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 Posted: Wed Dec 02, 2009 10:51 pm
Ever watched one of those documentaries on Charles Dickens or one of his fellow writers? I did, since my Creative Writing grade depended on it, and was really fascinated by the whole concept of publishing a novel in installments in literary journals. Well, what with Christmas coming up and me being due for a heap of coal that will not be paying my publishing fees, I'm giving it a shot with my still untitled Christmas story!
Unfortunately literary journals don't accept work from unknown and possibly ADHD college students who only get coal for Christmas, so I'm going to publish installments of my story here, on this page. I'll post a little bit every day until I run out of story (hopefully before I have to go home to technological isolation).
Feel free to post comments about the installments, and you may be constructively critical. That means don't just say it's stupid or makes no sense or my symbolism is slightly skewed in paragraph 14 blah blah blah. I tend to either get mad or ignore these comments so they won't help me in the slightest.
Merry Christmas and happy reading!
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Posted: Wed Dec 02, 2009 10:52 pm
Present
“Rise and shine, baby girl! It’s the first day of Christmas break, and you know what that means!”
Holly Taliday groaned and pulled the covers over her head. Decorating the house was her mother’s tradition for the first day of winter break, one she rarely looked forward to. After all, by the start of the break, Christmas was only two weeks away! They barely got to enjoy the decorations before they had to be taken down! And the decorations weren’t just a wreath or a candle in the window; no, every room had to be festooned with sparkly garlands, chubby nutcrackers, and gingerbread houses. The scent of gumdrops alone drove Holly bonkers.
“Come on, Holly, get in the spirit! If you aren’t out of bed in three minutes, I’m force-feeding you egg nog!” Her mom flounced out, and Holly did not in the slightest doubt her threat. Egg nog. That stuff was like smelly melted ice cream. Holly despised it. Getting up reluctantly, she opened her closet and pulled out a green cotton shirt and some red sweatpants. That should make her mom happy; she was ‘getting in the spirit’.
Clomping down the steps a few minutes later, Holly entered the kitchen, where her mother was humming a carol and putting some snickerdoodles in the oven. Her father was donning his coat to go to work. “Dad, be careful. It’s, like, snowing buckets outside. The roads are all icy.”
“I will,” he said, smiling and wrapping the scarf Holly had made him in sixth grade around his neck. “You ladies have fun putting up our decorations. I’ll be home at five with dinner.” Holly’s mom pecked him on the cheek and he strolled out the door. A draft of wintery air drifted in, making Holly shiver.
“Honey, help me decorate these gingerbread men!” Holly’s mother indicated a batch cooling on a rack. Holly groaned theatrically and helped her mother mix the colorful icings and get out the candies for buttons and eyes and the like. Outside, Holly heard the whump of children throwing snowballs at each other. The two women began decorating a dozen smiling cookies when the sound of squealing tires distracted her.
Holly, peering through the window, immediately recognized her father’s boss’ car, peeling through the streets of the neighborhood with dangerous abandon. Mr. Jacobs was the big wig of Jacobs Industries, which produced electrified chain link fences for federal prisons and other grim organizations. His company employed over half the town; his personal secretary Sarah Hatch lived right across the street from the Talidays.
The slush spinning off Mr. Jacobs’ sports car’s wheels flew into the Hatches’ yard, spraying ice and mush across the children playing in the snow. One of them, little Timmy Hatch, collapsed in a coughing fit. Holly felt sorry for the kid; she baby-sat him every Tuesday and Thursday, or whenever his widowed mother had to work late. This was far more frequent than Holly felt was just for the poor lady. Timmy’s asthma was always something Holly had looked out for; more than once she had called the ambulance when the boy stopped breathing on her watch. To her alarm, Timmy did not stand back up but remained crumpled on the snow. Realizing the direness of the situation, Holly sprang up and shot towards the door.
“Call nine-one-one, Mom, Timmy Hatch’s having an attack!” The girl hurried outside and dashed towards the Hatch’s yard, unaware of the cold and snow in her determination to reach the boy. The children around him were staring with wide eyes as Timmy labored to breathe. Holly rushed across the street, jumped the curb…
Her feet hit a patch of ice and went sliding forward while the rest of her tried to remain upright. Holly tried to hold her balance, failed, and fell, hard. Her skull cracked on the pavement and the world went dark.
