The old geezers had finally cleared the room. Meetings with the shareholders at the end of the year were always one of the more stressful matters to deal with as CEO of the company. The old bastards never had anything good to say and always expected more than was possible to achieve in only a year's time. And this last conference had been especially irking. They'd brought up the topic of changing the company's insignia multiple times and had talked about changing the paint job on the planes again. How many times did he have to tell them that was the way his father had set things up and he didn't plan on changing them? Not now and not in the future…

Glen leaned back in his chair in the empty boardroom at the head of the long oval table. He raked his fingers through this blond hair and allowed himself to breath after two and a half hours of pretending he cared what these old men thought. It was his company and he was going to run it how he damn well wanted. He pinched the bridge of his nose, hoping to kill the pounding headache he was having. He hated this time of year the most. So much goddamn work to do and everyone was getting time off for the holidays. Glen would rather give bonuses to the people that worked through the holidays then to the slackers.

"Well that was hard to sit through, wasn't it?"

Glen cracked an eyelid open. He'd at least thought the room was empty. The dark brown hair and grey tailored suit told him who it was. He didn't have to open his eyes any further to know that it was Harris Choel, with his observant green eyes hidden behind square frames, wearing his oh-too-perky smile as usual. Glen closed his eye again and sighed. "I feel like they get more annoying every year."

"Ha ha. You've gotten better at handling them from the looks of it," Harris chuckled.

"I've just built up a tolerance to their bullshit, that's all," he said removing his hands from his face and resting them on his lap. "Good work on the presentation, by the way."

Harris was the head of the Human Relations department. He'd been preparing the presentations for the shareholders for three years now, at Glen's personal request, and this was the first time he'd presented it himself.

Harris's smile took on a warmer appearance. "Thanks for the compliment."

"Don't take it to heart. I want next years to be better," Glen said reaching into the inside pocket of his blazer and pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He drew one out and put in in his mouth before Harris could speak.

"Glen, you can't—!"

"Ahem?" he said looking up at Harris through half lidded eyes. "Who?"

Harris sighed, somehow managing to keep himself from rolling his eyes. "Mr. Sanders, you are not allowed to smoke in the building," he admonished.

Glen scoffed. "I'm the boss, so what's it matter." He dug around in his pocket for his lighter, but came back empty handed. He patted down the front of his coat, looking at little apprehensive. He finally reached into the pocket of his slacks and sighed inwardly when he fingers wrapped around the small chrome lighter. He pulled it out and flicked it open. After a few attempts at igniting it, he started to curse. "Damn, it needs more lighter fluid again."

"Why don't you just buy a new one? Isn't it cheaper?" Harris shuffled the folder and tablet he was holding from one hand to the other and leaned against the back of one of the chairs.

With no interest of seeming sentimental and revealing that the lighter had any personal value whatsoever, Glen huffed and said, "It was none of your business what I did with my money last I checked." Glen removed the cigarette, returned it to the pack and put the lighter and pack back in the inside pocket.

"No, I suppose it's not," Harris chuckled again, but this time sounding a little more formal. He stood there quietly for a moment, supporting himself on the chair before smiling back at his boss. "I hope this doesn't sound too presumptuous, but I was wondering if you had any plans tonight."

Glen, a little thrown by the question, manages to hide it completely. "Choel, I'm sure you're aware of the sexual harassment policies. And last I checked weren't you still involved with that freeloader living in your apartment?"

Harris smirked as he shook his head. "First off, Jordan owns the apartment, not me. I'd think you would remember that since you were there when I moved in. Second, Mr. Sanders, is yes, I'm aware of the policies. You know I didn't mean it like that." Glen gave an inward sigh of relief. "I just wanted to know if you would be interested in coming over for dinner, since its Christmas Eve. My cousin's coming later than expected so we have an extra seat, if you're willing?"

"No, I don't feel like spending the evening looking at your boyfriend's unemployed face, and besides that, I'm not Christian."

Harris smiled became strained. "That never stopped you from celebrating when we were kids."

"Well things have changed." Glen was getting tired of this conversation rather quickly and stood up ready to make a break for the door.

