A/N; So, I dunno if this is any good coz it's been a while since I've really looked at it. Bear with me, kay? D: my intention is to have 5 chapters, one each week till xmas eve (sodamnclever) coz there are 5 staves in the book. Came up with this some time last year, while doing a piece of coursework on this book, to keep myself interested in it. Gotta admit, I don't like the start at all, coz I don't really like the way Dickins talks to the audience. If you're like me and hate that, don't worry coz it dies down after a bit.
Dunno if America offers business studies to 17 year olds, but I haven't yet grasped the American schooling system (I didn't ever even take business studies….). Basically, I'm gonna follow the British system, but mention it as little as possible. Please ignore the anomalies, like the school ending on Christmas eve, and Clyde (playing 'Fred') meeting Craig after the 'charity workers' (Stan and Wendy). If you've read the book you probably get me. Obviously this is just my interpretation in South parky-fanficy style.
Disclaimer, rated – for swearing and general silliness. South Park belongs to Matt and Trey, A Christmas Carroll belongs to Charles Dickens.
Stripe was dead. Nothing more, nothing less. There was absolutely no way to deny it, and no other way to say it. Craig had even organised a small funeral for him, attended by his parents and younger sister. Stripe had, in fact, been dead since Craig's tenth Christmas. Coincidently, that had been the year leading up to Craig and Ruby's parents' divorce. It hadn't been a great year. But, either way, Stripe was dead. As a doornail, I guess.
Well, I mean, you would have thought that a coffin-nail would be the deadest nail you could get. But hey, not much I can do about that. Meaning that Stripe was (probably) as dead as a doornail.
Craig was one of few who knew about Stripe's death. Most of the town were confident in the knowledge that Craig's pet was still a part of the living world. Most even liked to refer to him as Craig's only friend, although few (Eric Cartman) had a slightly more explicit claim.
Unfortunately, it must be understood that Stripe was dead, otherwise…. Well, this story would be pretty pointless.
Craig never got rid of Stripe's cage; he just left it stood on his windowsill, far too lazy to move it. And- as Craig's bedroom was located at the front of the house where it could be seen from the main road (or at least, his curtains and anything on his windowsill could be)- it was excusable that people assumed Stripe was still alive.
However, assumptions had always annoyed Craig, along with quite a few other things, so he felt justified in becoming overly annoyed on Thursday morning. The snow hadn't improved his mood, and neither had the loud, excited buzz from the students surrounding him in his Business Studies class. The fact that it was Christmas Eve definitely hadn't improved his mood, though not for the same reason it upset his peers. He really didn't care when their holidays started, it would be a two week break however he looked at it. Besides which, he didn't even want to go on the damn holiday in the first place, he could get so much more work done while at school.
"Hey Craig, Kenny!" an annoyingly female voice spoke up from behind the two boys sat together working on their school project, unlike the rest of the morons in this class, Craig noted. That meant he'd have to turn around to hear the news he had no doubt he wouldn't want to know about. Looking behind him he saw Wendy standing slightly in front of an almost bored looking Stan, holding a bucket. Craig mentally groaned. At least the pair of them weren't holding hands or being mushy, which lead to the slight advantage that they were at the friends stage of their little cycle. If they'd been a couple he would've verbally groaned.
"Hey guys, we're doing a collection for-" Craig switched off, while Kenny listened attentively with a slightly guilty expression on his face. The idiots. They should know that Kenny couldn't afford whatever it was they were selling, and he'd just feel guilty and upset for the rest of the day now. And a sad Kenny meant his work on the project would probably suffer, meaning that Craig was being hurt in the process. It was just selfish of them, really.
As soon as the noise from Wendy's mouth had stopped, Craig turned back to writing small notes down over a pad of paper that was already almost black with ink.
"So?" Wendy spoke again, and Craig winced. She sounded…. Affronted, and had no right to be.
"So what?" he didn't look up from his work, but he could hear that Kenny and Stan had started up a separate conversation quietly in the background. If he wasn't busy trying to ignore Wendy he would've considered yelling at Kenny.