After a while, Holly noticed a light in the distance. It was like a flame, not a big one but the kind you might see on a candle. Intrigued, Holly tried to walk towards it. But she found she couldn’t move. The light twitched and began to move towards her, in a few seconds it was right in front of her. To her surprise, it appeared to have a small set of blinking eyes looking at her.
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Posted: Thu Dec 03, 2009 4:44 pm
I'm really liking this idea...haven't gotten to read this first entry yet, but I most certainly will.
Would you mind just making it a little easier on the eyes by either using indentions or spacing out the paragraphs? It'll make the read much more enjoyable :3
Thank you very much.
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Posted: Thu Dec 03, 2009 8:23 pm
After a while, Holly noticed a light in the distance. It was like a flame, not a big one but the kind you might see on a candle.
Intrigued, Holly tried to walk towards it. But she found she couldn’t move. The light twitched and began to move towards her, in a few seconds it was right in front of her. To her surprise, it appeared to have a small set of blinking eyes looking at her.
“Greetings, maid.” Holly realized the flame was talking. How strange. How hard had she hit her head? “Art thou prepared for the trials that lie ahead for thee?” The flame’s confusing speech made Holly only more… confused. The flame swirled around her lazily.
“Fear me not. Thine only task is one of yore; ye must cleanse the soul of one in dire need, one master Jacobs.”
Holly tried to turn her head to follow the flame’s orbit “Wait, Mr. Jacobs? As in my dad’s boss? I have to do what now?” The flame was now moving faster.
“Surely ye hast read the tome, A Christmas Carol, by Master Charles Dickens? And remember thou the spirits therein?”
“Um, yeah?”
“Recallest thou the Spirit of Christmas Past, and his most dreadful fate? Extinguished by churlish Scrooge in rage…”
“Wait a second, why are we talking about some old book? What’s going on? What happened to me? Am I dead? Why can’t I move?”
“Pri’thee, be calm, maiden. Once thy task is fulfilled, ye shall perchance be in thine proper place.” The flame was moving so fast now its words were blurred, and it formed a ring of fire around Holly. The ring closed in; Holly was surprised it was not hot but rather ticklish. She couldn’t help sniggering, then straight out laughing, as the flame sunk into her.
The world grew light again, and Holly could see the snow-laden clouds above. The flakes brushed against her face lightly and melted. And then evaporated off her face in seconds. Alarmed, Holly tried to sit up but, failing that, looked around. What was going on? There was a crowd of people around her, mostly masked EMTs. Her mother’s worried face stood out among them. The screech of sirens was present but somehow… muted. The color, too, seemed slightly fluid, like it was painted on and not quite dry. “Mom? Mom, how’s Timmy? How long was I out?”
Holly’s mother did not reply, but reached out and took her hand, raising it slightly. “It’s going to be ok. If you can hear me, I’ll be right here for you, sweetheart. You’re going to be alright.”
Except something wasn’t alright. When Mrs. Taliday picked up Holly’s hand, Holly’s hand also stayed lying on the gurney. Or, at least, Holly’s perception of her hand. Frightened, Holly sat up and twisted around. No one tried to make her lie back down, so she slipped off the gurney. Still no reaction. She went straight through an EMT. Nothing.
Wait, she did what? She had gone through someone!? Holly tried to grab hold of the man, but her hands went straight through him. A sudden flood of images: of his first Christmas, of the last Christmas before his father had died, of the first time he’d celebrated Christmas with his wife, with his son… Holly jerked back, and the images faded. They were happy memories, sad memories, memories of… memories of Christmases past…
Holly pushed through the man, ignoring the saddening Christmas where he found out his mom was in the hospital, and tried to grab her mother’s hand, which was still firmly gripping her’s. Or, at least, her body’s hand. The memory of last year’s Christmas asserted itself firmly into her head, when her mother had bought her the shirt she was wearing. Christmas past… Christmas past… The ghost of Christmas Past! That’s what the flame had been talking about, in her delusion. Her continuing delusion, Holly firmly reprimanded herself. This had to be a nightmare or one of those comatose vision thingies. She couldn’t be… the flame. The flame had done this. If she could find it, she could be back to normal.
