Hello, everyone!
WB: Okay, I've had enough of this.
Of what?
WB: You've deleted most of your major stories, let everyone who didn't see SD02 confused, and you're just going to pretend nothing happened? Seriously?
What are you talking about?
WB: Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about. I may not be the best with the fans, but even I can tell that what you're doing has to stop.
I don't know what you're talking about.
WB: It's almost Christmas, right? If you're not going to write a story about it, then I will. Last year, you mentioned A Christmas Carol in Together. Maybe I'll write A Christmas Carol knock-off with you as Scrooge.
Wait, what?
WB: You heard me, Scrooge McDark. A Christmas Carol. We're going now.
*Dark POV
"Muhahaha! I love my money! Screw the fans!"
Can you at least be serious about it?
WB: Yeah, maybe I put a bit too much emphasis on the whole Scrooge-y thing. I'll turn it down.
*Dark POV
"Muhaha! Money is the best! Who needs fans?"
You just added one less ha and changed the wording.
WB: Okay, fine. I'll change it more.
Add a background, too.
WB: Alright.
*Dark POV
As I stood on the edge of the crumbling void filled with zombie werewolves during the war pitting the Soviets against the Roman Legion, one thought entered my mind.
"I need more money."
Seriously? What is that background? The Soviets and the Romans didn't even live in the same time period! How do the zombie werewolves even fit in there?
WB: You wanted a background.
Give me the story.
WB: What?
Give me the story. You're clearly too incompetent to write a decent story.
WB: This is why you're Scrooge McDark.
I'm not Scrooge McDark, stop calling me that.
WB: Isn't that your name?
No. I'm taking over this story now.
WB: You're acting very Scroogey.
That's not- never mind. I'll show you how it's done.
*Dark POV, 9 pm
I sat on my brown leather armchair beside the roasting fire. I opened the book on the table beside me, titled Together. However, just as I had reached my bookmarked page, an insistent knock could be heard echoing throughout the oak-walled room. I sighed, slightly irritated, then reluctantly got up for my chair and went to answer the door. The thought occurred that whomever it was could be out to steal my money, so I quickly made sure my safe was locked, and I armed myself with my purple cane. Slowly, I walked up to the magohany door and carefully opened it. A cold chill blew through the room, and the fire extinguished. Nobody was at the door, much to my irritance.
"Just those darn teenagers again."
I turned around, closing the door behind me. Grumbling, I went to relight the fire.
"Need some help with that?" Someone asked.
"Ah, thank you." I responded.
I let the person put the logs in the fireplace, and I relight the fire with one of my matches. Nodding in satisfaction, I went to sit back down on my armchair. I was about to pick up my book again, when a thought occurred to me.
"Wait a minute, I live alone. Who-"
"Hello, Dark. Remember me?" A rather familiar voice came from behind me. Startled, I turned behind me and practically fell out of my armchair. The figure there was a bipedal grey walrus with a broken tusk, wearing a red beret. It winked at me, and I began to hyperventilate.
"What the Nether are you?! WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?!"
I swung my cane at him, but it simply phased right through the thing.
"Remember when you used to use Fanfiction? Who was your partner then?"
It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about, it had been so long.
"W-WB? I-Is that you?"
It clapped enthusiastically.
"Ah, so you do remember! I'm WB! Or Writer's Block. I also identify by Walrus Buddy in this corporeal form. That's besides the point though. Do you know why I'm here?"
"Oh, I get it. You're after my money! Well, you can't have it! It's all mine! I'm not giving you a penny!"
"What? Why would I want your money? I have no physical body, I couldn't touch your money even if I wanted to."
"Wait, if you're not after my millions, then what do you want with me?"
WB chuckled, floating around the chair. I wondered briefly why he didn't just float through the chair, but I had more pressing concerns, like why there WB was here in the first place. I slowly tried to back away, but I accidentally set the tip of my purple robe on fire by getting too close to the fire. I began to panic, and quickly tossed off my robe. However, I accidentally tossed it into the fireplace, and I could do nothing but watch it blacken.
"That was my favorite robe."
The fire sparked, and an ember landed on my grey pajama top, also catching it on fire.
"Are you serious?!"
I quickly stopped, dropped, and rolled, putting out the fire before major damage could be done. A loud snickering could be heard from WB, who had stopped to sit down on the armchair.
"Hey, this isn't funny!"
"Actually, it's hilarious from my perspective. What are the odds of that happening?"
