Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

Dead as a doornail	By : fundamellie Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pet Shop Boys Views: 798 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
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- 5
I woke up in the middle of a strange dream without knowing what had snapped me out of my slumber. It was still dark and quiet but I sat up straight for some reason anyway, staring into the darkness, wondering where the second of my strange visitors would sit down to face me. I did not want to be taken by surprise again and so I thought I’d better get up and sit down in the chair next to the bed. I did so and even put my dressing gown and some slippers on. I was wide awake and had the feeling that somehow it must have been about time for the next ghost to appear. After all Jeffery’s prophesy had been right so far and I did not want to distrust my old friend, ghost or no ghost.
The bell struck the four quarters, then the hour bell sounded. It was 1 o’clock once more. I had steeled myself for another strange encounter, for another fearsome creature to suddenly appear out of nowhere but nothing happened. I waited and waited but no spirit sat down on my bed or appeared floating in the air. I sat there staring into the darkness, feeling the minutes pass and got more and more nervous. This was ridiculous; nothing happened and yet my heart was beating way to fast, my mouth had gone dry and my hands were shaking. It took me a while to realize that a strange light crept into the bedroom from underneath the door. Had I left the lights on in the sitting room? I got up to see for myself.
Just as I put my hand on the door handle, a strange voice called out my name and asked me to enter. I swallowed hard and did as I was told. When I stepped into the next room, I was still in my own sitting room but it looked so unlike my sitting room that I rubbed my eyes in surprise. A number of tall Christmas trees had been cramped into the room; all were heavily decorated in different styles, from modern to traditional to simply tacky. Mistletoe branches were hanging from every possible device and at least a hundred candles had been placed on top of shelves, tables and the window still. Their tiny flames send the shadows dancing merrily along the walls. The air was heavy with the smell of bee wax and cooked food. Wherever I looked there were plates and dishes filled to the brim with something. There was an enormous turkey to begin with, plates of roast vegetables and potatoes, steaming gravy, all sorts of sausages as well as fried bacon and filled pies. There were salmon and oysters, cold cuts and bread. I also saw piles of apples, nuts, oranges, figs, chestnuts, plum puddings and small cakes. Pots with hot punch and eggnog as well as tea and coffee stood in the middle of all that mess.
On top of a strange looking chair that might have been a throne sat the tallest person I has ever seen. He must have been more than 8 feet tall, for he looked massive. His face was kindly though and his cheeks glowed in the candle light. He wore simple timeless clothes. His trousers were of earthy brown sued leather and his shirt, which was open down to the chest, was bright red. His reddish hair was curly and hung in a wild mane down to his shoulders. A necklace rested on his bare chest. I noticed that it was a little star which was oddly similar to the comet the Ghost of Christmas Past had had pinned to its collar. I thought that this visitor looked like an overgrown Hobbit.
He waved one massive hand through the air and gestured at me to come in.
“Don’t be shy! Come in, man, and know me better!”
His voice boomed; it was a deep, jolly baritone.
I moved closer hesitantly. Even though I had felt so brave about meeting the second phantom, now that I stood right in front of it, I felt doubt and dread rising within me like the smoke from the flickering candles.
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” the hobbit-like ghost said. “The Ghost of Present Chances. If you really knew me you would not fear me as you do now!”
I felt my cheeks burn; I had not even said a single word and already that phantom was telling me off for something.
I just looked at the giant, too curious to take offence.
The phantom sighed. “You have missed the acquaintance of a fair number of my siblings, brothers and sisters of mine who came before me,” he observed.
“Have I? Well, I am sorry” I replied. “But I am glad to have made your acquaintance now. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
The creature gave me an odd look but answered right away: “A little over 2000!”
“2000?” I repeated, astonished. “You must be glad then, that so much is done in your name these days. Everything is supposedly related to Christmas, from songs and TV programmes to frozen yoghurt,” I blurted out.
The giant looked offended, almost angry and I can assure you that was not a comfortable thing to behold.
“Done in my name? Done in my name?” It thundered at me. “There are a lot of things people do, using my name for their own purposes. Like profit and comfort and greed and fun. But this has nothing to do with the true spirit of Christmas or with righteous chances. Do not confuse man’s deeds with my own or the ones of my kind!”
