The Ghost of Christmas Past
During his long walk home, Mr Brittas convinced himself that the apparition in his office had been nothing more than a figment of his over-worked imagination. By the time he arrived at his front door, all thoughts of the incident had gone from his mind.
"Darling, I'm home!" he called out as he entered the house, expecting Helen to rush to greet him. There was no response. He went into the living room and found his father, Jim, dozing alone in front of the brightly light Christmas tree.
"Dad!" He exclaimed with delight, just loud enough to wake his father with a start.
"What- where-?" Jim spluttered before breaking into a grin as he recognised his son. He leapt up to greet him. "Gordon! Merry Christmas, son."
"What are you doing here, Dad? We weren't expecting you until tomorrow."
"Oh, well, when Helen heard that you were stuck at the centre, she decided that if she couldn't spend Christmas Eve with you, she wanted to help her old Uncle Simon go to midnight mass. She called to see if I would watch the children. Of course, I jumped at the chance. Anything to be useful. Better than spending Christmas Eve alone in my room at the home. Christmas just hasn't been the same since your mother died, of course…" A sad look passed over the old man's face. Distracted with placing Helen's present under the tree, Mr Brittas didn't notice.
"That's nice… So, Helen's not here then?"
"No, and she said to tell you not to wait up if you made it out of the centre. She wanted to make sure that Uncle Simon thoroughly enjoyed himself so didn't want to hurry back."
Mr Brittas beamed with pride. "That's my little Helen! After the disappointment of not being able to spend Christmas Eve with me, she has sacrificed her evening for the good of the elderly. Such an angel, that one! I hope the children kept you entertained?"
"They went to bed as soon as I arrived, Gordon."
"Jolly good. I think I'll do the same. It's been rather a long day, what with one crisis after another. They do make me work for it!" Mr Brittas gave a little laugh. "And I have to admit, I had a bit of a drink with the staff, which has rather gone to my head. Overindulged a bit more than normal, but it is Christmas, and you've got to be willing to bond with the staff, haven't you?"
His father looked at him blankly, then sat back down on the couch.
"Do you want me to bother making up a bed or are you alright there?" Mr Brittas asked him.
Looking rather awkward, Jim replied, "Oh, er, I don't want to cause you any trouble, son. It's not ideal for my back, but I can sleep here, if that's easiest."
"Excellent! I'll see you in the morning, then" And without leaving time for his father to reply, Mr Brittas hurried out of the room to bed.
By one o'clock, he was fast asleep, alone in his perfectly calm bedroom. The quiet was broken by the sound of the front door slamming, followed by drunken singing as Helen made her way up the stairs. At the top, she tripped and staggered forward into the half-open door of their bedroom, causing it to slam against the wall. With a giggled "oops", she slid down the door to sit on the floor and attempted to take off her shoes.
The bang of the door was enough to wake Mr Brittas. He sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp to find Helen wearing a tight black party dress, towering high heels, the smell of alcohol and the remnants of party popper in her hair. She appeared to be in a good mood, which faded instantly when she realised she wasn't alone.
"Oh, Gordon, you're here," she said flatly, dismissively flinging her shoes to the side of the room. "I wasn't expecting you to get out of the centre until Boxing Day. At least." Her speech was slurred; despite this, the bitterness in these last two words was obvious.
Mr Brittas didn't notice. "Colin saved the day, my darling, and got me home to you for Christmas!"
"Good," Helen replied in a tone that suggested it was anything but. Hauling herself up from the floor, she staggered over to the bed and collapsed onto it, face up, next to Mr Brittas. As she moved around to make herself comfortable, her dress rode up and became even more revealing. Mr Brittas did notice this and smiled.
"You're looking very festive, my darling. Did you have a good time at the midnight mass?"
"Oh yes," Helen smiled and, closing her eyes, stretched out languidly, settling into the pillows, not bothering to climb under the duvet.
"Excellent! I'm glad our little difficulties at the centre didn't completely ruin your Christmas Eve. And now we can celebrate together!" He rolled over to kiss her, but Helen's only response was a loud snore. He smiled at her sleeping form and, with an affectionate wrinkle of his nose, whispered "Merry Christmas, darling."
He turned back to his side of the bed, intending to go back to sleep. As he reached for the lamp switch, the time on the bedside clock caught his eye; it was two minutes to one o'clock. He shivered as the memory Mr Kitson's ghost crying "as the clock tolls one" echoed unbidden through his mind.
Holding his breath, he watched as a second hand of the clock slowly ticked around, getting closer and closer to the hour.