"Are you gonna donate anything?"
"Oh, that's what you were whining about. No, I'm not."
She reeled back a little, as though she'd been smacked by his nasally tone, but recovered almost immediately "Why not? You'd be doing a really great thing!"
"And?" he still didn't look away from the table, cutting her off.
Wendy changed her approach. "Look Craig, I know you've got more than enough money to-"
He looked up at her, glaring "Do I? Money doesn't just appear, you know. I'm not gonna give it to you for no good reason."
"But it is for a good reason! You've got a pet, haven't you? Stripe, I remember when you brought him in for show and tell in second grade, he was so cute! You wouldn't want him to be alone, starving and cold on Christmas, would you? Why would you let anoth-"
Craig raised his eyebrow as he cut her off yet again. "Wouldn't really change anything. He's dead."
Wendy's eyes widened just as the bell went off, and cheers filled the room from the other students. Craig made a noise in the back of his throat in annoyance.
"Craig, I'm so sorry, I didn't reali-"
"Whatever, I don't care. Look, nice rant there, you can totally tell you're on the discussion board against fat-ass every week. So why don't you just go back to acting like you don't wanna fuck him and I'll go back to acting like you don't exist." He turned away from Wendy again, but not before he missed her expression. The mix of shock and hatred had him almost amused. She too turned with a vicious swoosh of her skirt, and he heard her stomp away, leaving Stan to deal with Kenny.
"So…. Uh, you guys paying or….?" Craig didn't bother to turn from the project this time, allowing Kenny to shrug and pull out his empty pockets. In the corner of his eye he saw Kyle pause an argument against fat-ass on Jews "ruining Christmas" as they were walking past with their coats and bags on to dump some more change in the bucket.
"Here, I'll pay for him," he said.
"Aw dude, you don't have to, it'll make me feel bad."
Craig could've sworn Kyle grinned at Kenny, but he wasn't looking properly and didn't care to ask. "Don't worry about it, it's better than Wendy getting yelled at for no reason." As if sensing that Craig was about to turn on him, Kyle hurriedly continued. "Anyway, we'll meet you outside," and left with Cartman and Stan, all three knowing Craig wouldn't let Kenny go yet.
The empty classroom fell into silence as the last three boys left.
"So, uh…. When were you planning on going home?" Craig sighed. He had been planning to stay for about another hour, but he figured that Kenny wouldn't work well if he wanted to be elsewhere. He ignored Kenny's question in favour of pulling on his blue jacket and swinging his rucksack onto his shoulders after filling it with his work.
"I suppose you wont be helping me with this tomorrow?" he didn't bother to look and see if Kenny was following him, he didn't care.
The blonde, now with his hood pulled up but without his mouth covered by his scarf so he could still be heard, opened his mouth as if to say "dude, its Christmas" in a chirpy voice, but thought better of the reaction Craig would give, and so said "If it's cool with you, that'd be great."
"No, it's not 'cool'," Craig narrowed his eyes "but I guess you'll just have to make up for it the day after."
Kenny sighed a little, and chose to change the subject "Hey, that Wendy thing, you shouldn't get too worked up over it. We all kinda figured Stripe was still stuck up there, hobbling along with a little Zimmer frame and all," He chuckled a little till Craig shot him an icy glare.
"Didn't you see him up in animal heaven on your weekly visits? You spend enough time there. Time is money, Kenny, so it's no wonder you're poor really, is it?" the blonde's eyes narrowed.
"You know for a minute there I honestly thought you were gonna pull a funny."
They continued their journey to the school's exit without talking, as Kenny had long since learnt that Craig preferred silence to spoken word. The blonde held the door open for Craig, knowing his life would be more pleasant than if he let the other do it or, God forbid, imply that Craig should hold the door for him. He started off in the direction of where his three best friends were waiting.
"What time do I have to be at yours then?" the hooded boy called over his shoulder to the darkly clad figure who had begun travelling across the school courtyard towards the road.
"Nine. No later."
Just before he pulled his scarf over his mouth Kenny called "And if I die?"