I quickly nodded. “Please, spirit, take me wherever you want me to. I have already seen the things your predecessor had wanted me to see and I think I have learned a lesson from that. Show me, if you will the things just how they are and teach me what I need to know,” I begged my second visitor humbly.
It rose from its chair instantly, looking very pleased with itself.
“Grab my shirt and hold on fast!” It ordered and I did just what I had been told.
The strange sight of my crammed sitting room, glowing golden in the candle light, slowly faded from view and instead we were outside again. I looked around me eagerly.
We were somewhere in the city of London on a cold but clear morning. The sky was blue; the air was crisp and the wind quite chilly. It did not seem to bother people much, for everybody I could see looked content and expectant. They wore thick scarves and gloves and silly woollen hats but they all smiled or whistled soft tunes to themselves. It was a right hustle and bustle. Packages and bags were carried around; people ran after departing busses or taxis, hurried to sneak through closing shop door or step on crammed escalators. It was quite amusing watching this commotion. The good mood and the general high spirit were contagious and I found myself smiling. Wherever you turned you could hear a muttered or shouted ‘Merry Christmas’. Even when a driver, who tried to pull out of a tiny parking space almost collided with a taxi, it did not cause the usual fuss. The cab driver hit the braces and opened his door. He screamed a few insults. The driver of the offending car opened his window and yelled back that he was sorry. I saw how the driver suddenly shook his head, as if he had just made up his mind about something. He waved his hand dismissively.
“It’s alright, just get moving, will you? Too much of a shame to quarrel on Christmas Eve now, is it?”
The other driver seemed to agree; at least he grinned broadly and made way.
I glanced at my companion, I was almost sure it was his presence which had caused this peaceable behaviour.
We continued walking for a while. We passed countless shops and stalls with their decorated displays. It was all quite opulent and gay, especially the markets. There was so much stuff being presented to look at its best. Something to everybody’s taste. Something to please even the last and most choosy person alive. You could buy anything it seemed on any given London market on Christmas Eve. I saw all sorts of vegetable, piled up into huge heaps; carrots and potatoes and parsnips and whatever else. I saw fresh fish and mussels, their wet shells glistening in the sun. I saw more heaps of fruit; apples in various shades of green and red, oranges and peaches and pineapples. I also saw stalls entirely devoted to sweets. Most popular being multi-coloured candy sticks, sugared balls made out of chocolate and nuts and heavy fruit cakes. It seems difficult not to get into the spirit of Christmas, even if you were a non-believer.
On an on we walked and the streets got narrower and less glamorous. We had entered a part of town were ordinary people lived, people who might worry about how to pay all of their bills. People who were hard done in some cases but mostly people who were proud of what their daily work had earned them.
The chilly wind sent newspapers and empty bags dancing in the air but the majority of the windows and front doors we passed look as spick and spell as any on King’s Road. Possibly even more so, as the cleaning and the decoration had been done with every bit of pride and effort manageable.
We ended up in a small side street on the outskirts of Hackney and I am certain of that because I recognized the surroundings. A battered looking old Volvo was parked in front of a four-storey building crammed in between an enormous high-rise and a row of semi-detached houses. The space in the tiny front garden was mostly taken up by four rubbish bins; the rest was covered by stone tiles. The front door had been painted a bright green, which for one thing now fitted the season but in reality gave more of an indication who lived inside of this house. As far as I knew two of the four parties were at least partly Irish.
I felt another stab of guilt seeing the neat wreath of fir twigs, decorated only by bright red berries. The people who lived here and whom I was certain we would visit were friends of Stefan and had at one point been good friends of mine as well. I had neglected them as I had neglected Michael during the past two or three years, thinking that my selfish pursuit of distraction was more important than being a friend.
Again we stepped right through the front door and floated up the stairs to the third floor. A tricycle and a small bike had been left outside of the flat. Shoes and boots piled up on the doormat and a small puddle of dirty water collected on the shabby tiles. One could hear a mixture of voices talking even through the closed door. Occasionally a child would scream or shout and if the noise died down for a split second one could hear music playing. Carols, that was. Old-fashioned, religious ones as well as ones for children and the so-called modern classics of the likes of Frank Sinatra and Cliff Richard.
I was getting excited about seeing the family living behind that plain wooden door and wondered if I would recognize the McIntyre kids at all. When I had last seen them, the oldest girl, Charlotte had just been old enough to go to prep school and her brothers, Kieran and Jonah had been toddlers. Now Charlie was halfway through her second year at school and the boys ready to attend school this and the following year. I thought how amazing and sometimes terrifying the passing of time was.