Harris looked like he was going to say something else, but he stopped himself. He was very much aware of what had changed. Glen had risen a lot of barriers since his father's death. Harris knew better then to press the subject any further.

"Well, I understand if you're not interested. All in all, the invitation still stands if you change your mind."

Glen snorted, 'Like that would happen.' "I'll see you on Thursday."

Glen walked out the door in three quick strides. He headed straight for the elevator, other employees giving him a wide berth. When the elevator opened at the top floor facing his office doors, the intern sitting at his secretary's desk bounced to his feet. Glen couldn't recall the kid's name. It was something weird that started with 'y-o', but he could never remember the rest. The kid had only been there for a few weeks and was expected to be gone by early February. Glen didn't care for his peppy attitude and the kid fawned over him way too much.

"Mr. Sanders, the secretary went to the restroom, but he said he'd be right back."

"Whatever." What did he care of his secretary's bodily needs? But, Glen reminded himself, he'd have to make it clear to the secretary that just because the intern was there, didn't mean the he could slack off during his hours. Glen went straight for his office door, not wanting to talk to anyone, hopefully for the rest of the night.

"Oh, and there's someone waiting for you in your office, Mr. Sanders," the kid said with a smile.

"What!? Who?" Glen barked, jerking his hand away from the door handle like it was a venomous snake.

Stuttering stupidly, the kid said, "H-he s-said-d his-s nam-me was-s K-Keighan. Sir, I kn-now how y-you hate v-vis-sitors, s-so I t-tried to turn h-him away. B-but he said he own-ns h-half the building-g. I-I had t-to l-let him in."

Glen considered leaving his belongings in his office for the night and just heading home for the evening. He really hated it when Keighan stalked him down at work. But the bastard knew where he lived; Glen would eventually find the man on his doorstep if he left now. It would be better to get this over with. He grudgingly reached out for the handle on the door. He turned to the intern briefly and ordered him to call his chauffer and have him waiting for him at the entrance in the next three minutes.

Keighan was leaning back in Glen's office chair bouncing a ball off one of the nearby walls, catching it, and repeating the action. His dark shaggy hair framed his face and the glare of his glasses concealed his expression. The jacket of his dark blue suit was unbuttoned and he looked perfectly comfortable, given the uninterested smile on his face. He looked up when the door opened and smiled at Glen. "I was wondering if you were going to try and runaway again. I don't mind making house calls."

"You'd be the last person I'd want to see making a house call even if you were a doctor."

The man at the desk laughed as he sat up. "You never fail to amuse, Glen. It's been awhile. You haven't been back to the house in ages," Keighan rested his elbows on the desk and his chin in his palms.

'And I don't plan to.' "Why are you here Keighan?" Glen snapped as he made his way closer to the desk. He needed to get his cellphone from the top left hand drawer and his trench on the coatrack near the door and he could be on his way.

"You know why I'm here, Glen." Keighan's eyes followed Glen as he approached the desk.

"You want to invite me to that stupid Christmas party of yours. How many times do I have to say that I'm not Christian?" Close enough now, he reached around the desk, keeping his distance from the man in his chair and opened the drawer. His cellphone wasn't sitting on top of the folders where he'd left it. He turned to look incredulously at Keighan, but the man had moved from the chair and was now sitting with his ass on Glen's desk. Shit, he was going to have to remember to get the intern to clean that too now. Keighan's entire being was like some sick germ, down to the smell of his expensive cologne.

"Glen, Glen, Glen. It's not just my 'stupid Christmas party'. It's Kamron's too." Glen froze for a moment at the mention of his father's name. He hated Keighan for bringing his father up. That was only one of the many reasons that he hated associating with him.

Glen regained his composure before shooting Keighan a dirty look. "Where's my phone?" he asked coldly.

Keighan's smile looked almost sad—Almost, that sadistic bastard—as he held up Glen's smart phone. "Are you coming tonight?"

Glen snatched it from the man's hands before he could pull it away and out of his reach. "No, I've got plans." He said holding his phone tightly and standing before walked briskly to the other side of the office to grab his coat.

"Oh, really?" Keighan said in off handed amusement. "With who?"

