My first Christmas with him involved a toy store and a lot of rhyming. My second Christmas involved a Christmas party with a bunch of ghosts. Those were the best Christmases I ever had. I just wonder if there's going to be a third.
A lot has changed in a year. I have a job working as part of a maintenance crew at a shopping outlet that involves me being outside in the cold 70 percent of the time. This year I have had no time to shop for gifts and I feel terrible for not having the time. Also this is my first Christmas since my dog died. It's weird only having three stockings under the tree instead of four and having to fight to keep him away from the tree so he didn't knock the ornaments off the tree with his tail.
It is Christmas eve and I'm racing around at the shopping outlet to get everything closed up so I can go home. I was there since early this morning and I am tired. My friend, Mary, works as a CSR and just locked her door for the holiday. In a few minutes she will be coming back to the break room where I am right now after locking down two bathrooms and waiting for my coworker-in-charge to give me the go ahead to go home.
"Hey, Marie," says Mary, coming back.
"Hey, Mary," I say.
"Merry Christmas," Mary says.
"You're not leaving yet?" I ask.
"Mom's coming to pick me up. She only wants to have one car taking us to Grandma's," says Mary.
"I know what you mean," I say.
It had started snowing an hour ago and there was a white dusting on the grass. I almost fell down the back stairs taking a bag of trash to the dumpster.
"So what are you doing for Christmas?" Mary asks.
I want to tell her that I'm hanging out with a ghost, but I can't because she wouldn't believe me if I told the truth.
"I don't know," I say. It's a partial truth. "I guess if nothing's going on, I'll start that piece to post about cyber bullying."
"You're going through with it?" asks Mary.
"Why not?" I ask. "Raise some awareness."
A few weeks ago Mary and I found a local news article about a high school girl who made a video for a class project to a popular song. The video honestly is not that good, but I had tried making similar videos and I could understand the amount of effort she put into it. The video was never supposed to make it to the internet, but a former high school student posted her work online because he was not a fan of that high school. The flames were coming in for this video and I feel bad for the girl because she wasn't the one who posted it online. Not only the girl, but everyone who helped out with the video, students and faculty alike. The good news is they were using the flames to teach about cyber bullying instead of trying to cover it up or ignore it.
"Cool," says Mary. "You're a good writer. I don't see why you're working the maintenance crew."
"It's the only job I could get," I reply.
"Marie, you can go home," the coworker-in-charge tells me over the radio.
"Merry Christmas," I answer her and quickly shut off my radio and put it on its charger. "I'm out of here."
"Merry Christmas," Mary says.
"I hope it will be," I whisper through my teeth.
It is late when I get to bed after finishing wrapping presents (sticking them in bags and covering them with tissue paper). I wrote my piece on cyber bullying when I got home and it is sitting on my desk.
"Merry Christmas, YinYang," I hear someone whisper.
I turn over in bed. "Merry Christmas, Ghostwriter," I say back to him.
Ghostwriter's eyes are wide behind his glasses. "I thought you were asleep, Marie," he says.
"I thought you weren't coming," I tell him.
"Not come? What about last year? 'Third time's the charm'?" he asks. "We better get going before the dog starts growling."
"Zack passed away in July," I say. "He got very sick."
"Marie, I'm so sorry," says Ghostwriter.
"It's okay," I say quickly. "He was suffering. This is better for him."
Ghostwriter nods in understanding. "Ready for the party?"
"Give me a minute."
I get out of bed and change my clothes. I have a set of party clothes already out in case he did show up. I put on the green long-sleeved sweater dress, pull on a pair of fleece lined tights, and a pair of dressy knee-high boots. I finish the look off with a black belt at my waist. Also laying out with my clothes is a heavy black winter coat with a faux fur trimmed hood. I hold it up to Ghostwriter and smile.
"This year I remembered," I say with a grin.
Ghostwriter grins back. "Let's go," he says.
I put my coat on and Ghostwriter picks me up and we fly away from my house.
"So what are we doing this year?" I ask.
"This year is a little different," Ghostwriter tells me. He gives me an evil grin. "It's a surprise. I'm not telling you."
"Are you serious?" I blurt out.
"Yes," replies Ghostwriter cooly.
I pout.
"So how was your year?" asks Ghostwriter.