My companion made me enter and followed close behind me. For a moment I feared that the flat would burst with that giant spirit inside it but to my surprise it fitted in rather naturally.
A wave of overheated air and the smell of cooking food crashed around us while we made our way further down the corridor. There was hardly any space to walk; so many bags and boxes had been placed on either side of it. It seemed that the kids were in for a rather splendid treat on Boxing Day.
“How odd,” I thought. “That they can afford so many presents. They used to be really penny-pinched in the past.”
A door to my left had been left ajar and I could see the lady of the household and mother of the three kids preparing what looked like a massive turkey in the kitchen. Anne’s face glowed red from the heat and she wiped at drops of sweat forming on her brow but she smiled to herself when she put the bird back into the oven and hummed the tune of the song currently playing in the room next door. She looked plumper than I remembered her but I guess after three pregnancies that is only natural. Her hair was longer and currently in a right mess, even though it had been pinned up. Wisps of hair had escaped the arrangement everywhere and fell into her face. She wore an old pair of jeans that looked threadbare in places and a pin-striped black blouse. The sleeves had been rolled up and most of her front was covered by a long apron that sported the tacky slogan
‘I only serve what my husband cooked’.
I saw pots boiling on all four hot plates, figuring from the aromas that potatoes and gravy were among the things being prepared. It smelled of thyme and onions and also very slightly of oranges. After a moment of checking the pots, she called out to her husband:
“Jules, can you help me with the potatoes, please?”
“Sure, if little Jeffery and Jonah stop using me as a substitute mountain and climb down from my lab!” came the shouted answer. A lot of laughter followed the statement and after a moment or two, a short, rather compact looking fellow with thick red hair emerged from the living room. Julian’s hair was also longer than it had been the last time I had seen him and his jeans looked as faded as his wife’s but he wore a neatly ironed white shirt. He grinned at Anne, who had put the pot with the still steaming potatoes on a wooden plate next to the oven and handed a masher to her husband.
“Real fine because of Eric, right?” he asked and started his work straight away.
“Yeah, like always,” Anne replied. “He should be okay eating the mash with a bit of gravy and some of the parsnips which I left boiling longer than the others so that they are really soft.”
“Hmm, sounds good to me,” Julian nodded, mashing the potatoes with so much force and enthusiasm as if it were the best paid job in the world. He looked up briefly and caught his wife’s eye.
“Miracle that the old gargoyle is still around. Hadn’t thought he’d be out of hospital after that shock he gave us at Easter!”
Anne only nodded and padded Julian’s back. “He’s a tough old boot and he looks better than he has in years. Seems his sister knows what she’s doing with his treatment!”
Another stab of guilt hit me as I watched and listened.
Eric was a family friend of the McIntyre’s but also my friend Kevin’s brother.
Another person, who had once been quite close to me and whom I had let slip out of my life because the responsibility of having another friend suffering from Aids proofed too much for me to handle.
Eric was only 39 but he had always looked much older; he was skinny and his skin was normally a shallow grey. His hair used to stand out in thinning patches after he had had to endure a chemo therapy on top of everything else. I saw an image of him flash up before my mind’s eye. It was an unpleasant kind of image, one that makes you immediately uncomfortable. He had been barely more than skin and bones when I had last seen him; a skull with eyes; a living corpse.
I turned away from the kitchen and faced the half-closed living room door. So Eric was supposed to be in there somewhere? Still? Alive and well enough to join the Christmas dinner? If that was true, it was indeed a miracle.
I shook my head and sighed. The giant gave me a slap on the back and asked in his booming voice:
“What’s the matter, man?”
“Nothing, really.” I muttered. “I only wish I had not lost contact with all of those people.”
The over-grown hobbit seemed rather pleased with my remark and grinned widely.
He pushed me forwarded and I stumbled right through the door into the living room.
The room was packed with people and the noise level was unbelievable. Everybody was chatting and laughing and the kids were running around or crawling over people sitting on the sofa. I spotted my old friend Daniel Parker in the middle of the mess. He looked very much the teacher, even though he had not been teaching for almost six years.