"No one," Glen said as he opened the door and half slammed it behind him. He managed to make it into the elevator before he had to say anything more to anyone else. He did however hear the intern shout his merry goodbyes before the doors closed.

"Have a good evening, Mr. Sanders! Oh, and have a Merry Christmas!—" Apparently the intern hadn't gotten the memo. Glen didn't celebrate Christmas.

Downstairs his car was waiting for him like it was supposed to. At least something was going right. The security guards at the front desk rushed to their feet. "Good evening, Mr. Sanders."

Glen ignored them. He just wanted to get home, away from whining shareholders, insistent department heads, busybody assholes, and tiresome employees. He could see the rain beating against the glass outside and groaned internally. He hated the rain. And it was bound to be freezing outside. Even though it had become substantially colder as of late, it had yet to snow.

The driver saw Glen coming and raced out of the car and around the side to open the door for him. Glen slid into the car along the leather seat. The smell of the leather polish was horrible and Glen barked at the driver to turn on the vents. The driver busied himself with the controls for a moment before putting the car in drive and pulling out into traffic. It was a couple of hours after the lunch rush and few hours before most businesses closed for the evening and everyone started to rush home, so the streets were relatively easy to navigate. It was a normal occurrence for Glen to leave work early after a meeting like today's and his driver was just happy that after all this, he would get to start his Christmas vacation early.

The car ride back to his apartment was quiet enough that it somewhat lessened Glen's irritated mood, but was not long enough for him to get comfortable. When they pulled up to the curb in front of his building, the doorman walked over and opened the car door for him.

"Thanks Gate," Glen said handing the doorman a tip. Gate was a big man that did his job well and Glen always appreciated that the man didn't say much. Gate tipped his hat to him and closed the door to the car before moving quickly, despite his size, over to hold the front door open for him. Glen stepped into the lobby, whipping his feet dry on the large mat inside the door.

The lobby was quiet. The outside world muted the moment the doors closed. The lights in the lobby had a soft glow to them that didn't hurt one's eyes to stare at. The building was old, but had been renovated recently so everything looked polished, the vanished wood of the front desk and the brass mailboxes across from it. Hanz, the man that worked the front desk—a skinny guy that made a habit of slicking back his fair hair—greeted Glen in his rather obnoxious Southern drawl. Glen ignored him. Before heading up to the elevator, Glen swung by his mailbox. He shuffled around in his pocket for his keys when his phone went off.

He groaned. Talking to someone was the last thing Glen wanted to do. If it was something truly important, he reasoned, they could leave it on his voicemail or call his secretary. The intern would probably be happy to take the message.

The phone rang three more times before Glen managed to grab it and pulled it out of his pocket. His finger pressed the mute button before his eyes even finished reading the name of the caller. He moved to return the phone to his pocket and continue the search for his keys, when a thought made him pause.

He looked back at his phone at the name listed. Shaun Race? Shaun Race was an old business friend of his. Owned a sister company. They'd made many business arrangements together that had made their companies both very successful. But Shaun Race was dead. He had been for two and a half years, died from alcohol poisoning. Glen had attended the funeral. And Glen had removed his contact a long time ago. At least, he'd thought he had.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he pressed talk and put the phone to his ear, not sure what he expected to hear. The line was dead. He looked down at his phone stubbornly, turned it off and shoved it back into his pocket, his hand finally brushing up against his misplaced keys. He opened the mailbox, grabbed the small pile of envelopes and walked over to the elevator.

Once inside his apartment, he didn't bother removing his shoes, instead shrugging off his trench and tossing it over the back of a chair as he walked through the kitchen. Being home offered some comfort that he was truly alone. The only one that came and went from this sanctuary was him and it had been that way for a very long time.

He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter as he circled the small island in the center of his kitchen. He put a cig between his lips before he opened the frigerator, wondering halfheartedly if he'd saved any of the leftovers from the takeout the night before. The fridge was empty save a few bottles of beer and a container of very expired creamer. He needed to get rid of that, he thought to himself.

