The Fourth Ghost of Christmas

What happens when the first three Spirits don't convince a miserly soul?

Carol Stern was in the middle of a moral reckoning. It was Christmas Eve, and she had traveled through time to visit her (previously unhappy) childhood and traveled through space to visit her (currently unhappy) employees. And now she stood face-to-face with the Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come—a shrouded phantom who floated across the room and menaced her with its bony finger, dripping blood and oil, the two things that made Carol her fortune.

This is exactly what Carol wanted.

The moment her office filled with smoke and haze and she heard the voice of her long-dead friend Jackie, Carol knew that she was about to embark on an emotional journey meant to shake loose the greed and misery that infected her psyche. Jackie warned she'd be visited by three ghosts. (Death was not kind to Jackie, and Carol made a mental note to sign up for Pilates the next day. Then Carol cursed herself for waiting until the new year—pilates would surely be full of 'resolutioners' who would only take up machines and make booking classes difficult until they inevitably quit by March.)

Carol knew the general shape of these things. Ghosts would drag her back and forth across the cheese grater of her lived experience in order to change her, but she was prepared. Sure, it would be unpleasant to revisit her childhood boarding school, and the sight of her assistant's awful home life would be uncomfortable, but Carol planned to endure it because of the third Ghost. And now the third Ghost was here, and Carol could enact her plan.

The Ghost stabbed at Carol with its pale-white and brittle hand. Carol walked through the misty door and into a funeral home. It was a wake—for Carol—and no one was in attendance. The grim Attendant checked his brass watch and turned the lights out and rolled Carol's coffin to the basement for incineration. Carol was a little peeved because her instructions specified a burial at sea.

"So this is it? I'm going to die alone in a grim little outlet mall with no one there to mourn me?" The Ghost merely pointed at the wall, which read—TO CAROL FROM YOUR C-SUITE, CONGRATS ON YOUR RETIREMENT. It was either a petty parting shot or a genuine mixup and both ways it stung

"And this is the moment where I fall on my knees? Beg for forgiveness? Look around."

The Ghost holstered its skeleton hand. If a shroud could be surprised, this Ghost embodied that emotion.

Carol continued, "We're here, in the FAR future. I don't die from a jilted lover or a disgruntled employee or a failing intestine. I live my life and go out the way I want. I mean, I assume because you didn't show me how I go—"

The Ghost raised its hand—

"And don't send me because I'm not interested in seeing it! The point is that I have lots of years to look forward to. To generate more wealth. To build my empire. And that's what I'm going to do."

Carol turned and ran for the door.

Earlier in Carol's spectral-emotional journey, she tested the boundaries of these visions the ghosts gave her. In her childhood boarding school, she walked past her dormitory and nearly made it to the cafeteria before the ghost spun her around. In her assistant Lisa's house, she peeked out the window and watched traffic pass on the 405 freeway. And these two facts led her to believe that the visions adapted to her perception, the way a video game loads in more map as your character explores. And since Carol was in the future, she wanted to load as much of that map as possible—maps were information and information was profitable.

Carol burst through the door of the funeral home and into a busy downtown area. She had no time to marvel at the strange world around her—the question of 'why so many blimps' remained with her until death—because she needed to remember the brands. The brands and the billboards and the clothes and the products that people held around her. That was the key to her dominance.

Carol's memory was almost photographic and she catalogued as much as she could before the shrouded Ghost flew through the air and enveloped her in a shivering cold cloud.

The decorative clock chimed midnight. Carol was back in her office, working late on Christmas eve. The ghosts left her with a choice—adapt, or die alone in the far future.

She picked up the phone and called her stock broker.

Within just a few weeks, Carol tripled her wealth. She was the world's richest woman, person, and cat-owner. She hired teams of scientists to give her life-extension treatments and prolong the experience on this planet—Carol didn't believe in an afterlife and the ghosts never showed her one. And best of all, she didn't have to change her behavior.

