My So-Called Christmas Carol
By
Tamsyn Murray
For you. Yes, you.
Enjoy!
Text copyright © Tamsyn Murray
All Rights Reserved
Cover Design by Tania Hebel
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter One
Elvira de Montfort was a hater. She had a mean, pinched-up personality and, as often happens in these cases, her sour attitude had stamped itself across her looks. So alongside her straggly purple hair and many piercings, she had a mean, pinched-up mouth and sharp, piggy eyes. The only time she was even vaguely nice was when there was something in it for her. In short, if Elvira friended you online, you’d hit that block button in a heartbeat.
Her real name was Peggy Johnson but it had been years since anyone called her that. She was about forty years old and lived alone in a one bedroom flat in South London, with her cat, Lucifer. As she hated everyone, she didn’t have mates or a social life. But before you go writing Elvira de Montfort off, there is something you should know; Elvira had a remarkable talent. She heard ghosts.
From a very early age, Elvira had been aware of the voices. For a long time, she didn’t understand what she was hearing – sometimes it was laughter and chatter, other times it was shrieking and crying. And sometimes, if she was in the same room, she heard her mother reply. What Elvira didn’t realise until a few years later, was that her mother saw the ghosts to go with the voices. Her mother was psychic and she had passed part of her gift onto her young daughter.
The voices terrified Elvira. Often, she would lie awake all night, listening to the anguished scream of a ghost who was struggling to cope with their change in circumstances. Other times, she’d be forced to cover her head with a pillow to drown out maniacal laughter. Occasionally, they simply spilled out their problems, unaware that she could hear every word. As soon as her mother realised Elvira could hear them, she sat her down and explained what was happening but the damage had been done. Elvira hated ghosts.
Blaming her mother for everything, Elvira got out as soon as she could. She took the first job that came her way, mindless gruesome work in a meat-processing factory but at least there were no disembodied voices to haunt her. Until the man working beside her fell into the mincing machine and returned as a ghost. She ran screaming from the factory. For a long time, she hid herself away, watching TV with the sound up loud to drown out any spirits who happened to find her. Then, one day, she caught the end of a new show called The Ghost’s The Host and it was a revelation. The presenter claimed to be seeking out lost souls so that they could ultimately find peace but what Elvira saw was a way to get her revenge on the lost souls who had tormented her for so many years. She applied to be a junior researcher, making up an impressive-looking past career and throwing into the mix her psychic ability. The lies won her an interview. Persuading the gullible producer that she had the gift got her the job.
And so it was that Elvira found a way to make hundreds of innocent ghosts miserable. She soon became well-known for discovering psychic hotspots, where the show’s resident expert attempted to exorcise the spirits they found. Nine times out of ten, this resulted in a painful end to the ghost. Elvira didn’t know where they went when the screams abruptly stopped and silence reigned. She didn’t really care. What mattered was that the ghost had gone. And that they’d suffered. Because making the dead suffer was pretty much all Elvira de Montfort got out of bed for.
Chapter Two
“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, remember Christ our saviour was born on Christmas Day!”
Elvira scowled at the rosy cheeked choir as she shoved her way through the hordes of Last-Minute Lennies on Regent Street. An enthusiastic carol singer rattled a charity tin underneath her nose and she sent him scurrying with a death stare.
“Bah bloody humbug,” she muttered, elbowing her way along the pavement outside Hamley’s with barely a second glance at the toy-stuffed windows. Christmas Eve was bad enough without being mugged by a moron in novelty flashing antlers, she decided. Carolling should be outlawed too; any minute now, they’d launch into Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer and Elvira would be forced to strangle someone with their own pudding-shaped earmuffs.
She reached the pedestrian crossing and stabbed the button with a furious gloved finger. Above her, ice-blue illuminations snaked between the lamp-posts, chasing the early evening darkness away. Elvira’s scowl deepened. The sooner she got home and slammed her front door on the relentless festive cheer, the better.
