The Ghost of Christmas Present and Other Stories

by Angel Nichols

  “Nothing wrong with that, but since you’ve brought it up, no.” Jim pulled the velvet pouch from his pocket and waved it in the air. “I don’t intend to kill you. This is to keep you from doing something stupid. You see, I know what you’re really after.”

  “Aren’t you the clever one?” Whitehall lowered his hands, a hungry look in his pale eyes. “Do you have any idea what that little trinket is worth?”

  “Everything.” Jim sneered. “At least, to you. I intended to hand it over, once my men and I were at a safe distance, in a public area, but now I don’t think that’ll be enough to stop you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re in no danger from me,” Whitehall claimed. “The poor man in my study was wounded beyond repair. I simply put him out of his misery. Hand it over, and you can go. No fuss at all!”

  “I’d believe that, if I didn’t know what a two-faced liar you are,” Jim replied. “Bernard ratted you out. He knows you’re insane.”

  “My dear boy, Welly doesn’t know half as much as he thinks he does.” Whitehall rubbed his hands together. “Even if he did, he won’t be around much longer to make up tales about me. The poor man’s going to swing for murder.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jim stood his ground. “The only murderer here is you.”

  “Yes, but the police don’t know that.” His opponent smirked. “It’s a shame poor Bernard’s fingerprints will be found all over the murder weapon, and the tracks of the horse he stole from me will lead them straight to three more corpses…or four depending on how this goes for you.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Whitehall.” Jim’s eyes narrowed. “You’re in a low position right now, whether you choose to see it or not. Pendleton and I know everything, and I have your trinket. The police will have everything they need, and you’ll be the one who goes to jail for your crimes.”

  “All of them.” Carver stepped from the study. “The murder of Shaw’s men and the murder of everyone that once lived in this house.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jim kept his pistol trained on their enemy.

  “She told me everything,” Carver said.

  “She?” Whitehall looked around. “She who?”

  “Her.” Carver nodded, and Whitehall turned around in time to see the gaping black maw of Meredith Pale’s ghost screeching at him.

  Stumbling backwards, he tripped over his chess set.

  Carver pulled the rope, and the net snapped up, taking the frightened murderer with it. Chess pieces tumbled through the netting, and the white king landed on its side just below the writhing mass.

  The old sailor tied off the rope and then moved to stand next to Jim, who still had his pistol trained on their quarry as he passed the velvet pouch and its trinket to the old sailor.

  Williamson struggled and cursed, but the net, coupled with the sheet, bogged him down to where he could barely move.

  “You won’t get away with this,” he shouted. “I have money! I’ll get out of this, and you can bet your last coin I’ll come looking for the two of you!”

  As she floated towards the two men, Meredith’s ghost solidified into a pale comparison of her former self.

  “Thanks for the assist,” Jim ventured.

  “You’re welcome, Jim Shaw. You men have saved us.” She motioned for them to look behind where they stood at the glowing countenances of every man and woman, who had lost their lives to the maniac that now hung in the great hall.

  “We will keep him here,” she promised. “You must bring justice.”

  “I think that’s our cue,” Carver said, and the two men headed on their way to locate the authorities.

  Again watching for trip wires, Jim led his partner to where Whitehall and he had tethered their horses, and the two of them rode straight to the Gloucestershire town hall.

  The looks they received as they entered, bloodied and covered in bits of dirt and forest, they both knew would keep them chuckling for years.

  Carver paused at the entrance to the sheriff’s office and grabbed Jim’s arm before he could walk ahead.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather you didn’t mention the necklace,” the old sailor said. “It’s technically stolen property, despite the fact that it’s been in my family for over a hundred years.”

  Jim nodded. “Alright, that’s fair. As long as Whitehall goes down for murder, I’m happy.”