"Move in with Stripe, coz you'll be spending a lot more time up there." Kenny turned away from Craig so he could roll his eyes a little. If the guy wasn't such an asshat he could've been pretty funny. The blonde continued to the group of people he was aiming for, tugging at the scarf Kyle had given him for Christmas a few years ago. He smirked, knowing it annoyed his friends when his speech was muffled. He still covered the lower half of his face though, because he secretly enjoyed having a few people in his life who could always understand him.
Craig, meanwhile, continued on his journey towards the road, kicking at the mush around his feet. He was just turning his sister's old ipod onto the soundtrack to red-racer (he could've easily afforded a new one but refused to spend money when this one worked perfectly well. It was bad enough he kept having to buy new headphones to drown out the screams of little bratty children) when Clyde ran over to him from his group of friends.
"Hey Craig!" the brunette called, "have a good Christmas!"
"Hah! Whatever." Craig returned, turning to watch the joy in Clyde's eyes fall, and felt a feeling similar to glee at the idea that the stupid boy might cry. Clyde had stopped in his run towards where Craig now stood, impatiently waiting for a sign that he'd upset the other.
"'Whatever?' Okay then, I was just trying to be nice," Clyde shrugged, and turned to head back to his friends, and Craig saw with a streak of whiny annoyance that Clyde's face, although red-raw from the extra cold wind that winter had brought to South Park, was still sporting a cheerful smile. Craig grit his teeth and frowned.
"Oh, go to hell."
Craig was rewarded with a surprised glance and the hint of a flashing glare.
"Jesus, dude, I'll never get why you're so rude to everyone all the time, all I wanted was to tell you that you're still welcome to go Token's party tomorrow."
Craig rolled his eyes. "Don't make me laugh," was all he said, before flipping him off and telling him where to go again. He left Clyde imagining the boy feeling stupid, although deep down he knew the other would continue on with his good day, restarting the song he'd missed almost half of now that he'd had to rip his earphones out to insult Clyde.
The Red Racer soundtrack made up the only ten songs the black haired teen kept on the ipod. He'd grown bored of the music he knew a while ago, and there was no way he'd listen to new music just to end up spending money on it.
By the time the song had started to get going, Craig could finally no longer see the school or any of the annoying fools he had to share the building with on a daily basis. They'd mostly be at home or out at the park, sledging and skating. Craig knew that Kenny had mentioned something to Kyle about his sled breaking, and Kyle replying that they could share his sled as he needed some extra weight if he was gonna beat fatass before class had started.
A heavy fog had settled about South Park, making the atmosphere less crisp and colder due to the added dampness of the air. People had begun to rush about now, trying to move from shop to shop in record beating time to avoid the biting cold. He could see Stan's parents in one shop, amid the mad rush of insane present and food buyers. He expected they had all of the Christmas prep sorted, and Randy Marsh had insisted they go out to buy a peach or something ridiculous like that just for fuss and attention. Craig was becoming increasingly irritated with this behaviour- if they all absolutely had to play a part in this ridiculous farce of Christmas, why did they all leave it to the last minute to buy presents and food?- which the people walking by seemed to pick up on and managed to avoid risking contact with the boy.
He glowered at the floor and scuffed his shoes a little as though it would make the people around him disappear and his house move closer towards him. He tightened the flaps of his chullo into a tight knot under his chin and pulled the collar of his jacket up around his face in an attempt to block the cold that was starting to make his ears and cheeks ache.
He was at least grateful for his headphones when he turned a corner onto the last snow-covered street of shops on his walk from school and walked straight into a group of carol singers. Or at least, that was what he assumed they were; they could've just been a small group of brats flapping their mouths open and closed like a nest full of hungry birds for all he knew, he couldn't hear a thing from them.
He pushed through the group, uncaring of their disagreements and distress. He'd shot a glare at a black haired, short kid who reminded him of Kyle, though they looked nothing alike.