As I tried to argue, the fire sparked again. Anticipating it this time, I dodged the embers.
"Not this time!"
WB started snickering again.
"What's so funny?"
"You might want to look behind you."
I dreadfully turned around to see that my ten thousand dollar rug was now on fire. Unable to hold it any longer, WB burst into a fit of laughter. I frantically looked around for something I could use to douse the fire, then remembered that I had a pot of tea going. I fetched the boiling pot and threw the tea onto the burning rug. The water quickly doused the fire. Then I remembered that I was holding a boiling pot and quickly threw it to the other side of the room, feeling the pain in my hand. In an extremely unlucky coincidence, the airborn pot somehow managed to strike against a stray match, lighting the match and setting my oak desk on fire.
"HOW DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN?!"
By this point, WB was literally rolling on the floor in laughter. In desperation, I smothered the fire with a spare blanket. Luckily, it worked, and I was finally able to relax. Then my pajama top spontaneously lit on fire again.
"IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH THIS, WB, I WILL KILL YOU!"
"Can't kill me, remember?" WB reminded, barely able to talk in his laughing fit.
I stopped, dropped, and rolled again. I checked around suspiciously, making absolutely sure that nothing else was on fire. After a full minute of looking, I was satisfied, and approached WB, who had finally managed to stop laughing, though was still giggling.
"Why are you here? I just wanted to have a nice, relaxing evening and read a book!"
WB looked at Together, the book I was reading.
"Seriously? A children's book? An old man like you is reading children's books?"
"Shut up."
"Okay, I'm not going to judge your reading choices. I will, however, judge your writing choices."
"What do you mean by that?"
WB turned serious.
"Let's talk about why I'm really here. Back in 2015, you went off the Fanfiction grid for most of the latter half of the year. You didn't update at all in 2016 onwards, and left all your viewers confused and without much closure. It's 2086 now, and you haven't done anything new."
"I've told you before, I can't find the inspiration to write!"
"I thought you might say that. That's why there will be three ghosts visiting you tonight to convince you otherwise."
"Wait, this sounds familiar. A Christmas Carol? You just ripped this off, didn't you?"
"You're breaking the fourth wall."
"Of what? There's no audience watching us!"
"That's what you think."
"Oh, I get it now. I'm dreaming. When I wake up, you'll be gone, my stuff won't be burned, and my hand won't be throbbing in pain."
"So dream, dream, dream your dream, cause when you're awake, the-" WB began singing
"What are you singing?"
"Oh nothing, just a TryHardNinja song caught in my mind. Don't mind me."
"Okay, see you never."
"Pleasant dreams, Dark."
Yawning, I sat down in my armchair. WB wrapped a blanket around me, which I accepted gratefully. As WB faded out of my vision, I felt the shadows of my mind inviting me into their embrace.
There, that's how you write a good A Christmas Carol introduction.
WB: Needs more explosions.
Michael Bay: I agree, the pyrotechnics were good though.
Why is Michael Bay here?
WB: I invited him to review it.
Michael Bay: Also, the desk should transform into a giant robot with laser eyes. I'd suggest you cast the Ghost Of Christmas Past as Shia LeBeouf.
No offense Bay, but I don't need your help.
Michael Bay: Fine, be that way. You'll only get a 7.8/10 in theatres, though. Frankly, there's too much water.
The only water period in this script is the tea.
Michael Bay: Exactly, too much water. 7.8/10.
WB: Aw, you scared him off, Scrooge.
Stop calling me Scrooge! You want the rest of it, or not?
WB: Alright, alright. Keep going.
Thank you.
*Dark POV, 10 pm
"Hey, wake up."
"Five more minutes, mom."
"I would grant you that liberty, but I'm on a time constraint."
Cold water was splashed on my face, and I shot up. The first thing I noticed was that I wasn't at home. I was surrounded by a field of grass, in what appeared to be a plain. Surrounding me were colossal mountains in all directions, and on my right side stood a spruce forest. Feeling sand in my hands, I realized I was beside the shore of a lake.
"Where am I?"
"Welcome to Minecraftia, my friend!"
I looked beside me, finding a young-looking man with blue eyes and brown hair, wearing a grey shirt, blue jeans, and had equipped a sword made of stone on his back.
"Who are you?"
He extended his hand to me in a sign of friendship. I took it, dazed, then winced at the pain I still felt in my burnt hands.
"The name's Light_Mister_89, but you can call me Light."
