STAVE FIVE - THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS
Dakota Dee had never been so scared in her life. The sight and sound of the ghost tore at her innermost recesses, ripping away all the presumption and pride and greed and hate that she had built for herself. As the ghost came closer, she began to distinguish him from the surrounding darkness. It wore a black cloak and hood, as was expected, but it only reached its waist—a very low waist, she noticed. From the waist down it wore black pants, though its legs were somewhat too short in proportion for its body. It was shod with black boots fitted with spurs, hence the source of the infernal sound. Its oversized chest, torso, arms, and head were perfectly still, and the only movement from it was a rather odd walk that the legs were doing, almost lagging behind the torso above them. It had the right arm raised a bit, and in its hand, something pointed to the starless sky. As it came closer, she identified a black six-shooter in the hand. Closer still, and she saw that the hood didn't completely cover the face, in fact, she could see the face—
"Hey, don't I know you?" Familiarity pushed away some of the terror: a wide face, low eyebrows, and a beard surrounding a jutting jaw. She had seen this face before somewhere, and she knew that, perhaps in a history book, or a documentary, or—
A Looney Toons Short?
Hundreds of faces flashed through her memory, until one suddenly stood out: a face that matched perfectly the character in front of her. Insolence returned with a vengeance, and she stood back, incredulous. "NASTY CANASTA! YOU'RE the Ghost of Christmas Future?"
"Canasta" stopped in front of her. His skin was paler than what she remembered, but his scowl was still there. His unblinking gaze tore at her insolence, making her feel uneasy.
"No, but really, Canasta! How on Earth did you end up doing this gig? Are things that bad for all you 'Bit Players'?"
Canasta said nothing, but continued to gaze at her, unmoving, not even blinking.
His lack of response filled the brunette with dread. A sudden possibility flashed through her thoughts. "Or—do you just look like Nasty Canasta, and are a ghost, for real?"
No movement, no response.
"But why would you want to look like HIM? I mean, Canasta was, and still is, a perfect unknown! He just showed up to help move a few cartoons along! Why would he be fitting to represent you?" She waited for an answer, and received none. That actually helped her think. "After all, you represent the Future, which no one knows, just—like—him————oh, I get it now. You chose a form I could identify with, while remaining completely unknown, and also have the ability to scare the (CENSORED) out of me, right?"
His glare tore at her so much that she had to turn away. Trying to drown out the infernal silence, and her own terror, she argued, "You know, I've heard of this incredible invention that has revolutionised communication everywhere: it's called SPEECH. If you try that, you COULD get your message through to me much more efficiently."
The ghost showed no amusement nor surprise at her suggestion. She continued, "You're really freaking me out, more than the other two, you know."
Silence.
"Please, you've got a mouth, just SAY SOMETHING!" She didn't know what would be more horrifying: a demonic voice, or the infernal silence that was consuming her, broken only by her own cries. Seeing that she wouldn't get any dialogue from him, she sighed with defeat. "Okay, okay, so you're the Ghost of Christmas Future. You're here to show me what could happen later on. But how are you going to show me anything here? We're in the middle of nowhere!"
Finally, the ghost gestured. He waved his revolver toward a building on Dakota's left. It only took her a moment to deduce that he was telling her where to go. She turned—
—and saw that he was pointing to a saloon.
"You do realise," she explained, turning to him, "that I'm underage, and I can't go into bars for several years yet."
He insisted with his gun.
"Listen, dummy! I can't go in there! I may be evil, but I'm NOT an alcoholic!"
(BANGKAPWIIINNNG!)
Dakota jumped as the bullet ricocheted between her bare feet. Terror and solemn dread filled her again. "O—okay, okay. I'm going." She stumbled across the street and up the wooden sidewalk, not daring to take her eyes off him. The Caucasian pushed open the swinging doors, making them creak on rusted hinges. He followed, again with the clinking of spurs, filling the place with an infernal echo, compared to the silence from her own feet.
The saloon looked like any abandoned and decrepit western saloon, except that there were no tables, chairs, or barstools. There was a bar on the opposite side, but there was nothing behind it. A seemingly endless wall with countless windows completed the front side. Dust, dirt, and sand were everywhere.
"This place looks a lot bigger from the inside than from the outside." A squeaking of rusted hinges, followed by spurs and footfalls on wood, proclaimed that the ghost had entered behind her. She turned to him, "Okay, we're here, and I doubt you're going to buy me a drink. So now what?"
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
The girl slowly straightened from her cringe, her heart running the 100-metre dash. She screamed at him, "What the (CENSORED) was that for, dummy?" His only response was to wave in the direction of the shot. She turned and saw that the first window next to the door was broken—
—then she did a double take when she noticed light coming from outside, but only through that window. Cautiously, she approached it, hoping not to cut herself on the debris, but for her benefit all the broken glass had fallen outside. She looked outside—
—and looked back inside with a raised eyebrow. She looked outside again to make sure that she was seeing what she was seeing. "Now this is decidedly strange," she said to herself, as she examined the scene "outside".
