Author's note: Merry Christmas, everyone! I hope you're all having a wonderful time. I have for you a two-part special written for the holiday season. Now, be sure to write reviews or otherwise tell me your opinions on this one—because this is very similar in style and tone to another story I have in mind. Another Day of Eternity would be an ongoing story in this setting, with the same sort of illogical happenings and occasional parties. Consider this to be sort of like a pilot episode for it. This might never fit properly into the continuity of the other one, but it will be a good test for how such a story would be received. Let me know!
Also, I'd like to thank all of the artists whose songs are mentioned in this story. "We Need a Little Christmas" was especially good; to me it gives a good feeling as to why a bunch of characters in this situation would be celebrating Christmas in the first place.
Oh, and the reason they had to try so many times before no one drew their own name out of the hat is because I was determining it randomly, and it kept happening!
You know, at least the characters can excuse their actions by claiming that Eric's eggnog was running a little too freely. I don't have such an excuse. This is just the way my mind works. Well, I won't delay you any longer—Merry Christmas!

First Christmas of Eternity

Christmas Eve

Henry Townshend was caught in a blizzard, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Of course, despite the way the snow filled the air, he could go right through it, but he didn't like to think about that. He saw that it had already accumulated several feet; well, he wasn't exactly seeing it, but he didn't like to think about that, either.

It wasn't a physical obstacle that kept him rooted in place, but bewilderment. Not that he had never seen a heavy snowstorm on Christmas Eve…

…just not one in the halls of South Ashfield Heights.

"Henry, what do you think of it?" Eileen Galvin's voice cried from somewhere within the blizzard.

"The snow is your doing?" he asked uncertainly, looking around for her.

"It was a team effort," she said, appearing beside him. She twirled around. "What would Christmas be without snow?"

A snarl responded. "Oh, for the love of Valtiel"—Jimmy Stone emerged from the storm, tromping through the snow with difficulty and looking even more ghoulish than usual because of his scowl—"the Order does not celebrate Christmas!"

"Can't you even have a little holiday cheer?" she asked, frowning at him.

"No!" he snapped. "I never had holiday cheer when I was alive, and I don't intend to start now!"

"It would be easy if you floated," Henry offered, watching Stone struggle through the snow. They didn't get along, but it seemed fitting to the season to try to make peace with the other ghosts.

Stone glared at him furiously. "Shut up! I will not! I still have my self-respect!"

If self-respect meant having difficulty moving even two steps, then he had more of it than Henry wanted.

"You won't lose control just by floating," he said, wondering if it was the fear of reverting to the form of a mindless, hate-filled specter with no goal but to haunt the Otherworlds that was bothering him. He levitated towards the ceiling to prove his point. "See, even I can—"

"Shut up!"

"Spoilsport," Eileen muttered.

"Moron," Stone countered.

"Snow!"

Henry ducked just as the Twin Victim catapulted over his head and ran into the thick of the storm.

"Billy! Miriam! Wait for me!" Little Walter nearly collided with Henry, then ducked around his leg and kept running.

"They really wanted snow," Eileen said with a smile.

"Oh, it was you," Stone said, pointing at her accusingly. "When I saw the snow, I knew it was either you, siding with the outsider twerps, or Blake trying to make me miserable."

"Twerps?" she demanded.

"I was being polite," he snapped. "Those idiot children have no right being here, and—"

"They have as much right as anyone!"

"The one is a monster, not even human! At least we're human inside the room, but that thing needs a good blow with an axe again!"

"You touch Billy and Miriam and you'll pay!" Eileen warned.

"Oh, no doubt, because everyone here is an idiot! If I were in charge—"

"Well, you're not, so lay off," Henry cut in, trying to avert what looked like a disaster in the making.

George Rosten and Toby Archbolt suddenly emerged from the floor.

"What's wrong, Jimmy?" Rosten asked.

"You're all making enough noise to wake the dead, namely me," Archbolt added.

As the three members of the Order began to mutter about the ridiculousness of celebrating any sort of holiday, Henry met Eileen's gaze and they took the opportunity to escape into Room 302.

Inside the room, he was immediately transformed into a form more closely resembling him in life, and he was also immediately blinded by a mass of blinking, multicolored lights.

"Merry Christmas!" Steve Garland greeted.

"We're decorating," Rick Albert added. "This place needs some life—figuratively speaking, of course."

Cynthia Velasquez floated through the door to join them. "I'm done putting up the mistletoe."

"The what?" Henry demanded.

"Mistletoe," she repeated with a wink. "Go stand under some, and you'll understand."

"I'll help him understand," Eileen offered, also winking.

He decided to just ignore both of them. How they could even think about such things amidst this lunacy was beyond him. And speaking of lunacy…

Just past the two ghosts with their decorations was a gigantic pine tree. Melting snow was dripping onto the carpet.

"You're actually trying to make this place look festive," he said in amazement.

A choking noise came as Stone and his two cronies finally made it inside and halted, staring at the tree. "For the love of Valtiel, what is that?"

"It's a Christmas tree!" Steve explained, beaming. "Incidentally, could someone go get Walter out of the bedroom? We want to decorate in there next."

