A Christmas Cameron

by Benedict Arthur

  ``Are spirits' lives so short?'' asked David.

  ``My life upon this earthly plane, is very brief,'' replied the Ghost. ``It ends to-night.''

  ``To-night!'' cried David.

  ``To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near.''

  At that moment, David heard the chimes from a clock ring three quarters past eleven. All around them became dark and David could not discern exactly where they now were. Only the body of the spirit was lit sufficiently to make out its full form.

  “Forgive me if I’m being rude,” said David, looking intently at the Spirit’s robe, “but I see something strange, that doesn’t appear to belong to you, protruding from under your gown. Is it a foot or a claw?”

  “It might be a claw, for the scant amount of flesh there is upon it,” was the Spirit’s sorrowful reply. “Look here.”

  The spirit opened its robe to reveal, two children; wretched, hopeless, frightful, hideous, miserable. They knelt down at its feet, and clung to the outside of its garment.

  “David! look here. Look, look, down here!” exclaimed the Ghost.

  They were a boy and girl. Yellow skinned, thin, ragged, scowling, and animal like – but with an air of submission in the way they cowered at the feet of the spirit. Where graceful youth should have filled their features out, and touched them with its colour and joy, a stale and shrivelled hand, like that of age, had pinched, and twisted them, and pulled them into shreds. Where angels might have sat enthroned, devils lurked, and glared out menacing.

  David stepped back, appalled. Having them shown to him in this way, he tried to say they were fine children, but the words choked themselves, rather than be parties to a lie of such enormous magnitude.

  “Spirit! are they yours?” David stuttered.

  “They are the children of humanity,” said the Spirit, looking down upon them. “And they cling to me, appealing for their fathers. This boy is Ignorance. This girl is Want. David looked upon the faces of the children. Over the girl flashed an image of Sam, as she was when he had first seen her aged just five. Over the boy’s face flashed face after face; first the matron, then his father, then Osbo, Boris, Brian, the Chief, the Vicar, the teenage boys and finally his own. “Beware them both, but most of all beware this boy, for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing is erased and his path altered. Compassion alone David may light the way.”

  David closed his eyes in a solemn repose.

  “I pray” said a fading voice. “That one day your heart might break so that my words may fall inside”

  The bell struck twelve.

  David opened his eyes and looked about him for the Ghost, and saw it not. As the last stroke ceased to vibrate, he remembered Margaret’s prediction and lifting up his eyes, beheld a solemn Phantom, draped and hooded in black, coming, like a mist along the ground, towards him.

  STAVE FOUR

  The Last of The Spirits.

  The Phantom slowly, gravely, silently, approached. When it came near him, David bent down upon his knee; for the very air which this Spirit carried with it seemed to bear gloom and mystery.

  It was shrouded in a deep black garment, which concealed its head, its face, and its form, and left nothing of it visible except for one outstretched hand. If it wasn’t for this hand it would have been difficult to distinguish the figure from the night, and to separate it from the darkness by which it was surrounded.

  As the spirit came beside him, David saw that it was much taller than him and that its mysterious presence filled him with a solemn dread. He knew no more, for the Spirit neither spoke nor moved.

  “I am in the presence of the Ghost of Christmas Future?” said David.

  The Spirit did not answer, but pointed onward with its hand.

  “You are about to show me shadows of the things that have not happened, but will happen in the time before us,” David pursued. “Is that so, Spirit?”

  The upper portion of the garment lolled forward for just a moment, as if the Spirit had dipped its head. That was the only answer he received.

  Although well used to ghostly company by this time, David feared the silent shape so much that his legs trembled beneath him, and he found that he could hardly stand when he prepared to follow it. The Spirit paused a moment, noticing his condition, and gave him time to recover.

  But David felt all the worse for this. It thrilled him with a vague uncertain horror, to know that behind the dusky shroud, there were ghostly eyes intently fixed upon him. “Ghost of the Future!” he exclaimed, “I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. But as I know your purpose is to do me good, and as I hope to live to be another man from what I was, I am prepared to bear your company, and do it with a thankful heart. Will you not speak to me?”

  It gave him no reply. The hand was pointed straight before them.

  “Lead on!” said David. “Lead on! The night is waning fast, and it is precious time to me, I know. Lead on, Spirit!”

  The Phantom moved away as it had come towards him. David followed in the shadow of its dress, which he felt was drawing him on and carrying him along. As they went David became aware of objects that were flanking him at either side that occasionally stroked his nightgown. Whether they were great bony fingers or something else the darkness would not allow him to discern. Eventually the clouds above the pair parted to reveal a clear bright moon that illuminated the fingers all around. David saw that they were in fact passing through a forest and it was the jutting branches of trees that were reaching out and stroking him almost as if in warning that this was a place through which he should not pass.