"My name is-"
"I already know who you are, Dark. You're the author who created this world. I'm also the first ghost, the Ghost of Writer's Past."
"Wait, what? Too much is happening, I'm confused."
Light stood up and looked around.
"I'm a concept that you created. This whole world is something you were responsible for. I'm here to show you your creation. Focus on the other side of the lake for a moment, if you will."
Looking across the lake, two figures were talking to each other. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but the one on the ground looked like a slightly different Light, while in the tree talking to the Light clone was an individual wearing a black vest, purple jeans, outfit complete with a fedora and cane.
"Recognize the one on the ledge?"
"Is that... Dark_Master_98?"
"Correct. You are now witnessing your very first chapter you've even written unfold before your eyes."
I watched as other Dark and other Light talked. The other Dark jumped down from the ledge and they walked towards the spruce forest.
"In case you're wondering, they can't see us. Writers can't directly get involved with their stories, lest the universe implode. Interpretations like me and you, however, are fair game."
"Wait, me? What? Are you saying I'm not real?"
Light only winked in response, which left me even more confused.
"Do you understand what I'm trying to get at here?" Light asked after a short pause.
"Nope."
"Alright, let me spell it out for you. You created this with your imagination. You left this legacy, and you've frozen everything in time within this dimension, simply because you couldn't figure out how to continue. This essentially makes you a god here, and you have the power to continue this from where you've left off if you so desire."
As he spoke, our surroundings changed to a massive battle, in which dwarves, pigs, squids, and players of all kinds were frozen in place.
"You've broken this reality. You can also repair it. You can also create new realities."
The background changed again to Sky and Deadlox sitting by a fire with hot chocolate.
"What will you do? You still have time."
"I don't know."
"I'll leave the choice up to you. My time is almost up, anyways. I've planted the seeds, it's up to the next ghost to sprout them."
The world around me blurred, and I was thrust back into darkness before I could do anything else.
WB: Did you just hint a possible return of the original MTP?
Maybe.
Herobrine: Finally.
Why are you here, Herobrine?
Herobrine: I'm the next ghost, right?
Um, actually-
Herobrine: Right?
Fine, you're the next ghost.
Herobrine: Thought so.
WB: Well, that was forceful.
Herobrine: I haven't seen action in so long, what did you expect of me?
WB: Fair enough.
Herobrine: What are we waiting for, let's get started! Roll the next act!
This isn't a film or play.
Herobrine: Just keep going, Scrooge.
I'm not- forget it.
*Dark POV, 11 pm
My eyes shot open, and I found myself back in my room, the fireplace giving off a gentle heat.
"Whew, those were weird dreams. I'm glad it's-" I caught a glimpse of the rug, slightly charred. "Oh no."
"Ah, so you're already awake. That makes this easier," A voice could be heard.
I looked around for the source of the voice, but saw nothing.
"Where are you?"
"Look in the fireplace."
Hesitant, I did as the voice said. As I looked closely, a pair of white glowing eyes appeared. A figure slowly crawled out of the fireplace, covered in ash. The man brushed himself off, and I could see that he was wearing a blue t-shirt and dark blue jeans.
"You really need to clear that chimney out or hire a chimney sweeper, that's a real fire hazard."
"Do I even want to know why you were in my chimney?"
"I wanted to make an entrance that looked cool. In hindsight, the fireplace might not have been the best way to do it. Oh well, too late now."
"So, why are you here? Let me guess, you're the Ghost of Writer's Present."
"Actually no, I'm Herobrine, the Demigod of Writer's Present."
"You're all weird."
"I know."
Herobrine walked around the room, surveying the damage done by the fires. He stopped at the desk, broke off a charred piece, then sniffed it. He then proceeded to taste it.
"How did you even manage to light a desk on fire by throwing a teapot? That defies all common logic, not to mention at least one of the laws of physics."
"You could tell that from a charred piece of wood?"
"No, I just like to taste burned objects. WB told me about this fiasco."
"Figures."
Done with the desk, he walked back over to me.
"So, do you know why I'm here?" He asked.
"No."
"Well, it's quite simple, really. Your viewers are why I'm here. Every single viewer has lost all faith in Fanfiction because you've stopped updating. They've lost the mojo to keep going. They've moved on, and so have you. Do you really want them to lose faith?"
"Um, no?"
"You don't get it, do you?"
"Nope."
He sighed, then looked around. His eyes fell upon the fireplace.