He closed the fridge and leaned his back against the door as he tried to light his cigarette again with the useless lighter. He was reminded again that he had to buy new lighter fluid for it. His thoughts turned back to his conversation with Harris earlier in the boardroom. It was far more reasonable to just buy another lighter. Why did he cling to his one so much? He looked down at the small chrome lighter in his hand; his name that was engraved along the bottom had started to fade. He grumbled as he tossed it towards the island. The lighter went farther than expected and slid across the surface, flying off the other side and clattering to the floor.

Before Glen knew what he was doing he'd ran after it, picked it up, looking it over to make sure it wasn't dented or damaged. A pause as he thought over what he'd just done, he gave an exasperated sigh as he tucked the lighter into his trouser pocket. He couldn't rationally explain his favoritism over the lighter. It didn't make sense to covet it as much as he did, especially since the one that gave it to him was no longer a part of his life.

He walked back over to the stove and turned on the propane burner. After a few clicks, the fire started. He held the cigarette out over the flames until it lit and put the stick between his lips as he turned off the stove. The kitchen, like most of the apartment was immaculate. The only appliance used on a regular basis was the microwave and occasionally the espresso maker. Glen didn't make his own coffee often enough. When he came home it was usually to sleep, bath, and eat without interruption, a small gift of personal space. The rooms were filled with a peaceful quiet disturbed only by the soft drumming of the rain on the windows. Glen started to head for the living room with the plan of making himself comfortable in his chair, maybe ordering some more Chinese takeout.

A cold ring cut through the silence and Glen froze where he stood. He looked over his shoulder as the ring pierced again the silence which had become rigid. His eyes turned to his coat flung over the chair. It rang again… Glen paced back to his trench, reached into the familiar pocket and pulled out his phone as it rang again, vibrating in his hands. Shaun Race's name flashed on the screen.

"What the Hell!?" Glen cursed, looking down at the phone. It rang again before he stabbed the talk button and put the phone to his ear.

"Whoever the fuck you are, stop calling me!" he barked into the receiver. But all he got was the dead signal. 'Shit!'

About ready to throw his phone to the floor, the silence of his apartment was interrupted again. Glen looked at his phone instinctively, but the screen didn't show any sign that he was getting an incoming call. It took a moment to register that it was the intercom near the door. He stormed over to the intercom and jammed his finger again the buttons. "What is it, Hanz?"

There was no response. 'Shit, is everything just malfunctioning today?' Glen growled to himself. He started back to the living room. He threw himself into his armchair and grumbled a few choice words around his cigarette that he'd be giving to the maintenance guy and the person at the electronic store tomorrow.

Suddenly a toll rang—a toll that had never been heard in his apartment—and Glen nearly jumped out of his chair at the sound of it. As it was, his hands scrambled for the drawer of the end table next to his chair. His fingers wrapped around the barrel of the small S&W M36 as he stood up. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and put it in the ashtray on the table. He'd never, in all his time living in the apartment, heard anyone use his doorbell. He faced the door, safety off, and ready to fire.

For the few moments that nothing happened a vein in Glen's head throbbed, now angry at himself for over reacting. He sighed bitterly and started to lower the gun. But he stopped. The temperature in the room had suddenly dropped. Glen could see his own breath as it left his lips. His first thoughts were that the thermostat must be funkin' broken as well, but a cold chill seemed to wrap around him slow and slinking, like a snake coiling around his ankles and climbing his body.

"It's just in my head," Glen barked, and as proof of defiance, when he felt whatever it was as it covered his side, pushing cold through the material of his jacket, vest, his clothes, he stubbornly refused to remove his hand from the gun held out in front of him to comfort the freaky feeling that was making his hairs prickle and his skin goose bump.

When the feeling reached his neck and crept higher, the cold licking at his ears, he barely managed to control himself from shuddering as the chill descended his spine. His shoulder blades clenched and his neck twisted reflexively. Whatever the fuck this feeling was, it seemed content when it had reached his head. Now his whole body felt stiff and heavy. The cold chill all over his skin made it impossible for him to relax and his heart beat quickly in his chest. Frustration seemed to be the only burning sensation Glen could feel. His eyes that had taken to looking over himself trying to find the source of all this, were brought back up to the door just as the doorbell rang again.