"Why can't you decorate with him in there?" Eileen asked.

Before he could answer, a voice from the hall whimpered, "How did you talk me into this?"

Sharon Blake, apparently sneaking out of the bedroom, frowned at Andrew DeSalvo, who was trailing her nervously. "Come on, it's not like we're doing anything wrong. It'll be a nice surprise!"

They floated past towards the laundry room, and Henry noticed that Sharon was carrying what looked suspiciously like a blue coat.

"…Anyway," Steve finally said, "we'd just…rather not."

Rick mumbled nervous agreement.

"I'll get him to come out," Cynthia offered.

Rosten whispered something to the other two, and the three Order priests burst into laughter. They all looked at Cynthia. Her eyebrows shot up, and Archbolt commented, "George just thought you might end up staying there."

She gave him an icy glare and left.

"That wasn't very nice," Henry said. He did, however, wonder what she was going to do.

A moment later, he found out.

"I am the ghost of Christmas past!"

"What the hell was that?" Richard Braintree demanded, jumping up from where he had been sleeping on the couch.

Cynthia's voice came a bit more insistently, "Get up, for I am the ghost of Christmas past!"

"What is she doing?" Henry asked.

Joseph popped out of the ceiling, nearly scaring him half to death—not that he needed it. He was holding a mug. "Maybe it's the eggnog. Eric made eggnog, but he didn't actually know how. You might call what he made 'whiskey' instead."

Great. Drunk ghosts—that's all we need.

"Get up, Walter Sullivan, for I am the ghost of Christmas past!"

"Well, the ghost of Christmas present is trying to sleep!" Richard shouted, as Cynthia came out.

She was propelling Walter in front of her. He was wearing dark pants and a black shirt, and he looked a bit confused. "Has anyone seen my coat?"

A strangled noise escaped Stone. From the look on his face, he couldn't decide if getting Sharon in trouble would be worth having to help out Walter.

The bathroom door burst open suddenly, and Frank Sunderland flew out. He was wearing a fur-lined red suit and hat, and he had managed to find a fake beard. "Ho ho ho! HO HO HO! Merry Christmas!"

"Let me guess," Walter said into the startled silence that followed. "The ghost of Christmas future?"

Frank frowned at him. "Of course not! I'm Santa Claus!" He pointed at him dramatically. "And have you been a good little boy this year?"

Lest grievous bodily harm be done to Santa Claus, Henry grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away.

"Hey, that's not the Christmas spirit!" Frank protested.

"You just asked an insane serial killer if he had 'been a good little boy,' Frank."

The older man looked away with a pout. "You think you know everything, just because you're one of the 21 Sacraments and I'm not."

At that point, Henry threw his hands up into the air and gave up.

Everyone else was still standing around where they had been, except for Steve and Rick, who had taken their decorations into the bedroom. Jimmy Stone was still fidgeting with indecision.

"Got it!" a voice shouted from the corner of the living room. William Gregory and Eric Walsh had been working silently, and now William held up the radio with a look of triumph. "The radio now broadcasts only Christmas music!"

Indeed, the box was issuing forth noises that sounded rather like you'd expect Christmas broadcasts in the Otherworld to sound. After a few moments of hearing the un-merry carols, William quickly turned it off.

"Once everyone's here, can we all gather together for a minute?" Frank asked.

"Why?" Richard asked. He looked suspicious.

"I think we should have a Secret Santa."

"That's a good idea," Eileen said.

"No it's not; it's a terrible idea!" Richard cried.

"It could be fun," Cynthia countered.

"Isn't it a little late?" Henry asked. It would have been better if Frank had suggested this a few weeks ago. "I mean, it's already Christmas Eve."

"It's not like we have crowds to compete with," Joseph pointed out.

"It's not like we have stores, either."

"Since this is technically my world, would someone tell me what we're talking about?" Walter asked. "What is this 'Secret Santa' he wants to have?"

For a moment, everyone just stared at him. Finally, Frank said, "You know, Secret Santa. It's a gift-giving technique to get around the fact that there are really a lot of us here. Instead of everyone getting everyone gifts—or getting some people gifts and not others and making them feel bad—everyone randomly draws someone else's name, and gets that person a gift!"

"Would I get a gift?"

"Of course!"

Walter looked wary of this idea of holiday generosity. "There's a catch somewhere, isn't there?"

Richard rolled his eyes and muttered, "Yeah, open the wrapping paper wrong and you actually sell your soul; what does he think this is?"

"Well, you do have to give a gift to the person whose name you draw," Frank said.

"That's it?"

"Err, yes…"

It all seemed a bit too happy for Stone, who stomped his foot on the floor, apparently having made up his mind at last. "So, I think I saw two thieves hiding in the laundry room, if someone wanted to open the door and see…"

Before anyone could react to his words, however, Henry became aware of a raucous noise coming from outside the room. Everyone else looked towards the door as well, as it became louder. It sounded only slightly better than what had been coming through the radio.

The door flew open, revealing a newly-melted path through the snow, courtesy of Jasper Gein, who was one of the four singers, as well as being on fire. He, Bobby Randolph, and Sein Martin were singing what might have been Deck the Halls, but his stuttering kept him a few bars behind the other two. The fourth singer was Peter Walls, who was instead singing what sounded like a pirate song.

"Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-laaaaaaaa!" they finished, holding out the final note long enough for Jasper to catch up, and for Peter to join in with, "And a bottle of ruuuuuuuuuum!"

Henry had the feeling he'd been dead for a little too long. This sort of thing was starting to make sense to him.

Applause broke out from Little Walter and the Twin Victim, who had followed them in.

"Is everyone here now?" Frank asked.

Henry looked around. Other than Andrew, Sharon, and the two decorators, it looked like everyone was there.

"Let's c-c-count," Jasper suggested. "Seventeen."

"Two," Bobby said, with Sein's, "Three," close behind.

"Oh no!" Peter cried. "I can't remember what number I am!"

"I'm ten," Eric said, walking over. "You've got to be after me, because you weren't one of the Ten Hearts."

"Maybe I'm eleven, then."

"Twelve," Walter corrected.

Joseph nodded. "Yes, Peter Walls was the twelfth victim."

Peter shook his head. "No, Walter just said he was twelve."

"No, I was eleventh."

"Well, make up your mind!"

"This is ridiculous!" Richard interrupted. "If we counted off in order, maybe this would work, but we can't figure out who's here by just randomly shouting numbers! That's like everyone yelling their names and hoping the person with the list can keep up!"

Steve and Rick came out, then, dusting off their hands.

"The room looks nice and festive!" Rick assured them.

"And we put up some mistletoe at the lady's request," Steve added, with a short bow in the direction of Cynthia.

Henry made a mental note to not stop anywhere without checking above him first.

"Andrew and Sharon aren't here!" Stone finally shouted. "If you had been listening to me earlier, you'd know that's because…" He stopped and looked at the laundry room as shouting began to come from it. "Never mind… You don't need me to tell you where they are."

"Why's he helping?" Frank whispered.

"He's not," Henry began to explain, but then the laundry room door opened and Andrew peeked out. The former guard caught his eye and began to signal frantically to him. It was not quite inconspicuous.

"Err, I'll be back," Henry said, edging away from the curious group and hurrying over. "What's the matter?"

"Have you used the washing machine since it got all…" He waved his hands around uselessly.

"Haunted?" Henry suggested. "No, I haven't. Why?"

Sharon joined Andrew at the door. "Well, we thought that it might be nice if we washed Walter's coat—okay, I thought it would be nice; don't look at me like that, Andrew. I thought it would be nice to take the bloodstains out. Well, the good news is, the bloodstains are out!"

"The bad news is, the cloth they were on went with them," Andrew mumbled gloomily.

Sharon held up the hole-filled material that had once been Walter's coat. "Any suggestions?"

For a while, Henry just looked at them. "Patches?" he finally suggested.

"Yes, maybe I won't notice," Walter said sarcastically from behind Henry, causing all three of them to jump.

There was a thump as Andrew hit the floor in a dead faint.

"Hello, boss!" Sharon greeted, sounding a little nervous. "This isn't as bad as it looks."

Henry heard hastily muffled laughter and turned to see Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt standing by. He wasn't quite sure when the enmity between them and Sharon had started, but it was strong. Right now, they looked as though all of their holiday cheer was going to come from seeing something terrible happen to her.

He scowled at them for her sake and received condescending sneers in return. Despite the fact that the prospect of spending eternity together had put nearly everyone on reasonably friendly terms, even if it was a little uneasy in places, those three were openly hostile to…well, everyone.

Walter turned to see what Henry was looking at, and noticed the Order priests. He stared at them for a moment, and then he smiled. It wasn't a very nice smile. They backed up, looking considerably less sure of themselves.

"Okay, Andrew, I know you're not really unconscious, so get up," he said, pulling the other man to his feet. "Sharon, don't steal any more of my clothes."

"Sure thing, boss!" she said, as he walked away.

Henry wondered if he had fallen into an alternate reality when he wasn't paying attention. That was strange behavior for the Walter Sullivan he knew.

"He did that just to spite us, you know," George said glumly, as the three disheartened cultists walked off to grumble in the corner.

"Will everyone please come here so we can discuss the Secret Santa?" Frank called.

"Why do you call Walter 'boss,' Sharon?" Henry asked, as the three of them rejoined the rest of the group.

"Well, if anyone's in charge of these Otherworlds, he is." She shrugged. "Besides, it annoys the heck out of Stone."

He laughed in spite of himself. It didn't seem right to have a good time while being dead, but sometimes it was hard. He glanced at the Order priests. Besides, the alternative didn't look appealing.

"Secret Santa," Richard muttered, shaking his head. "All right, let's get this over with."

"We're short three people," Frank said.

Eileen raised her eyebrows. "Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt? I really don't think they want to participate."

"Oh, fine," he sighed. "Now, here's how it works. Everyone, write your name on a piece of paper. Then, drop it in the hat." He pulled off his hat and held it out. "Once everyone's name is in the hat, we'll start drawing names." He looked at them. "Well, what's everyone waiting for?"

