Bob took one final swig from the tequila bottle before pointing the gun at the door. It wasn’t that he hated the old guy. On the contrary, he loved him. But as the clock above the door struck midnight there was a rush of movement and suddenly a voice cried out: "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas EVERY --"

Bob pulled the trigger.


When the smoke cleared Ebenezer hovered in the doorway above the ruined remains of the wall clock. Ebenezer glanced from Bob’s smoking gun to the clock and then back again. "I don’t know what it did, Bob, but I’m sure shooting it was a bit of an over reaction." His homely face then split into a grin so glorious that his eyes twinkled with mirth. Bob squeezed the trigger again.

"Bob!" The ghost cried. "What are you doing?"

"I’m trying to kill you!" The young man shouted back.

The ghost appeared confused. "I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m already dead." Bob said nothing as he took careful aim and fired again. This time the bullet went through the vaporous form and buried itself in the wall behind him. Ebenezer ran a soft hand over what should have been a ruined waistcoat but was nothing more than a swirl of smoke. "See?"

Bob threw down the gun and grabbed the bottle of tequila. "It was worth a try." He tried to take a drink but he’d forgotten to uncork the bottle first.

Scrooge floated towards his great, great, great, great, grandnephew and tried to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Why, lad?"

Bob fought back a sob. "It’s just so damn hard."

"What is?"

"This is!" Bob cried. "Every Christmas it’s the same thing. You show up insisting on being the life of the party. Just once I’d like to spend a nice quiet Christmas with my family."

Ebenezer became still. "I thought I was family."

But Bob wasn’t sympathetic. "After a hundred and fifty-four years, Uncle, you’re ancestry. Some would say that your visits have gone on a little too long. Don’t you have someplace else to go? You know, like the afterlife? I mean the dancing turkey trick gets old after the 97th year. And nobody likes plum pudding. We only make it for you."

"The truth is," Ebenezer said quietly, "I’m afraid."

If he hadn’t been pausing to catch his breath, Bob might have missed it. "Afraid? What of?"

"It was a monstrous chain I’d woven in my life."

Bob understood immediately. "Surely you’re not serious. You are, or were, the most generous and caring man ever to walk the streets of London."

"Oh, after my famous encounter with the Christmas Ghosts, yes, but not before. And there was a good deal more of ‘before’ than ‘after’ in my life. There was never enough time to make right all the wrong I’d done."

Bob put down the bottle. "Not true. The Cratchitt Charitable Fund is one of the largest and oldest in the world. We do a great deal of good and that’s due, in no small part, to your advice and input."

The ghost shook his head. "You’ve done a great deal of good. I’m just a shadow on the wall."

"Nonsense!" Bob cried defiantly. "You are the Senior Partner and a vital part of this family."


Ebeneezer smiled. "A moment ago you wanted me dead for ruining your family Christmas dinners."

Bob looked away. "That was Gertrude’s idea."

"Still hasn’t forgiven me, has she?"

"Her mother still asks about you. We never could figure out how to tell her you can’t call because there’s no cell coverage in the . . . in the . . . Where exactly are you, anyway? It’s not life but it’s not the afterlife either, is it?"

"It’s the space in-between," Ebeneezer sighed, "a hallway linking two rooms. On one end is a place you know but are only allowed to visit. At the other end is a place you don’t know, but once you’ve gone there, from which you can’t return. "

"So that’s why you’ve remained all this time?"

The ghost nodded his head. "I really am quiet a coward, aren’t I?"

"No, you’re not. You’ve made your amends. You are a good man and whatever awaits you at the end of that hallway knows it as well as I do."

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so. In fact, there will be five generations of Cratchitts waiting to greet you when you get there. They all loved you, Uncle." Bob took a moment to steady his voice. He wanted there to be no doubt as to his feelings. "As I do. Sorry about the gun."

The specter of tear appeared on Ebenezeer’s face. "Don’t mention it." Then the old man straightened himself up to his full height with a determined look. "And, all things considered, it probably IS time I moved on."

"Uncle?"

The ghost began moving towards the door. "I was luckier than most, Bob. I got a chance to right my wrongs. I got a chance to meet you. But I’ve been abusing that privilege and it’s time for me to take the next step. Besides," he said as turned in the doorway, "the Dancing Turkey trick is a bit old. But then, if there’s a Christmas Dinner being served on the other side tonight, there might be a whole new audience for me." He gave Bob a smile.

"That’s it? After all these years you’ve finally made your decision to leave?"

"It’s like a Band-Aid, best to make it quick. But not to worry, Bob. We’ll meet again. I’ll be there when it’s your turn. Me and all the Cratchitts!" And with a tip of his hat, the ghost of Ebenezeer Scrooge bowed to him. "Merry Christmas, Bob! Merry Christmas every one!"