"Okay, I'm going to show you a demonstration. Watch the fire."
As I watched, Herobrine manipulated the fire to show images. First, he showed me a person typing on the computer. The computer was shown in surprising detail, to the point where I could tell that it was a Fanfiction story being reviewed. The computer was signed in as woodmr13.
"See what I'm showing you? This is woodmr13, leaving you his first review of MTP."
The fire shifted, showing now an artist, drawing fanart of MTP.
"This is Missy, drawing fanart for you. She enjoyed your story so much that she drew you fanart. Doesn't that mean something to you?"
The fire changed once again, this time portraying an Italian translating Italian into English on a computer.
"This is supposed to be LolloBlue96, translating for you. He took time out of his day to provide you with a different language you could use. Does that not make you grateful?"
The fireplace returned to normal.
"What about all those other viewers who took time to read your stories? Don't you care how they feel when you don't tell them anything? You are a Scrooge when it comes right down to it. You don't give a firetruck about their feelings."
"I'm sorry, but it's out of my control!"
He got into my face, making me squirm.
"Liar! That's an excuse!"
"It's not!"
He stared at me with his blank eyes, and I felt really uncomfortable.
"I see. You're in denial."
He backed away slowly.
"I'm pretty much out of time. I'll have to leave this to the third."
"T-the third?"
"Yeah, you're gonna have a bad time."
Before I could ask what he meant by that, he punched me in the face and knocked me out.
WB: Ouch. That was harsh, even for you, Herobrine.
Herobrine: Sorry, I got caught up in my character.
Actually, that was good. Thank you, Herobrine.
Herobrine: Just doing my job. I'm satisfied now, so I'm going to Grillby's. See ya.
WB: So, who's your third ghost?
You'll find that out soon enough.
WB: I don't know why, but I'm in the mood for tofu... Tofu pops are tasty...
Oh great, not this again.
WB: Tofu pops are tasty...
Well, I may as well keep going.
*Dark POV, 11:55 pm
"Hey, are you alright?"
"Leave me alone, please."
"Maybe this will help."
A painful electric shock coursed through my body, and I fell off the armchair, immobile.
"My bad, I used too much. I forgot humans can only take so much electricity."
I tried to look around to see who it was, but I couldn't move my neck.
"W... who are you?"
"Me? You probably don't know who I am, so I'm not going to bother telling you my name. Just call me Neo Electricio. I'm not a ghost, I'm an Elemental Creation of the New Dimensional Void, or an ECNDV."
"What is that?"
"You wouldn't know. I'm from the future. Speaking of the future, I should leave now, the Ghost of Writer's Future will be here soon."
A buzzing sound could be heard, then silence. I recovered enough to stand up somewhat shakily, then proceeded to walk over to my armchair and sat down. No sooner then when I sat down, a shadow made itself apparent.
"WAKE UP, MORTAL, FOR I-"
It stopped, noticing I was already awake.
"WELL, THAT SAVES ME SOME TROUBLE. I AM THE GHOST OF-"
"Can you keep it down, please? I can hear you perfectly fine, you don't have to shout. Also, your voice sounds familiar."
"I WILL NOT LOWER MY VOICE, FOR I AM NOT UNDER YOUR COMMAND. I AM THE GHOST OF WRITER'S FUTURE, AND I DON'T TAKE ORDERS. YOU'VE NEVER SEEN ME BEFORE."
"Can you at least tell me who you are?"
"I AM THE GHOST OF WRITER'S FUTURE."
"No, I mean your actual name. Ghost of Writer's Future can't be your actual name."
"IT ACTUALLY IS. SEE? IT EVEN SAYS SO ON MY DRIVER'S LICENSE."
It pulled a driver's license which legitimately listed his name as Ghost of Writer's Future, though the picture still showed nothing but a shadow and the height provided was 2086, a number I seriously doubted.
"I should be shocked, but so much weird stuff has happened tonight that I honestly don't care anymore."
"WELL, ALLOW ME TO MAKE YOU CARE. DO YOU KNOW WHY I'M HERE?"
"Let me guess, you going to tell me my future."
"I'M HERE TO TELL YOU YOUR FUTURE."
"Figured."
The shadowy figure reached out an extended grey flipper to me. I reached for it, then stopped.
"Wait, a grey flipper?"
"WHAT'S WRONG WITH FLIPPERS?"
Without a word, I grabbed the flipper and yanked hard. WB came tumbling out from the shadowy mess, the shadow not moving fast enough to keep up with him.
