even considering not paying for my daily paper. I did of course, that paper boy has a younger brother to feed.” I nodded to myself. Teensy Tom was ever so small.
“Well that’s just it, you have sort of evil thoughts and do some, well, not great things, but you’re not that evil.”
I was shocked. Appalled even.
“Not that evil? I cackle threateningly when the opportunities arise. I pay my workers minimum wage, unless they ask for a raise. I sometimes skip ahead in a long queue. In fact sometimes I leave the water pump on when brushing my teeth.”
“Yeah, they’re not great things,” my Uncle nodded, “but they’re not evil.”
“Then tell me, Uncle, who is the most evil person in town?”
“That would be Mr Scrooge, nephew.”
“Scrooge?” I rolled the r menacingly, “That sweets loving old buffoon? Bah!” I waved my hand dismissively.
“I don’t think he means the sweet when saying humbug, nephew.”
I looked at my Uncle with venom in my eyes, but said nothing. He looked sheepishly at the ground before raising himself up to float above the bearskin (non-endangered of course) rug.
“Anyway...” he cleared his throat, before pointing towards me, “You will be visited by three apparitions! Three spirits of past, present and future!” he was really getting into the spirit of things, pun intended, and was now flailing and wailing like a true ghost should. It was a little embarrassing. “They will come to you this night! For tonight is Christmas Eve! They will show you the error of your ways!”
“Yes, I know tonight is Christmas Eve, you might have noticed the decorations.” I indicated to a small tree in the corner wrapped in black tinsel and adorning several black baubles. The ghost was slowly drifting into the floor again, this time it seemed for the process of leaving.
“Three spirits...” he moaned, his voice trailing off until it was but a whisper.
“Hm.” I nodded. “Three spirits, ay?” I reached into the third drawer down and pulled out a bottle of vodka, a bottle of gin and a bottle of absinthe. “Merry Christmas to me.”
***
After being visited by three Christmas spirits, I was fast asleep in my throne. This was when the first Christmas Spirit arrived.
“Oy governor, I’m the Spirit of Christmas past I is, I am!” the spirit raised his knees up in true cockney fashion. I pulled out my flintlock pistol and shot it through its ghostly head.
“God, I hate the poor.” I slurred, still under the effects of the other Christmas spirits. The ghost laughed, slapping its raised knees with cockney joy.
“Oy, sir, you can’t off a ghost that easy! I’m here to show you your past, to mend your ways.” he flew over and landed on my desk. Though squinted eyes I could make out the partially white and transparent form of a young chimney-sweep. Wrapped in a long scarf that billowed in a ghostly wind, soot covered most of his face though it looked more like flour due to his spectral, white form.
“Get off my desk you damn, dirty kid.” I swung wildly, my hand passing through him and only managing to knock off the empty bottles onto the floor.
“Come on sir, apples and pears!” he grabbed my arm and lifted me out of my throne.
“Are you actually from London?” I snarled at the boy.
“Ooh heck sir, trouble and strife, ooh, big current bun...” He seemed to be having some sort of cockney fit, slowly twisting into himself and spouting various slang. Eventually he straightened up and slapped a knee viciously. There was a flash of blinding light, and I covered my eyes. When I opened them again, I was no longer in my room. I was outside a butchers, specifically Mr Cutt Emmup’s butchers on Butcher’s lane. All a coincidence, I swear. The snow was beginning to fall, the morning light peeking though the thick, dark clouds. There were four people present; myself, the spirit, Mr Emmup and an old woman. This old woman was Glenda Baggs, a local busybody and surprisingly not in the bag-making industry. I walked slowly into the shop.
“Why, this is the butchers. Why am I here? I was only here yesterday about to buy-”
I was cut off as a fifth figure walked right through me. It was me.
“You were here yesterday, because this is yesterday!” the spirit exclaimed. “I’ve brought you back in time to show you the error of your ways!”
“God how young and handsome I used to be,” I said to my identical, day old self. He didn’t listen, instead he went straight up to the counter.
“Morning,” yesterday’s me said to the butcher, “Your finest large bird please.”
“That would be the emu, sir.” he replied.
“Your finest emu then, please.” yesterday me said.
“You’re in luck, this is the last one.” the butcher produced an extremely large, plucked bird from behind the counter. It looked more like a turkey, but without the feathers it could be literally any animal as far as I was concerned. If it came from a butcher, it was bound to be at least tasty.
“Oh my.” said a voice from behind both of me’s, the old woman Glenda. “I was supposed to buy a bird for my family this Christmas. I left it too late as usual, I was spending too much time in that wonderful brothel that they have down the road that it completely slipped my mind.”