Well, ever since he had adopted little Jeffery. I had to smile seeing Daniel there. He wore black trousers and a light grey turtleneck and I could very well imagine him in a cord jacket with elbow pads. He was sitting next to a man I made out to be Julian’s father and Anne’s grandmother. Daniel was patiently cracking nuts for Charlie who pretended not to notice that the boys constantly sneaked in to steal some from her plate.
The old folks had mugs filled with eggnog and toasted each other whenever they took a sip. Eric sat near the sofa in a comfortable looking armchair, legs outstretched on a stool. I felt my breath catch in my throat as I saw him. He really looked so much better, it was astonishing. He had put on some weight and generally looked less terminally ill than he used to. A small boy with almost blond hair, whom I supposed was Kieran, sat on his lap and listened intently to a story Eric told him in a hushed voice.
I saw the kid giggling and Eric smiling at him. For some reason I could not even name I felt so touched by the sight I had to look away for fear of getting too tearful.
Then the doorbell rang and Charlie sprinted away to open the door. I could hear multiple footsteps on the stairs as well as more laughter.
Eric’s brother Kevin was the first to enter the living room. He was greeted by chuckles and some hollered comments. A Santa Claus head sat neatly on top of his black hair and he even wore a red suit trimmed in fake white fur. At least he had decided against the obligatory white beard. He appeared to be clean shaved and in a jolly good mood as well. His grin would have shamed Mick Jagger and he greeted everybody with a loud:
“Ho! Ho! Ho!”
The kids screamed with laughter and the adults chuckled and laughed as well. Kevin bowed slightly and then went through the room to give his brother a quick hug.
Two girls watched from the door frame but followed Kevin into the already packed living room as he, for lack of a seat, simply sat down on the floor next to Eric’s armchair.
The first girl to enter was a tall one with dark blond hair. I recognized her as Luzie, Stefan’s ex-girlfriend. She wore her hair open, a little shorter than shoulder length and she wore a checked skirt that came down to her knees and fancy almost knee-high boots to that. I saw Eric eying her up and then grinning to himself.
The second girl was shorter and sturdier than her companion. She had short cut brown hair and she wore casual baggy trousers and a V-neck sweater. I knew her only by sight but I remembered that her name was Monika.
“Now only Danny is left without a wife!” Kevin exclaimed and I saw my friend flinching ever so slightly. He grinned good-naturedly anyway and just bowed his head to the general giggling.
“If you want Andrew to go through a sex change to fit the description, then you and your brother must marry your girlfriends first!” He shot back and earned some more laughter.
Kevin and Monika exchanged looks as did Eric and Luzie. Then the brothers faced each other and after a moment of hesitation Kevin nodded very slightly. Eric cleared his throat and sat up straighter. He let Kieran climb back to the floor before he solemnly looked around and then addressed his friends:
“Actually we wanted to tell you all on New Year’s Eve but as Daniel almost gave everything away by accident, we can just as well tell you now: My brother and Monika got engaged and so did Luzie and I!”
There was a brief interval of astonished silence before everybody started talking at once. People cheered and clapped hands and soon everybody apart from Kevin, Eric and their girlfriends got up from their seats and scurried around, giving hugs to all four people involved. Charlie ran over to the kitchen and delivered the news to her parents, who grinned at each other knowingly.
Just when everybody had calmed down and had resumed their seats, Julian’s father suddenly jumped up from the sofa with a horrified expression on his face. He put his mug down and looked at the woman next to him.
“Martha, how long do you reckon the chestnuts have been in the oven upstairs?”
“Oh my!” Anne’s grandma exclaimed and climbed to her feet as well. “If they did not turn to coal by now, they should be as ready as they can be,” she announced and together they made their way out of the flat. On the way out, Julian caught up with his father.
“Dad, you shouldn’t have bought chestnuts for everybody. It must’ve cost a fortune and your pension…”
“Humbug!” The old man interrupted with a grin and waved his hand dismissively through the air. “It’s Christmas only once a year and if I don’t celebrate that, then I’m as good as dead!”
Julian nodded and walked back into the living room.
Anne came in only moments later, carrying two huge bowls.
“Figs, dates, dried apples and candied ginger in one bowl, a mix of German chocolates in the other,” she declared. “Courtesy of Monika and Luzie.”
The kids were at her side faster than lightning and jumped excitedly up and down around her. She ignored them as best she as could and put the bowls on a big table at the far end of the room.
