Dreaming of a Lost Christmas
by Jeffrey Scott Holland - part 2

When Edward opened his eyes, it was daylight, and the pictures were scattered on the floor. He carefully gathered them together and neatly put them away.

It was Christmas Eve, the anniversary of her death, and all he wanted to do was curl up and die. He would have gone back to bed, but he had slept so long already he couldn't possibly sleep anymore now.

On his way down the hall to the bathroom, he heard someone walking around downstairs. He quietly walked down the hallway. When he reached the top of the stairs, he started to go back for his gun in the hall closet, but decided if someone were to kill him, he really wouldn't mind all that much.

When he walked down the stairs, and into the den, he saw the fire was lit. His first impression was his in-laws had come down from Tennessee to visit him, despite his request not to. However, after walking through the house, he found no one. He looked out the window, but saw no cars, other than his and the one across the street, where someone had moved in last week.

He walked back into the den and sat down in his recliner in front of the mysteriously lit fire. After trying to think of an explanation, he figured it must not have ever gone out completely from before, and it had just reignited. The only thing that bothered him was that it had been over twenty-four hours since it was last burning. He pondered over the possibility it might be Alicia's ghost and, after a few moments realized that he was just thinking wishfully. He decided to get out of the house and visit Alicia's grave.

Having stopped by the florist to pick up a dozen red roses, he pulled into the graveyard and got out of the car. His breath clouded the air as he walked along the row of headstones, with the bouquet in his hand and a bottle of wine under his arm. He approached Alicia's grave and laid the roses on top of her tombstone, "Merry Christmas, Alicia." He stood there a few minutes and then slumped down next to the tombstone and stared at the bottle of wine, as if he were trying to figure out how to open it. He finally opened the bottle and took a huge swig. He sat another moment, took another swallow, and closed his eyes. "Alicia, I miss you so much!"

He felt a warm tear run down his face, quickly pursued by a second and a third. He wiped them away as he opened his eyes again and was startled to see a man standing over him. The bottle slipped out of his numb hand and fell to the frozen ground which instantly absorbed most of the wine. He squirmed to keep from getting wet as he attempted to pick up the bottle. The pale, old man did not speak. Instead, he just propped against his cane and stared down at Edward. He was about five and a half feet tall and had a large stomach. His hair and eyes were both pitch-black, matching his thick, bushy eyebrows.

Edward tried to regain his composure, "Sorry, I didn't realize anyone else was here."

The man's face was expressionless as he remained mute.

Edward felt uncomfortable and stood up, "Are you here visiting someone?"

The man finally smiled, "Yes, I am. I'm here to visit you, Mr. Potts."

Edward was dumbfounded, "Me? Why? Who are you, and how do you know who I am?"

The man let out a chuckle, "I can answer all those questions with just one statement, Mr. Potts. I am the Ghost of Christmas Present."

Edward couldn't help but laugh, and said with a bit of sarcasm, "Yeah, right! I always pictured the Christmas Ghosts looking a little differently!"

The man kept smiling, "Oh, Mr. Potts, I thought you would be a little more open minded than that."

Edward looked down at Alicia's tombstone, "Oh, now I see! You got my name off of the tombstone. This is your pathetic attempt at humor. Okay! Ha ha! Very funny!" He slumped back down against the headstone, "Merry Christmas to you too, you old fart!" He poured another pint of wine down his throat and did his best to ignore the old man.

At this, the man stopped smiling, "Edward, I don't have time to humor you! We have much to do! Shall we go?"

Edward, shocked at how the man could have figured out his first name, looked up at the man, "What are you talking about?"

The man turned to walk away, "I'm supposed to show you all of the wonderful things you have to live for."

Edward cackled, "Wasn't I supposed to be visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past first?"

The old man turned back to Edward, giving him a morbid look, "Mr. Potts, the Ghost of Christmas Past is a very busy entity. Besides, you know your past, all too well. Now let's go!"

Edward stood straight up, losing his balance and stumbling backward a step or two, "Look, I don't know who you are or why you are saying all of this, but it's not funny!"

The man turned to walk again and walked right through a tombstone, and then another, "I'm not attempting to amuse you Edward. Are you coming?"

Edward examined the tombstones from the distance and shouted, "No! And whoever you are, leave me alone!"

The man said nothing but walked through another tombstone. Edward walked to one of the tombstones and felt it, but found nothing abnormal. He was frustrated and infuriated that this man was trying to have fun at the expense of his emotions. If he wanted to see emotions, that is what he would get. He looked at the bottle of wine and then pitched it at the old man with all of his strength. As the bottle left his hand, Edward's rationality returned. His jaw dropped as the bottle was about to strike the man in the head. What had he done? But, to his surprise, instead of hitting him in the head, it passed through it, and the man caught the bottle in his hand.

The man stopped and turned around with a wicked smile, "Mr. Potts, let's not play dirty. Because I can play dirty too." The whites of his eyes turned an emerald green and began to glow.