As it reached it, the grandfather clock in the hall let out a loud chime and Mr Brittas started, despite himself. Helen groaned in response to the movement, but didn't wake. As she settled again, the room remained silent.
The second hand of the clock continued to tick, one minute past one, then two. At three minutes past, Mr Brittas breathed out deeply. Feeling more relief that he cared to admit, he shook his head and chuckled to himself, "You've definitely been overdoing it, Gordy." Relaxing, he clicked off the light and rolled over to go back to sleep.
Just as he was on the cusp of dozing off again, a cold breeze blew across him, just as it had in his office two hours earlier. The familiarity of the sensation jolted him awake and he sat bolt upright. His hand automatically reached for the light switch, but it was unnecessary. The room was lit up by a growing ball of light at the foot of the bed. As Mr Brittas watched, it resolved into a human shape, and then, a man was standing there. He was thin, wearing a smart grey pinstripe suit with neat slicked down hair and small round glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was pale, almost to the point of translucency.
Mr Brittas stared at him with shock.
"Gordon Brittas," the man said in a voice that recalled the pages of an old yellowing book. "I am the ghost of Christmas Past, and I -"
"You're late!"
"On this night of self-exploration and understanding, the current time is immaterial -"
"Not to me, it isn't. And not to a great many other people. Punctuality is never immaterial. I was told to expect you at one o'clock and it is," Mr Brittas glanced towards his bedside clock, "five minutes past."
It was the turn of the ghost to stare at Mr Brittas. In more than a century of Christmas Eve hauntings, he had experienced surprise, shock, disbelief, awe, even joy on one occasion, when he presented himself to that year's soul to be saved. He'd never been told off before. Momentarily lost for words, he watched as Mr Brittas got out of bed and put on his slippers and dressing-gown, all while continuing an apparently well-rehearsed lecture on the virtues of good timekeeping.
"- so it's very important that we remember that punctuality is a sign that we care about others," Mr Brittas finished, with an exaggerated hand gesture that the ghost supposed meant something, although he had no idea what.
Feeling he was losing the initiative, the ghost decided to ignore Mr Brittas' speech and began again, "Gordon Brittas -"
"So, what are we doing then, ghostie?" Mr Brittas interrupted, making to playfully pat the ghost on the arm, his annoyance of the ghost's lateness apparently forgotten. As with Mr Kitson, Mr Brittas' hand passed straight through the ghost's body.
Behind his spectacles, the ghost's eyes narrowed. "I am here, Mr Brittas -"
"Call me Gordon, please."
"I am here, Gordon -" The ghost failed to keep the peevishness out of his voice, "- on this hallowed night of mysteries and miracles, to take you back into your past, to help you understand your life and the events that have led you to today. On this night, I want to show you yourself."
Mr Brittas' face crumpled with confusion. "Riiiiight…" he said, dragging the word out. "Why?"
"To help you right the wrongs of your life. To save you and those around you before it's too late."
"Still not with you."
"Mr Brittas -"
"Gordon."
"Gordon, I am here to show you the errors of your ways so that you can atone for them. The spirits of time have determined that it is vital that you change your ways now, this very Christmas, if you and those around you are to be saved." The ghost sighed. "Look, didn't Mr Kitson explain this?"
"No."
Did you give him chance to? the ghost thought to himself. He was beginning to get a headache. "You don't understand why I'm here?" he said aloud.
"Well, Mr Kitson explained that you somehow had the impression I wouldn't make it into heaven as I've apparently done something wrong, but as I've already been admitted once, I can't think what the problem would be. Why wouldn't I get back in?"
The ghost thought back to the large case file sitting on his desk documenting all the pain and suffering Mr Brittas had caused during his life so far. It was the largest file he'd seen in his career. He was tempted to point out that it was having so much to plough through had been why he was late. Instead, he said, "You can't think think of anything you've done wrong? Any harm you've caused anyone?"
"No."
The ghost raised an eyebrow, "Think deeply, Gordon. Are you sure?"
Mr Brittas raised a finger to his lips and made a visual show of his concentration. After a good half a minute, a spark of realisation flashed across his face and he looked at the ghost. "I did once accidentally steal a leisure centre pencil and didn't return it until after the weekend! I must say, if that's it, this all seems a bit excessive…"
The ghost was stunned. Surely, this man must realise what he is? Nobody could cause that much chaos and be completely unaware… could they? He gave Mr Brittas an appraising look "You are Gordon Brittas?" he asked. "You are Gordon Wellesley Brittas, born 12 September 1958, son of Jim and Catherine Brittas, brother of Horatio Brittas, manager of Whitbury Newton Leisure Centre?"