It caused more trouble than it should have. First, there was the problem of paper. Henry found it, since he was the most familiar with the apartment's current layout. However, while he was searching, Joseph dug out his old typewriter from who-knows-where, along with his favorite red paper. While Richard and Cynthia got in line with their own paper to use the typewriter, Eileen helped Henry to search for pencils, and by the time they found some, Walter had written his name in his own blood instead. That apparently seemed like a wonderful idea to Bobby and Sein, who immediately followed suit. Jasper lit his paper on fire three times before remembering to extinguish himself first. The Twin Victim couldn't actually write, but decided to make a valiant attempt. Everyone else had waited patiently for the pencils, except for Peter Walls, who—possibly with a little encouragement from Eric's "eggnog"—decided to tear his paper into the shape of his initials, with very little success.

Frank threw the paper with his name on it into the hat, and held it out for the others, commenting, "Well, this is different."

That was putting it mildly.

"I hate to dampen everyone's good mood," Richard said, rolling his eyes as he looked at the hat full of names, "but isn't this taking the secrecy away a bit? I mean, we'll know whoever is holding the red paper pulled Joseph's name, for example, and that charred one is Jasper's."

Frank frowned. "Well…everyone will just have to close their eyes, and hide the paper once they've drawn it!"

Henry felt a headache coming on.

"I thought of something else," Cynthia said. "We have two people with the same name."

"Check for differences in handwriting," Eric suggested.

"Like the fact that one of them will be written in bright red," Steve said under his breath.

With that, they were ready. Even drawing the names took longer than it should have, probably because everyone had to fumble around to find the hat with their eyes closed. To make matters worse, the first five times they tried, someone drew their own name. Finally, Henry shielded his paper from view for the final time and opened his eyes.

He'd gotten the charred, blackened piece of paper with Jasper's name scrawled on it. He waited, but no one reported getting their own name this time. At first he was dismayed, but then he realized that it would be an easy thing to decide what to get him. Jasper's absolute delight with chocolate milk hadn't been lost on him.

Actually finding chocolate milk in the Otherworld was another matter, but he figured everyone else would be having similar troubles.

"If we don't like the name we got, can we pull another one?" Richard asked.

"Please?" Andrew asked.

"No!"

Richard sighed and shook his head.

"I'm surprised you even decided to participate," Cynthia said, frowning at him. She shoved the paper she had drawn down her shirt.

"Well, if monsters, murderers, and abusive prison guards have the holiday spirit, what would that make me if I didn't?"

"An Order priest?" Sharon suggested under her breath.

William waved his hand in the air. "Hey, everyone, in case I got your name, is there anyone here who really dislikes clocks?"

No one said anything, and Eric quickly jumped in with, "Could I see a show of hands of everyone who doesn't drink?"

Henry rather hoped neither of them had drawn his name. Then again, considering the mad assortment of ghosts in Room 302, maybe a clock or a drink wouldn't be such a bad present. He pitied whoever's name Walter had drawn.

"So, how do we get the presents?" Joseph asked.

Cynthia smiled at him. "If you can think about things like that, you haven't had nearly enough eggnog."

"My recipe is a success!" Eric proclaimed, pumping his fist into the air.

"Your 'recipe' isn't even eggnog," Rick argued.

"Hey, I just look at results."

"I'll make some cookies and knock your business down to the ground," Sharon said, giving him a challenging look.

"Is anyone going to answer my question?" Joseph asked.

It was Bobby who answered. "There's probably a ritual to cover bringing objects into the Otherworld. It shouldn't be too tricky…"

"Yeah, it'll be fine!" Sein added. "We'll figure it out, won't we, guys?"

Bobby and Jasper nodded happily.

"When you're ready to shop, just come to one of us for help! Or, you know, Walter might be able to do it. Personally, though, I think we're more approachable."

Walter was rubbing his head and not looking at any of them.

Richard threw his arms up into the air. "Oh, brilliant, because getting people who don't know what they're doing to perform rituals in the Otherworlds always works out well! I've got dibs on shopping with the serial killer!"

No one said anything to that, although Andrew looked like he was going to be sick. He was probably trying to decide which was the more dangerous choice, and Henry had to admit that both could involve danger—dead or not, he liked to avoid danger whenever possible.

"This is going to be fun!" Frank said, clapping his hands together. "We have decorations, a tree, presents…"

"Don't forget the Christmas show!" Sharon added, beaming.

"The what?" Henry asked, in unison with Eileen, Richard, and Steve.

"We're putting on a Christmas show tomorrow afternoon," Cynthia said with a wink. "Better get your shopping done now, because you won't want to miss this!"

Eileen laughed. "You know, this might even feel like Christmas!"

"Snow!" the Twin Victim added.

"Yes, why is there a blizzard in the hallways, anyway?" Joseph asked.

"I put it there," Walter said. "Little Walter wanted snow." He picked up his younger self, who looked a little startled.

"I wanted snow, too," Eileen said.

"Snow!"

The snow co-conspirators smiled at one another—well, with the exception of Billy and Miriam, who just pointed—and it occurred to Henry that this was a surprisingly friendly gathering of the ghosts. The atmosphere in Room 302 could get a little…tense…at times.

