Author's Note and Disclaimer: I know I should be working on "Two Scars" right now, but this story simply refused to go away. I just HAD to write it. I hope you enjoy. ^_^ I don't own LotF, I'm just borrowing its characters. This story doesn't follow the story line of "A Christmas Carol" exactly, but since there are some similarities and that book is what inspired me to write this, I figured I'd better make sure everybody knew I didn't own that either...although I think you already did.

Simon was dead. Certainly, unarguably dead. Dead as a doorknob, although no doorknob to date has ever been alive to begin with. He'd been dead, actually, for several years - about a decade and a half.
Still, the fact that he was dead had not prevented Simon from strolling down Main Street that night, through the cold and wind and what seemed to be the beginning of a snowstorm.
You never could tell, though. The weatherman always prophesied snow around Chistmastime. The weatherman was usually wrong. Or so it had been during Simon's short life, and he knew somehow that it hadn't changed.
The little boy paused, his coarse hair hanging slightly in his eyes. Here it was, right across the street, the building he'd been looking for. And there was the person he'd been looking for, staring out the window, directly at him. Smiling, Simon waved to the open-mouthed man gawking at him.

~*~

"I don't care if - " Jack Merridew stopped mid-sentence as he looked out his office window, letting the phone receiver plummet to the floor. That child - standing across the street - looked just like Simon. Simon who was once in his choir; Simon from the...island...
But he couldn't be. Simon was dead! Now the kid was waving at him. To him. Don't be ridiculous, Jack chided himself, he's not waving at you. The stupid kid is just waving. "Hello?" the person on the other end of the phone was saying. Jack bent over to pick up the receiver, and when he looked up again, Simon was gone. No, not Simon, the little kid that resembled Simon.
"Er - sorry - about that, " Jack stammered, but then managed to regain a forceful voice tone, "but like I said before, I don't give a damn if it's almost Chirstmas Eve! You - "
Jack paused. There was that kid - there was Simon - sitting at Jack's desk, grinning as he rummaged aimlessly through the top right desk drawer.

~*~

Jack was hallucinating. He had to be. That was the only logical explanation there was. As he fumbled with his house keys, he could see that lousy little kid again, sitting in the tree in Jack's front yard, waving merrily, like he was trying to get Jack's attention. Well, he sure had it. Jack flung open the door and went inside, trying to forget it. Today had been stressful enough will all the red and green and lights and mistletoe and the nonsense about 'holiday cheer' to have to deal with an irritating little spirit.

~*~

It's your imagination, Jack told himself over and over again as he climbed into bed, your goddamned imagination! By why now, of all times, was he imagining Simon's presence? Could the holidays have been making him feel guilty about...that? But why now? Why now?
He rolled onto his stomach and tried to close his eyes. A quiet voice, one that he hadn't heard in the longest time but was still vaguely familiar, said shyly, "Hiya, Jack - er, wait, I guess now I should call you 'Mr. Merridew'."
Jack rolled over sat bolt upright in bed. "What the fuck!" he shouted, almost choking on the words. Sitting on the foot of his bed was the little coarse-haired boy. "How did you - ? Who are you - ? What the heck are you doing in my house?" Somehow, though, the angry demands weren't necessary. Jack already knew who this was. And how Simon got here. And what Simon was doing in his house. His only real question was why. Why now? Why not later? Why not before? Why ever, for that matter?
"Because now was just the right time," Simon explained mildly, answering the question he knew Jack wanted answered.
"Huh?" Jack shook himself.
"Because now was just the right time 's all," Simon repeated, extending his hand. "Now, come with me. I wanna show you something."
Jack's brow furrowed. "Show me - ? What? Where? And just how in the hell are you planning on getting me there?" He was suddenly on edge. He'd read A Chistmas Carol and seen half a dozen movies with nearly the same story line. He could guess where this was going.
Simon just smiled, kind of knowingly; he'd been expecting a similar response from Jack. The little boy stood and waited for the young man to rise also.
He didn't. Jack remained in bed, eyeing Simon warily. It was an amusing sight, really, and Simon had to fight back a smile. Mean old Jack, who'd bossed him mercilessly in the choir and had...abused...him on the island was now almost petrified of him. As if that wasn't enough, Jack was a grownup.
"Come on," Simon said gently.
"Why?" Jack asked nervously, his eyes narrowing. "Why is now the 'right time'?"
"It's almost Christmas," Simon said. "The season of giving. And I have a gift I'd like to give to you."
"A...gift?"
Simon nodded, unable to keep from smiling. This was too funny. It really was. "But you have to come with me."
"No."
The boy's smile widened. "No?" he asked, his voice trembling with the laughter that threatened to overtake him.
"You heard me. No." Jack crossed his arms and stuck out his tongue.
This was too much for Simon. He doubled over, chortling.
Jack didn't liked being mocked. He never had. He slowly climbed out of bed. "Fine. I'll go," he consented bitterly.
Simon struggled to regain his composure.

~So, whadda you think? Lemme know if I should continue!