  “What should we say about Bernard?” Pendleton asked. “Whitehall set him up to take the fall for the murder of your man, but he can’t very well escape the others he confessed to.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, Wellington is as guilty as Whitehall, if only for being stupid enough to follow along behind him,” Jim stated. “Still, he shouldn’t be tried for a murder he didn’t commit. I suppose we’ll tell them that Bernard was involved, and let them sort out the evidence.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Carver agreed. “I assume we’re not mentioning the ghosts. They might have issues with our credibility if that came up.”

  “Naturally.” Shaw nodded. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather we never spoke of ghosts again – ever.”

  “Agreed.” Pendleton held out his hand to the younger man. “Oh, by the way, Merry Christmas.”

  Jim smiled, shook the old sailor’s hand, and then opened the door to the office, within which both Carver and he told their story.

  Epilogue

  Six months later, Alexander Williamson sat in his cell and waited like the patient man that he was.

  He’d known about the Portuguese Diamond Cross for two years before he had taken up residence with his grandfather at the age of sixteen, and he’d gone to great lengths to plan its theft and his escape.

  If it hadn’t been for Meredith Pale’s natural curiosity, he would never have had to murder her or the others in the household, but then he was a resourceful man. Murders were easily accomplished, if one had the element of surprise and the will to carry them out.

  Cleanup was the hardest part, but even back then, he had had people doing his bidding in exchange for kept secrets – a hobby he’d developed early in life.

  Footsteps sounded along the hall, among the hoots and hollering of the other inmates. Two men stopped at the entrance to his cell. One carried a nightstick, the other a Bible.

  “Last rights, Williamson,” the guard snarled, before opening the cell and letting the holy man inside. “Personally, I think the Father here is wasting his time. You don’t have a soul to save.”

  Alex smiled. His opportunity had come.

  “Is there anything you would like to discuss, my son?” the priest asked.

  “Yes, I’d prefer you wouldn’t call me that, Welly. It’s dreadfully awkward.”

  Christmas in the Mojave

  Captain Alexander Renfroe stood at the C4 terminal gate at the California International Airport, his pilot’s hat under his right arm and his suit pressed and starched. Outside the giant plate glass windows, he could see the Cessna 560 Citation V class jet getting prepped for its impending takeoff.

  It was a sunny day in California, despite the chilling wind. It was, after all, Christmas Eve.

  Captain Renfroe sighed. It was going to be another lonely Christmas ferrying people and baggage from one end of the country to the other. Not that it mattered. He had no one to come home to anymore.

  “Ready?”

  A man’s voice interrupted the pilot’s thoughts.

  “Sure Cal, let’s go.” Renfroe plastered on a fake smile for his co-pilot and best friend, Calvin Dulaine. It was almost time for the passengers to board the plane and they still had to do the tedious but vital task of pre-flight checks.

  “Promises to be another windy takeoff,” Calvin nervously licked his lips, as the soft thud of their footsteps on the tunnel floor mingled with the scent of sterilized air. The motorized walkway that led to the plane’s entrance bounced ever so slightly as they walked along it.

  “Are you getting butterflies…still? Come on
Cal, we’ve done this a hundred times in the past month alone.” Alex shook his head.

  It never failed. Calvin got nervous before every flight.

  Renfroe looked sideways and noticed small beads of sweat on the other man’s forehead as well as worry lines around his mouth. At least his co-pilot didn’t throw up before takeoff anymore, he thought.

  “I know, but even in these small planes…you never know what could happen,” Calvin stepped over the threshold into the aircraft.

  “Small? This is the largest Cessna they make buddy,” Alex patted his pal on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  The two made their way to the cockpit, where they took their seats and began checking the endless panel of gauges and switches. Down the line, each one was checked and double checked. Even as Alex went through the motions, glancing briefly at each gauge as it was secured, his mind wandered back to the looming grey cloud of the empty house he would return to after this flight.

  *

  Edward Sterns was used to flight travel. In his seventy-eight years, most spent as a missionary doctor, he had flown from one side of the Earth to the other and back again. Travel was in his blood, along with other things.

