Home for Horny Monsters - Book Six

Ghosts of the Past

The yawning void of the furnace melted away into a puddle of bright lights. Mike covered his eyes and groaned, the sudden intensity blinding him. His arm was sore where the ghost of Christmas Past had grabbed him, and he rubbed at it absentmindedly.

He was standing in an apartment, but didn't recognize it. All around, he could see Christmas decorations, old school metallic tinsel and a tree decorated with bubbling lights. Based on the wood paneling and the record player churning out Bing Crosby, his best guess was that he was in the eighties.

"I've seen stranger things," he muttered. Movement behind the tree caught his eye when a little boy of about three emerged from beneath the pine branches. He was pushing a toy car on the floor, making vroom sounds with his mouth.

The boy looked up and through Mike. It was amazing how much he looked like Callisto. So it wasn't the eighties, but the mid-nineties. The decor hadn't been updated was all.

"Ooh, spooky. My childhood." Mike dragged out the words and waggled his fingers. Turning around, he was pleased to find the spirit behind him. Christmas Past sat on a nearby side table like a demented Elf on a Shelf. "Okay, I've seen the Christmas specials. You show me my past and remind me of the true meaning of Christmas. But since this place is decorated, I'm afraid you won't have many other good moments from my childhood to share. Mom barely registered that Christmas existed. Also, what gives? Why am I even here? I'm not some fudging miser who..." Mike paused. "Fudging. Fuddddge. Sprinkles. Oh Kringle, I sound like Holly now."

Christmas Past twisted their lips up in a sadistic grin. "These are the shadows of things that have been. They have..."

"Yeah, yeah, they can't see us." Mike picked up a coaster and threw it toward his younger self. It vanished in a puff of static and reappeared on the nearby table. "But still. I'm not some crumbling cookie that...really? Crumbling cookie?" He hated that his lips twisted into the family safe vocabulary. Shaking his head, he looked at the spirit. "I don't hate Christmas. I don't hate people. I actually quite enjoy Christmas and giving to others. So what's the purpose of me being here?"

The spirit responded by opening its mouth wider than its head, letting out a soul-piercing shriek. Mike plugged his ears as the spirit's body shifted around the room, transforming several times. This certainly hadn't been covered in any of the movies he had watched. If he didn't know better, he would say that the spirit wasn't sure why he was here either.

Christmas Past slammed back onto the side table, sending a visible ripple through the room. Toddler Mike slid back under the tree on his belly as time reversed itself, then came crawling back out once it stabilized.

"These are the shadows of things that have been. They have no consciousness of us." The ghost repeated itself as if reading from a script. "Do you recognize this place?"

"Nope. I haven't even seen it in pictures." He wandered the room, then contemplated the child under the tree. It was strange seeing his younger self. "You've got a long fudging road ahead of you," he told the toddler. "You can thank your mother for that."

As if on cue, someone in the kitchen started singing the chorus to Jingle Bells. He was surprised when his mother emerged from the kitchen holding a plate with a small stack of bell-shaped cookies. She was in a sweater dress with leggings, and her cheeks had a healthy glow. There were actual curves to her face and body, which was something Mike had never seen. In her final years, she had lost enough weight that she had taken on a thin, hawkish appearance that made her look downright predatory.

"Mikey, would you like a cookie?" She sat down on the couch and placed the plate next to her. Mikey bolted from beneath the tree, but his mother used her foot to hold him back. "Hang on, mister, you haven't paid the cookie toll!"