"Outside" was actually "inside".
Or, a window to another room, despite the fact that she knew that the window was in front of the saloon, hence, the window should give a view of the street, but that was not what she was looking at.
Instead, Dakota Dee was looking at the trading floor of the New York Stock Exchange.
Looking closer, she saw that the trading day had finished just a few minutes ago. Then, on the floor, she saw two male teenage human janitors sweeping the myriad of sheets off the floor, and she could hear them talking.
"…died yesterday. It was terrible!"
"I nearly barfed when I read it on the Net last night. Man, I get the creeps just thinking of that type of death!"
"Did the Net say when the funeral is going to be?"
"Funeral? Don't be silly. If he's still as cheap as he is, he'll probably just throw the remains in a hole in a field so he'll only pay for gas and a shovel. In an unmarked grave, too."
The other one chuckled. "Anything to save money. But what about all the assets?"
"He assumes control, of course. I read that he might hold an auction to recover what he invested in that (CENSORED)!" She expected a defence, or even an additional insult at the deceased, but the next answer surprised her.
"An auction? Sounds interesting. I just might go and see if the rumours on the stereo are true. Just might buy it too, if the bids don't go over my savings!"
Dakota wondered why the person and the funeral seemed less important than an auction. She looked back at the ghost, "Who are they talking about? Why would anyone want to throw someone in an unmarked grave, if they can afford a decent funeral? Who were those two referring to?"
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
—was his response.
She straightened up from her sudden flinch again, and saw that he had shot down the second window, without a word. She walked to it, and looked at the next scene.
"AndherewehaveagenuinePanasonicMAX70000onehundredpercentdigitalhomeentertainmentcentrebiddingstartsatfivethousanddollarsdoIhearfivethousanddollarsfivethousanddollarsfiftyonehundreddollars—"
Hands, paws, talons, and wings went up and down as the bids increased. Dakota watched with confusion at the auction in a large white auditorium, wondering why anyone would bid on a stereo that anyone could get—customised—just———like——————hers—
She leaned out and squinted, trying to get a better look at the machine. "Odd," she squeaked, "that—looks a lot like my stereo—" The bidding continued, and she looked at the bidders. Many were businesstoons she knew, and the previous teenage janitor was there, as were a few toon celebrities, even the Warner Brothers and the Warner Sister! She didn't see herself, though, much less an older version of herself. She looked back at the stage where the stereo was being displayed, but then caught sight of someone. Way over on stage right, just outside of the bidders' view, arms crossed, was her father, Montana Max.
Montana had obviously seen better days. His black business suit was well pressed, and his tie was neat, but still, there was a sense of defeat coming from him. His hair wasn't unkept, but it seemed dry and brittle, with a few premature silver strands. His eyes were cold and hard, sunken with weariness. He just stared at the auction, as if it were an IRS audit.
Dakota had never been close to him, but even she couldn't deny that he was in very deep grief. After all, why wouldn't he be taking part of the auction—?
—unless—he had organised the auction————
But why would he? Was he approaching bankruptcy and needed hard cash immediately? And if he did, why didn't he just ask her—
The teenager gasped when she saw the next items up for bid.
A computer.
A business desk.
A digital wall clock.
And a king size cedar canopy bed, with orange silk covers and orange curtains
All of which had a very creepy resemblance to HER computer, desk, clock, and bed.
"—SOLDtothegentlemanwiththeredcapthankyousir…"
Someone with a red cap and blue sweater stood from the audience to claim her stereo—no, (CENSORED) it, a stereo that LOOKED like hers! She did a double take and saw that the winner of the bid was none other than Wakko Warner, who was followed by his brother and sister. He leaned back and whispered something to them, but she heard him very clearly, "Faboo, I never knew that someone's death could be such big business…"
The brunette had enough. She pulled away from the window and demanded, "ALL RIGHT, CANASTA! JUST WHOSE STUFF ARE THEY AUCTIONING OFF!"
The ghost just stood there.
She raised angry fists. "(CENSORED) it, you just have to nod YES OR NO! WAS ALL THAT STUFF MINE!"
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
This time, the teenager flinched just in time before the gun went off. Scowling at the ghost, she went to the third window—
—that had completely collapsed, along with part of the wall, leaving enough space for her to walk through if she wished. The sound of boots and spurs against the wood told her that the ghost was following her for this scene.
She poked her head out, and saw a grey room with large cabinets along the walls. There was a large table in the middle of the room, and something cylindrical was in the middle, covered by a white sheet. Looking at a door, she saw on the windowpane the reverse of an eerie label:
MORGUE
"Um, what am I supposed to be looking at here?" she asked. Despite her being deathly afraid, confusion still reigned in her cold heart as well. The ghost waved his gun again, this time, at the sheet and the cylinder under it. The teenager eyed him with dread, and proceeded to the table.