  The forest ended and the spirit brought them out to a large clearing. The ground was covered in a layer of thick snow and an even thicker layer of fog lay atop of that. Suddenly, in front of them, a great tree thrust its way up out of the mist. As his eyes adjusted, David recognised it as the great Yew to which his father had brought him as a child. Its appearance however was much changed. Instead of being dappled in the light of dawn, it was now shrouded in what seemed like a mist that had crept up from the ground.

  As they got closer to the tree the mist in various places seemed to take on a more definitive shape and David gasped as he realised the tree was actually covered in a seething mass of white ghostly figures. All their faces were twisted and agonised as each one of them was trying to climb the tree but their every step was impeded by a dozen others as they bit, scratched, gouged and tore at each other in a desperate scramble to get to the top. Only one figure didn’t participate in the melee. A small boy stood at the foot of the tree. David gazed at the solitary figure and as they drew even closer he recognised the child as being his young self, dressed in his old school uniform. The boy was as yet too short to access even the lowest reaches of the tree, but in spite of the terrible scenes occurring higher up, he jumped and jumped with outstretched arms trying in vain to grab onto a branch.

  Seeing this, made David cower behind the black cloak of the spirit. This caused the spirit to increase the pace of its movement and it once again plunged them into the dark forest. They moved much faster now and quite quickly arrived at the house of David’s childhood. The moonlit night had been replaced by a day of oppressive gloom as David and the ghost came to a halt.

  --

  A long, shiny black car pulled up the driveway and parked outside the entrance of the house. The driver of the car, dressed in the formal uniform of a chauffeur stepped out of the vehicle and opened one of the back doors. Samantha Cameron emerged from the open door, her slim frame was unchanged but her hair was streaked all over with grey and her face was laden with lines of both age and worry. She wore a pair of large dark glasses and a black dress – the attire of a woman in mourning.

  David followed as she walked into the house. Inside, the air seemed stagnant, and the atmosphere heavy and joyless. Christmas decorations had been hung here and there and a tree erected, but no love or interest had been put into the task and there were no bulbs to add light or spark
le. Instead of heading to the usual sumptuous quarters, Samantha proceeded to walk towards the back of the house. Beyond the kitchen and the larder and the washrooms was a long corridor. This was a place that even as a child David had found little reason to explore. Samantha walked determinedly to the end of the corridor which ended at a small vestibule. This windowless area was lit by a single bulb hanging from a wire in the ceiling. In the vestibule was a well-built man dressed in a uniform comprised of a starched white shirt and trousers. Around his waist was a thick black leather belt from which hung a single, large metal key. The man was sat on a small plastic chair, reading a magazine and nodding his head in time with the music coming from some earphones. To the man’s right was a large metal door, which stood out as being quite different from the rest of the doors in the house and would have been more at home in a prison.

  “Lady Cameron, we weren’t expecting you today!” said the man standing up. He threw his reading material to the floor and pulled out his earphones.

  “Well its boxing day” said Samantha. “I wanted to see him; it has been nearly a year. You’re new aren’t you?”

  “Yes Lady Cameron, been here for a month or so.”

  “And how has he been?” Samantha enquired.

  “Well, I’ve seen worse.”

  “Hmmm, yes, whatever that means. Well can I see him?” Samantha looked the metal door up and down.

  “Do you want one of these?” The man held up a plastic helmet with a face guard; similar to what one might use if partaking in a game of American football.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m his wife!” said Samantha. She took a step towards the door.

  “Er, could I just ask Lady Cameron” said the man. “I don’t mean to pry, but what is this mandate thing that he goes on about all the time? Can’t we just give him one and calm him down?”

  Samantha sighed. “No we can’t just give him a mandate. What he is talking about is his Prime Ministerial mandate, his authority to govern.”

  “Oh I see”

  “Has no-one explained this to you? It’s supposed to be in your briefing, it’s quite central to providing him with good care.”

  The man just looked at her blankly.

  Samantha sighed and took a step back. “You see, when David left office there was this huge backlash against him because of the cuts and the effects that they had on the country. I have to admit it was horrible, the crumbling economy and the suicides and the ruined health service. But like any statesman, he was a great experimenter with truth - unfortunately it went quite wrong.”

  “What’s that got to with his mandate?”

  “Well there was this big critical focus on how many votes the party got in 2010 and how the Tories only got about thirty six percent. All his critics argued that the majority of the country had voted against having a right wing government and that they only managed to get into power because luckily the leader of the Liberal Democrats who they formed a coalition with, used to work for the Conservatives himself.”

  “Ah right” said the man nodding.

