My So-Called Christmas Carol

by Tamsyn Murray

  Mary drifted closer and Elvira saw that her teeth were little more than rotten black stumps. “Thou knowest the answer already – I am here to remind thee of all thou hast lost.” She paused and stared critically at Elvira’s pierced eyebrows and purple hair. “Which would seem to include thy mirror.”

  If that wasn’t a case of pot calling the kettle black, Elvira didn’t know what was; Mary’s bird’s nest hair was significantly worse than her own. Raising a defiant chin, she tried not to look intimidated. “What if I don’t want to remember?”

  The ghost let out a hollow laugh. “Thy future depends on it. Thou hast no choice.” She held out a grimy hand. “Come.”

  Elvira eyed the warty fingers and dirty nails warily; could you catch the bubonic plague from a ghost? She wasn’t about to find out. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Mary shrugged. “Then I shall bring thy past here.” She gestured and the room swam in front of Elvira’s eyes. “Behold!”

  The light-bulb exploded, showering fragments of glass everywhere and plunging them into darkness again. The floor of the flat dropped from under her feet and Elvira jolted as though she was falling, even though her brain insisted she hadn’t moved a centimetre. She bit her lip and swallowed a queasy moan. After several seconds of gut-wrenching vertigo, a scene began to crystallise and wrapped itself around them, as though they had left her flat and beamed to another place. It was another white-walled room but very different to the sparse impersonality of Elvira’s home. This room was filled with homely warmth. The scent of baking and cinnamon hung in the air. A roaring fire burned in the hearth. Tinsel trailed along the mantelpiece and two stockings hung from it. A Christmas tree stood in one corner, festooned with decorations. Beside it, sat a pale-faced, dark-haired girl of around six years old, playing with a doll.

  “Does thou knowest this place?” Mary asked, studying Elvira.

  Elvira swallowed and gave a reluctant nod. “This is my mother’s house.”

  Mary nodded. “And the child?”

  “That’s me,” Elvira whispered, staring at her younger self with a mixture of fascination and pity. “What a pathetic little scrap I was.”

  A woman’s cheery voice rang out. “Peggy, come and help me taste these cookies!”

  The girl’s face lit up and she scrambled to her feet, tossing the doll to one side. She left the room and soon the combined laughter of mother and daughter floated through.

  “Why are you showing me this?” Elvira demanded, forcing down the wave of nostalgia the scene was unleashing. “It’s hardly breaking news that I was a kid once.”

  “Watch,” the ghost said.

  Fidgeting, Elvira did as she was told. For a moment, the scene didn’t change. Then a movement caught her eye and she saw a small hand reach around the Christmas tree for the discarded doll. She gasped as it slid out of sight. “Who’s there?”

  Mary didn’t speak. Instead, her gaze stayed fixed on Elvira, as though daring her to investigate. After a moment’s hesitation, Elvira stepped forward and peered around the tree. Seated on the ground was a girl of maybe seven or eight. She was stroking the hair of the doll and crooning a lullaby. Around her head there was a faint but unmistakeable blue glow.

  “Does thou knowest her?”

  Elvira let out a long shuddering breath. “There was a girl,” she said, her voice slow as though discovering a long scabbed-over memory. “Her name was Alice, we used to play together. I never saw her, though, only heard her.”

  “Wouldst thou call her friend?” Mary asked.

  Elvira frowned. “I think so. But one day she stopped coming to play.”

  Mary nodded. “Thy mother gave her peace.” She waved a hand and the scene began to dissolve.

  “Wait!” Elvira said, sending a longing gaze to the door which led to her mother and younger self. “Do we have to leave?”

  “Come,” Mary replied but her tone was softer than it had been before. “Another Christmas awaits thee.”

  And Elvira had no choice but to let the memory go.

  Chapter Five

  At first, Elvira thought the ghost had brought her back home. The room they stood in was dark and silent but gradually her eyes adjusted and she realised it was a bedroom. Lying in the bed was a child, slightly bigger than the last one they’d seen and Elvira saw enough to guess that they were still in her mother’s house, but at a different time. The girl in the bed must be her – who else could it be?