"Who the fuck is there!" Glen shouted, finding it hard to even get his tongue to cooperate. There wasn't a response back and Glen was more than irritated with all this bullshit. "You better answer or I'll—"

"Or you'll what?" Glen flinched; he hadn't really been expecting a response even though he'd asked for it. He'd secretly hoped that no one was there and he could pass this all off as some horrible dream.

The door didn't open, but Glen's guest entered the apartment anyways, his form slowly creeping in through the reinforced door. If the room had been considered cold before, it was like the tundra now. Glen could barely keep himself from shivering. Whoever they were, they had good taste. They were wearing an Alexander Amosu suit, black with pinstripes, their dark hair was slicked and combed back. When their black leather Italian shoes were planted firmly on this side of the door, he stopped a moment to readjust his gold cufflinks and glance down at the Rolex watch on his wrist.

"You're early Glen. I was under the impression you were the type of guy that liked to burn the midnight oil."

The voice was familiar and Glen only slowly lowered the gun a few notches, but not all the way—he reminded himself—he wasn't stupid. He craned his neck, trying to see the apparition's face. "Who…?"

"It's been awhile Glen," the cocky smile of Shaun Race looked up at him. Or, tried too. The jaw bone that was visible thought parched and peeling skin was cracked and couldn't hold its shape very well. The face was like dry paper that was yellowed and curling back at the places it was ripped. There were even parts of his face that looked like they may have been nibbled on by some kind of rodent. Glen blanched and might not have recognized him at all if not for his eyes. The way the specter looked at Glen reminded him of several years back when they'd been working enthusiastically—well, Shaun had—on a corporate project.

But, this was impossible. Shaun was dead. He'd been dead for a while. His company had a new CEO that was screwing around. Glen righted himself and glared at the specter in front of him. "Halloween was two months ago," he growled. "Get the fuck out of my apartment. I don't believe in ghosts." Glen was going to be stubborn about this. He'd never been scared of ghost stories and the like. Never. And he wasn't ready to start letting his dead work associate walk all over him now.

But Shaun, or the specter that took his form, laughed. "Oh God, Glen, you haven't changed at all."

Glen wasn't going to let this guy knock the wind from his sails that easily. "Who the Hell do you think you are?"

"Stop messing around Glen. I know you recognize me. I can see it in your eyes," Shaun said give him a smile and started towards him.

Glen tried to raise the gun again, but his arms felt like they were being weighed down. 'Shit!' "Shaun Race is dead. I went to his funeral. I saw his corpse in the casket!"

"I know you did," the specter said with a sad looking smile. "I saw you there. And I wanted to thank for that too. You were one of the few people there that actually seemed upset that I was gone."

Glen stopped struggling for a moment. He remembered the funeral well. There were lots of shareholders there, but he didn't remember seeing any of Shaun's relatives. There was no wife or kids, no lover. Shaun had been an easy going social guy years before his death, but there weren't any friends at the funeral either. Glen looked at the ghost's face, saw the sad look in his eyes, and looked away. "Well what do you want with me? If you're trying to haunt me it won't work."

The specter smirked. "No Glen," he said as he circled around. "I'm not here to torture you." The specter's voice suddenly took on a serious tone. "I'm trying to help you."

"With what!?" Glen barked. His voice was starting to sound hoarse. It was hard to force himself to talk when, whatever this weight was, was putting so much pressure on him to keep him from moving.

"You've got a problem, Glen, and this is sort of like your intervention. I want to help you before you die like I did—."

"From what? Alcohol poisoning?!" Glen scoffed.

"No." Glen stopped himself from flinching, the harsh tone so close to his ear. "From dying while drinking alone in your office on a Friday night. From becoming obsessed with your work and forgetting what's going on around you. From dying and having no one but stuck up old bustards at your funeral, having no one to morn your death, Glen! The afterlife isn't all it's cracked up to be, you can take my word on it. When you die with no one there for you, you become stuck. You can't move on…" He paused as he reeled himself back and forced himself to calm down. Glen was glad. The guy had been yelling in his face and his breath smelt like a graveyard.