A voice in her ear made her jump. “Like ants, aren’t they?”
The breath caught in Elvira’s throat but she didn’t turn around. There was a faint crackling underneath the words, as though the voice was coming from an ancient radio set. She’d heard it many times before and she knew that if she did look, there’d be no one there. Her eyes narrowed.
“Go away,” she muttered, willing the traffic lights to turn red so that she could escape. “Just get lost.”
The speaker let out a loud tut. “Is that any way to treat your favourite teacher?”
Elvira exhaled sharply, her breath misting in the frozen air. Now that she came to think about it, the voice did have a familiar ring to it. The only teacher she’d ever liked had been Miss Chester but that had been in a sleepy Devon village about thirty-five years ago. She’d been old then, Elvira remembered; surely she must have been dead for years. So if this was the ghost of Miss Chester, what was she doing so far from home?
The lights changed to red and the green man icon appeared. Elvira shrugged off her curiosity. “Fine,” she snapped over her shoulder. “Get lost, please.”
Without waiting for a reply, she stepped out into the road. The blare of a horn made her look up. A red double-decker bus was bearing down on her, headlights flashing frantically. Her eyes locked with the driver’s, his face a mask of terror as his hand pounded the horn. Then a clutch of bony fingers dug into her shoulder and hauled her backwards to the safety of the pavement. A nanosecond later, the bus thundered past in a gust of diesel-fumed air.
The man nearest to her shook his bobble-hatted head. “That was close,” he said, his expression a mixture of shock tinged with stunned amusement. “You might want to wait for the green man next time.”
Confused, Elvira peered up at the column of lights. They were unquestionably green and the traffic was flowing freely along the road. What had she been thinking? Wide-eyed, she turned to her saviour. “Th-thank you,” she stuttered gratefully.
He blinked. “What for? If it’d been up to me, you’d have been a goner. You saved yourself.”
“But –” Elvira began, her gaze roving the faces around her. Someone had definitely pulled her out of harm’s way. But who?
The frosty air crackled. “It’s a fine line between the living and the dead, isn’t it, Peggy? A single careless step and you’d be one of us.”
The words chilled Elvira to her core and she knew with horrible certainty who her rescuer had been. Above her head, the lights flicked to amber, then red. The Christmas crowds shuffled around her. Still she didn’t move. It wasn’t until the traffic started to trundle along the road again that her gaze flickered sideways and she realised there was someone stood next to her. Someone she vaguely recognised, as though from a half-remembered dream. Someone with a faint blue glow around her neatly curled grey hair and cardigan-clad shoulders. Someone Elvira shouldn’t b
e seeing at all.
She let out a strangled scream and turned away, pushing through the fresh batch of shoppers waiting to cross the road. They grumbled and glared as she fought her way through but she didn’t care; the single, all-consuming thought in her head was to get away.
The ghost of Miss Chester was fast, much faster than an elderly lady had any right to be. Then again, elderly ladies didn’t usually float six centimetres off the ground. She kept pace with the panting Elvira as she ducked down a crooked alleyway between the shops.
“There’s nowhere to run, dear,” she called, zooming past Elvira to face her. “I mean you no harm. I’m only here to give you a message.”
Forcing her terror aside, Elvira slowed and made herself look at her old teacher. “And then you’ll leave me alone?” she quavered.
Miss Chester’s face was solemn. “I promise you’ll never see me again.”
Elvira hesitated. Now that she came to think about it, seeing her first ghost wasn’t so bad; apart from the faint blue outline, Miss Chester looked reassuringly solid and had hardly changed a bit. With a shuddering sigh, Elvira nodded.
Miss Chester looked satisfied. “Good girl.” She waved a hand at an iron fire escape snaking its way up the side of the alleyway. “Why don’t we sit down and have a nice chat? My bunions are killing me.”