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Posted: Fri Dec 04, 2009 5:27 am
At first I thought that I was going to be too lazy to read something this lengthy...but I'm glad that I decided to dive right into it anyway.
The only thing I should like to point out would be that some of the olde time English is a little awkward. Some of the thee's, thou's, and thine's don't really match up. As well as the use of "perchance" seems to be somewhat out of place. Perchance means just what it sounds like, "by chance," that maybe this will happen. It doesn't sound very reassuring to be told that if I do something, then MAYBE this will happen for me.
Unless the candle-thing is just messing with her. Because he can be a poo-bag like that, too.
Anyway, not bad writing. Looking forward to finishing it.
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Posted: Fri Dec 04, 2009 9:13 am
dustygray
Unless the candle-thing is just messing with her. Because he can be a poo-bag like that, too.
I'm posting early today since I'll be a bit exhausted tonight.
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Posted: Fri Dec 04, 2009 9:19 am
She began to laugh. Not the chilled, insane laughter this situation called for, but rather a light giggle that a kid with a secret might laugh. Holly was more than a little creeped out, especially since the noise came from her own throat. After a second the laughter faded. “Holly Taliday is sleeping. Unless the Ghost has done her work, she won’t wake up.”
Holly was stunned. She had just spoken… but she hadn’t been the one saying the words! Someone else had said them through her mouth! “Wh-who are you? Get out of my head!”
“I am you. You are me.” The voice was sing-song and mischievous. “The Ghost of Christmases Past, in short. Of what will be and what is I have no need. Only what was is my game.”
“You’re the Ghost of Christmas Past? Like, from the book?!”
“No, you’re the ghost. I am you. Or, rather, you’re me. If you want to be you again, you have to help the one without Christmas spirit. Master Jacobs.”
Holly was incredulous. “Look here, Mr. Ghost, I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about, so I’m going to ignore you and pretend this is a dream, which it is, until I wake up in the hospital. Then I’m going to tell the nice doctors about you and they’ll give me some medicine and that will be that.”
“Not so easy, I’m afraid. Until the one without Christmas spirit gets in the spirit… or becomes one… Holly Taliday will slumber like a princess in a fairy tale. For years and years, like a doll…”
The voice was sad, but it only made Holly angry. “You stop it! I won’t do what you want just because you… you don’t scare me!”
There was no reply for a moment. “T’was this or you would have died permanently. Methought you would prefer…” Holly was silent. “To help was all I wanted. But help is what I need. Help is what he needs. Help you can give. You do not have to, but helping him is helping you. You may return someday… but sooner, if you help. You will not be alone.”
Holly sighed. “Fine. What do I do?” There was no reply. “Ghost? Ghost?!” No answer. “What do I do?!”
The EMTs had finished loading Holly’s body into the ambulance and were helping her pale, withdrawn mother into the cab of the vehicle. Timmy Hatch was also being loaded into an ambulance, protesting weakly he felt better. The EMTs had resuscitated him while Holly was blacked out. “Holly!” he yelped, reaching for her. Holly almost put her arms out to him before she realized he couldn’t see her; he was looking at the ambulance pulling away, lights ablaze. Holly found it disheartening that she didn’t even cast a flickering shadow on the slushy street.
“Well, this is the worst Christmas break ever.” Holly turned and began walking up the street, towards the dark shape of Jacobs Industries. The Ghost had said Mr. Jacobs was in need of some holiday spirit… well, he was about to get a whole lot more than he expected.
Marley Jacobs opened the door to his office, snapping at Mrs. Hatch to leave him alone for the next hour. “But, sir, I needed to talk to you about taking leave on Christmas this year…” Mrs. Hatch watched in disappointment as he strode in, ignoring her.
Jacobs hated mornings, especially when children were out of school. Little snot-nosed brats, running around, dashing in front of his car, like lawsuits waiting to happen! Not to mention the teenagers, especially the punks who had broken in the night before and stolen a metric ton of steel fencing. How had they done that? Jacobs sat at his desk and growled unpleasantly at nothing. The office was cold as it was outside, and he did not like the cold. Not that he would give
Mrs. Hatch the satisfaction of asking her to turn the heat up. That woman loathed him, he knew, and he would rather keep it that way than try to get close to her.