WB: Okay, hold on a second!
What?
WB: The expository Ghost and the Ghost of the Future aren't allowed to be the same person! What gives?
Tell me where it says that the expository ghost and future ghost can't be the same.
WB: It's an implied rule!
It's not enforced, and this is my story.
WB: Alright, fine. Keep going.
*Dark POV, 12:15 am
The shadows settled back onto WB.
"DON'T MIND THE WALRUS, JUST PAY ATTENTION TO ME."
"WB, I know it's you."
"HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN THE DIFFERENT VOICE, THEN?"
"You lowered your voice half an octave, spoke louder, then gave yourself a slightly British accent."
"WHAT ABOUT THE SHADOWS, THEN?"
"A cloud of ashes from the fireplace."
"I- NO- Fine. You've got me."
WB gave up the act and let the ash cloud fall onto the rug. He then proceeded to brush himself off, let out a little cough, then looked me in the eyes.
"WE CO- We couldn't find anyone willing to play the Future ghost, so I stepped into the role."
A being phased beside him, wearing a grey suit and without a face.
"I could've taken the role."
Exasperated, WB turned to the person. I suddenly felt a weird headache come over me, and I had to sit down.
"No, Slendy. We're not turning this into a Slenderman cross-over. Besides, you kill every mortal being you look at."
"Hey, I offered."
It phased away, and my headache mysteriously cleared along with it. WB turned back to me.
"That was your alternative. Now you see why I chose this route."
"Just get this over with and show me my future."
WB pulled out a stack of papers and started flipping through them, muttering to himself something about his lines. After a moment, he tossed the paper aside.
"I had a script, but I'll just have to improv. What did you plan for your future?"
I thought for a moment.
"I wanted to be a librarian."
WB put his flippers on my shoulder, staring directly into my eyes with a passion I had not yet seen.
"That tells me a lot about you. You love the world of books and writing, do you not? Why abandon it? Why leave it behind just because you've lost inspiration in one area? If you can't think of anything for one area, try different types of fanfiction! Why stick to Minecraft when you could branch out to Pokemon, or Death Note, or anything else?"
I began to feel some of that passion burning inside me, a passion I had not felt for a long time.
"Hey, you know what? You're right! I can't give up! What day is it?"
"It's Christmas."
"That's perfect! I'll write a variation on A Christmas Carol, featuring you and I! We'll argue and I'll end up writing A Christmas Carol variation! This is genius, I need to start right away!"
I started searching for a pen and paper, or an old laptop, something to write with. WB watched me for a moment.
"Well, my work here is done. I've filled you with Writer's Passion, put it to good use. I'll be off now."
"Thank you, WB!"
He winked at me, then vanished out of existence.
WB: That's how you're going to end it?
Yeah, you got any better ideas?
WB: If this is A Christmas Carol, then where is Tiny Tim?
Tiny Tim?
WB: Yeah, you know, the 'God bless us all' kid? The one with the crutches?
Not every A Christmas Carol variation needs Tiny Tim.
WB: Are you kidding me? Tiny Tim is important! We need a Tiny Tim, or the story will be incomplete!
Okay, fine. You want a Tiny Tim variation so bad? Here you go.
*Dark POV, 12:30 am
"Yes, and then I'll write something like 'The Nazis and Vikings didn't even live in the same time period!' Nah, Nazis and Vikings are too cliche. Maybe Soviets and Romans?"
Just then, I heard a knock on my door. I opened the door, this time with a smile on my face. I looked up to find a gigantic bearded man standing at my door with an arm cast.
"I'm terribly sorry sir, but could you spare a quarter for a poor soul like me?"
I dug some change out of my pocket and handed it to him.
"There you go..."
"My name is Large Larry. I give humble thanks for your kind offering."
He started walking away, and I closed the door behind me, confused. I then shrugged and got back to the story.
WB: Seriously? Large Larry? Could you have been any less original?
Eh, I didn't give this much thought.
WB: Guess what?
What?
WB: I just got you to write an entire story.
Huh? Oh, I guess you did.
WB: See, you still have inspiration rattling around in that tiny brain! You can still write!
Yeah, and?
WB: I expect to see at least one new or returning story soon, for the new year!
I'll see what I can do.
WB: JUST DO IT! DON'T LET YOUR IDEAS BE IDEAS! Anyways, without further ado, I'll see you all next time!
Hey, that's my line!
WB: Too bad, I stole it.