Lisa, her assistant, got a new iPad as a bonus but Carol didn't give her extra time off or a turkey or anything that indicated she paid attention during the second Ghost's screed. Carol's year passed uneventfully, save for the lavish spending and trips that Carol indulged in now that she had weaponized the future against her bank account.

And next Christmas Eve, Carol sat down in her office, armed with a year's worth of research into the supernatural, and prepped herself for another visit from Jackie or an exasperated spirit. At midnight, Jackie appeared.

"What did you do?!" Jackie's voice trembled with fear. Carol had not expected this. "It's happening again--"

"I know," Carol interrupted. "Three ghosts will visit me and I'll be such a nice lady after this."

"No. There's a fourth ghost." Jackie's mention of another ghost sucked all the air out of the room. Carol found it hard to breathe. But physiological effects were to be expected, according to her scientists. She and her team came to the conclusion that every Christmas would feature an all-out spiritual assault, so Carol spent much of the previous year undergoing intense mental training. She had the money for it.

"What other time period is there? Aren't we out of ghosts at this point?" Carol had to kill eight hours, might as well make some small talk with her old friend/worst enemy.

"The Ghost of Christmas Nevermore." Jackie wiped a tear as she said it. Spirits displaying human traits like tears was not presented as part of the research Carol funded. She wanted to punch that sniveling jackass that led the spectral team in the face for this oversight.

"So what, I spend eight hours with this spooky guy and I get to go home and still be rich. Anything else you want to tell me or are my expectations in line?"

Jackie looked over Carol's shoulder. Carol felt a chill breeze waft from behind. "This ghost isn't here to teach lessons. It's a punishment."

"This is all in my head. Can't wait to wake up back in the office. You know I kept Lisa late again this year." Carol laughed and Jackie cowered behind a desk.

Thunder clapped outside and the windows of Carol's office exploded inwards. The ground shook and Carol's Precious Moments porcelain figure collection melted and poured down the wall like an angel's tears.

"Nice fireworks." Carol did not want to show fear. A splinter group within her research team suggested complete and total supplication the moment a ghost appeared in order to feign acceptance and skip the moral lesson, but Carol refused to bow to some asshole in a blanket. She was going to run out the clock.

"Carol, you need to run," Jackie hissed at her from behind an office chair. Carol's office had been designed with only one seat, any visitors or attendants had to stand in her presence, and Jackie used that chair as a shield as she crawled to the door.

A flash and a firebolt stopped Jackie in her escape. The office chair spun from the force of energy that just punched a hole through the back of the seat. Carol hoped that this was an illusion, that chair was five thousand dollars.

Jackie stood and grabbed at her stomach, which began to suck inwards. She looked at Carol and bared her teeth. "You did this to me!"

She jumped and lunged at Carol but disappeared into the blackhole that now floated in place of her body.

She failed her mission.

Carol heard this voice but it wasn't carried across vibrating waves of air into her ears and nerves and brain. It emanated from everywhere and Carol heard it scratch inside her skull and inside her mind. It made Carol sick and she swallowed vomit.

And I'm here to ensure it doesn't happen again.

Carol turned and saw it—the ghost of Christmas Nevermore. It was a mirror image of Carol, but Carol's hazel eyes were instead holes lined with teeth, like those of a lamprey. She took a cautious step backwards and tripped over Jackie's (still smoking) heels.

"Who are you--"

What do you want?! All the same questions. I appreciate that I at least brought them out of you. My colleagues told me you were much more arrogant with them.

"I saw my death. I know you can't do anything."

You saw A death. Would you like to see others?

The Ghost reached out and grabbed Carol's neck. It squeezed and Carol felt blood trickle from her eyes and nose and scraped at the expensive silk blouse that wrapped the impossibly strong arm. Her fingernails bent and pulled up skin and hair but the Ghost did not let go. It pushed Carol into the wall and through.

Carol collapsed onto the floor of a sunny room. The Ghost stood next to her and pointed.

Here is another death.

A group of mourners surrounded a comfortable bed in what looked to be a porch or sun room in a modest beach house. This architecture and design was familiar—the world of Carol's old life in Florida.