He reached for his laptop and flipped the screen open. A click brought up his profits for the last week. A seventeen percent increase since last year, eh? Jacobs allowed himself a small, satisfied grimace.
The screen flickered moodily and dissolved into static. Jacobs’ smile faded. This was the latest technology, yet it was clearly malfunctioning. If his portfolio was affected, he would sue the techies behind this piece of junk until…
The static warped and, for a moment, a face stared at him from the screen. Jacobs glared in surprise; the face was that of the famous Andrew Melony. Jacobs had always admired the man as a child. He had even hung his picture in his bedroom… Jacobs shook his head sharply to clear them of such foolish memories. He was different now. He didn’t need a hero. The screen crackled a bit more then returned to the display of his profits. As he watched, the number steadily crept up…
A shrill buzz roused him from his reverie. “I told you not to bother me, Mrs. Hatch!” he shouted into the intercom.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Mrs. Hatch’s voice was almost habitually timid. “There’s a representative from the Save the Children Fund, wanting to know if you’d like to…”
“I won’t donate a cent to his charity!” The word rolled off his tongue with all the disgust of a curse, “And tell the sleaze if he doesn’t clear out in ten seconds you’ll call security and have him thrown out! Then fire security for letting him in!” Jacobs hit the mute button, drowning out Mrs. Hatch’s reply. Collectors. How he loathed them.
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Posted: Sat Dec 05, 2009 10:24 am
Well, I may have to start posting twice a day to get this whole thing up before I go back home. Just FYI.
This one's a bit short. Ghost of Christmas Present, and all. I was just dying to use the pun...
EDIT: Yep, didn't feel like making a new OOC. The second post is shortish too. I will now study til my eyes fall out. Bye!
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Posted: Sat Dec 05, 2009 10:25 am
Holly frowned at the high, electrified fence that encircled Jacobs Industries like a medieval battlement. She wasn’t sure how to get through it, since her ghostly ability to walk through things refused to work on the fence. It hadn’t electrocuted her, but it was as solid as it would have been to any real person.
“Now what?” she wondered aloud, not expecting a reply. The Ghost of Christmas Past had been totally silent this whole way, in spite of her threats, pleading, and persuading. She appeared to be on her own.
So it came as a total shock when a deep voice replied, “Fly over it, of course!” Holly whipped around and was surprised to find a cheerful looking, tall man with a rather impressive beard behind her. He looked exactly the way she’d pictured… Santa Claus. He even had the red and white fur hat.
“Santa?!” she felt like crying and hugging him all at once. The man chortled (she’d never seen anyone chortle before, but that was precisely what he did) and tapped his nose.
“Not quite. I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present. I take on whatever form presently represents Christmas to people of this time.”
“But… it’s not Christmas yet. Not for a week.”
“Shh! You’re not supposed to notice that!” The Ghost laughed. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present, though, so, here you are!” He slung the bag he was carrying from his shoulder and reached into it. Holly took what he handed her from it: what looked like a candle snuffer, the kind her mom used with a long stem and bell-shaped cup on the end. Holly held it gingerly; it was unpleasantly heavy and warm, but also seemed to fit into her hand with no trouble.
“What’s this for?”
“That,” said the Ghost, “is how you get back to life. After you finish with the Scrooge, snuff yourself out and you’ll wake up in a hospital bed and all will be well. But be warned, if someone else puts you out with that, you’ll be trapped as a Spirit for eternity, like the last poor soul was...” The spirit looked somber for a moment, then brightened back up. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. You seem like a bright girl, if you’ll pardon the expression. You love Christmas, don’t you?”
Holly paused, and then nodded slowly. “I… I do love Christmas. And my family. And my friends. I… I don’t want to leave them…” She began crying, her tears gleaming like stars and melting the snow where they landed. The Ghost of Christmas Present put a comforting arm around her. “I’m only fifteen! I’m… I’m too young to be dead!”