He had thought it was an insane idea to try to celebrate Christmas this year. He understood to some degree why Stone and the other two were scowling from the other end of the room. With all that had happened, it didn't seem like they should be celebrating anything at all. Yet now, he had the feeling that this was exactly the sort of thing they needed.

"We b-b-better start l-learning th-that ritual," Jasper pointed out.

"Yes, and we need to finish decorating!" Steve cried. He threw an excited glance towards the tree.

William looked around and said, "I'm going to work on the radio some more. Will you give me a hand, Henry?"

"Sure," he replied, with a shrug. He didn't know anything about the inner workings of a radio, but he didn't have anything else to do.

As everyone else scattered, either to other parts of Room 302 or outside, and the two of them headed for the radio, they were joined by Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt. Somehow, he suspected they weren't there to help.

"What in the name of Valtiel are you doing?" Stone asked.

William pulled a screwdriver out of his pocket and began to open up the radio. "Fixing the radio."

"What do you know about radios?" Stone sneered.

"Nothing, but I know about clocks, and that's as good as it gets around here."

"Well, it is battery operated," Archbolt commented.

The others in the vicinity, Henry included, looked at him as though he were crazy.

"If you wanted an electrician, you'd call Braintree," he explained.

"I heard that!" Richard shouted from across the room.

"Anyway, Townshend," Stone said condescendingly, "have you fallen as low as the others? You were the most recent to die; I would think you still possessed enough sense to know you have nothing to celebrate."

Henry ignored him. "What can I do to help, William?"

"Try to de-haunt it."

"…What?"

The elderly clockmaker sighed. "It's not working properly because it's haunted."

"It may have escaped your infinite wisdom, but everything here's haunted," Stone muttered under his breath.

"Oh, let's go," Rosten pleaded. "If we hurry, we can stop those three fools from using our rituals for mundane purposes."

"Four," Stone corrected distractedly.

"What?"

"Four fools."

"I don't know," Archbolt disagreed. "The fourth fool was trained by George, remember."

"Toby, stop reminding everyone that I had a role in this disaster!"

William was managing to ignore their chatter. "Now, we all can haunt things here to some degree, so it only makes sense that we can de-haunt them as well, right?"

Henry didn't actually think that made a lot of sense, but he wasn't going to give the Order priests the satisfaction of seeing him turn away from helping the other ghost. So, as William tinkered with the insides of the radio, he focused his thoughts on working radios that broadcasted bright, happy music.

To his amazement, the faint strains of "Jingle Bells" began to filter into the room.

"Is that the screwdriver that killed you, William?" Stone asked nastily.

William lost his concentration and dropped the radio. The music faded into static again, and he looked down unhappily.

Henry's disgust for the Order priest caused him to have a sudden, vivid fantasy of the ghost being attacked by the Christmas decorations in the room. He hadn't counted on the degree of influence he actually had been having on the radio, and the excess power he was still wielding. A startled exclamation came from Stone as a string of colored lights flew off the wall and wrapped itself around him.

"What did you do?" he demanded, trying to untangle himself. The lights stubbornly refused to come off. "For the love of Valtiel, what did you do?"

Henry tried hard not to laugh. After all, it wasn't very funny.

"Looking good, Jimmy!" Toby said with a grin.

"Let's go stop those rituals now," George suggested.

"Not like this! I look like a bloody ornament!"

William retrieved the radio and raised his eyebrows at Henry. "You did that, didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to," he said, feeling embarrassed. "It just made me angry that he distracted you like that."

"Well, thanks." He flipped the screwdriver in the air and caught it. "And who knows, he might be right. Darned if that's going to stop me, though!"

Henry glanced at the three Order ghosts, who were all fighting with the lights now. From the way Stone was shouting, Rosten and Archbolt weren't trying quite as hard as he wanted them to. He lowered his voice, not wanting them to overhear him.

"William, how do you do it?"

"What do you mean?" He had gotten a few notes to come out of the radio again, and he seemed fairly pleased with the situation.

"They're so bitter, and at first, I thought I knew why. But you've been dead for ten years, and you aren't like that. How did you stop being resentful?" He searched for the right words. "How did you…stop hating Walter?"

He gave a sad smile. "Well, if you ask me, bitterness, resentment, and hatred are what put us here in the first place. Besides, I'd rather sing Christmas carols and have Stone think I'm an idiot than join him in an eternity of hatred. Look at him, Henry. He's not happy. Nothing can make him happy now. I'd rather be happy."

Henry looked at Stone, still trying to get untangled.

"Get me out of this, you idiots! Townshend! Stop smiling at me, Townshend! I'm warning you—and I'm warning you, Toby, if you don't lose that grin…"

William was right. He didn't want to end up like that. It was possible to be happy here, and he wasn't going to go out of his way to be unhappy just to prove a point.

Sein flew into the room. "We're all ready! Is anyone ready to go shopping?"

"Do you still want help with the radio?" Henry asked.

"Nah…" William held it up to his ear. "I think I can handle it from here. Thanks again."

"Thank you," he corrected, and floated over to join Sein. No one else was jumping up to volunteer, and since he already knew what he wanted to get Jasper, it seemed like a good idea to get it out of the way. "Okay, let's give this a try."