“Well it is too late old woman! For I have bird and you have none. Your family shall go hungry this Christmas.” I laughed.
“See what you were like in the past sir!” the spirit pointed at the laughing me. I rubbed my chin.
“Well it started off evil... but from what I remember next...” I watched the events as I remembered them fold out. Past me looked at the old woman, who was staring back with large, teary eyes.
“Oh sir...” she whimpered, “What will I say to Teeny Weeny Timmy when I get home?”
Past me took a step back, shocked.
“Teeny Weeny Timmy? That small, small boy...” he wiped a tear away from his eye, “One more hungry Christmas and no more shall he be Teeny Weeny Timmy. Instead he’d be... Deaddy Weddy Timmy.” He took in a sharp breath and grabbed the bird. He shoved it into the old woman’s hands. “Take the bird. Tell Teeny Weeny Timmy... Well tell him... to get a haircut.” With that past me stormed out, cloak billowing and top hat pulled down over his tear stained face. I watched him go, before turning back to the old woman. She was smiling. Not the kind of ‘God bless us, every one’ smile but more a ‘I can’t believe I fooled that idiot’ kind of smile. She cackled.
“Sucker!” she rubbed the bird, before turning to head out the store.
“Wait...” I said, “She tricked me! There is no Teeny Weeny Timmy is there?!?” I clenched my fists, ready to sock this old woman in the kisser. The spirit floated in front of me.
“Hold your bum, sir. This is why I’m here! To teach you what you really should have done!” the spirit seemed to become more solid and landed down in front of Glenda. She suddenly noticed him, adjusting her thick glasses.
“Oh, hello there sonny, didn’t see you the-”
She didn’t have time to finish before a knife was plunged directly between her eyes. She slumped backwards, the bird crashing to the floor with a meaty slap. The spirit turned back to me, bloody knife in hand. I stood with my mouth open, looking at the grizzly scene.
“You... You just killed her!”
“I did.” The spirit’s eyes were wide and frenzied, “I’ve killed a lot of people.”
“But... aren’t you the ghost of Christmas past?”
“Oh, I’m not the ghost of Christmas past, I’m the ghost of Christmas Passed. Away that is.”
“Easy enough mistake to make.” I gulped, “Also, how does this help me learn the error of my ways?”
“Well you could’ve stabbed her.”
“I still don’t really see how that helps me.”
“You get the bird.”
“It’s covered in blood!”
“Well you wash it off.”
I felt like there was no reasoning with this ghost, so just sighed and nodded.
“Yes. Well.” I clapped my hands together, “I think I’ve learnt an awful lot here. Yup. Lesson learnt.”
“I can stab the butcher too?”
“No need!” I grabbed the spirit by the scarf and pulled him out the shop with me. There was suddenly another flash of light as soon as I stepped into the snow. Once again I covered my eyes, and when they were back open I was inside my own home.
“Thank goodness that’s over.” I breathed a sigh of relief and slumped into my throne. It was then I noticed a small, translucent gift box on my desk. It was wrapped beautifully, with a big bow on top. I stared at it for a while, before going to reach for it. As my hand approached, a voice suddenly rang out from the box.
“Greetings! I am the ghost of a Christmas Present!”
My eyes narrowed and I retracted my hand.
“Of a Christmas Present.” I muttered.
“Yup.” The present said. There was a pause. “Bye!” The present exploded into ghostly confetti and smoke with a pop. I sighed bringing my hands up to my face.
“Did I just mishear all the names of the spirits that are visiting me?” I growled to myself, “Let me guess, the ghost of Christmas future is actually something like... like... few... chores? Few chores? Yes, the bloody ghost of bloody Christmas Few Chores, that sounds like something I’d get!”
There was a creaking sound to interrupt my rant. From the doorway, I saw another ghost, very classical looking like it was just a sheet with eyes and a mouth cut out, carrying a spectral bucket and mop. It looked sheepishly at me, before slowly withdrawing behind the door, shutting it with an awkward click. I sniffed.
“Right! That’s it! If it if means I have to change to stop any more bloody apparitions from visiting me, then I bloody will.”
I stood up sharply, but then an idea suddenly hit me.
“Ooor. If I just move somewhere else, then I will most definitely be the most evil person there! Perhaps then I will get some actual spirits visiting me!”
I walked over to the ornate globe that equally served as a drinks cabinet. I spun it around.
“Now let’s see, where should I go to be evil...”
I stopped the globe with my finger, and followed it down.
“Aha! This looks good! Germany!”