“There, there. It’s hard, when you’re young. But it happens, sadly. You’re lucky to get this chance! So, go! Even now the first spirit, the forerunner, is alerting our dreadful Scrooge to what awaits him. It wouldn’t do for you to be late.” The Spirit laughed, like this was the funniest thing in the world.
“But…” Holly wiped the tears from her eyes with the immaterial sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing!”
The Ghost was already walking away. “Don’t worry! You’ll know what to do when the time is right!” He waved merrily, and disappeared into the snow.
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Posted: Sat Dec 05, 2009 5:14 pm
Marley Jacobs stared in irritation as static once again filled his computer screen. He had just earned close to a million dollars on a deal, and now it was veiled behind a layer of fuzzy grey specks. He slammed a meaty hand on his desk in rage. The laptop bounced off his desk and landed on its side on the floor. Jacobs gave a short bellow of fury which cut off in surprise when the static leapt from his screen in a mass and again formed a face. This time, however, the face was three-dimensional, followed by the crackling outline of a man. Innumerable lines of micro thin data strands twisted from the apparition’s body, binding it in a spider web of greenish lines comprised of ones and zeros. The face, that of Andrew Melony, swiveled painfully until it settled to look upon Jacobs.
“Marley Jacobs. 56. 6’0”. 198 pounds. Net worth, 17 billion dollars.” Jacobs was baffled; what was this delusion talking about, listing his height and weight…? “Look at me, Marley Jacobs. See what I have become. 5 words squared. A slave to the numbers in my past life. A slave to the numbers in the next life. 9 words squared. Is this what you want, Jacobs? Six words. Would you fulfill those six words?”
Jacobs glared at Melony. “That sounds like a threat. I don’t take well to threats.”
But Melony’s ghost did not seem to care. “3 spirits. Chime ten. Chime eleven. Chime twelve. Last chance for you, Marley Jacobs. Six words.”
And, with a sizzling pop, he was gone. Jacobs blinked at his laptop, and then pressed his buzzer. “Mrs. Hatch. I’m going home early today. Get me a new laptop and have all my files transferred onto it. This one is defective.”
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 5:51 am
Hi. No one appears to be reading, but I'm posting again anyway. It's frigid in my room and I have two projects due tomorrow that are barely started, so this will be it for today and maybe tomorrow. If I don't die first.
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 5:52 am
Holly watched with bitter eyes as Mr. Jacobs limo peeled out of the garage and took off towards the main road. Now where was he going, without his sports car, no less? She didn’t have all day to chase him around… well, maybe she did. But it wasn’t fun.
Taking the Ghost of Christmas Present’s suggestion, she had flown over the fence. While it had been exhilarating, it had made Holly feel like she didn’t quite exist. That was not a pleasant feeling, but it meant she was lighter than a feather and plenty faster than a speeding car. Holly caught up to the vehicle with ease and slid through the back glass just as the ten o’clock shift’s bell sounded.
She crashed straight through someone with highly unpleasant memories. A bit disoriented, Holly swirled around a moment, groaning. Why was she immaterial only part of the time? If she wasn’t already in a coma she would’ve caused her skull some real damage by now…
“Wh-who are you?” The voice was deep, gravelly, the kind of voice that had authority and vanity preprogrammed into it. Holly refocused herself and turned to the speaker. It was Mr. Jacobs. Of course. This was his limo.
“I-I am the, er… Ghost of Christmases Past.” Seeing he wasn’t buying it, she added a ghostly, “Woooo!”
“Yes, I see. Another charity, I assume. How did you get in here?” Jacobs scowled at her menacingly. “As I told the last collector, I won’t give a penny to your organization. If I did, then every greedy self-righteous sap off the streets would come, breaking down my door to take my money that I worked for while they sat on their fat…”
“Shut up!” Holly shouted, surprising herself and Jacobs. A flash of light filled the car for a moment, but Holly was too angry to care.
“You don’t do anything all day but watch your stocks float up on the hard work of your employees and drive around that fancy sports car. You didn’t even start this company, your grandfather did! So don’t tell me you work for your money, corporate slimeball!” Jacobs was staring at her with angry but frightened eyes. His finger was jammed firmly down on the intercom button.