"Yes, indeed!" Mr Brittas beamed proudly.
Oh. Damn. "And you can't think of anything - other than the pencil - that you've ever done wrong in your life?"
"No."
The ghost sighed again. This was going to be difficult. "We'd better start at the beginning then."
He clicked his fingers and the room around them instantly changed into a children's bedroom. The open curtains showed that it was daytime. They were standing between two identical, neatly-made beds. A small Christmas tree stood in the corner.
A young boy was sitting on the end of one of the beds. He may have been around eleven years old, but it was hard to tell as his face was buried in his hands. He was crying. The bedroom door was ajar and the sound of people arguing could be heard from downstairs.
As he took in his new surroundings, Mr Brittas' expression became one of wide-eyed joy.
"Do you recognise this room, Gordon?" the ghost asked.
Mr Brittas nodded. "It looks just like my childhood bedroom, exactly as I remember it. I haven't been there in years."
"And do you recognise this boy?"
Mr Brittas only now seemed to notice the boy on the bed. "No…"
The boy moved his hands away from his face to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his jumper, allowing Mr Brittas to see him more clearly.
"He looks like my brother, when he was a child…" Mr Brittas again looked around the room, then peered more closely at the boy. "But that was almost thirty years ago… It can't be…" Mr Brittas turned to look at the ghost who gave a solemn nod.
"Yes, that's Horatio, your brother, when he was eleven. This is your bedroom as it was on Christmas Day, 1969."
Mr Brittas turned back to the boy. "Horatio! Bruv!"
Horatio hadn't reacted to their presence when they first arrived and didn't respond now, despite Mr Brittas happily waving a hand in front of his face.
"He can't hear you, Gordon. These are but echoes of your past. They may feel as real as the present day but we cannot interact or have any influence here. Do you remember what was special about this Christmas Day, Gordon?"
Mr Brittas nodded eagerly, "Yes, this is the Christmas when we -"
He was interrupted by another young boy, the same age as the first, came running into the room shouting "Horatio, Horatio!" This time, Horatio did look up.
"That's me!" Mr Brittas exclaimed, as his younger self sat down hard next to Horatio, causing the bed and the boy to bounce.
"Yes, it is," said the ghost.
Young Gordon shook his brother by arm, "Come on, Horatio, we're about to open the presents. You're going to miss seeing how happy mum is when she sees the novelty apron we bought her!"
Horatio, sniffing heavily, moved along the bed out of Gordon's reach with a look of tear-stained defiance. "No, I'm not coming back down. Not while he's there!"
"But you have to!" replied young Gordon, sounding rather petulant. "We have to spend Christmas Day as a family, sharing the togetherness. Dad said!"
"No! Not unless he apologises."
"Do you remember who your brother was talking about, Gordon?" the ghost asked the adult Mr Brittas as they watched his younger self unsuccessfully attempt to drag his uncooperative brother off the bed and towards the door.
Mr Brittas sneered. "Our cousin, Martin. That year, our uncle and his family came to spend Christmas with us. Every year, Horatio would act as vicar for the family and give a little reading to start Christmas Day. A lovely tradition that made us feel together as a family. But Martin thought it was silly and getting in the way of opening the presents, so he made fun of Horatio. A thoroughly unpleasant little boy, that Martin. My first introduction to how needlessly thoughtless some people can be."
The ghost gave a sideways glance at Mr Brittas, but said nothing.
"You have to turn the other cheek, bruv," young Gordon was saying to his brother. "That's what the bible says!"
This seemed to help Horatio a little. Once more wiping his nose on his sleeve, he said "Yes, yes, I know, Gordon. I just don't understand why people have to be so mean!"
"That's why we have to change the world! We have to save people from themselves and help them to be better!" There was a determination in Gordon's eyes that was echoed in the expression of the adult Mr Brittas watching him.
Horatio, however, simply sighed. "Oh Gordon, not this again. We can't change the world."
"Yes we can. Just like Dad says: if we work hard enough and we are capable of achieving anything!"
"I don't know, Gordon…"
"All we have to do is encourage everyone to change!"
"How?"
"You teach them religion to improve their spirits and minds and I'll teach them sport to improve their bodies, and together, we'll improve everything!"
Horatio shook his head. "I don't think we could do all that, Gordon. Not for the whole world. That's silly. Who's going to listen to us?"