The cold that settled around them had become intense now, and Craig was glad he was only two roads away from where he lived. He ignored the goth kids who were huddled together for warmth on a small bench outside of the graveyard that they usually occupied whenever a service was being held. He'd long since learnt that no matter how much he hated them and their money consuming habits, they usually had a worse opinion on the words 'joy" and "festive", and it was usually better to leave them be at this time of year. Especially as he was pretty sure the little one had a knife.
He could hear a clock chime as he tore out the headphones in his ears and pushed open his front door. His mother was in the kitchen at the sink, and seemed content enough at his response to her greeting that she ignored his lack of response to her generic "how was your day?". Ruby was probably in the living room watching TV, but he didn't care enough to check.
He walked up the stairs and towards his room, ignoring how it seemed to become colder and gloomier as he was sucked towards his room.
Craig could still remember how excited his parents had been when he'd shown an interest in filming and movies, his mother for the wonder of a child expressing their creativity and his father for the longing of having a child who could possibly grow up to become famous. However, the last few years must have been quite disappointing for them, as Craig had all but cast his imagination away from himself. Interestingly enough, he hadn't thought about Stripe, aside from that morning, since the hamster had died, neither in imagination or memory.
So he was not expecting to find the small hamster wrapped around his door handle.
He stopped with his hand still outstretched and blinked quickly. When his eyes had opened again the doorknob had turned back to it's plain, ordinary self. He knelt down and took a closer look at the handle, squinting slightly. Nothing, just a door handle. He shook his head and scoffed at himself, stretching his legs and opening the door to walk into his room.
From habit Craig turned the key in the door to lock himself in, then paused before turning away. He reached up and pulled the small bolt at the top of his door across. In time, he'd almost forgotten that that was there.
As he turned he thought he saw Stripe's old hamster ball rolling along his bedroom floor, but ignored it for lack of any other way to react.
He threw his coat onto a hanger in his wardrobe after pushing his bag to lie just under his desk. He pretended that he didn't give both areas a quick scan for hamsters or anything out of the ordinary, but everything was in its appropriate place.
It was getting dark out, but Craig refused to turn the light on- he was practicing money saving in any way he could for when he was able to leave the care of his parents- and he pulled the curtains his mother must've opened earlier when cleaning shut for privacy. He pointedly ignored the hamster cage on the sill more so than usual. Walking towards the couch he grabbed the TV remote from its space on the arm of the chair and pushed two or three buttons to get the TV on and the DVD drive working. The Red Racer disk was already in the DVD player.
Several hours and seven episodes of ignoring the presence of a rodent which hadn't been there the last twelve times he'd watched this disk later, Craig paused the DVD and wondered downstairs to make himself a dinner of leftover pasta. The house was deathly silent, and he assumed his mother had taken Ruby out for some sort of Christmassy celebration.
Grabbing a bowl he poured the pasta and sauce he'd taken from the fridge onto it and covered it in Clingfilm which had the necessary holes poked into it. Craig set the microwave to spin for twenty seconds, enough time for the pasta to gain a little heat without wasting precious energy or money, and leant against the worktop behind him.
He found his eyes were drawn to the microwave, and he couldn't tear his eyes away as he listened to it hum. It was like seeing a bright light when you were tired, he wanted to look away, but it was easier to just stare and slip away a little.
The machine was silent for a full second, going back to the now painful silence the house was sat in before it began to beep shrilly at him to remove the food.
Craig started at the noise, and went to get the food. The loud beeping continued as he rushed to sort his food out so he could turn it off. The urgency of the beeping caused him to forget that it wasn't supposed to beep once the food was out, and he frowned once he realised this, pushing several buttons to make it shut up. Nothing happened, the noise could've even grown in volume, and he realised the infernal thing was broken.
Craig was grateful it wasn't him who had to buy a new microwave, and reached towards the plug. He pulled it out with some relief, fancying the noise had stopped till the next beep met his ears. He looked from the disconnected plug to the microwave screen in horror, dropping the plug and backing away.
He jumped a little as his lower back connected with the oven, which began to join the microwave in it's beeping. He leapt away, and ripped the phone in the pocket to his jeans out. It had began to buzz and what seemed to be his ring tone started playing as he stared at it with equal horror to what he'd given the microwave and oven. He threw his mobile to the ground, but knew it would continue to play even though the battery had fallen out and the screen was now cracked.