“Mr. Jacobs? Is something the matter?” The voice of the driver, who was hidden behind a thick piece of soundproof, smoked glass, crackled unpleasantly through the car.
“There’s a teenage girl back here. She’s got a flamethrower or something and is threatening me.” The calm way he said it made Holly angrier than ever. She reached over and tried to grab his shirt, but it slid straight through her fingers. A wash of memories licked through her head; none were very nice.
“OK, listen, dude,” Holly glared at him malevolently. “You have serious issues. And I’m going to prove it to you by showing you where those issues came from. That’s what I’ve gotta do, so shut up and hold on.” And with that, she grabbed his elbow, which was surprisingly solid, and began shooting upward. The overwhelming feeling of unimportance struggled to overcome the intense dislike for the man she was towing into the clouds. Jacobs was shouting something about his lawyer and suing; Holly let her hand slip, just slightly, making him stop shouting and cling to her arm for dear life. Satisfied, Holly smiled grimly. A memory lodged itself firmly in her head: of a cold, clinical room painted a flat shade of gray…
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Posted: Sun Dec 06, 2009 5:56 am
1976
“Marley! Marley!!” a shrill woman’s voice pierced through the room, making the small child in it cringe. The older Jacobs looked befuddled, reaching out for a boy, seated at desk far too large for his four-year-old frame, in a way that Holly would almost describe as tenderly.
“That… that’s me, when I was four…” Mr. Jacobs said softly. The shrill voice once again cut through the air like a whip, calling the small boy. “And that was…”
The voice’s owner burst into the room like a thunderhead, swooping over to the boy at the desk. She was a tall, grey-clad woman with a severe frown on her face and a long, thin ruler in her hand. “Marley, have you finished the work I gave you this morning?” She picked up a piece of paper off the desk and looked at it disapprovingly. “What is this? This is not algebra!” She thwacked her ruler down on one of the younger Marley’s hands. The latter made no sound but his face twisted miserably.
Holly felt a twinge of pity. This lady must have been Marley Jacobs’ private tutor. “Algebra at four years old… that’s tough.” The older Marley didn’t seem to be listening to her, so caught up he was in the scene before them.
“But… Ms. Antrope, it’s Christmas! Might I go see what Santa brought me, please? Or go outside and play with the others…”
“What sort of idiocy is this?” asked Ms. Antrope, looking at the paper sideways. “This is that Santa character again? I thought you were more mature than this, Marley. Santa is a fraud, a way for card companies to milk young idiots of their money.” She ripped the paper in half and threw it into the waste bin. “Now, your algebra.”
The young Marley looked crushed. “Ma’am, please, couldn’t I at least take a short break to go outside…”
“No! You have not only not finished your homework, but you insist on indulging in these childlike fantasies of Santa and such. No doubt this is the influence of the ragamuffin friends you keep. I will be informing your father of this disregard for me and your work, there will be no supper for you tonight, and I never want to see that little Sarah Cratchitt or Timothy Hatch again. They’re no more than gold diggers.”
Young Marley didn’t respond, but stared miserably at his shoes. Tears were dripping off his cheeks. His older version reached for the paper in the trash, but his hands went straight through it. “What is this, Spirit…?”
“This is your past. The thing that made you as twisted as you are now.” Holly tried to maintain her composure. “There’s more to see. Come on.”
Marley tried to flinch away, but Holly had gotten the hang of the whole ghostly flying thing and snagged him by the sleeve of his suit coat and dragged him upward, through the roof, into the cloudy sky.
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Posted: Mon Dec 07, 2009 12:12 pm
Hey, I actually did some research for this next part! They wore weird clothes in the eighties... anyway...
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Posted: Mon Dec 07, 2009 12:16 pm
1988
The mist swirled around them and cleared to reveal a sunny, snow-filled park. A pretty teenaged girl was throwing snowballs at a boy of similar age, laughing merrily. The whole scene looked like a Christmas card.
The girl dodged one of the boy’s missiles but slipped and fell in the snow. Giggling, she waved her arms around and made a snow angel.
The boy hurried to her and helped her up, his face mostly swathed in a scarf. “Are you alright, Sarah?”