Chapter Three
Elvira stared at her former teacher and resisted the urge to pinch herself. She dealt with the paranormal every day but this was weird even by her standards. “Am I dreaming?”
Miss Chester tutted. “Sloppy thinking. You know the answer to that already.”
She had a point, Elvira decided. She never dreamed about ghosts and the last person her subconscious would have dredged up was her childhood teacher. The chances of this being a dream were slim. “But I can see you.”
Her teacher smiled. “A near death experience will do that sometimes.”
Which explained the incident with the bus, Elvira concluded. She pictured the driver’s terrified expression and shivered. “Why are you doing this?”
Pursing her lips, Miss Chester shook her head. “You’ve been a bad girl, Peggy. You’re selfish and mean and deeply unpleasant to any ghost unlucky enough to cross your path.” A deep frown creased her wrinkled forehead. “I’m afraid the afterlife looks very dark for you, my dear.”
The disapproving tone transported Elvira right back to the classroom, where she would have done anything to avoid being called a ‘bad girl’. But she wasn’t six years old anymore and its effect had worn off over the years, although the words still stung. She took refuge behind a sneering laugh. “Am I supposed to be scared?”
The teacher’s face twisted with sudden fury. Her nostrils flared and her eyes became flame-filled slits as she grew until she filled the entire alley. She towered over Elvira. “You should be scared!” she bellowed. “You have used your gift to inflict misery on hundreds of innocent souls. When your worthless life is over, a fate beyond your worst nightmares waits for you!”
She clicked her fingers and the air was filled with a thousand screams, all begging for help. The noise got louder and louder with each passing second as more voices joined in. The air grew unbearably hot and the alleyway was filled with the stench of sulphur. Elvira sweated and cringed against the metal stairs, torn between wanting to tear her coat off and the desire to thrust her fingers into her ears. Was the teacher trying to tell her she going to Hell? She wanted to say that she didn’t believe it really existed but from the looks of things, she didn’t need to; all that mattered was that some kind of Hell believed in her.
Miss Chester’s burning eyes glared down at her for a moment longer, then she clicked again. The screaming stopped as abruptly as it had started and the temperature plummeted once more.
“It’s not too late to escape this fate, you know,” she said, shrinking back to her normal size and patting her grey curls as though she expected them to have shaken loose. “You can change, if you really want to.”
But I don’t want to, Elvira thought, mopping sweat from her forehead. She liked being spiteful and nasty; it was easy and fun. Then she remembered the voices and trembled. That hadn’t been fun. “How?”
“You will be visited by three spirits,” Miss Chester said. “Listen to what they say and look into your heart. They have much to teach you.”
Elvira scowled. Why did there always have to be ghosts? “Can’t I just promise to be nicer?”
The teacher threw her a pitying look. “I think you’ve forgotten how, Peggy. The first ghost will appear on the stroke of midnight.”
Elvira opened her mouth to make a comment about predictability and closed it again. Maybe it would be useful to know what time her unwanted guests would be arriving. “Go on.”
“The second will come at two o’clock and the last will arrive when the clock strikes four. Once all three have visited, you will know what to do.”
Elvira gnawed her lip. “What about you? Will I see you again?”
Miss Chester stood up and sighed. “My part in this is over. You’re on your own.” She reached out and patted Elvira’s hand. “Do try to get yourself a hat, dear. It’s a bit nippy to be out with a bare head.”
She faded away until she was nothing more than a memory again. Blinking, Elvira peered around the alleyway. When she was sure that she was alone, she passed a shaky hand over her eyes. Had she really just met the ghost of her old teacher? And did it mean she was always going to see the ghosts behind the voices now? Ugh, she hoped not; it was bad enough hearing their pathetic whining, without seeing their miserable faces as well.