"Oh cold, cold, rigid, dreadful Death, set up thine altar here, and dress it with such terrors as thou hast at thy command: for this is thy dominion! But of the loved, revered, and honoured head, thou canst not turn one hair to thy dread purposes, or make one feature odious. It is not that the hand is heavy and will fall down when released; it is not that the heart and pulse are still; but that the hand was open, generous, and true; the heart brave, warm, and tender; and the pulse a toon's. Strike, Shadow, strike! And see the good deeds springing from the wound, to sow the world with life immortal!"
She didn't know if the previous paragraph was spoken by the ghost, or if it just ran through her own mind. She was one second away from yanking the sheet off when a sudden realisation made her turn paler than ever before.
This was the morgue.
Morgues are where dead people are kept.
Except that here, in toonity, toons don't die.
That is, they rarely die.
And the ways in which they died, documented so graphically back in 1988, could fill any toon with unspeakable horror.
If there was a dead toon on the table, then the sheet would have a shape of a body, which it presumably covered.
But here, there was no body under the sheet, as the shape proclaimed.
Under the sheet there was a CAN.
And with what she knew about toon anatomy, the only reason why a CAN would be in a morgue would be because it contained the dissolved aniplasm of a toon—
—destroyed by DIP.
She realised why the janitor was so creeped out by this type of toon death, so she staggered back into the drawers. Despite the fact that there was no dip in the can, she didn't dare look at its contents. And if this was a normal morgue, the name of the dead toon would be printed on the side of the can.
The ghost insisted.
"No," she hissed at him. "I do NOT have to look under there! And just who died that no one cares? Who died that not even the Warner Brothers respect?"
He stopped waving, but continued scowling at her.
"Death by dip is something every toon fears, my friend. Something so tragic would have brought along SOME emotion! Doesn't anyone respect or feel ANYTHING about a death as tragic as this?"
For a moment, the ghost twirled his gun, as if thinking something, and then backed out of the room. The girl followed him—
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
—just in time to cringe involuntarily at the gunshot and the crashing of glass. She looked out the next window, and saw that she was looking at a strange place, so strange, it reminded her of—
"Wackyland?"
It was indeed Wackyland, for all the crazy colours and shapes and characters in it proclaimed it so. Many strange characters were gathered, and apparently anxious, when suddenly a hole opened in mid-air above them, and Gogo Dodo jumped out with the hole closing behind him.
"Gogo!" shouted a giant pen. "Were you able to get her to agree to another extension?"
"No," he replied, somewhat sad. "But we may still be able to get out of this mess!"
"How? There's no way she'll give us even a discount! She's worse than her father!"
"Well, actually, the extension sorta came by itself. She's dead." The reactions of the toons more than shocked her. For one second their expressions seemed to be of grief and sadness, but suddenly—
—they CHEERED.
And some actually knelt to thank God in Heaven.
Amidst the joy over someone's death, the Pen approached Gogo, "But—what happens to the loan now?"
"The bank will decide whether they take it or give it back to her father. But it will take weeks to decide, so we have more time to raise the cash to pay off the loan!"
The additional cheering sickened the teenager to no end. She turned and hoisted herself up to the ghost's face, "NO, YOU IDJIT! Show me any kind of GRIEF over that toon's death!" The ghost's glare bore into her eyes as he twirled his gun again, thinking.
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
She let go of him and unstopped her ear. Looking out the next broken window, she saw that she was finally looking "outside" at a hill. It was a sunny day, but the air seemed filled with sadness and grief. In front of her was a large crowd composed of toons she knew. There were The Fourteen with their younger brothers, sisters, and their parents, slightly older; Nigel and RuBarb Carrotte, with Nolan and Talleen, slightly older as well; Adam and Lizbeth Fox, with A.J.; all the Tiny Toons, all the Looney Toons, The J.A.M. and his family, Erik and Jessimyn Wolf, with Jason, Jasmine, rabbit twins, and Lilly, a young wolf cub; Rupert and Lillian Carrotte, Viktor and Amanda Norka, and leading the crowd, were a very distressed Lionel and Miranda Carrotte.
All were dressed in black.
All were standing next to an open pit.
And all ears and tails were low.
Since there was a wolverine minister officiating the ceremony, Dakota deduced that this was none other than a funeral.