The girl smiled. “I’m fine, Timmy! Don’t get so worked up over nothing.” The words struck a chord with Holly. Timmy?! Sarah… wasn’t Mrs. Hatch across the street’s name Sarah? And hadn’t Timmy been named after his deceased father, Timothy… then this was…!
“Oh, Marley! Hey, over here, Marley!” Sarah was waving at a figure slouching across the field, her cheeks flaming suddenly. The figure ambled up to the pair and looked at them disapprovingly. The teenaged Marley was wearing a colorful, expensive looking t-shirt under a silk lined leather jacket. His jeans were just grungy enough to say, ‘I don’t care’ while still looking new. And he was wearing black leather shoes. Holly felt like gouging her eyes out, but Mrs. Hatch, or at least Sarah, clearly felt differently. “Wow, don’t you look slick!”
Marley tossed his head vainly. “You like? It’s the latest from Europe.”
Timothy Sr. frowned, no doubt feeling self-conscious of his old brown overcoat and handmade scarf. Holly found this outfit a thousand times better-looking. “It’s not exactly snowproof, though. Won’t the jacket get ruined?”
“So what? I’ll buy another.” Marley shrugged with one shoulder. “Hey, Sarah, the new movie’s playin’ at the Cineplex. Wanna come with? My treat.”
Sarah’s face turned a peculiar shade of scarlet. “I’d… I’d love to!” Marley gave a Timothy a cocky half-grin. “… But I’m going over to
Timmy’s house for lunch. His mother made her special tuna casserole. Oh Timmy, do you think she’d mind if we brought Marley with us?”
Old Marley looked particularly pained at this moment, and kept trying to look away from the trio. Holly frowned and pointed at them ominously. Her hand kind of glowed, she noticed absently. Must be part of the whole Ghost of Christmas Past thing. She looked at the other, with which she still held the candle snuffer the Ghost of Christmas Present had given her. They both looked like they were… on fire…
“I… I can’t think of a reason to say no…” Timothy said weakly, clearly wishing he could think of one.
Marley smiled smugly and draped his arm across Sarah’s shoulders. The girl looked surprised and tried to shrug him off, but he refused to move away. “Um, Marley, your jacket’s really cold… and, well, I don’t know if I like you touching me like this…”
But Marley just snorted. “So what ya gonna do about it? Don’t act like you don’t love it.”
Timothy looked enraged. “She said to not touch her. So back off!” The boy stood up straighter and glared at Marley. The latter’s ghostly older version looked ashamed, as though he knew where this was going and wasn’t proud of it either.
“Do we… do we really need to stay and watch this?” Holly nodded darkly, her expression stony.
“You did this. I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to watch; you don’t care a lick about her anyway.” The words surprised Holly. They sounded cold, harsh, judging. What would her mother say if she knew how she was acting?
The older Marley gravely watched as the two boys began yelling, then pushing, then all out brawling. Sarah tried unsuccessfully to separate them, but a stray punch from the younger Marley thwacked her firmly in the right eye, sending her sprawling. Timothy froze and turned towards her, expression full of concern. Marley took advantage of his distraction and kicked him hard in the head. With a gasp, Timmy collapsed in the snow as Marley escaped. His older version looked on with a vaguely repentant expression. “I… I never meant her any harm…”
“Sure you didn’t. You just wanted to own her, right? Like a pretty trophy. You never cared about the real Sarah Cratchitt.”
Jacobs looked distressed. “I did! I loved her, always!” He looked genuinely distraught. “You wouldn’t know about this sort of love, Spirit, you’re just a child!”
Holly decided to let the point that a fifteen-year-old was hardly a child slide. “If you loved her, why did you flee? A real gentleman would’ve apologized. A real man would’ve apologized until she begged him to stop.”
“She was… she wasn’t the kind of girl my stepmother would’ve approved of…” Jacobs kept looking at the figures in the snow with an intense longing. Holly felt bad for a moment, then shook the feeling off. He was making excuses?!
“There’s more to see.” She grabbed his elbow again and pulled him upward, surprised at how much lighter he felt. Maybe he was feeling insignificant too.
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