Christmas Spirits
I rubbed sleep out of my eyes, and then glared at each of the three ghosts in turn.
“So, just so we have this all straight… you are telling me that my childhood experiences shaped my current adult self; you’re saying that my current adult self is not particularly charitable or accepting; and you… well, you haven’t actually said anything, but I was able to deduce from our little adventure that I eventually die, and not a lot of people care.”
“Is that it?” I asked the spectral trio. “Have I more or less captured the gist of what you were trying to pass along?”
The three spirits shared some embarassed glances, and then looked away and shuffled their transparent feet.
“Brilliant,” I said. “A sleepless night of time travel and flying around in my pjs in the dead of winter, so you could tell me something I already knew.”
One of them (it may even have been the future dude) mumbled an apology, and the three figures faded from view and were gone.
I sighed, looked at the bedside clock, and stepped into my slippers.
“If I’m up, and it appears that I am, I’m going to have bacon,” I muttered.
I schlepped down to the kitchen, only to find Vector, Red Sonja, and Robert the Bruce sitting around the table, looking equally bleary eyed.
“Morning,” I offered.
“It is,” Sonja agreed.
Robert the Bruce just nodded. Vector didn’t even nod.
“Did anyone else have some sort of spiritual intervention last night?” I asked.
Robert groaned. Vector’s mouth twitched. Sonja rolled her eyes and muttered something about “know-it-all ghosty arse wipes”.
“Yeah, me too,” I said.
Between the four of us, we eventually managed to put together a decent breakfast. Vector wasn’t ready for sharp or hot objects, so he was placed on orange juicing duty. Robert set about making his (self-proclaimed) award-winning scrambled eggs. Sonja did up a stack of toast and cut up some fruit. I made bacon (crispy) until there wasn’t bacon left to make, and put on coffee.
The caffeine and fresh food was enough to bring the four of us to a reasonable level of wakefulness. We discussed our various supernatural visitations, discovering a large number of commonalities between our individual experiences. Vector’s final riposte to the three spirits, “Go teach your dead grandmothers to suck eggs,” was deemed the best line of the night, and won him the last strip of bacon.
Fresh coffee refills in hand, we retired to the living room to open presents. Sonja was given immediate reason to rue last year’s daring promise to model any gift of lingerie worth over $1000. I had worked overtime through much of the autumn; Vector had been selling plasma (we assumed he meant his) throughout the year; and Robert admitted to cashing a bond.
Vector fired up his new iPod dock stereo, and a fashion show ensued that reduced the three men in the room to the level of hooting primates. Sonja walked the living room like a runway, taking our caveman selves in full stride, and even thanked us for the wonderful collection of undergarments while she confiscated the memory cards out of our cameras.
After awhile, everyone headed off to do the round of family and friend visits. I filled the dishwasher and tidied up the kitchen. I was settling in with a new book and a mug of tea, when the doorbell rang.
The delivery man was an older guy, and he didn’t seem put out with working on Christmas day.
“I don’t have any family around these days,” he said cheerfully as I signed the digital pad, “and I get an obscene amount of money to make people happy with last second deliveries. It’s win-win, as far as I’m concerned.”
I tipped him a candy cane, and took the parcel upstairs. It was short work with my nifty new samurai sword letter opener to get the paper off and the box lid open.
And, let me tell you, my friend: it was very thoughtful of you to give me the gift of your time, for reading these words and the other columns throughout the year. I hope that I have given to you as I have received, and that your holiday season is safe and wonderful.
Cheers,
A.J. Axline
“So, just so we have this all straight… you are telling me that my childhood experiences shaped my current adult self; you’re saying that my current adult self is not particularly charitable or accepting; and you… well, you haven’t actually said anything, but I was able to deduce from our little adventure that I eventually die, and not a lot of people care.”
“Is that it?” I asked the spectral trio. “Have I more or less captured the gist of what you were trying to pass along?”
The three spirits shared some embarassed glances, and then looked away and shuffled their transparent feet.
“Brilliant,” I said. “A sleepless night of time travel and flying around in my pjs in the dead of winter, so you could tell me something I already knew.”
One of them (it may even have been the future dude) mumbled an apology, and the three figures faded from view and were gone.
I sighed, looked at the bedside clock, and stepped into my slippers.
“If I’m up, and it appears that I am, I’m going to have bacon,” I muttered.
I schlepped down to the kitchen, only to find Vector, Red Sonja, and Robert the Bruce sitting around the table, looking equally bleary eyed.
“Morning,” I offered.
“It is,” Sonja agreed.
Robert the Bruce just nodded. Vector didn’t even nod.
“Did anyone else have some sort of spiritual intervention last night?” I asked.
Robert groaned. Vector’s mouth twitched. Sonja rolled her eyes and muttered something about “know-it-all ghosty arse wipes”.
“Yeah, me too,” I said.
Between the four of us, we eventually managed to put together a decent breakfast. Vector wasn’t ready for sharp or hot objects, so he was placed on orange juicing duty. Robert set about making his (self-proclaimed) award-winning scrambled eggs. Sonja did up a stack of toast and cut up some fruit. I made bacon (crispy) until there wasn’t bacon left to make, and put on coffee.
The caffeine and fresh food was enough to bring the four of us to a reasonable level of wakefulness. We discussed our various supernatural visitations, discovering a large number of commonalities between our individual experiences. Vector’s final riposte to the three spirits, “Go teach your dead grandmothers to suck eggs,” was deemed the best line of the night, and won him the last strip of bacon.
Fresh coffee refills in hand, we retired to the living room to open presents. Sonja was given immediate reason to rue last year’s daring promise to model any gift of lingerie worth over $1000. I had worked overtime through much of the autumn; Vector had been selling plasma (we assumed he meant his) throughout the year; and Robert admitted to cashing a bond.
Vector fired up his new iPod dock stereo, and a fashion show ensued that reduced the three men in the room to the level of hooting primates. Sonja walked the living room like a runway, taking our caveman selves in full stride, and even thanked us for the wonderful collection of undergarments while she confiscated the memory cards out of our cameras.
After awhile, everyone headed off to do the round of family and friend visits. I filled the dishwasher and tidied up the kitchen. I was settling in with a new book and a mug of tea, when the doorbell rang.
The delivery man was an older guy, and he didn’t seem put out with working on Christmas day.
“I don’t have any family around these days,” he said cheerfully as I signed the digital pad, “and I get an obscene amount of money to make people happy with last second deliveries. It’s win-win, as far as I’m concerned.”
I tipped him a candy cane, and took the parcel upstairs. It was short work with my nifty new samurai sword letter opener to get the paper off and the box lid open.
And, let me tell you, my friend: it was very thoughtful of you to give me the gift of your time, for reading these words and the other columns throughout the year. I hope that I have given to you as I have received, and that your holiday season is safe and wonderful.
Cheers,
A.J. Axline