"Of course we can. We just need to make a plan. We decide what we are going to do, we write it down, and then we do it." Gordon went over to a small desk in the corner of the room and collected a pad of paper and a pencil. He brought them back to the bed. He wrote across the top of the first sheet: 'Working towards the dream.'
"What dream?" Horatio asked.
"Our dream," Gordon said. "Like Dad says, we've got to have a dream, so we'll call it our dream and we will work towards it!"
Horatio scrunched his face up as though pained but said nothing. For half an hour, he sat in slight bewilderment as Gordon created a list of goals to change the world, participating only to make his own copy at Gordon's behest. The ghost also said nothing while Mr Brittas sat on the opposite bed, watching with delight and occasionally offering unheard advice to his younger self. Neither the younger nor the older incarnations of Mr Brittas noticed that Horatio was only a passive participant.
Eventually Gordon seemed to have a list he was happy with. He neatly copied out onto a fresh sheet of paper, held it up and stared at it with pride.
Horatio, who'd had made his own copy, also stared at it, but more with trepidation than pride. "We'll never achieve all this, Gordon."
"Of course we will. We've got our entire lives! That's decades of time!"
"But there's so much!"
"We don't have to do it all at once, bruv! We can start small, work on one person at a time if we have to. Every time we see someone acting in a way that goes against our goals of world peace and prosperity, we just have to make sure we always step in and help them improve themselves. If we keep going, eventually, we will change the world!"
As one, both young Gordon and Mr Brittas stared into the middle distance with the same gleam in their eyes and said, "It's my dream!"
The ghost frowned at both of them, as did Horatio.
"I just don't know, Gordon," Horatio said.
"Well I do! In fact, we can make a start right now!"
"How?"
"With Martin. Let's go downstairs right now and tell him, in front of everyone, exactly how his rude behaviour has ruined everyone's Christmas." Gordon got off the bed and headed for the door, but stopped when he realised that Horatio wasn't following him.
Horatio had remained seated, looking perfectly horrified at the thought of doing what Gordon had suggested.
"Well, come on!"
Horatio opened his mouth, trying to find words of protest. He was saved by their father.
"Boys!" Jim exclaimed, coming through the door. "We're waiting for you downstairs. Those presents won't open themselves, you know."
"We're coming, dad!" Gordon replied. "In two minutes, after we've had a word with Martin." He gave Horatio a meaningful glance. Horatio grimaced.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Gordon," their father replied. "I'm afraid Martin and your aunt and uncle have left. Your mother is rather upset about it. She worked so hard on Christmas lunch for everyone…"
"Martin's gone?" Horatio brightened immediately.
"Yes, he said he was feeling ill after his argument with you and Gordon. Your aunt thought it was better to get him home to bed. But never mind, eh? Let's go and cheer your mother up, shall we?"
"Yes, Dad!" exclaimed the boys in unison.
"We've got a plan to improve the world, Dad," Gordon said as the three of them traipsed out of the room, waving his piece of paper towards his father. Horatio, who lagged behind a little, purposefully left his copy on the bed.
"Well done, son," Jim could be heard saying as they went down the stairs. "As I always say, if you just dream hard enough, you two boys will be able to achieve whatever you want in life, if you just work at it."
As soon as Gordon's excited explanation to his father could no longer be heard, the ghost went over to the bed and picked up the piece of paper Horatio had left there.
"I've still got my copy," Mr Brittas told him, radiating pride. "It lives in my wallet, right next to pictures of Helen and the children. I've taken it everywhere with me ever since this day, to remind me of the importance of my life's work." He reached for his pocket, before realising he was still in his pyjamas and his wallet was safely back in the future.
The ghost began to read aloud from the paper: "'Working towards the dream. One. Setting up a world government." Mr Brittas joined in as he spoke. "Two. Promoting team spirit. Three. Building a sense of community and belonging." The ghost paused and Mr Brittas got as far as "Four. Abolition of -" before realising that he was speaking alone.
"Don't you think these goals were a bit much for an eleven year old boy," the ghost asked.
"Two eleven year old boys!"
"Don't you think this is all a bit overambitious? Even for an adult?" He waved the piece of paper towards Mr Brittas.
"No." Mr Brittas seemed rather confused by the question. "Everyone's got to have a high ambition, a dream they are driven by. That list of goals has carried me through my life and spurred me to achieve everything I have. I wouldn't be the man I am today without it."
Despite himself, the ghost accidentally let out a sarcastic little laugh.