Slowly other beeps and ringing started up around him, the alarm of the digital clock, his mother's old pager, he could hear the house phone through the kitchen wall, even the kettle joined in with the song. And, with a final start of dread, the fire alarm began whining at him.
He stared at his food dumbly for a second, searching for the giveaway sign of smoke or even flames. Maybe the beeping from everything that was still ongoing was a sign of fire? He'd never heard of anything like that. It suddenly hit Craig that he should probably get the fuck out.
"Fuckshit," he hissed though his teeth, and turned to run for the kitchen door. The pasta was knocked to the floor in the process. Once he reached the door it slammed shut in front if him. He grabbed the handle, and leant backwards with all his weight once it didn't open normally, not caring if he fell over when-or if- it ever did open. His eyes widened when he heard and felt the lock click under his hands. Craig slunk down to the floor, his arms clinging around his bony frame, and he slowly slunk backward until he was huddled up against the wall, muttering swearwords and knowing he would die soon. He wondered if the neighbours could hear the fire alarm, but they'd probably seen his mother and Ruby leave and wouldn't want to save him. Despite his lack of imagination, he was sure he was about to be eaten by the spawn of Satan that South Park had picked out to be tormented by today. He was stuck here; unable to hear when the monster would arrive to have him for dinner.
He didn't want to be eaten. Maybe it was just Damien coming for a visit? But Damien was a lot subtler than this, preferring to sneak up on people and make them jump at the last second.
He screwed up his eyes and covered over his ears with his hands, pushing his knuckles into his ears till it hurt. The corner would protect him. He felt like a little kid again, hiding from shouting and screams, only he didn't have Ruby with him now. All he could make out through the screaming alarms and beeps was a tiny, familiar bell.
There was a brilliant flash of white-blue light behind his eyelid and his eyes flew open in sync with the door smashing into the kitchen wall and Craig found himself staring into the face of the horror that had been threatening him. It was stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the hall light.
Stripe. The hamster. Complete with a little miniature chullo Craig had made him several years ago.
Well, Craig supposed it made sense if you thought about the creepy shit he'd been seeing all afternoon. He waved a little, slowly, unsure how he felt about his dead pet paying him a visit. Stripe journeyed over to him, his feet moving in an almost rolling motion that was so very familiar to Craig.
The hamster stopped in front of him and twitched his head to the side as though he was contemplating Craig. The boy dampened his dry lips and silently asked what would happen next. He noted the small gold collar locked around Stripe's neck and felt a small stab of jealousy at the idea that someone had gained ownership from his pet, until he noticed the ball and chain connected to the collar next to a little bell that Stripe had always worn.
The little four-legged animal was almost completely clear to look through, and Craig wondered if he'd always had the lack of organs he was displaying now.
Craig didn't believe in ghosts.
"What d'you want then?" now that his life didn't seem to be under immediate threat he felt safe to return to being sarcastic and cynical. The hamster ignored him, and turned to walk back out of the door.
Craig got up and decided he'd clear up the spilt pasta once the vision he was having ended with Stripe's exit. "Oh. Alright then. Just piss of after you've broken everything why don't you." It reminded him of one summer holiday where they came home to find Stripe had somehow escaped from his cage and nibbled Craig's room to shreds. Craig wondered how the creature had escaped it's cage, before remembering that it had been Tweek Tweak's responsibility to come over and feed the animal, and Tweek Tweak who had left the cage door open in case Stripe needed to escape during the animal apocalypse. Silly boy, Craig thought to himself, I really am better without having to look out for him all the time. They had parted on good terms, too, which was a good deal for Twee-
Stripe began squeaking loudly at Craig as the other turned his back on him. The boy groaned and faced the other. "Whaaaaat? Can't you just leave already? It was nice seeing you and all, but you're done freaking me out, you can leave now."
The hamster continued to squeak at him and Craig was tempted to shoo him away. He offered him some bread, as they no longer kept hamster food in the house, but Stripe seemed to glare at him. With a final sigh Craig decided he'd probably just have to live with a hamster annoying him for the rest of his life. Worse things had happened in South Park.