"Different," I answer. "I have a job now. I work the maintenance crew at a shopping center."
"Do you like it?" asks Ghostwriter.
"Eh."
"Eh? That doesn't sound like you like it."
"Some days it's okay," I tell him. "Other days I hate it. Winter and summer is awful. Spring and autumn I can find a happy medium. I haven't been there a year yet."
"When did you start?"
"February," I answer. "It's money in my pocket."
"But you don't want to do it," says Ghostwriter.
"Not really," I admit. "But right now, where else am I going to go? I'm stuck there until I get proper ID. Honestly I should just get my state ID card instead of waiting on my driver's license — it would be quicker."
"It is your life, Marie," says Ghostwriter. "Don't waste it."
I hum.
"What did you think of my gift for you last year?" Ghostwriter asks, changing the subject.
Last year he trapped a few Guys in White in one of his stories and gave it to me for a gift.
"I loved it," I answer. "Especially when you turned them into dolls and made them drink tea with the little girl."
"Maybe they got the hint and won't mess with us this year," says Ghostwriter. "They better not or it will be the worst for them."
"So are you going to tell me where we're going now?" I ask.
Ghostwriter smirks. "Hold on."
"Fine, can you at least give me a hint?"
Before I can get an answer, everything turns green and purple.
"What the!" I cry.
"I told you to hold on," says Ghostwriter.
"I thought you meant to my question," I say, wrinkling my nose. "Where are we?"
"Welcome to the Ghost Zone," Ghostwriter tells me.
"This is the Ghost Zone?" I ask, looking at the floating purple doors and random hovering land masses. "Why are we here?"
"You were invited to a special Christmas party that is open to ghosts and humans," Ghostwriter informs me.
"Me?" I say stupidly.
Ghostwriter nods. "Consider it an honor," he tells me. "The ghost who is hosting has a lot of influence with Walker. That, and Walker likes you for saving us last year. It's the only reason why a human is allowed in the Ghost Zone. It's supposed to be a human-free zone."
"I'm honored," I say dryly.
Ghostwriter flies us to a place where there are gears floating around leading to a large tower in the shape of a grandfather clock.
I shiver. "I'm starting to think this is a bad idea," I say. "Whose place is this?"
"A ghost called Clockwork lives here," says Ghostwriter.
"Clockwork?" I repeat. "Was he a clockmaker when he was alive?"
Ghostwriter chuckles. "No, he wasn't. He's the master of time. He knows all, sees all."
I gulp. Knows all, sees all? Yeah, I have a feeling this could possibly get embarrassing.
"You're here!" a voice from inside the tower shouts.
The door is open and I see a very familiar ghost with white hair.
"Hi, Phantom!" I chirp.
"Haven't seen you since last Christmas," says Phantom. "How's it going, Ghostwriter?"
We go inside and I see all my ghost friends. And two other humans.
"I didn't know you would be here," I say to Tucker and Sam.
"It was a last minute invite," says Sam. "When we found out who was hosting, we couldn't turn it down."
"Clockwork's a friend of ours," says Phantom. "He saved our lives before."
"Yeah, that would make anyone friends," I say.
"Come on," says Tucker. "Lunch Lady made goose and I want some!"
"Some things never change," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "I'll see what's over there that I can eat."
"There is spinach dip with wheat crackers, Samantha," a voice startles me.
"Thanks, and it's Sam." Sam hurries over to the table where there is food spread out while I nearly jump out of my skin and whirl around.
Phantom turns, but is not surprised. "Hey, Clockwork."
I look at the blue skinned ghost in purple. He is holding a staff in one gloved hand, his wrists adorned with multiple watches. His chest has a clear door, holding another clock, and there is a pocket watch on his belt. There is a jagged scar cutting through one red eye. He smiles before changing into an older version of himself.
Phantom does not react, like this is perfectly normal. Maybe it is; what do I know?
"Hello, Daniel. Hello, Marie."
Phantom looks at me. "Your name is Marie?"
"Your name is Daniel?" I jab back.
"Danny," Phantom growls. "Only Clockwork gets away with calling me Daniel."
I smirk, pleased that I am able to make Phantom annoyed.
"Daniel, go up to the observation room," says Clockwork, transforming to a baby version, but his voice never changing, which I find creepy. "I will be there shortly."
"Sure thing," says Phantom and he flies up a flight of stairs.