“One each now,” she told them. “Either chocolate or fruit and if you leave some space in your stomach’s you can have some more after dinner.”
By then I had become so absorbed in the festivities that I almost forgot I was invisible and not really here. I walked around and took a good look at all of my old friends. I was amazed at how well everybody got on and what a good time they had together, considering that most of them were everything but rich. I caught myself thinking that maybe I had overrated the things that money could buy and underestimated the things that money could not buy. Things like friendship, loyalty, laughter, love and principles. The longer I watched, the more I missed the feeling of belonging, of being one of them.
I listened to some of the conversations, I found myself laughing at the stunts of the kids but my glance always wandered back to Kevin and Eric and their girlfriends.
So it had worked out for both of them in the end. It send my head spinning, thinking of Kevin as he used to be – a messed up, drug-addicted kid always looking for somebody to fuck – and seeing him almost totally changed now. He seemed truly happy, relaxed and at peace. He was about to settle down, he had got engaged. Something I had never dreamed would ever happen to Kevin.
And I was so glad to finally see Eric halfway well and happy. It must have meant the world to him to have found a girl who was eager to tie the knot with him; who knew about this illness and was still willing to spend the future with him. Inwardly I bowed to her bravery, knowing fully well what a terrible coward I had been the last couple of years.
After a while I heard Anne ask Kevin: “Isn’t your sister coming tonight?”
Kevin shook his head. “Erin? Nope, she possibly even forgot it’s Christmas at all. Y’know, work and all!”
“Forgot about Christmas?” Julian chimed in. He looked positively outraged by the simple suggestion that anybody could forget about Christmas.
“You can’t just forget about Christmas!” he protested. “It’s a celebration of everything good in mankind. It’s all about peace and love and forgiveness and family and…”
“Jules, stop your ranting!” Eric scolded him. “She’s most likely still in the practice or going round in the van, giving out blankets and soup to the street kids.”
“Yeah, I know,” Julian admitted and grinned sheepishly. “She’s one of the few people who keep Christmas in their hearts all year. Sorry, I did not want to slag her off!”
I got distracted from the conversation when Julian’s father and Anne’s grandmother came back down carrying several bowls filled to overflowing with hot chestnuts. They passed them around until everybody was able to dig in and everybody did so happily. Again it became Daniel’s task to peel the nuts for the four kids.
Then suddenly all the mobile phones in the room began beeping or ringing at the same time. It was funny watching how people dropped their chestnuts and searched hectically for their ringing phones. I leaned over Daniel’s should to read the message. It came from Erin, Kevin’s and Eric’s sister and it read:
“Hi all, pls don’t wait with dinner because of me. I’m currently with Stefan in hospital and then I’ve got to check how things are going at the van. I’ll drop in as soon as I can, promised! Have a lovely time and Merry Christmas!”
When I looked up, people were stuffing their mobiles into their pockets and Luzie asked:
“How is Stefan, then? Any news?”
An awkward silence fell until Kevin spoke up.
“No so good, really. I’ve been to visit him this morning and he looks terrible. It’s not just that he’s not eating, he’s so depressed. Really awful!”
“And what about Neil?” Anne inquired.
“Neil?” Kevin echoed. “If you ask me, that guy’s’ a total bastard! Ouch!” Monika, who sat next to him on the floor, had just rammed her elbow into Kevin’s ribs. He turned to her and went on. “Now I don’t care what you say, but it’s true! He keeps repeating how relieved he is that the relation with Stefan ended. Now say that’s not rude, considering that the kid still loves him like mad. Not that I ever understood what he sees in him in the first place. Y’know, Stefan told me that Neil visited him before I was there and that he’d given him something dead expensive for Christmas. But then he did not even wish him a Merry Christmas. Stefan said Neil looked as if he would rather be anywhere else but with him. He said he had the impression that all of his concern was just a fake. Like it was forced, or something and Neil was not in it with his heart!”
I found myself staggering and leaned against the wall for support. Kevin’s words had hit me and hit me hard. It’s always had to accept an uncomfortable truth and that truth was a bitter one indeed. But I had to admit Kevin was right. Or rather Stefan had been right about his observation.