But whose? The casket was small, so it was obviously of someone who died young—
"…and bidding her farewell—" (CENSORED), she missed the name and species! Quickly looking around, she didn't see herself, just her mother, making her panic once again, "—even though many of us never even had a chance to say hello." Then he read from his Book, paraphrasing, "For now she should lie down and be quiet. She should sleep, and then she would be at rest with kings and counsellors of the earth, who built up waste places for themselves, or with princes who had gold, who filled their houses with silver, or as a hidden untimely birth—though not totally hidden, as she had been—now part of the infants who never saw light. There the wicked cease from troubling. There the weary are at rest. There the prisoners are at ease together. They don't hear the voice of the taskmaster. The small and the great are there. The servant is free from his master." He looked up, "And sadly, she did not see her parents, her relatives, nor this world. Still, she received love, and she will always be remembered as one who fought and did not quit, but though she did not achieve victory over her ailment, her death will be considered a sacrifice, because her condition and demise opened a huge realm of knowledge and hope, enabling doctors and scientists to see what went wrong, thus laying the groundwork—the seed—of the research that will help prevent this from happening to others, a process that would have taken much more time—and lives—than if this tragedy had not occurred. She will not be forgotten, and she will be considered a hero, and will live on in the legacy she left behind: The Norka-Carrotte Hybridisation Research Foundation. She died—so that others may live." Leo and Miranda's sobbing increased.
Dakota, meanwhile, felt as if something had been snatched from her, namely, the credit to all the research she did, which would now go to the Carrottes.
The minister turned to his Book again, "Behold, I tell you a mystery. We will not all die, but we will all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we will be changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. But when this corruptible puts on incorruption, and this mortal puts on immortality, then what is written will happen: 'Death is swallowed up in victory.' 'Death, where is your sting? Grave, where is your victory?'"
Dakota saw that his words of comfort didn't seem to have much effect on Lionel or Miranda, who were now sobbing almost uncontrollably.
And she knew that they couldn't be crying for her.
"This is the funeral of the Carrotte's baby," she told the ghost, slightly awed by the grief caused by a "freak". "And I know the baby wouldn't have been able to own that stereo or be a creditor to a loan. Who was everyone talking about at the Exchange? The auction? And Wackyland? Was it—was it—" She barely had enough strength to consider that possibility, but after seeking within herself, she asked, "—was it me?"
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
This time, she was looking at a snowfall, toward a window on a mansion—her mansion! And she was looking at the window that led to her office—
—and saw through the glass and translucent curtains, her father, sitting on the recliner, looking blankly at the burning fireplace. "D-Dad?" she asked weakly, rarely having addressed him directly with that term. Looking closer she saw someone on her desk busy typing away at the computer, but it wasn't her. Odd thing though, the worker looked like a chicken, a giant ch—
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
Once again, she was looking outside, not at a graveyard, but at a large open field, several hundred metres from a highway. "What's supposed to be here? It's just the middle of nowhere!" As was expected, the ghost gave her no answer. "Boy, you really like to talk, don't you?" She turned back to the scene, and it appeared to be zooming in on someone, "Look, the night is about to end, but I have to know something. I have the feeling all of the toons were talking about me, but tell me: are all these events set in stone?" The ghost said nothing. "Or—are they written on paper with a pencil? Can they be changed?" The scene zoomed closer. "I, more than anyone, know that one event can alter the course of history with huge repercussions. Can the same be said for all of what you've shown me? Or—is everything—" she shivered, "final?"
The ghost's only response was to wave his gun at the scene in front of her. She turned—
—and saw Tex, standing in the middle of the field, wearing sackcloth, with ashes on his head and drooped ears. "Tex? What is he doing here? And why is he wearing all that? What's wrong with him?"
She then saw the grieving buck pull out a rose out of nowhere, and lay it down in front of a very small headstone. She didn't know for how long he had been standing there, but his swollen eyes and worn incisors made her deduce that he had been there for quite a while. At last, he spoke with a choked voice, hindered by heavy sobs, "It—it didn't have to end this way! Not like this! He refused to put you in a decent plot—and gave you an unmarked grave! I—I didn't—mind—paying for the headstone—sorry it's so small—it's all I could afford—my brothers didn't want to lend me any money—for it—" He shook his head, and covered his eyes, "If you'd only listened—! Now—now my payment for what I felt for you—will continue—for now—and until Kingdom come—I'm so sorry, Dee—!" At that, the green buck turned, and slowly padded away from the stone. The teenager saw him pad toward a tree in the distance, where a female toon was waiting, though she was too far away to identify her.
Now it was only Dakota and the tombstone. She knew she had to look at it, but she wouldn't dare. She turned to the ghost again—
—and saw that he was waving his gun at the stone, very insistently.
Finally, the girl grit her teeth, whirled, and looked at the tombstone.
DAKOTA DEE DUFF MAXIMILIAN
Loved by only one toon.
She staggered back into the saloon, the name on the stone burning into her heart.
She couldn't scream.
She couldn't cry.
She couldn't speak.
She couldn't think.