The specter sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked back at Glen with another sad smile. "I wanted to help you out because you were the most anti-social prick I knew and that was before Kamron's death."—Glen tensed at the name—"Now you're just unbearable." The last part he said in a wispy sad tone. Glen tried to struggle against the hold that this ghost had over him, but he couldn't move. The specter watched him then walked off and, a few seconds later, came back with something. He walked around Glen and smiled at him. "You were a good guy Glen. I'm going to try and save you." And with that he pushed Glen back—

—back into a chair that he fell into rather ungracefully. "Take a load off Glen. I got a special message I was asked to give you."

Glen's body was still heavy and he couldn't move well. All he could manage was to look up at the specter. Shaun looked like he was having fun again.

"Now Glen, the universe wants to help with your…" He waved his hand in the air in front of him like he was looking for the word, "intervention and since this is something of a holy night, they've got the power to step in. You are going to get some one-on-one conference time with three ghosts, not unlike myself, and—."

"Wait! The fucking Scrooge story!? What the Hell!? I'm nothing like that stingy bastard. My employees are paid well. The ones that asked for it got their vacation time. I donate money to fucking charities all the time. I donated 40 grand to some program in Africa two weeks ago, Damnit!"

The specter laughed again at Glen's outrage. "What can I say, the universe doesn't like to mess with the classics, and Charles Dickens was a classic. Besides, I already told you what your problem was."

"No, no you fucking didn't!" Glen yelled, really struggling against his bonds.

"Calm down Glen, or you'll give yourself an aneurysm. You don't remember? I told you, you were an anti-social prick. We're hoping to change that before the night is through. So, I'm here to tell you that the first ghost will be here at—"

"At what, fucking midnight?"

"Ah, nah. Some of these ghosts have plans afterwards and since you're here so early, they want to get it over with as soon as possible."

"Well if I'm such a fucking inconvenience, then you can just leave me here. I think I got the message already anyway, with your fucked up parlor tricks."

The specter tossed his head back and laughed. He laughed good and hard. "God, I got to thank you Glen. I haven't laughed this hard in years. And I'm sorry that you have to go through this, I really am, but…" The ghost started to move towards the door.

"Wait, where are you going!?" Glen demanded, still weighed down to the chair.

"I've got to go. I could only stay as long as I had the message to deliver. Now that you're warned, I have to leave."

"I said wait!" Glen growled again. Shaun's ghost was really leaving? "Where are you going?"

The specter sighed remorsefully. "Back to wandering between plains, I guess. I wish you luck Glen. I hope we don't run into each other in the afterlife. If I don't see you in a couple of decades, I'll know that you didn't screw this up." The specter started to step through the door.

"Wait Shaun, Damn you!"

"Bye Glen." And the specter was gone, a waving hand the last thing pulled through.

The cold that held Glen's body down to the chair started to uncoil itself and Glen's fingers finally were able to relinquish their hold on the gun and it dropped to the floor with a dull thud. The moment Glen could move his body again freely, he pushed out of the chair knocking it over and ran towards the front door. He threw it open but all that was there was the flashy form of his neighbor in her denim power suit, holding her keys to her door and looking at him like he was going to attack her.

Glen frowned. Shaun was gone. He threw the woman a cold look before retreating into his apartment and closing the door harshly. He stormed back into the room seeing the chair from his dining room and the gun lying on the floor. Glen stooped down to pick up the weapon and walked back to the living room to put it away. He saw his smart phone on the table next to a lamp and the ashtray. The cigarette had burnt itself down to the filter and gone out. He must have tossed it there in his struggle to get the gun out.

He turned around and fell back into the chair grumbling. This was shit and he wasn't going to believe any of it was real, no matter how real Shaun had seemed. It was impossible to see the dead and if talking to the dead was so easy, why hadn't Kamron come to tell him all this shit himself. He would have preferred talking to his father over his old dead work associate any day.

Why the Hell did he have to go through this any way. He wasn't a bad guy. Yeah, he could admit he wasn't a great guy or even a nice guy, but he wasn't a bad one either. Why did he have to get the fucked up Christmas Carol haunting? And the ghosts… Where they—No, they couldn't be real. God dammit, he already said he didn't believe in ghosts.