  “If people say something to you enough then you’re going to start believing it and over the years he became more and more obsessed with this idea that he had no real mandate. Eventually, it was all he talked about, and now, well, you know the rest” she said sadly. “Can I see him now please?”

  The man turned the key in the metal door with a satisfying ‘clunk’ and as he did so there came the sound of banging and crashing from inside the room. He glanced at Samantha whose gaze confirmed that she remained steadfast in her resolution that he should open the door. He pushed the door open and stepped away, leaving Samantha stood in the doorway. A great unpleasant smell filled her nostrils and she involuntarily raised a hand to cover her nose and mouth.

  Inside, the room was strewn all about with papers and old food packets. An armchair and table had been upturned and in one corner was a dirty mattress. Near the window was a man, dressed in an old, torn, blue suit covered in suspicious stains. He was barefoot and almost completely bald except for a few wisps of long, grey hair that grew from the back and sides of his head and fell down over his shoulders. He was squatting under the window shuffling the papers at his feet as if frantically searching for something. He could be heard, even at a distance, to be muttering a strange mantra over and over again – “where’s my mandate? where’s my mandate? where’s my mandate?”

  As Samantha stepped into the room the man spun around and suddenly lunged towards her, in the way a cat might pounce on its prey. As he leapt, he began to once again repeat his mantra “Where’s my mand….” Samantha removed her dark glasses just moments before impact, causing the man to stop suddenly. He stood silently, shoulders hunched forwards in a simian slouch, looking into the eyes of his wife.

  David looked into the man’s face and although the dreadful conversation between Samantha and the minder had primed him as to who was in the room, it was still a terrible surprise to see himself regressed to such a primal form. His face was dirty and creased and covered in long unkempt whiskers. The absence of hair atop of his head made his great forehead appear even more bulbous and menacing. Several of his teeth were missing and those that remained had become yellow, rotten and misshapen. Any measure of warm human feeling that might have once glimmered in his eyes, had long since departed.

  --

  David turned and ran at speed down the corridor away from the awful scene. As he ran, the walls around him drew apart and the ceiling moved upwards and disappeared. He found himself running through the City of London. As he went, more and more pieces of the city seemed to spring up and surround him. He stopped, panting and out of breath and placed his hands on his knees as he leant forward to try and regain his breath. He turned his head back expecting to see the spirit very far off, but instead found it standing directly behind, looming over him. David tentatively approached the spirit with the intention of pleading for the cessation of the night’s journey. In desperation, he grasped its long cloak with both his hands but could hold on for no longer than a second as the terrible coldness that had impregnated the cloth burned his palms horribly. He jumped back rubbing his hands together with as much vigour as his tired arms could muster.

  Around them, the city streets were busy. People hurried up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their purchases. The Spirit stopped beside one little knot of business people stood next to a vendor selling coffee. They were very close to the heart of the great city, just a few metres from the much-loved Trafalgar square. Observing that the spirits hand was pointed to the little group of people, David reluctantly advanced to listen to their talk.

  “No,” said a man in a well-filled suit and duffle coat, “I don’t know much about it, either way. I only know he’s dead.”

  “When did he die?” inquired another.

  “Last night, I believe.”

  “Why, what was the matter with him?” asked a third, lighting up a cigarette.

  “God knows,” said the first, with a yawn.

  “I wonder of they’ll give him a state funeral?” asked a red-faced gentleman as he handed his money to the vendor.

  “I haven’t heard,” said the first man, yawning again. “But it’s a bloody joke if they do – they should try and privatise it like they did for Thatcher – great success that was!”

  This comment was received with a general laugh.

  “Well it’s likely to be a very cheap funeral,” said another man; “they won’t need much security, for upon my life I don’t know of anybody who’d go to it.”

  “I don’t mind going if lunch is provided,” observed the red-faced gentleman.

  “Free Lunch, at a Conservative funeral? Don’t make me laugh!” said a woman as she brought her steaming drink to her lips.

  Another laugh.

  “I don’t even know who the hell you’re talking about” said another woman as the vendor handed
her a drink.

  Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups. “Oh dear” said David with a sigh. “Who has died now? Not old John Major is it?” He looked at the Phantom for some acknowledgement but the ghost moved away and headed in the direction of the square proper.

  In the square, people were milling about as usual. Tourists fussed around the plinths and fountain, pointing and taking pictures. The great, beautiful Norwegian Christmas Tree stood as usual for the time of year, next to Nelson’s column; its hundreds of lights adding a sparkle to the eyes of its many admirers. The Phantom raised a finger in the direction of the fourth plinth of the square, the one usually reserved for displaying works of art. For a long time, an enormous television screen had been erected there. Underneath the screen was a banner that simply read ‘SKY TELEVISION’.