She struggled and struggled, staggering back to the broken window, blurting at last, "WHERE are my parents? My relatives? My GLORIOUS funeral? My mausoleum? Is this how it all ends? Is this what everything I've done leads to?" Pale, nearly white, including her pyjamas, she turned to the ghost, "Is—is this how it all ends?"
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
She was so frightened that she actually screamed and jumped at the gunshot. Trembling, she approached the next window.
She was now looking at the halls of Acme Looniversity. And by the lack of textiles on several furry toons, she deduced that it was International Nekkid Day. She saw Tex walking by, wearing nothing but his fur, and apparently showing off chest muscles she didn't know he had, especially now that he was taller. She was ogling him to the point that she didn't notice him padding past a young black female kitten with green eyes.
"Oh, wow," said Talleen, also ogling him—
(CLONG!)
—right before walking into a locker, startling both the humanmaid and herself. "Oooowww…"
The green buck suddenly turned back, and asked her with concern, "You okay, Tally?"
The dazed kitten replied with low ears, "Uh…yeah. Gotta watch where I'm going."
"Well, okay, you be careful there."
"Right." She gave him a toothy smile and went on her way, ears still laid back. As she did, she muttered, "Oh THANK you mixed up DNA! Half rat, so I find rodentia attractive!"
Tex looked back at the young hybrid, whose curves were just starting to come in through her thick fur, and thought, "She's going to end up a fine female."
Seeing the look in his eye, the brunette knew where all of this was headed. She fumed, "Brat! She's not even old enough to be in high school! What does he SEE in her?"
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
Her previous terror was now replaced with insane jealousy, to the point that the sudden noise didn't faze her at all. She just moved to the next window, where again she saw the cemetery. Lionel and Miranda were there again, just them and no one else this time, and the couple was placing a large bouquet of flowers next to the small headstone.
She turned away a bit as remorse and guilt came on Dakota once again—
She screamed and nearly wet herself again, as she jumped away from the sudden apparition beside her.
Standing beside the window was a very young female furry toon, no more than 5 years old, she seemed. At first, the teenager couldn't identify what species she was, but upon a closer look, the youngster's features revealed her taxonomic classification.
She had almond brown fur, with a sandy brown patch covering her muzzle and abdomen. Her shape was vaguely like a rabbit, but her ears were half their normal length, like a coney or pika. Her proportions, though being of a 5-year old, seemed larger than they should be. Her torso was somewhat cylindrical and long, or at least her arms seemed shorter than normal. Her legs and foot-paws, though rabbit-like, also seemed somewhat shorter and stubbier than they should be. Her tail was twice as long as a rabbit's, however, though it ended in a dovetail shape. Short rabbit incisors peeked lightly from her muzzle.
By all means, this toon—who had appeared out of nowhere—would have caused anyone to consider her cute and loveable, and perhaps attempt to hug her.
Dakota, however, was scared out of her wits. This was partially because the toon was transparent, and had a faint light-blue glow around her, indicating that she was a spirit. The humanmaid was also reeling at the look in that toon's blue eyes, and from her reactions, one would think that the little spirit was glaring daggers at the teenager.
Instead, the kit's eyes were radiating the most warm and innocent love and affection that few kits could muster. So much love and affection, in fact, that the Caucasian couldn't stand it; it was practically stripping her of every gram of contempt, pride, arrogance, greed, and hate, leaving her soul practically naked: a lonely little girl who only wanted attention, comfort, and love.
And then came the coup d'grace: the spirit of the kit smiled at her, multiplying her radiance of love and affection a hundredfold, and multiplied even more by her ethereal voice that echoed all over the saloon, and all over Dakota's mind and soul:
"I forgive you."
There was no mockery, no sarcasm, no hint of the vaguest form of deception. They were only three words, but they carried so much love and grace and mercy that they penetrated Dakota to the bone marrow, and to the darkest parts of her mind and soul.
If Dakota didn't know better, this kit spoke with a voice that sounded a bit like…like that girl from that Harry Potter movie.
If Dakota didn't know better, she swore she could see carnivore fangs beside the lagomorph incisors.
If Dakota didn't know better, she knew who the parents of this kit were.
If Dakota didn't know better, this kit looked as if she was going to hug her.
If Dakota didn't know better, this kit looked as if she was going to give her a kiss as well.
The spirit of the kit jumped and practically pounced on the teenager—
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
—meaning that Dakota jumped and screamed at the next gunshot and crash. She felt the kit grab her, and yet she didn't. The move was so sudden that the whole thing felt like a sudden warm breeze that ironically chilled her to the marrow, and as soon as the kit made contact, she disappeared. Still, Dakota could almost feel something damp on her left cheek.