He returned to the pasta, but found that Stripe was now chewing onto his trouser leg, making an attempt to stop him from moving, which actually seemed to be working as Craig found he couldn't move his right leg any more. There was a strange, numbing coldness spreading though his trousers into his skin. He shrieked at the hamster, almost freaked out, but certain he was more annoyed, "What the hell d'you want?"
Stripe let go of his grip and tumbled over to the door again. Craig grunted with frustration.
"Fine then. Let's go over here. I bet you feel soooo much better now. Oh, you want to go outside the kitchen, huh? Well isn't that nice." Stripe ignored Craig's attempt at offending the hamster, either from practice, or because he couldn't actually understand what the other was saying.
When they reached the stairs Craig spent a few moments in a tantrum gaining a little satisfaction from the way Stripe struggled to climb the stairs. He'd made it up almost two of the steps when Craig got bored and uncrossed his arms, snatching up his pet. He ignored the cold spreading across the palm of his hand as the climbed the stairs. It didn't seem so strong now anyhow.
"We're going to my room. I don't care what you have to say to that." His arm remained mobile and at the same temperature, so he supposed his room was where Stripe wanted to go.
Once he opened the door of his room he wondered what he could do next. Looking around, he frowned once he realised he'd have to open the curtains to get the cage out. He pulled the door to the cage open and dropped Stripe in, non-too lightly, before moving the cage to his desk and snapping the offending curtains shut. Stripe scurried over to his hamster wheel, and happily began scampering over it while Craig threw himself into his desk chair and wondered if they had wheels in hamster hell/heaven.
Once stripe was done catching up with his old friend the wheel, he trotted over to look up at Craig. The boy raised his eyebrows without moving any other part of his body, and the hamster tilted his head as though he was accusing Craig of not believing in him.
He leant forward onto the desk and crossed his arms, his subconscious trying to make him be intimidating towards the hamster. "No, you're right, I don't believe in you. And why should I? You've seen all of the freaky shit that happens here. You could easily be some vision sent by aliens, or Tweek's underpants gnomes, or even our parents, for Christ's sake. Or maybe you're just a dream. Either way, you'll be gone by tomorrow, and I don't intend to make Christmas even worse than it already is by following you to Peru, or something. Oh, and if Kenny or Cartman, or someone like that sent you, you can tell them I'm gonna kick the- OW!"
While he'd been ranting, Stripe had taken the opportunity to dart out of his cage- which Craig had left open in a sign of their old companionship and also because he was secretly a little scared of having a hamster ghost stuck in his room- and had sunk his teeth deep into the flesh of Craig's hand.
The black haired boy stared at his now bloody hand in slight horror, wondering how a ghost could bite him before the pain struck. His arm stung as though he'd been pierced with poisoned ice, and he clutched his at hand in slight agony, the numbness from earlier spreading from his arm, and tried not to writhe about onto the floor.
"Okay." He spoke though clenched teeth and eyes screwed shut. "I believe you. Or at least that you're not a dream."
The pain receded a little, and then all at once left his arm. He opened his eyes, and Stripe was back in the cage, calmly sat in his wheel. As Craig blinked he could've sworn the hamster rolled his eyes.
"Why are you here?"
The hamster looked at him for a second with his black eyes, before dashing out of the cage and onto the desk. Craig sighed in frustration as Stripe began to scuttle around the desk in what seemed to be aimless circles, though if Craig looked closely he would've noticed the hamster appeared to be searching for something. He finally settled on a copy of the book Craig had been reading for an English essay his class had to write over the holidays, A Christmas Carol. Apparently it was more fun if the book was Christmassy, though Craig had strongly disagreed. He'd been the only one to do so, though, as the other fools were only interested in watching a Christmas-themed film in class.
Craig sighed, once again. "Okay. So you're sat on a book. Great. Hey- don't nibble that, it's not mine, and I am not paying the school just coz you're hungry." He tried to pick the hamster up, but Stripe simply clung to the book with his teeth. Craig popped him back onto the book.