Glen stood up, grabbing his phone. He wasn't going to stick around here all night waiting for the fuckers. He walked back into the kitchen and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair where he'd left it. He walked around the chair abandoned in the foyer and left without looking back. 'Fucking ghosts…'

Down stairs he stormed out of the lobby, Hanz was looking after him curiously. It wasn't really like Mr. Sanders to leave so soon after returning home and he wasn't the type to go out late either. Glen ignored the weird look he was getting from him. He walked outside and turned to Gate who didn't offer anything out of the ordinary, only nodded, stepped out into the lightly pouring rain and hailed a cab for him. Glen was really, for lack of a better word, glad that Gate didn't bother with him or his business.

When the car pulled up, Gate opened the door for Glen and he got in. Glen didn't like taxis very much, but his driver had already been let off for the night and his car would take too long to get from the car garage under the building.

"Where to, sir?" The driver looked over the back of the front seat, smiling. The front of the cab had tinsel everywhere and the back window had colorful Christmas lights in it.

'Shit, I just can't get away from any of this crap, can I?' Glen leaned back on the upholstery and said the first place that popped into his mind "Take me to the Charcoal Filter Club on West Ave."

"Got it," the driver turned around in his seat and within moments the taxis was pulling away from the curb.

Glen muttered to himself, "I need a stiff drink after all this bullshit."

A/N:

Hello readers! And Merry Christmas! This is my holiday present to the world. I have a special event that I'm holding for the release of my fourth and Holiday themed story. As you can tell it's an AU and all the character's names have been changed to fit the setting. I'm holding two contests of sorts. Now anyone can enter either (or both of these) except TheInkDragonRosett, coz she helped me come up with the stuff and already knows that answers and shit.

Contest 1: Names have been changed. Every character given a name, with few exceptions, are characters from the original Saiyuki manga and Saiyuki reload. (The exceptions being that those who aren't fully named might still be cannon characters). The person that guesses the most people correctly (or all, but I may be asking for too much) is the winner. The characters are all from Saiyuki and Saiyuki Reload, possibly Saiyuki Reload Burial, but that's it. shouldn't be any from Saiyuki Gaiden, Ibun or Saiyuki Reloaded Blast or Gunlock (But I might not be able to help myself...). And these are all Manga friendly characters so they will have appeared in the manga. To enter, leave a review with each real Saiyuki Character's name next to their's given (or part if the name is not given) in the Fanfic. It is best not to post your answer until the end of the story, though just sayin'. We've met a few of my cast, but we're not done yet. I'll give little hints at the ends of the chapters. Today's Hint: We've heard of Nine characters from Saiyuki thus far. Good luck!

Contest 2: Let's see if you guys know your classical literature. I mentioned cast, right? Match up the characters with their intended role from the original Christmas Carol story. Here are the Roles: Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, Fred, Jacob Marley, The Ghost of Christmas Past, Fan, Fezziwig, Belle, The Ghost of Christmas present, Mrs. Cratchit, Peter Cratchit, Tiny Tim, Martha Cratchit, and The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Not all of my cast have original roles, so you have to pay close attention. List as many as you can (or all, but again that might be too much) in the same style are the previous contest; role next to their Saiyuki character's name. Also, I would wait until the end of the story to post answers to this one too.

Over all rules. You can enter both of these contests, but if you win both (it's possible) you must demand two prizes. Oh, prizes! Did I mention there were prizes? Winner or either contest gets a prize. I will write or illustrate a Saiyuki themed fanfic or fanart for the winner. The winner need only supply me with who's in it and the theme-ish thing. Ex: Neko ears, Christmas costumes, slumber party, wardrobe switch, etc. (Warning, if you want something Smutty, it will take longer to get it to you-coz I'm creative, but my brain takes awhile to do smutt. The Fanart would be posted on my Deviantart account, Username: WriterPenwin). All submissions must be made by Jan 31th 2013 or I might not be able to accept you… (The date was moved back because I was busier this season then I thought I would be. You know, Christmas and all...heh heh...)

Please leave reviews! I like it when people talk about my stuff to me… Do you like it? Do you hate it? Let me know it I made them all sound appropriate? Please Review! (Oh, does anyone know what Charcoal Filter is a reference too? Kudos to you!)