Chapter Three: The Second of the Spirits

Back on Osborn's own bed, he still brooded about his mistakes.

"Why was I so foolish?" Osborn asked himself. "Why? Why?"

Suddenly, a light shone in through his curtains, and he looked on in surprise.

"What's this?" Osborn asked as he looked through the curtains to see a giant in a green and blue striped shirt.

"Fee." The giant began. "Fi, fo fum! I smell." The giant said before shaking his head. "I mean, I smell…"

Osborn quickly closed the curtains, and when he opened them again, an eye as big as his bedroom door appeared.

"A stingy little Englishmen." The giant finished as he reached in and grabbed Osborn.

"At least I think I do." The giant said, taking a good whiff of Osborn. "Yup, I do."

"Please, let me go!" Osborn called out in fear. "Don't eat me!"

"Why would the Ghost of Christmas Present, that's me, you can call me Flint, eat a distasteful little miser like you, especially when there are so many good things to enjoy in life."

The giant set Osborn down, and he then noticed that the room was full of food.

"Oh…" Osborn said in awe. "Mince pies. Turkeys. Suckling pig."

"And don't forget the chocolate pot roast!" Flint said excitedly. "With pastacia- With pistasimo- With Smismishna- With yogurt."

"But where did all this come from?" Osborn asked.

"From the heart, Osborn." Flint explained. "It's the food of generosity which you have long denied your fellow man."

"Generosity?!" Osborn asked angrily. "Nobody's ever shown me generosity!"

"You've never given them reason to." Flint explained calmly. "And yet, there are those who still find enough warmth in their hearts even for the likes of you."

"No acquaintance of mine." Osborn said coldly. "I assure you."

"Oh, you'll see." Flint said as he put Osborn in a shirt pocket, lifted up Osborn's roof and walked out, using a lamppost as a flash light to find the right house.

()()()()()

Eventually, Flint stopped and showed Osborn an old, extremely modest shack.

"Here we are." Flint said calmly.

"Why did you bring me to this old shack?" Osborn asked.

"This is the home of your overworked, underpaid employee, Peter Parker." Flint said, pushing Osborn up close to the window.

Osborn looked in the window and found a red-haired woman, who could only be Parker's wife, cooking an extremely small bird.

"What's she cooking, a canary?" Osborn asked rhetorically. "Surely they have more food than that. Look on the fire."

"That's your laundry." Flint pointed out as they looked at a bubbling pot.

()()()()()

Inside the Parker home, Peter's twin middle children, Richard and Mary, were trying to get at their presents, only to be stopped by his oldest daughter, May. She looked perfectly like her mother, but with short brown hair.

"Oh, I don't think so." May said with a smile as she picked the two eight-year-olds up.

"Now kids, we've gotta wait for Little Benjy." Peter said calmly.

"Daddy." Peter's youngest son, a blond four-year-old named Benjamin, said. "I'm coming, Daddy."

Peter walked up quickly to his son, hobbling down the steps on his cane, as Peter picked him up.

"Hey little buddy." Peter said as he set Benjy down while May helped Peter's wife, Mary Jane, set Richard and Mary down as well.

"Wow, look at all the wonderful things to eat!" Benjy said excitedly. "We must thank Mr. Osborn."

"Right." Peter said kindly. "To my employer, Mr. Osborn, the founder of the feast."

"'Feast' indeed." Mary Jane said sadly, so only Peter could hear. "With a goose barely bigger than a canary."

"Come on MJ, it's Christmas." Peter said kindly.

"Oh alright." Mary Jane said. "To Mr. Osborn."

Benjy smiled. Then, seeing that his father only had a little bit of goose, he offered Peter his piece, but Peter kindly refused and hugged his son.

()()()()()

"Tell me, Flint." Osborn said with a pain in his heart, he'd never felt before. "What's wrong with that kind boy?"

"Much, I'm afraid." Flint said. "If these shadows remain unchanged, all I can see is an empty chair where Little Benjy Parker once sat and a little clutch without an owner."

"Then that means…" Osborn said weakly. "Ben will…"

Osborn turned around, and Flint had completely disappeared.

"Flint, where are you?!" Osborn called out. "Don't go! You must tell me about Ben! Don't go!"

Suddenly, an odd black fog covered his vision as Osborn coughed and when the fog cleared, he found himself in a graveyard.

"How did I-?" Osborn began before looking up and his eyes widened in fear. "Who… Who are you?"

Aw, poor Ben.