"Jasper and Bobby are ready, too," he informed the rest of the room's occupants. "They're in Rooms 102 and 207, respectively."

"207?" Richard shot towards the door. "No one's performing rituals in my room!"

Henry followed Sein into the hallway and over to Room 301, where he had set up. There was a circle drawn on the floor, with various runes and symbols drawn around it. It looked fairly sinister, and he had to admit that he had never thought he would be Christmas shopping like this.

"What do I do?" he asked.

Sein consulted the evil-looking book he had floating in the air. "Step into the circle."

Henry did so, a little nervously.

"Now, concentrate on the item you want to appear. If you can think of a real-world location where it might be, that would help."

Chocolate milk, he thought firmly. He tried to imagine the shape of the bottle, the smooth texture of the milk itself, and a cheerful shelf in a grocery store. He could almost see them all lined up, and that was exactly the sort of thing he wanted to appear…

The next thing he knew, he was on fire.

He leaped out of the circle and immediately focused on the fact that he was a ghost. Outside of the room, it wasn't even remotely hard to remember. The flames vanished quickly, but he couldn't keep from shuddering. For a few moments there, he had been in intense pain.

"Huh," Sein said, frowning. "Well, let's try again. Get back in the circle…"

Henry fled to Room 302.

"What's the matter, Henry?" Eileen asked, as he flew over to join her. She was standing in the kitchen, apparently acting as referee as Frank and Sharon argued over cookie recipes. "You don't look so well."

"I don't like rituals," he said simply.

She laughed. "Christmas shopping not going so well?"

"Not at all."

"I need to decide what to get," she said. "I wonder who drew my name…" She looked at him curiously, as though wondering if it was him, and he decided to just smile mysteriously instead of answering. After all, even though he hadn't drawn her name, it was called Secret Santa for a reason.

He glanced at the two competing chefs, wondering just what the problem was. Frank's Santa beard was flying everywhere as he gestured wildly at a bowl in front of them.

"No," Sharon was saying, reaching into a jar of salt and grabbing some with two fingers, "the recipe needs a pinch of salt, like this."

"You're wrong," Frank disagreed. He grabbed the whole jar and upended it over the bowl. "It calls for a dash of salt, like this."

"That's not a dash! That's a nightmare!"

"You don't like salty cookies?"

"Weird," Henry muttered, shaking his head.

Eileen laughed. "If you think that's weird, just wait until the Christmas show tomorrow. Frank keeps making references to his 'costume.'"

"Oh no."

"Oh yes."

He began to suggest that they simply go and haunt some part of the Otherworld during the Christmas show, but then he was distracted by Richard, who had flown into the room with a big, wrapped box. He set it under the tree.

"You got something already?" Henry demanded, flying over to him.

"Yep."

He thought back to his experience with the milk and wondered how long he would have had to keep at it to get something to materialize. It made him cringe. "How bad was it?"

Richard raised his eyebrows. "Well, I didn't have to fight anyone in the mall, so it's a step up from most Christmas shopping trips."

He blinked, wondering if that was a joke, or if Richard regularly had fought people in stores at Christmastime when he was alive. "No, I mean how painful was it? Was it very horrible?"

"Nah…" Richard shrugged. "Really, Sullivan's not that bad of company, once you get past the maniacal, murdering, borderline-psychotic side of him."

Henry closed his eyes and counted to ten before responding. "No, that wasn't what I meant. The ritual itself, didn't it hurt?"

"What in the world are you talking about? Of course it didn't hurt!"

"But what about the fire?"

Richard stared at him for a moment and then snapped his fingers. "Oh, right, you trusted one of those three kids to do it, didn't you?"

He didn't consider Bobby, Sein, and especially not Jasper to be kids, but he didn't think he was in a position to argue.

"What's the matter?" Eileen asked, floating over to them.

"Sein's rituals hurt more than our resident madman's," Richard informed her.

"They mean well, but none of those three really know what they're doing, I'm afraid," she sighed.

"Here, I know," Richard said, looking around. "Find Eric and see if he can give you some of that eggnog, Henry! I understand that once you've drunk enough of that, everything will feel good! Hey, Eric!"

"No," Henry began, "I don't want any—"

But Eric was already flying over. "What's up? Need some eggnog?" He held out a glass of something that was most definitely not eggnog.

"No," Henry said quickly.

He shrugged and drank it himself.

"Hey, Henry," Steve called, waving his arm. Behind him, Rick seemed to be partially inside the wall for some reason. "Could you come over here and remove your haunting on these lights?"

"Uh-oh," he muttered, quickly taking his leave of the others. When he got closer, he realized that the reason Rick was in the wall was because he was holding the struggling strand of lights prisoner.

"They keep trying to chase after Jimmy Stone."

He studied the lights and was surprised to find that de-haunting them was a relatively simple thing. The most difficult part was in finding it in himself to genuinely want them to stop going after the hostile Order priest.

Rick flew out with the lights when they stopped fighting him, and the two ghosts began to put them back where they had been before.

"Thanks."

"No problem," he said, and then he became aware that he could hear true Christmas music again, and it was getting louder.

He looked over to where William was cranking up the volume on the renewed radio. The opening notes of "We Need a Little Christmas" filled the room, and he found himself grinning at the appropriateness. If anyone did, they did.