  He looked around at the few passengers that were seated on the small craft. Years of travelling hundreds of miles with complete strangers had left him quite good at reading people from a distance.

  There was only room for eight passengers, which was fine. Most folks had already gotten to their destinations by now, midday on Christmas Eve.

  He noticed a man in his mid-forties and a younger man of about eighteen sitting next to each other in the back of the plane. The boy had his arms crossed and his baseball hat pulled down over his eyes. The older man was looking out the window, seemingly uncomfortable with conversation. A father and son, Ed surmised, although they seemed to be ignoring each another.

  In front of them sat a young teenage girl about sixteen, Ed guessed. She had pink stripes in her blond hair and more piercings than Jesse James. Her heavy black makeup and silver-studded jacket screamed rebellion, and she seemed more than happy to be by herself.

  Next to her on the left side of the plane was a woman about thirty-five. Dressed in a business suit, she had a Bluetooth headset attached to her ear and a blackberry in her hand. A black leather computer case sat comfortably at her feet. She seemed enthralled by the magazine she was reading.

  Beside her sat a couple in their mid-twenties, who were whispering and chuckling at each other. Ed pegged them as newlyweds on a Christmas honeymoon.

  One seat was empty, the one next to himself. A sad smile crossed his lips. This was the first time in nearly fifty years that he had sat on a plane without his wife at his side. He pulled out his wallet and ran his fingers across her high school picture. Old and faded, it had been with him as long as she had, but now she was gone.

  Ed looked out the small window, watching as the cold wind bent the trees next to the tarmac. She would’ve loved to have spent one more Christmas with the grandchildren.

  As the flight attendants began announcing the safety rules, Edward put the picture back in his wallet and buckled his seat belt. Home was only a few hours away.

  *

  Amelia Sanderson frowned at the flight attendant. “But I’m expecting a call any minute. It’s extremely important!”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but all electronic devices must be turned off and stored properly for takeoff.” The attendant smiled sweetly.

  “At least let me send a text, so they don’t forego the multi-million dollar business deal on a technicality.” Amelia huffed as her thumbs sped across the keypad.

  The attendant folded her hands and nodded, but didn’t move until the offending device had been turned off and placed inside Amelia’s jacket pocket.

  “There.” Amelia tried her best to keep the edge out of her voice.

  The flight attendant smiled and walked to the back of the plane. Here she pressed a button on the side of the craft, signaling the pilot that it was safe to begin taxiing down the runway.

  In the cockpit a green light flashed on the panel, and Alex flipped the switch that turned on the ‘buckle-up’ signs in the passenger bay. Calvin handed him a piece of chewing gum and popped a piece himself.

  The engines roared to life, and as they slowly rolled down the tarmac, Alex stared out at the long stretch of black asphalt that served as the takeoff ramp.

  “Here goes nothin’,” he muttered as he pushed the throttle forward and the plane surged ahead like a racehorse out of the gates.

  The engines whined sharply as gravity pressed him into the back of his seat. With timing born of experience, he pulled back on the yoke, and the nose of the craft lifted. In seconds, they were airborne, and as they climbed the G-forces began to ease away.

  Alex felt his ears pop as he chewed on the wintergreen flavored ear-saver known as gum. Next to him, Calvin smacked nervously, chewing with his mouth open. Alex grinned - the first part of a flight always gave him a bit of a rush.

  He leveled the plane and set the autopilot. Taking the handheld intercom off of its hook, he pressed the button on its side. “Good afternoon on this fine Christmas Eve, ladies and gentlemen. This is your Captain speaking. Welcome aboard the Cessna 560, we are cruising at an altitude of 30,000 feet at about 500 knots. Please feel free to move about the cabin, but keep in mind that we may be experiencing a little turbulence during your flight. We will be landing at your destination in about three hours.”

  The intercom clicked as he turned it off and placed it back on the wall. He turned and sent Calvin a smile. “Wake me when it’s time to land this thing.” He yawned as he leaned back in his chair and pulled his hat over his eyes.