Moving to the next window, she saw the field where her nearly unmarked grave was, and an older Tex was standing in front of it, ears down. "…Leo promised that he would wait until Miranda was ready to try again—but I don't think that's ever going to happen now, even with all the lives that their research foundation has saved up till now. She really did die so that others may live. It's really amazing, you know: since their daughter died all the research just snowballed, and because of that the hybrid infant mortality rate has all but disappeared—and—and all the credit could have been yours—" he trailed off. He looked up and sighed, "Things—could have been different—so very different…" He just looked at the sky, not crying, or even grinding his teeth. Then, he took a deep breath, looked at the stone again, and declared, "I'm not going to be coming here anymore, Dee. I'm—I'm moving on, like Leo and Miranda will—hopefully—someday." He straightened up and sighed, "Farewell, Dee. I'll always remember you." With that last statement, he placed his last rose on the lonely grave, and left the field. Dakota saw him pad toward the same female toon as before: and now she knew that it was none other than Talleen, apparently thirteen years old now. They shared a sad smile, and padded away, holding paws.
Dakota blurted, "That's it? Even HE'S leaving me? But, how—HOW can he leave me, like that—? I'll be all alone…"
Alone…alone…alone…alone…alone…alone…alone…
Anger filled her again, and she hissed with clenched fists, "HOW can he go off with that little—that little—(CENSORED)!" she blurted, "What does he SEE in her?" Though Talleen's figure alerted her that if her present course remained unchanged, Dakota would not be able to physically develop any further. Slowly, she opened her hands and stared at them, remembering all she had seen, and all she had done. "W—what—what did he see in ME?" She looked up to the couple as they became smaller and smaller. "What—could have made him stay with me for so long—after what I did to his friends—what I did to his family———what I did to———him———"
At that moment, she remembered Tex's kiss.
The kiss that she blatantly ignored afterward, despite her being so stunned when it happened.
She mumbled, "It was—the first time—someone kissed me—like that—" Realising the present implications, she added, "And it might be the last—" Desperation now overcame her. "What—what made you stay with me, despite all I did? What made you be the only one at my funeral, and the only one to ever visit my grave?" she asked the shadow of Tex, as she placed a hand on the shattered glass. "Why am I still in your head? What did I do to deserve—"
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
She whirled back to the ghost. "Th-there's still more? What more can you possibly show me that is worse than this?"
He just waved his gun to the next broken window. Obediently now, the humanmaid walked over and looked out.
And what she saw made her, and her clothes, and her hair, turn completely white.
It was a dark alley, blanketed with dirty snow. A homeless grey dog was trying to warm himself next to a steel drum that had a very low fire inside.
And further inside the alley Dakota saw the white-blue ghost of herself.
She barely recognised herself, for though she was transparent, and wore a tattered business blouse and skirt, the entire figure of her ghost was wrapped with chains long and large enough to moor a cruise ship. Huge bags of gold ingots, bills, and coins were attached to the links. They were transparent as well, but barely enough for Dakota to identify the face of the tortured soul inside them. Eerie clanking rang with every step she took. "Howard Hughes wasn't kidding, was he?" Dee murmured, as she watched her ghost self through the window. "That—that's a lot of chain..." The ghost above her said nothing, but just held up his gun as it continued to smoke. The teenager whispered, "…I don't want to be alone…" and saw her ghost trudge on, trying to get to the dog to give him a small piece of dry wood to help with the fire, but suddenly the ghost stumbled and fell with infernal clanking as one of the links snagged on something. Dakota looked closer, and saw that it got stuck on a dime that was on the ground. "What? How can chains get snagged on a dime?" she mused, mystified. The ghost tugged and tugged, and even tried backing up, but the dime acted like a spike that kept her from reaching her goal.
"This is—this is—this can't—"
(BANGCRASH!)
(…tinkletinkletinkle…)
She never knew that terror could reach the intensity that it had reached with her. Visibly shaking, with trembling legs, she approached the last window.
She was looking at a bedroom, a very elaborately furnished one, but there was no light save for the burning fireplace. The furniture seemed familiar—
The brunette gasped when she realised she was looking at her father's bedroom. Standing next to the fireplace was not her aged father, but an adult yellow male lop rabbit with white headfur, clad in black silk boxers. For a moment, she thought she was looking at Tex's brother, Mel, but then she realised that this couldn't be Mel. The yellow shade of his fur was somewhat darker, his ears lopped but seemed longer, and the face was similar, but not exactly like Mel's, even allowing for age progression.
The lagomorph appeared to be speaking to an empty chair, but slowly, the listener came into view.
The Caucasian gasped when she saw him speaking to the ghost of herself, still wrapped in chains.
"Please," he huffed, "you must be confused. Montana Max doesn't live here anymore because I threw him out! Besides, you're a human; I'm a rabbit. How could I possibly be your son?"
"You read my biography," Dakota's ghost's voice was very faint and nearly screechy. "You followed my example, you do the things I did, so then you're my son, Howard Hughes' son, and Jacob Marley's son as well! And with every act of greed and corruption you do I receive more and more punishment! But what I have is nothing compared to what YOU will get if you don't heed the spirits' warnings!"