  “What are you, some kind of pervert?” she whispered to Mary in outrage. “This is my old bedroom!”

  Mary scowled and drew back her gums in a sneer. “Hush, or I may yet abandon thee to thy fate!”

  Elvira opened her mouth to reply but stopped when she heard the sound of desperate sobbing. It wasn’t coming from the bed, though. It was coming through the wall.

  The girl in the bed sat up suddenly and switched on the bedside lamp. Elvira saw herself aged twelve, overflowing with sullen fury. With a muffled scream of anger, the girl threw herself back down on the bed, lifting the pillow up and jamming it violently down on her head. As the sound of crying got louder, she curled up into a tight ball and lay there, eyes squeezed shut and the pillow wrapped around her ears. Elvira noticed a single tear roll down her cheek and vanish into the sheets.

  The sobbing reached maximum pitch and Elvira resisted the urge to grab the pillow from her younger self and cram it over her own ears.

  “I really don’t need to hear this!” she hissed at Mary, who merely placed a warning finger against her lips.

  After what felt like forever to but was actually only a few minutes, another voice joined the cacophony but it wasn’t crying. Elvira couldn’t quite make out the words but they seemed to have a soothing effect on the crier. Gradually, the sobbing subsided until only the soft voice remained. With a flicker of surprise, Elvira realised that it was her mother.

  Mary beckoned her forwards and vanished through the wall. Elvira stopped; she wasn’t a ghost – how was she supposed to follow? Then a hand reached back through the wall and yanked her forwards. She felt an unpleasant dragging sensation and had a confused impression of bricks, and then she was standing in the hallway beside Mary. In front of them knelt her mother, talking earnestly to a middle-aged woman outlined in a delicate blue haze. Whatever Mrs Johnson was saying seemed to work, because the woman wiped her tears away and stood up, a tentative smile on her face. There was a flash and a blizzard of tiny golden lights cascaded down from nowhere to rest upon the woman. When the lights cleared, she had gone. Silence reigned.

  Mary turned and Elvira realised they could see through the wall as though it was no longer there. Lying in the bed, young Peggy opened one eye cautiously. She lifted the pillow from her ears and listened. Apparently satisfied that it was over, she reached over and snapped the lamp off. Every now and then, a sob escaped, until eventually she slept again.

  “My mother helped the ghosts,” Elvira said. “That’s why the screaming used to stop after a while. But she couldn’t do anything for me.”

  Mary held up a hand. The door to the bedroom opened and Elvira’s mother crept in. She perched on the edge of the bed and reached out to tenderly stroke her daughter’s hair. “Sleep, my little one,” she whispered. “No more visitors will trouble you tonight.”

  Elvira was surprised by the rush of emotion that engulfed her. All these years she had hated her mother for doing nothing to get rid of the ghosts who tormented them, when the truth was she’d been doing the best she could to protect her daughter. Elvira swallowed hard to dislodge the sudden lump in her throat. “Can you show me more?”

  Mary shook her head. “The hour is almost up. We must return to thine own time and place.”

  Reluctantly, Elvira dragged her gaze from her mother. “Who should I expect next?”

  “The Ghost of Christmas Present,” Mary answered. “More than that, I cannot say.”

  “Thank you for showing me this,” Elvira said, surprised by how much she meant
it.

  The ghost smiled sadly. “Do not thank me, for darker visions lie ahead. But now my time is gone and I must bid thee farewell.”

  Before Elvira could protest, the air shimmered and she found herself back in her own flat. Above her, the light-bulb was unbroken. The clock on the wall pointed to one o’clock.

  Dazed, Elvira slumped onto the sofa and tried to take in everything she’d just seen. Now that she was alone, the wonder of seeing her mother again ebbed away. Memories and emotions she’d kept locked away for decades swirled around inside her, triggering another, and another; it wasn’t a sensation she liked. If Mary was to be believed, her next visitor would only make things worse. She set her face grimly and forced the jumble of feelings under control. What time had Miss Chester said to expect the second spirit? Two o’clock? This time, she’d stay awake for her guest’s arrival. And maybe she’d have the exorcism book close at hand.