"And I'm making good progress," Mr Brittas went on, not appearing to notice the ghost's response. "If I'm allowed to live another forty or fifty years, I do believe I can achieve all this. After all, my progress so far has been excellent, even if I say so myself."
"Has it, Gordon? Can you truly say that you have…" He scanned down the list of items on the piece of paper, "… brought peace and harmony to all men."
"Yes." He paused, then added. "Where I can."
"Well, let's see, shall we?"
The ghost clicked his fingers and the bedroom dissolved into what was probably a school hall, although it was difficult to tell amongst the thick smoke. "A carol concert you arranged when you were sixteen, Gordon."
He clicked again and now they were on a muddy football pitch, a few metres from a large fight between the teams. Some of the injured players were lying groaning around them. "A Christmas Eve charity match you arranged when you were eighteen."
Mr Brittas began to say something but the ghost didn't give him the chance. He clicked once more and they arrived at a university Christmas party just in time to see the twenty-year-old Mr Brittas be slapped in the face by a young woman who immediately ran off in tears. Angry onlookers were all glaring at him.
Another click, and now they were standing in the rubble of a burnt out building, the words "leisure centre" just about visible on a singed sign next to a charred Christmas tree.
The ghost continued to click, taking Mr Brittas from Christmas to Christmas. They passed through arguments, fires, explosions, sirens, fights, scared faces, angry faces, unconscious - or worse - faces. He gave Mr Brittas no time to comment, only staying long enough in any year to demonstrate the lack of peace and harmony in each scene.
One final click and they were back in the quiet calmness of Mr Brittas' current day bedroom. Whilst they'd been gone, Mrs Brittas had taken full advantage of her husband's absence and was sprawled in an ungainly fashion across the bed. The clock read seven minutes past one - the same time they'd left the room.
For the first time in his existence, the ghost was pleased to be in the present rather than the past. Despite the supposed physically impossibility of it, to his annoyance, he had not passed through the years without experiencing the effects some of Mr Brittas' 'talents' for himself. His glasses were askew, his hair a mess and his jacket was singed and smoking in places. Mr Brittas, on the other hand, had survived the trip unscathed and was currently looking at the ghost with an expectant smile on his face. The ghost scowled at him.
"Gordon Brittas, I ask again, do you honestly believe that you have brought peace and harmony to all men?"
There was no hesitation in Mr Brittas' reply. "Well, as you have seen, the world is not a pleasant place, and it has not been an easy task. I don't think I realised when I was eleven just how violent and angry the world can be. Although I'm not as far along as I hoped I'd be by now, I must say, that yes, I do think I have made excellent progress based on what I've had to work with." He finished with a broad grin.
The ghost's scowl deepened. "You do?"
"Yes. I mean, just imagine what all those Christmases would have been like if I hadn't been there to help staunch the flow of chaos!"
The ghost bridled. In all his Christmases of saving souls, this had never happened before. Defiance, apologies, tears were all quite common at this stage on the process but the man standing in front of him seemed quite proud of his life. It made no sense and he had no idea what to do now, other than to find himself a very strong drink, somewhere far away from Mr Gordon Brittas, his soul be damned.
"So what's next?" Mr Brittas asked, still smiling his supercilious smile.
"What?" the ghost replied grumpily, still trying to recover his thoughts. He gave his head a shake in an effort to pull himself together. "Yes, right, well. Gordon, I have shown you the echoes of your past, and some of the events of your life where others have suffered at your hands. I bid you think on what you have seen and consider what you have done."
These were his standard words, repeated every year, usually to entreaties of remorse or tirades of guilt-driven anger. Mr Brittas had no response to them other than to look at him in confusion. Only a loud snort from Helen, as she rolled over, broke the silence.
The ghost sighed another of his many sighs of the evening, took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve some of his tension. "Gordon, my colleague, the ghost of Christmas Present, will come to visit you at two o'clock -"
"I hope he's more punctual than you, eh?" Mr Brittas interrupted, with a little chuckle at his own joke.
The ghost simply glared at him and said curtly, "I'm sure she will be. Until then, I want you to reflect, really reflect on what I have shown you and please, please, try to think about what you could have done differently to have made at least one of those Christmases more pleasant for those around you. I must leave you now. Please reflect and await the next ghost when the clock strikes two. I hope she will be able to help you further."
"But -"
Not wanting to hear any more of what Mr Brittas had to say, the ghost snapped his fingers a final time and was gone, leaving Mr Brittas staring nonplussed into the gloom, alone once more except for Helen's loud snoring.