Author's Note and Disclaimer: Please see first chapter.
Suddenly Jack and Simon were standing in the middle of the cemetery. There was no snow, but it was cold and cloudy and the graves and the ground were covered in frost and ice. Directly in front of them was a gravestone. Jack Merridew's gravestone.
The sight of it made Jack ill, but it came as no surprise, no shock. He'd been expecting this. He'd have been an idiot not to see it coming. Of course, seeing it coming did not make his knees any less weak. "My grave."
Simon spoke. "Look closer at it, Mr. Merridew."
"Why?" Jack demanded, but he obliged, peering closer to the headstone - his headstone - and was suddenly indignant. "Look what some little punk wrote!"
In messy, barely legible handwriting, somebody had scrawled FUCK YOU. Jack shook his head, appalled. Who would be so crass as to write fuck you on someone else's grave? Turning to Simon, Jack asked, "Just who would go and do that?"
Simon replied quietly, "Some people might ask just who would paint his face an' dance like an animal. Some people might ask just who would - "
"I was just a kid!" Jack interrupted, sensing where that was going.
Simon squinted at the headstone. "That was probably just a kid, too," the little ghost pointed out. "Or - somebody who knew you."
Jack's fingernails became suddenly interesting. "All right, all right, I get it." He shook his head. "But all the same."
Simon's face twitched, threatening to smile. "Why don't you keep watching?"
Jack frowned, but said nothing. He watched. For a few minutes, the wind blew and nothing happened. Then a small figure picked its way across the cemetery. It was a child, carrying a small bouquet of flowers in his arms. At first, it seemed he would pass Jack's grave, but then he noticed the obscene language that decorated it. He spit on the grave (Jack started up, but Simon hushed him) then rubbed it with his sleeve. The FUCK YOU, although it refused to disappear entirely, became a barely noticeable smudge. Then the child was on his way.
"He didn't have to do that," Jack said quietly.
"But he did," Simon pointed out.
"Why?"
Simon had a bit of a time answering that at first. "Because - because people aren't all bad." He smiled. "Nobody is all bad." He paused but suddenly was struck by the desire to elaborate, and did so with the first metaphor that came to him. "The Beast is only us. It's in all of us. But it is not us. Do you. understand?"
"A little," Jack answered slowly. "I still think you're batty. But - I guess I can kind of see how you can be batty and make a lot of sense." When he looked around, they were again on the snowy country road. How did that happen?
Simon's spirit frowned, then grinned. "I - I'll take what I can get," he laughed. Then, more seriously, he said, "Mr. Merridew."
"What? What else can you have to show me?" Jack ran through everything they'd done. Christmas past, Christmas present, Christmas Yet to Come. what else was there?
"Do you 'member when I first came to your house an' I said I had a gift for you?"
"Yes," Jack said, "but I don't remember ever getting it."
"How do you feel right now, Mr. Merridew?"
"Pretty good, I guess.you know, you can call me 'Jack'."
"All right, Mr. Merri - Jack. How d'you really feel right now?"
"I all ready told you, pretty good," Jack said, shifting.
"Whaddya feel like doing?" Simon asked, trying to get to the point. But Jack didn't need to answer. They both knew.
Simon said, "Merry Christmas, Jack."
~You like? I'll try to get the last part up as soon as I can.