  Chapter Six

  “Hey, Human Pin Cushion. Wake up!”

  Elvira felt a finger prodding her in the shoulder and stirred. Either she’d been having the weirdest nightmare ever or –

  Her eyes snapped open. Standing over her was another ghost but this one wasn’t old; in fact, she looked like she’d stepped straight out of an MTV reality show. She had glossy dark hair and emerald green eyes and a seriously unimpressed expression on her face.

  “Glad you decided to join us,” she drawled, and gave a humourless laugh. “And they reckon teenagers are hard to wake up.”

  Elvira’s gaze slid to the clock: two AM – so much for staying awake. Her fingers snaked sideways, groping for the book she’d placed within easy reach. It wasn’t there.

  The ghost held up a hand.

  “Looking for this?” She flicked through the pages of the book, tutting, and stopped on a diagram on an inverted pentagram. “I hope you weren’t planning to use this on me. Not very friendly, is it, considering I’m doing you a favour by even being here?”

  “Of course I wasn’t,” Elvira mumbled, looking away. “Are you the Ghost of Christmas Present, then?”

  The ghost rolled her eyes. “Nah, I’m the Tooth Fairy.” She folded her arms and glared at Elvira. “Of course I’m the Ghost of Christmas Present. And let me tell you, I’m not exactly thrilled to get this gig, so don’t try anything stupid.”

  Pushing herself off the sofa, Elvira puffed out a long breath and tried to get a grip on her sleep-muddled thoughts. The ghost leaned back sharply.

  “Whoa, someone needs a Tic Tac,” she said, pinching her nose in disgust. “You do know that you shouldn’t really brush your teeth with a bottle of Jack, right?”

  Elvira stared at her, wondering if someone had sent the Ghost of Christmas Stroppiness by mistake. “The other ghost was much nicer than you.”

  The girl scowled. “That’s because she doesn’t know you like I do. And can I just say that I think your headgear is spectacularly inappropriate?”

  “Know me?” Elvira repeated, her hand flying to her head to touch the Santa hat. “How could you possibly know me?”

  “Let’s just say we’ve got a mutual acquaintance,” the girl replied. “A ghost called Kimberly Jones?”

  Elvira cast her mind back. She’d listened to a lot of whinging dead people over the years, very few of them stood out of the crowd. Then a faint memory stirred, a jumbled mix of terrified screams and howling wind. “The girl from the toilets on Carnaby Street?”

  A flicker of amusement crossed the ghost’s face. “Sort of. The point is, I know what you do to my kind. Save the ‘poor me’ routine for the next ghost, OK?”

  Remembering how easily Miss Chester had lost her temper, Elvira decided to play nicely. “What should I call you?”

  “Lucy,” the ghost snapped. “Now, enough chit-chat. Let’s get this over with.”

  She pointed at the floor and a gaping hole opened up. Elvira felt herself tipping forward and waved her arms in a desperate attempt to stop herself falling. The ghost grabbed her hand.

  “Relax. I won’t let you fall.” She fired a humourless smile Elvira’s way. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Just like before, an image began to form in front of them. It looked like some kind of church; row upon row of wooden pews stood to attention as they faced the red-carpeted altar. Candles flickered on stands along the aisles and, by the soft light of their flames, Elvira made out two seated figures deep in conversation.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “The Church of the Dearly Departed,” Lucy answered, gazing around her. “It’s a spiritualist church in North London, where the dead talk to the living through psychics. The kind of place you’d hate.”

  “Then why have you brought me here?”

  Lucy gave a short-tempered sigh. “This isn’t supposed to be a fun-fest. You’re here to learn, so stop with the questions and watch.”

  Elvira didn’t push it. Turning her attention back to the figures, she saw one of them bow its head. The other put an arm its shoulders. She glanced at Lucy, as though asking permission to move closer. The ghost made an impatient shooing motion.