"Oh, come on. My father was greedy and nothing happened to him!"
"That's because he changed before it was too late!" she replied, looking at a portrait on the wall. Dakota, too, looked up, and saw that the buck's father was Tex's younger brother, Mel!
Dakota staggered back from the window.
History was repeating itself in the most horrifying way she had ever seen.
She never married, but she had children: those willing to follow the legacy she left behind.
She had wanted to lead, and now she was leading others.
Now, and forever.
And the dividends of her actions would continue to accumulate until the end of time: reaching returns of 3,000, 6,000, and 10,000 per cent.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" She flung herself at the apparition, hoisting herself up his tunic so she could look at him in the eye. "PLEASE! Can these events be altered in any way? Can I have another end if I do things differently?"
Silence.
"No," she sobbed, "it can't end like this...!" She wept into the ghost's tunic, who actually seemed to show some emotion as he tried to lean away, as if he was repulsed by the toon holding him. At that moment, he became transparent, allowing the girl to fall through him and hit the floor hard. She continued sobbing, as something else came to her mind. "'If these shadows remain unaltered,'" Dakota quoted from Dickens. "If I don't change, that's how it will end." She looked up at the ghost and pleaded, "What must I do to avoid this? What is it that I have to do to change this future?"
Silence.
"PLEASE! If you have ever talked, TALK NOW! I don't want to risk any misinterpretations here! Can I avoid this?"
The ghost twirled his gun again for a moment. Then, with his other hand, he reached into his tunic, pulled out a paper, and let it fall in front of her. She clutched it like she would grab a gold ingot, sat up, and read:
"…when I say to the evil man, 'You will die,' if he turns from his evil and does what is lawful and right, gives back what he stole, and is guided by the rules of life, doing no evil, he will certainly live, and will not die. None of the evil he did will be accounted against him: he has done what is lawful and right, he will certainly live..."
"…when the evil man, turning away from his evil-doing, does what is lawful and right, he will live…"
She re-read the passage.
"…he will certainly live, and will not die…"
And re-read it.
"…None of the evil that he did will be accounted against him…"
And read it one more time to make sure it said what she thought it said, but this time, she applied it to her.
"…None of the evil that she did will be accounted against her…"
"Is this correct?" she asked him with urgency. "I can avoid this?"
And for the only time in this visit, the ghost nodded.
She turned away, her face unusually bright, "Yes! I can avoid this! It doesn't have to happen! I can stop all this! I can live! I can save myself! I can alter the future! I can—"
She turned to him again, but—
—He was gone.
She immediately ran outside, stumbling on the steps. She glanced everywhere, but she was completely alone.
And cold.
Trans-Siberian Orchestra
"The Lost Christmas Eve"
THE LOST CHRISTMAS EVE
© 2004 Lava Records
She just stood there now, as whatever light there was seemed to focus on her.
"On a street in the night—in the cold winter's light
A child stands alone and she's waiting." She hugged herself, shivering.
"And the light that's out there: it just hangs in the air
As if it was just—hesitating." She looked up at the light, and saw snowflakes floating down.
"And the snow: it comes down, and it muffles the sound
Of dreams on their way to tomorrow." She shook her head in complete despair, all hope of redemption gone.
"And when they appear this night will hold them near,
For where they will lead it will follow." She thought she saw another light in the distance, and walked toward it.
"For here in this city of lights—!" Ghosts of cities faded around her.
"—This evening awakens the dreams that it might!" She stumbled as ghosts of the visits she did faded in as well.
"The winter it conjures the spells it will weave!" Gusts blew around her.
"The snow gently covers the ground—" And she made tracks on the fresh snow.
"…Christmas Eve…" But suddenly there was no more light. She turned and ran back to the saloon.
"In this scene on this night—there's an ancient hotel
Where shadows they do tend to wander." Once inside, she gasped. The three ghosts were talking to each other!
"And the ghosts that live here hold each moment so dear
For time's not a thing one should squander." Apparently a grim discussion, for they were shaking their heads.
"And they recount their sand as it runs through their hand
And examine each moment for meaning." Shadows faded around them, and they commented on how Dakota had scoffed at them all.
"It can be wished upon till the moment it's gone
Like day disappears into evening." They took one look at Dakota, and vanished again.
"For here in this city of lights—!" She ran to where they had stood; Acme Acres now in one of the windows.
"—This evening awakens the dreams that it might!" There was no one to comfort her.
"The winter it conjures; the moment is seized!" More gusts blew.
"The snow gently covers the ground—" And she felt more and more chills. She thought she saw a scene of a Christmas tree, but it was too faint to be sure.