  *

  “Alex! Alex, wake the hell up, we’re in real trouble here!”

  Jerked awake at the sound of his co-pilot’s urgent call, Alex found it difficult to sit up, as he noted Calvin struggling with the controls.

  “Report!” He yelled, immediately snapping into Captain mode as he took over the controls.

  “I-I don’t…” Calvin stuttered, obviously in a state of panic.

  “I said report Dulaine, now!” Alex barked. Calvin might be his best friend, but getting back to protocol could be the difference between life and death.

  “Y-yes sir! Our flight path was on target until about fifteen minutes ago. The weather reports coming in stated a strong northeastern wind, which pushed us over the Mojave dunes. After that…I-I don’t know what happened.” Calvin pushed past the fear.

  Alex flipped on the ‘fasten seat-belts’ sign for the cabin, as the airplane rocked and shuddered around them. “The altimeter is dropping. We’re losing altitude,” he stated as calmly as possible. Pulling on the yoke he tried to bring the nose of the plane back up, but the controls were frozen.

  “We’re caught in updrafts coming off the dunes,” Alex said through gritted teeth. “That strong wind from the northeast is pushing one way, and hot air rising off the sand dunes is pushing back hard.” Now they were caught in the middle - a bad place to be.

  Suddenly, the plane banked hard left and began to spin. Alex strained to level their descent, at the same time managing to press the emergency switch, which notified Air Traffic Control that they were in trouble.

  Calvin grabbed the intercom and signaled the frightened flight attendant, “Keep everyone in their seats, we’re going down!” He could hear frantic shouts from the passengers in the background.

  *

  In the cabin, Kirsten Johns had noticed something was wrong right away, but she had chosen as usual to hide her concerns behind her dark makeup and painful piercings. The shaking and shuddering that she felt now was far more pronounced than it should be.

  Looking around, she saw the flight attendant pick up the intercom, the woman’s face filled with fear. A moment later, the attendant was buckled into a safety harness, and oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling in front of each seat. Kirsten put hers
on immediately as did the other passengers.

  The plane dipped sharply to the left, and she watched as the landscape outside blurred.

  G-forces pulled everyone to the right, and as the plane dropped Kristen felt herself float from her seat, her safety belt straining to keep her in place. Through the plastic mask, she could hear herself screaming, even as a sharp whine and a roaring noise threatened to drown out everything else.

  Suddenly, the lock on the emergency hatch failed. The door flew open, creating a vacuum. Immediately the luggage bays above their heads popped open. Bags, boxes and presents of all shapes and colors flew around the cabin, before being sucked out the emergency hatch.

  This is it, she thought, her mind racing, all that planning, and my perfect getaway ends like this. I won’t even get to rub it in Mom’s face.

  *

  Back in the cockpit, a light on the gauge panel began flashing red. “We’ve lost cabin pressure!” Calvin yelled, but the roar of the engines and the vacuum behind the cabin door drowned out his words.

  Alex did his best to keep the plane from going belly-up, but as the swirling colors outside turned from blue to brown, he knew it was out of his hands. He had no control.

  The tip of the right wing struck land first. Embedding itself in the sand, it acted as a fulcrum and threw the plane back. Landing upside down, the new wreckage slid another seventy yards, leaving a giant slithering scar in its wake.

  The sun slid beneath the horizon, and the plane’s body caught the final full force of the last solar rays. As the dark shadow from the silent wreckage stretched farther and farther, it was the only thing on the desert floor that was moving.

  *

  Sand. Daniel hated sand. He was seven years old again, and buried up to his neck in sand. It was his brother’s doing, he knew that much. He couldn’t move, and the weight of the sand on his chest made it hard to breathe. Still, there were no sounds from the waves.

  “Charlie! Charlie let me out of here right now, or I’m telling mom!” He yelled as panic rose within him, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. Charlie wasn’t here. Charlie wasn’t anywhere.