  As she drew nearer, Elvira could see that the figures were both women. Neither were ghosts. The one doing the comforting was young and blonde; Elvira didn’t recognise her. The one with the shaking shoulders was old, with grey hair and a careworn posture. Something in Elvira’s memory shifted and a horrible suspicion began to dawn. She looked at the ghost, who gazed impassively back.

  “Recognise either of them?” she asked.

  “Not the younger one,” Elvira replied, hesitating. “But the older one is...familiar.”

  Lucy gave a snort of amusement. “I should hope she is. The blonde woman is called Celestine. She’s one of the psychics here. Now listen.”

  Her mind whirling, Elvira did as she was told.

  “I’m sorry to have come here but I didn’t know where else to go,” the grey haired woman said, sounding very much like she’d been crying. “After I left the hospital, I walked around for a while but I couldn’t quite face catching the train back to Devon. You do understand?”

  Celestine nodded, her eyes full of compassion. “Of course I do,” she said. “You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. Don’t you have any family I can contact for you?”

  The old woman’s head drooped even lower. “Not really. I did have a daughter but it’s been years since we spoke.” A tear splashed from her chin. “I think she’s forgotten I’m alive.”

  Feeling an accusatory stare from the ghost, Elvira’s cheeks began to burn.

  “I’m sure that’s not true,” Celestine soothed. “Why don’t you give me her number?”

  More tears fell onto the woman’s coat. “That’s the thing – I don’t have it,” she whispered brokenly. “I don’t even know where she lives.”

  Sympathy etched itself across Celestine’s features. “Then you’ll come and stay with us. It’s Christmas Eve and you’ve just been diagnosed with cancer. No one should be alone at a time like that.”

  And just like that, Elvira’s world imploded.

  Chapter Seven

  Black dots swirled in front of her eyes and she heaved in a long, steadying breath, waiting for her vision to clear. Her insides were tight and aching, as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. Her mother had cancer? A million questions crowded into her mind and she turned to Lucy, slack-faced with shock. “Is this real?”

  The ghost nodded. “Sadly.”

  “When is this?” Elvira demanded, waving an arm around. “Today?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Earlier this evening. But don’t pretend to care. As far as you’re concerned, she’s already dead.”

  Elvira opened her mouth to deny it but deep inside she knew it was true. She’d closed her heart to her mother a long time ago and, before tonight, had barely given her a moment’s thought. Now she realised how much pain her bitter indifference had caused. She hung her head and said nothing.

  “Please don’t worry,” her mother said, drying h
er tears and smiling at Celestine. “I’ll be fine. My cat will miss me if I don’t go home.”

  “Seen enough?” Lucy cut into Elvira’s thoughts. “Because time’s getting on and, boy, have I got another treat lined up for you.”

  Still reeling, Elvira threw the ghost a stricken look. “But –”

  Something of her inner turmoil must have shown in her face, because the ghost’s expression softened. “If it helps, she’s got home safely and right this minute, she’s sleeping like a baby. Now we really have to go.”

  Reluctantly, Elvira accepted the reassurance but she didn’t believe for one second that Lucy had a treat for her. She watched with nervous apprehension as the church dissolved, taking the image of her mother with it, and another scene materialised around them. It was a pub, heaving with party-goers. The windows were steamed up and the atmosphere was cheery. Elvira gazed around in confusion, then spotted a work colleague weaving his way unsteadily to the bar. She started to wave, before remembering he couldn’t see her and dropped her hand.

  Lucy pointed to an especially high-spirited group in the corner. “That is your work Christmas party,” she said. She caught Elvira’s look of surprise and chuckled. “Don’t tell me – you didn’t get the memo. You really are Miss Popular, aren’t you?”

  Once again, the ghost was uncomfortably close to the truth. Elvira scowled. “I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s eavesdrop, shall we?”

  It was actually the last thing Elvira wanted to do; the Ghost of Christmas Present didn’t seem to like her very much and Elvira doubted she’d brought her here to join the party. But she also knew she was at the spirit’s mercy. With a heavy sigh, she followed where Lucy led and listened.