"…Christmas Eve…" Just then, the rabbit-mink kit appeared in front of her again, and she was giving her the smile that somehow brought terror to her heart, a smile that showed that the cub didn't hold any grudges toward the humanmaid, a smile that declared—
FORGIVENESS
The kit then happily spoke two words that resonated through Dakota's head bringing her even more terror:
"…Merry Christmas…merry Christmas…merry Christmas…merry Christmas…"
She staggered back; the happiness and forgiveness the kit was radiating was somehow producing more terror than all the scenes she saw before. Suddenly more ghostly images appeared all around her, saying one word:
Junior, "…Christmas…"
Alexi, "…Christmas…"
Miriam, "…Christmas…"
Tex, "…Christmas…"
Friz, "…Christmas…"
Shotsy, "…Christmas…"
Morty, "…Christmas…"
Bekki, "…Christmas…"
June, "…Christmas…"
Hunni, "…Christmas…"
Anni, "…Christmas…"
Mel, "…Christmas…"
Buck, "…Christmas…"
Chuck, "…Christmas…"
Talleen, "…Christmas…"
Nolan, "…Christmas…"
The J, "…Christmas…"
Jason, "…Christmas…"
Jasmine, "…Christmas…"
Lillian, "…Christmas…"
The M, "…Christmas…"
A.J., "…Christmas…"
Roberta, "…Christmas…"
Mary Melody, "…Christmas…"
"Throuuugh…this night—the dream still wanders—" At last, they were gone.
"As iiiit…was meaaaant…to beeee…" She was alone once again.
"And eeeevery yeeeear this night grows fonder—" Tex's face remained in her memory, for some reason.
"Of children and circumstance caught in this childhood dance!" She remembered her time in Soho.
"As the world turns around keeping dreams on the ground!" And the sled landing here.
"Windows of frosted ice, prisming candlelight!" (BANGCRASH!)
"And somehow we start to believe—" Maybe—maybe there was something to Tex's religion—
"IN THE NIGHT AND THE DREAM AS IT CUTS THROUGH THE NOISE!" Suddenly everything was disappearing!
"WITH THE WHISPER OF SNOW AS IT STARTS TO DEPLOY!" As if the gusts were taking apart the saloon, the whole town!
"IN THE DEPTHS OF A NIGHT THAT'S ABOUT TO BEGIN!" Darkness surrounded her, broken only by the snow as it kept on piling up.
"WITH THE FEELING OF SNOW AS IT MELTS ON YOUR SKIN!" She ran through the snow, but there was nowhere to go.
"AND IT COVERS THE LAND WITH A DREAM SO INTENSE!" Just a blanket of snow everywhere, and darkness above.
"THAT IT RETURNS US ALL TO A CHILD'S INNOCENCE!" She remembered her time with her family before Soho.
"AND THEN WHAT YOU'D THOUGHT LOST AND COULD NEVER RETRIEVE!" And then at Acme Elementary.
"IS SUDDENLY THERE TO BE FOUND—!" She looked up.
"ON CHRISTMAS EEEEEEEVE!" One lone Star shone brightly in the sky, spotlighting her.
"ON CHRISTMAS EEEEEEEVE!" She knew what the Star was representing.
The cold finally got to her, and she collapsed on her knees. Terror continued to hound her; the blatant forgiveness of that kit was still bringing unspeakable torture on her. She couldn't weep, she couldn't scream, she was just left all alone in an icy Hell. She could only shiver, and remember, but more than remember, the images of the visions replayed endlessly and mercilessly through her head: of Tex's pleadings, of the Warnings, of how she chose the Dark Side, of how she treated J and how she rejected him, of Miranda's baby, and now, of her future, and the decision that Tex would eventually make. The more she thought about Tex, the colder it got, and she couldn't get him out of her mind, not even by closing her eyes. It had been him who gave her the Warnings, after all. Thinking about it, she now pondered on all who had affected her plans. And just when she thought it couldn't get any colder—
Trans-Siberian Orchestra
"The Lost Christmas Eve"
THE LOST CHRISTMAS EVE
© 2004 Lava Records
—she opened her eyes and saw her bed curtains, and past them, the closed balcony doors
She gasped, her mind suddenly crashing to a halt. Jumping to her feet, she ran around the room, making sure everything was where it was last night: the balcony doors, the smouldering fireplace, her carpet, and the large main doors—
It had been real.
She glanced at the clock, incredulous that it proclaimed the time to be 6:00 am of Christmas Day, of that exact same year.
"It was all done in one night," she whispered to herself. Slowly, she walked to the balcony doors and pulled away the curtains, to see the new day, and the snow covered landscape.
She had never felt so relieved in her life. She had been warned of her actions, and shown the future that would happen if she didn't change. The last warnings kept repeating in her mind, that if she turned and corrected her ways, she would be safe from destruction, the same destruction that she had wanted for J and his father.
And then, another memory flashed through her mind:
"It was her…"
Remembering some more, she realised something else:
"It was them…"