Everything came flooding back to me, rushed through my mind like a movie in fast forward. How I had first met Stefan one rainy night at Leicester Square, how I had fallen in love with him, how we had gotten together, the first time I had kissed him, the first time we had been intimate, the fights, the misunderstandings, the trust Stefan had put into me. The way his smiles had touched me, the way my heart used to beat faster whenever I found myself in a room with the boy, how I had for the first time in my life felt totally whole being with him. The bitter quits, the ugly words, the hurt I had inflicted. The unfairness of it all. Stefan had given me everything: his heart, his love, his trust, his loyalty. Most of himself, really. And what had I given him in return? Betrayal, scorn and hurt. I felt so low, almost sick with disgust. Disgust at what I had become. I asked myself where the hell my high-fly ideals had gone? Where was my conscience, where had my morals gone? My compassion and sense of justice? Perhaps I had lost it all on those countless parties and in the beds of all of those nameless boys; I did not know but I felt so lousy about it. My heart ached. The whole emotional void I had tried to create collapsed on me and I realized just how lonely I was and how much I missed the boy’s company. How much I still loved him. The realisation left me dazed and I did not pay attention as dinner was served and everybody gathered round the table.
But I did not have time to dwell on this for too long, as the scenery around me changed again and I found myself in the same hospital corridor I had walked down earlier that morning. I saw Erin come out of Stefan’s room and followed her down the hallway.
She eventually stopped to talk to another doctor, a man in his forties, who looked a little like Woody Allan.
“…doesn’t look too good,” I overheard the male doctor saying. “That kid does not want to stay alive. He’ll find another method to harm himself without actively committing suicide. He’s so broken, just like Humpty Dumpty. I’m not sure we can piece him together again.”
I did not hear Erin’s answer. I was shocked. Absolutely horrified. That meant that Stefan would die! It also meant that all of it was my fault. I was so taken aback that I did not realize that I was crying silently. Crying for all of the wasted changes, for all the pain I had forced on Stefan, crying for what might have been. For all the love I had foolishly thrown away.
Once more the scenery changed and this time I saw myself. I was sitting in a bar and I knew that it was the ‘Groucho Club’ and that it had been the same Christmas Eve. I had walked home from the hospital and I had felt that I had to drown the misery that Stefan’s condition had forced upon me. So I had come to the club and I had ordered drink after drink, not thinking about that it was Christmas after all.
I watched as I got back to my flat. I saw how I went to bed alone, how I got up the next morning and how I went through the motions of a supposedly ordinary day.
I had gone for a walk; I had ordered dinner and had watched a movie on DVD. I had not phoned up anyone to wish them a happy Christmas. I had been miserable but not prepared to admit that I was.
The phantom then took me to countless other homes, to senior citizens homes, hospitals, jails and even the streets. Everywhere I saw people being kinder to each other, people who for once seemed to care and who strove to live up to the spirit of Christmas. I heard kind words and gay songs. I observed reunions and forgiveness. I even saw people kissing and ones making love. In all cases some story had come to a happy end.
The night was long and while I felt emotionally drained, my ghostly companion aged rapidly. His hair had become completely white and his whole appearance seemed to shrink with every passing minute.
“Do all spirits age so fast?” I finally asked him.
“It is because my life on this earth is drawing to an end. It will be finished this very night at the stroke of 12!”
“You will die tonight?” I asked, dismayed.
The phantom nodded gravely and silently pointed into the distance. I followed his direction and saw two children huddled close together. They sat on pieces of dirty cardboard and their faces were vacant and old. Hardened and merciless. Without wanting to, I took a step backward. The sight of those kids was just too appalling. I wanted to say something, but could not. I just looked at my companion, bewildered and terrified.
“They are man’s legacy,” the spirit explained in a calm voice. “The boy is Prejudice and the girl is Callousness. Beware of them both and of all their relatives. They poison every good thing in the world, every kind thought and merciful deed. Beware of the girl most of all for she will lead you directly to your own doom.”
“Can nothing save them?” I asked.
“Has love earned you anything but hurt?” The phantom paraphrased my own words for me. “Isn’t it as bad as bloody Merry Christmas? What do you care?”
Before I could defend myself, the bell struck twelve. Everything around me was suddenly blank, neither white nor black. I turned around, looking for the phantom but I could not see it any longer. I remembered Jeffery’s prophesy and spotted another spirit hovering in the air some distance away. Gooseflesh rose on my arms and crawled down my spine. Dread filled me as I watched in silent terror as this thing moved closer.
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Dead as a doornail