He realized with some surprise that their room actually was starting to look like the sort of decorated place described in the song. There even were candles in the windows, despite the fact that nothing could be seen through them anymore. He flew over to take a closer look. They weren't Holy Candles—in a room full of ghosts, that wouldn't be the wisest idea—but they were honest-to-goodness wax candles.

"Gotcha!"

He whirled around in surprise just as Cynthia grabbed him and kissed him.

He pulled away quickly, his face burning with embarrassment—it shouldn't be possible for ghosts to blush; he was convinced there had to be a way to stop that sort of thing from happening—and noticed too late the mistletoe handing above the windows.

"Don't do that," he gasped, moving away from the windows.

"You didn't like it?" she pouted.

He blushed again. "I…err…I…" He turned to escape and flew right into Walter.

"Henry! I heard you had a little trouble with Sein's ritual!"

"Err…" He stared at him. Walter had that sort of overly happy smile on his face that people seem to adopt when they really need your help with something and are trying to convince everyone else of their contentment. Unfortunately, some people can't pull it off without looking utterly mad.

"Come with me."

"No, I think I'll let Sein catch me on fire again!" he said with a nervous laugh.

Walter narrowed his eyes.

Henry raised his hands in preparation for self-defense. He could sense they were attracting an audience. He looked over, and the backs of his ears burned. Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt could convey their contempt even without saying anything.

"I'll help you get your present quickly and painlessly, as long as you give me a little bit of advice in return."

Advice? And he won't help me until I help him? It looked like someone hadn't quite grasped the Christmas spirit yet.

"If there's anything else you need, I'll help with that, too."

Henry stared at him. No, that wasn't it. There was far more desperation than manipulation there. He sighed and relented. "You don't have to bargain for my help, you know," he said, as they went into the hall.

Walter glanced at him uncertainly. "Why would you help me unless there was something in it for you?"

"I'm a nice guy?" he suggested weakly. Here was someone who definitely needed help, in more ways than he knew.

"I killed you."

"Don't worry, I didn't forget."

Walter didn't say anything else, and just led him to Room 303, where he had his setup for the ritual. It looked a bit more organized than Sein's had, even if the basic idea remained the same—a circle with mysterious symbols. Of course, Walter knew how to perform the Order's rituals, as the very Otherworld they were standing in proved.

"Okay, what do you need advice about?" And why are you asking me? he added silently.

"It's…the present thing. This…Secret Santer."

"Santa."

"Shut up. It's not like we had happy myths like that at the Wish House."

Henry held up his hands. "I wasn't making fun of you."

"Why not? It's not like I could kill you again."

"I'm sure you could come up with many painful things to do nevertheless."

Walter gave him a dark look, as though he were thinking up some of those things right now.

"Look, why do you need my help with the Secret Santa?"

"Because I…want to do this Christmas thing right."

Henry wasn't sure how bad you had to be to actually fail at Christmas. "It's just a holiday."

"I've never successfully celebrated a holiday in my life! I tried when I was in college, but it never worked out. I don't know why you people want me to be involved in your Christmas, but if you do, I have to try. I don't want to end up like…"

"Like Jimmy Stone?"

Walter stared down at the floor, seeming abashed about having said so much. "That's not fair. It's my fault you're all here. It's my fault he's like that."

Henry was sorely tempted to punch him. Being already dead, he'd take homicidal insanity to this defeatist depression any day.

"Okay, I'll help you with the Secret Santa. What is the problem?"

"I don't know what to get her."

"…Her?"

Walter held out the piece of paper with Eileen's name on it.

"Oh no."

"Oh no?"

He didn't say that maybe it would be a better present to Eileen if he didn't get her anything, but apparently it showed in his face.

"Go away, Henry," Walter said in a dangerously calm voice.

"What?"

"Go away, before I really get angry."

Apparently the homicidal insanity was still lurking around. "I said I'd help you, didn't I?"

"You don't want me getting anything for her."

"I didn't say that."

"You thought it."

"Just get her the all-time default gift."

"Flowers?" he asked dubiously.

"No," he said quickly, not even wanting to think about Walter giving Eileen flowers. "A gift card."

"To a store? We don't exactly have many around here."

Henry sighed and hoped his idea wouldn't sound completely insane when he explained it. Not that Walter would mind complete insanity, but Eileen might. "No, to you."

Walter backed away quickly.

"No, I didn't mean…" Henry put his head in his hands for a while, until he felt composed enough to look up. "I think I phrased that badly."

"Yes, you did."

"Make up a nice little card that she can 'redeem' some time when she wants you to do something for her."

"Like what?"

"Anything! That's the point of the card!"

"But…" He looked around and lowered his voice. "What if she asks for something that makes me uncomfortable?"

Henry choked, bit his lip, and then gave up and burst out laughing. He knew this was definitely the wrong time and place for it, but he couldn't help himself. He couldn't believe he was actually having this conversation. Walter couldn't possibly be afraid that Eileen would try to take advantage of him.

"Stop laughing; it's not funny!"