She sucked in a long breath and puffed out hard into the cold air. I’ve been working too hard, she thought, that’s all it is. I’m hallucinating. Almost convinced, she got unsteadily to her feet. With a final, uncertain glance around the empty alleyway, she set off to the nearest pub. It would be heaving with ghastly Christmas revellers but she’d never felt more in need of a stiff drink. Somewhere nearby, there was a glass of whisky with her name on it and woe betide anyone who got between her and the bar.
Chapter Four
It was eleven o’clock before Elvira staggered up to the door of her flat and focused blearily on the lock. The pub had been every bit as full as she’d expected but she’d found a table in the corner and had set about drinking as much whisky as she could before closing time. Her internal jury was still out on whether she’d imagined the whole Miss Chester thing, but even the most determined Christmas ghost couldn’t trouble her if she was drunk as a skunk, she reasoned. Then she’d wobbled her way home, hardly aware that she’d acquired a bright red Santa hat from someone along the way. It took three attempts and all of her concentration to get the key into the lock, so she wasn’t paying much attention to the iron door knocker just above her head. Until it spoke, that was.
“Don’t forget, my dear, it’s not too late to save yourself.”
Elvira’s gaze snapped upwards. For a split second, Miss Chester’s face replaced the lion that normally hung there. With a hic of surprise, Elvira blinked and everything was as it had been.
“Shtupid ghostsh,” Elvira muttered, twisting the key and pushing the door open. “Trying to bosh me about.”
Dropping her bag in the hallway, she swayed gently from wall to wall until she reached the living room. She flicked the light switch and landed on her sofa with a grunt. There was no sign of Lucifer; he must be out maiming something, she decided. A single bare bulb swung overhead, revealing in stark detail the sad nature of Elvira’s everyday existence. The walls were plain; no family photos broke up the whiteness, and the furniture was old and shabby. There wasn’t a single decoration, card or present in sight, no sign at all that it was almost Christmas.
Reaching sideways, Elvira grabbed the remote control and pressed the power button. The TV crackled into life and an old black and white film appeared on the screen. Scowling, Elvira switched over. The same film was on that channel too. She’d seen it before – s
ome ancient rubbish about a suicidal man rescued by an angel – and decided she’d have let the miserable moron jump. Watching it again wasn’t going to change her mind. She stabbed at the remote control again and her expression became bewildered; the film was on the next channel, and the next, and the next. In fact, there seemed to be absolutely nothing else on. Confused, she stared at the screen for several long seconds before switching it off with an impatient growl.
The clock on the wall struck quarter past eleven and Elvira yawned. Between her near-death experience and several rounds in the pub, it had been a long evening. She leaned back and rested her head against the sofa. Her eyes drifted closed and she didn’t even try to fight sleep. Soon, she was snoring loudly enough to wake the dead.
She awoke with a jolt just as the clock chimed the final stroke of midnight. The room was black and cold. Elvira pulled her collar up around her chin and blinked in the darkness; hadn’t the light been on when she’d dozed off? Shaking her muzzy head, she stood and felt her way to the door. Her fingers groped for the switch and light filled the room again. Standing underneath the naked bulb was black-clad, wild-haired ghost.
Elvira couldn’t help herself – she screamed. The ghost pointed a dirt-encrusted finger her way. “Well ye might scream, foul creature,” she roared. “For I am the very essence of thy unholiest nightmares!”
The warm fuzziness from the whisky evaporated, leaving Elvira stone-cold sober. Clearly she hadn’t dreamed that encounter with Miss Chester after all. “Who are you?”
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” the ghost rasped mournfully. Then she coughed and cleared her throat. “Thou canst also call me Mary.”
Elvira’s gaze slid to the bookshelf. There was a book of exorcism spells there; could she grab it and reel one off before Mary realised what was going on? Her fingers flexed and she licked her lips. The ghost looked ancient; she had to be slow. But hadn’t she thought the same thing about Miss Chester. She eyed the spirit’s forbidding expression and decided to wait until Mary’s back was turned. “What do you want with me?”
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