"Where are we?"

We're nowhere.

Someone sniffled and drew a blanket over a frail old body. Carol recognized the shock of gray that had been with her since she was seventeen, and realized she was the dead one in that bed.

"I don't end up here. I would never move home."

You're right. You're not capable of that kind of forgiveness. This is just a weed on the timeline that we are here to rip out from its roots. I thought it valuable you see it before we leave. Let's continue.

The arm grabbed Carol by her hair and threw her through the plate glass window. The single pane scratched and tore at her skin and Carol felt the warmth of her insides running down her arms.

This time they were in Carol's mansion in Newport Beach. A family sat around Carol's expensive table and cheers'ed. Another version of Carol sat at the head of the table and smiled, then died. The family members screamed.

"Who are these people?"

The family you'll never have. The love you'll never share. There's more.

This time Carol went limp. When under attack by a grizzly bear, it's the only thing you can do.

Carol's weak, bloody body skipped across the floor of her office. Employees filled every corner. There were plenty of chairs.

"These people would never show up to a party on Christmas Eve."

You're right. But here you managed to create an environment where they chose willingly to be here. I wonder what this version of you did? Who was she that so inspired her employees to attend something on such an important night? What else was she capable of?

"It's me. I'm in there."

Maybe. But so are other creatures. And this Carol is buried beneath their bones.

This experience was beyond Carol's preparation. It was beyond her comprehension. And it made her angry.

"I've seen enough. What do you want? Want me to give my money away? You want me to send Lisa home when we get back?"

I want you to suffer in the knowledge that you could have done so much more—that the you who exists pales in comparison to the potential of you.

"I'm the richest woman on Earth. And when this night ends, I'm going to continue to be her. Even with these injuries." Carol waggled her bloody arms for emphasis.

I see you need more convincing.

The Spirit grabbed Carol before she could flee and stood on her face and pressed her nose into the carpet. It reeked of spilled rum and candy canes. She cried.

Carol surfaced in a pool. She didn't recognize the scenery at all.

Don't worry. This has nothing to do with you.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come walked with Carol's largest competitor, Jackson Tierney of Tierney Steel. Jackson looked repentant and the Ghost simply pointed at a limp, lifeless body in a pool chair. It was Jackson, as an eighty-year old man, alone and unhelped. It reminded Carol of a mafia movie she once saw—by herself.

Do you understand why I brought you here?

Realization dawned on Carol. She wasn't the only person these Spirits dealt with. In fact, there was a cottage industry of corpses that guided the living towards a moralistic life.

"I'm not the only one who's been visited."

But you are the only one who carried on. Despite the warnings and the visits and Jackie's begging.

Carol began to wonder if she was broken in some fundamental way, like an Amazon purchase that bounced around too much in the UPS truck.

"Then kill me." Carol turned to face the Ghost. The teeth in the eyes glistened with saliva, like a predator standing over its meal.

Is that what you'd like? Nevermore shall you breathe?

Carol smiled. "You would have done it, if that's what you intended."

Arrogance, just like before--

"This isn't arrogance. This is anger. My entire life, I have been underestimated. Even the forces of the universe have decided to proclaim me beyond help. But you're wrong, and it's why I'm still here."

The Ghost didn't speak. Did its eyes smile?

"What is arrogant is your little show. I don't know if you're God or the Devil or aliens or just some asshole with a computer, but you dared Carol Stern to step up to the plate and I don't back down from a challenge."

FLASH

Carol coughed and sputtered and spit out pool water onto her expensive Persian rug. The clock struck midnight. She was back in the office.

Her arms still bled from the glass and she picked out shards and tossed them in the trash. She grabbed tape and paper from the printer and made some bandages for herself. She walked into the hallway and dismissed Lisa and wrote her a check for one-hundred-and-fifty-thousand dollars.

The Universe grabbed Carol and dared her to better, and Carol decided to answer.

She's excited for next Christmas.