"Yes it is," he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. He was probably going to pay for this, but even that thought didn't stop his amusement. What was he going to do, kill him? He cracked up laughing again.

"Henry! If it was Eileen afraid that I was going to pressure her into something inappropriate, you wouldn't be laughing!"

That sobered him somewhat, and he managed to keep his mouth from twitching as he looked at Walter. "You're right, I'm sorry. But trust me, I know Eileen, and she wouldn't… I mean, she…and you… If she were inclined to…" He couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with his luck these days, that even a conversation about a Secret Santa could turn this horrifyingly embarrassing. "She's the sort of person who would certainly not pressure you…oh dear lord, I am not having this conversation…"

"If you tell anyone about this conversation, you will wish you were deader than dead."

"I already wish that," he muttered under his breath.

"Are you ready to summon your present?"

"Give me a moment to erase that conversation from my memory first." He walked over to the wall and leaned his head against it since his face was still burning, and then he was promptly knocked to the ground by a Wall Man.

"Don't go near that wall."

"Thanks for the warning," he said sarcastically. "Where did that come from?"

"The wall."

"No kidding."

He rubbed his head and looked up at the monster still growling from the wall. He had just enough time to notice the leaves attached to it before Cynthia flew through the floor and kissed him.

"What, do you have your mistletoe hooked up to an alarm system?" he demanded, pulling himself free of her.

She just laughed and glanced towards Walter.

"I wasn't anywhere near that treacherous plant." Henry glanced over, startled by how dark his tone was.

Cynthia winked. "So? If you lie, I won't tell anyone."

"Good-bye, Cynthia!" Henry said, grabbing her and shoving her out into the hall before something bad happened. He looked at Walter again. "Uh…you don't like her very much, do you?"

"I'm certainly not going to tell you about it. I've looked like enough of a fool already."

That put a complete end to any friendly atmosphere the room had had, and Henry decided it was best to get on with the ritual as quickly as possible.

It was very similar to what Sein had done, except that instead of bursting into flames, he found himself holding a bottle of chocolate milk instead. He had hoped for a box and wrapping paper, like Richard had gotten, but a good look at the brooding expression on Walter's face convinced him not to press his luck too far.

"Well, thanks," he said, edging towards the door with the chocolate milk. "Bye." He fled into the snowstorm and was even more relieved than usual to return to Room 302. The ghosts there were much as they had been when he left them, but Eileen noticed his return right away and floated over to him.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

He shoved the chocolate milk under the tree next to Richard's present. "You really don't want to know."

He saw Stone, Rosten, and Archbolt flying towards him with sardonic smiles on their faces, and he scowled. Whatever they had to say this time, he didn't want to hear it. He was leaving.

"Where are you going?" Eileen asked.

"Out."

"But you hate going out there!"

He did hate it. It was one of the things he hated the most about his new existence, but right now, it didn't matter. He flew through the door and out into the hall of this gruesome parody of South Ashfield Heights. He flew through the building until he was in a place where he was sure he was alone. He hated it, even if it was snowing.

In the room, he could at least pretend he was alive. It was a stretch, but there was a degree of normalcy that could allow you to pretend that maybe, just maybe, everyone had simply decided to live there. And occasionally float around.

All right, when he was honest with himself, he never forgot that he was dead and surrounded by other ghosts. At least he could feel human inside of Room 302, though. Out here, he became a monster. He remembered the ghosts chasing him through the Otherworlds when he was still alive, and he knew that if he stopped concentrating on who he was, he would become just like them for a while. He hated it.

At the moment, Henry hated quite a few things, and he knew it was terrible of him to be feeling that way on the day before Christmas.

Christmas.

"Henry?" It was Eileen. She must have followed him. "Henry, what is it?"

"It's not a real Christmas," he sighed. "It'll never be a real Christmas, not here. We're dead! This is a horrible place! How can we sit around and celebrate?"

"Is it so bad to want to bring cheer to the place we're trapped in?" she asked. "We can bring the Christmas spirit here. I've felt it already."

He had, too, until just recently. Could he tell her that their hated murderer was afraid of messing up at celebrating and got nervous about women? No, of course not. The conversation had been a secret one.

It was so depressing to look at someone you were comfortable with thinking of as pure evil, and see something like that there. It made him think that if things had gone differently for Walter, he might not have been so messed up. He might have been a decent guy.

"Henry?"

"You're right," he said. "I'll be all right. It won't be a normal Christmas, but I guess we've got to try. At least we're all in the same situation; we're all victims here."

All of us.

Laughter shook him out of his dark thoughts. He searched through the snowstorm until he found the source. Little Walter had gotten stuck in a snowdrift, and he and the Twin Victim were throwing snow at each other.

"Do you need help?" Henry called.

They stopped and looked over guiltily. Little Walter wiggled deeper into the snow until only the top of his head was visible.

"I wish he wouldn't look at us like we're going to hurt him," Eileen said.

Henry nodded in sad agreement. "Well…should we help these two get back?"

"I think so. Oh, and Henry? Don't worry about Christmas. Tomorrow there will be a special show, and caroling, and presents…it'll be fine. You'll see."

He smiled and hoped it would be as good as she seemed to think. Too many things could go wrong—and often did, in Room 302.