"Okay, so you clearly developed an a attachment to that book then. Didja meet Dickens, or something?" the hamster fixed him with a stare that almost told Craig he was an idiot. Then he began to look repeatedly from Craig to the book, scratching at the cover when he looked down.
"What? You want me to read it again?" the ball and chain strung to Stripe's collar seemed to become more opaque, and as he looked, he noticed a chain developing around the body of his hamster, becoming more visible the closer he looked. Stripe jumped off of the book as Craig slowly reached towards it, and scuttled back to the comfort of his cage.
Craig picked up the book and allowed it to fall open. He felt a slight gust of cold air from the hamster cage that turned a few more pages for him. He picked up the book.
"It is required of every man," the ghost returned, "that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world-"
The book fell from Craig's hands and onto the desk with a thud.
"No. No way. I am not going to play a part in a modern day Christmas freaking Carol." He glared at Stripe who blinked back. "No!" his fist slammed onto the desk, causing everything to jump up and land noisily. Stripe just stared as Craig began to rant about ridiculous spectres, things not being his fault, and having stuff to do. He was adamant that he was nothing like Scrooge when a strange feeling hit him and he chocked on his words, falling back into his seat.
He clutched at his hair as he struggled to breathe, his chest being crushed and pulled tightly at as though someone was wrapping tight cloth around his ribcage. His vision became foggy and he felt like he was drowning, but he couldn't move, and he was being dragged at and pulled down, and then all he could see were chains and metal. They were shiny and blinding, but they blocked what he could see as well and surrounded him with darkness while they burned and froze his skin. He could feel it wrapping tightly around himself and every instinct, every feeling in his body screamed that it had to end.
"No ghosts," he muttered into his arms, and breathed again, feeling the chains receding to the back of his mind where he felt a familiar pressure that he'd always assumed was due to stress or irritation.
There was silence all around him, and he looked up at Stripe. Having read the book five times in less than half as many weeks, he knew what was expected of him. The ghosts, the journeys, the eventual transformation. But he knew what he had to do, and he would tell Stripe just as much. Once the hamster had left he would go to bed, then start tomorrow. Hopefully he'd even forget the whole thing had happened. It wasn't like he was even that bad, so there wouldn't be much work to do. The occasional old lady taken across the road here, maybe help his mother cook a little there. "No ghosts," he mumbled.
There was a pause before Stripe began to move, spinning his wheel around in three complete rotations before stopping again. Craig could work out that that meant three ghosts, and nodded shakily. Something in Stripes rodent-y expression told him that there would be no bargaining.
He hated ghosts almost as much as he hated little children.
Stripe hopped out of the cage for the last time, and scampered across the desk towards the window. As he went, the curtains flew open, much to Craig's general annoyance, and the window swung open. Stripe cleared the gap between the desk and the windowsill with a calm jump, and clung to the curtains before dropping onto the sill. He turned and almost bobbed his head towards Craig, before casually darting out of the window.
Craig lifted himself out of his chair and slowly moved towards the open window with a feeling of dread and the slow movement mostly felt in a dream sequence.
He leaned out to pull the window shut, he tried desperately not to look out, but his eyes caught sight of the street's occupants, and his eyes widened at the huge crowd of people chained up like slaves. They were struggling to make the simplest of movements, and some were moaning or wailing, all creating a deafening sound that he couldn't block out. He'd been expecting this sight, but one thing was reading about it while hunting for language techniques to write about, another was seeing it. There was no satisfaction from knowing that the pain these people had caused themselves was grown from the same pain they had given others, especially when Craig saw an anciently old man struggle to simply stand up from the weight of the chain that seemed to have broken his back.
Thankfully there didn't seem to be any children within the crowd, but as soon as he spotted a group of teens younger than himself looking disgruntled in the snow he was able to tear himself away from the sight, a little sickened, his window being pulled shut by his weight pulling on the handle as he stumbled backwards towards his bed and fell under his covers, fully dressed, and blessed his luck as he began to slip away quickly into sleep.