Clockwork looks at me.
"Thank you for letting me come," I say to him.
"You are welcome," says Clockwork. "Enjoy yourself, Marie. Ghostwriter is looking for you."
I am about to ask him how he knew, but he just smiles. Master of time, right, knows all, sees all.
I turn to find Ghostwriter. He is talking to Walker.
"Hey," I say, giving Ghostwriter a tap on the shoulder. "Were you looking for me?"
"I was about to," answers Ghostwriter. "How did you know?"
"Clockwork," I reply.
"Ah, Clockwork," says Walker. "There must be something going on if he's invited you. He never does anything without a reason."
"Excuse us," says Ghostwriter. He takes my hand and leads me to a secluded corner of the room.
"What is it?" I ask Ghostwriter.
"I was wondering if you would like to come back to my place later on," says Ghostwriter.
"Maybe," I tell him. "I don't know when we're going to be done here."
"That's fine," says Ghostwriter.
"Hey, YinYang!" It's Poindexter calling me. "What's new?"
Soon I have all the ghosts around me asking me what I've been doing since last Christmas. Even Tucker and Sam come up and listen. I tell them about my job, about my dog, and anything else I can think off. When I come to the part about raising cyber-bullying awareness and the news story I heard, Poindexter blurts out, "Those bullies!"
"You're telling me," I say. "That's why I'm writing the story."
"I think it's so cool you're doing that YinYang," says Tucker.
"Thanks," I say.
"If you need any help, let me know," says Ghostwriter.
Phantom soon returns with Clockwork.
"Marie, a moment of your time," Clockworks says.
I follow him up the flight of stairs to what I assume is the observation room. It is a room filled with many screens.
"Can I help you with something?" I ask, wondering why he brought me up here.
"I wish to give you a gift," says Clockwork.
"You don't have to," I say quickly. "And I didn't get you anything."
Clockwork chuckles. "It's hard to find a gift for someone who has everything he already needs. I want to give you this gift."
"Okay," I say.
"I see time flow like a parade," Clockwork tells me. "But I do not view it from the street. I view it from above. I see all the turns it may or may not take."
I understand that, though I liken it to a tree. The truck grows and splits off to branches and leaves.
"A tree works as well," Clockwork says.
I jump. He can read minds, too?
He simply smiles at my reaction. He waves his staff at one of the screens. An image of a book appears. It is on the bestseller shelf with the several other copies of the same book. The cover shows a hallway of lockers and three people standing in the hallway, lit from the back so it was difficult to see their faces. The title at the top read "Phantom Halls."
"'Phantom Halls'?" I read. I turn to Clockwork. "What's so special about this book? It looks like a great book to me, don't get me wrong. But why this book?"
I take a closer look at the byline.
"'Marie George'," I breathe. I whip around to Clockwork. "That's my name. That's my book?"
"It can be," says Clockwork. "You have talent, Marie, never forget that. This is a possible outcome of your talent. This is my gift to you."
"Thank you," I say.
"Now, your friends are waiting for you," Clockwork informs me. "Go back to the party and have some fun."
I hurry back down to the party and see everyone is sitting around the table and eating.
"Hey, girl," says Ember, the first to see me.
"What did Clockwork want?" asks Tucker.
Sam nudges Tucker. "Tucker!" she hisses.
"I want to keep it to myself for now," I tell them.
No one asks me any more about what Clockwork said to me.
At the end of the night, the party wound down and ghosts started leaving.
"I think we have time to swing by your place," I tell Ghostwriter.
Ghostwriter nods.
We say good-bye and wish them a happy new year and leave.
Ghostwriter lives in a white stone library.
"So what did Clockwork say to you?" he asks.
"Like I said, I want to keep it to myself for now," I tell him. "I really do. It's nothing bad, but I don't want to say it out loud. I'm still having a hard time processing it."
"All right," says Ghostwriter.
"Adam?"
"Yes?"
"Would you mind giving me some tips on writing?" I ask.
He smiles. "No problem, Marie."
My first Christmas with him involved a toy store and a lot of rhyming. My second Christmas involved a Christmas party with a bunch of ghosts. My third Christmas was peaceful for once and a gift was given to me by a ghost I barely knew: the gift of hope.
I wasn't going to write a part three, but I did. Feel free to review.