As the clock struck nine, Vernon tidied up his desk, picked up his briefcase. He went near the hat stand and took his brown bowler, which his wife had gifted him all those years back. He looked nostalgically at it before donning it.
Coming out of the office, Vernon saw that there wasn't a soul in sight. Even the caretaker had left for the day, leaving a small light near the lift. Vernon was used to this. He was usually the first to enter the building and the last to leave it. Walking up to the elevator, Vernon for the first time in many days began to sense the silence around him. He did have a feeling that someone or something was watching him. He shuddered at the thought when the lift gong struck to open the door.
The silence was broken with the lift music playing 'Jingle Bells.' Vernon groaned, while getting into the lift, wondering why everyone wanted to celebrate this ruddy festival. It was bad enough for carol singers to do a terrible job in the middle of the street, begging for alms, but to install it as the lift music was ridiculous. He reminded himself to call the liftman and fire him. Yes, firing someone on Christmas day. He smiled at the thought.
Coming out of the building, Vernon realised that the night was coldest this year. The sky was a dull black, with a large cloud cover blanketing the stars. There was a hint of the rain. However, the streets were still very busy. Shops remained open. People were walking on the street, wearing bright colours and greeting each other, which drove Vernon sick to his stomach. He looked around to see if there was any clear path he could walk on without getting disturbed by these overenthusiastic freaks, but every nook and corner in his line of vision seemed to be filled. Sighing reluctantly, Vernon shoved his hands into his coat pockets, lowered his hat so that nobody could see his face and began to walk home. Usually, he would take a taxi, but tonight he decided against the idea because he didn't wish to get into anymore Christmas conversations with anyone.
The walk was, as Vernon expected, a pain. People kept on wishing him a Merry Christmas and he wouldn't acknowledge them at all. He looked completely out of place in his grey flannel trousers, beige trench coat and black hat; nothing to signify that he was celebrating Christmas – not even a bag of gifts. As he turned to the familiar settings of Privet Drive, Vernon felt a sense of relief. "Home at last," he thought to himself, as he avoided the brightly lit houses in his lane. It had been a rough day with all those annoying people barging into office and messing with his mind. He figured that if he called it a night early, he wouldn't have to worry so much.
Little did he realise that this night was just the beginning of a lot of things.
As he opened the door and stepped inside, his vision began to slowly get accustomed to the darkness. He decided that the weather was the perfect time to have a bath. He took his coat off and hung it in the closet near the door, turned on the lights, which left his eyes half-open due to the sudden illumination of the room. He stretched himself and went to the bathroom. Turning the tap on for hot water, Vernon was surprised to discover that the water was as cold as ice. "Damn thermostat," he thought to himself and went to see what the matter was. A few wires here and there would be all that was needed to get some piping hot water.
"It's not going to work, Vernon" said a female voice behind him.
Vernon jumped, spinning around. "Who's there?" he called.
"It's Petunia," was the reply.
"She's dead!" spat Vernon, sweat trickling down his face in absolute fear. His body began to shake and he picked up a pair of scissors near the basin.
"You can't kill someone who is dead, Vernon," said the voice calmly.
"Then show yourself, dammit!" bellowed Vernon.
"Look in the mirror, Vernon," said the voice.
Vernon stared into the mirror, which was inside the bathroom. What he saw made him coil in fear. His hair stood on one end as he looked at the gaunt image inside the mirror. The face was horse-like, with a large neck. Vernon gaped at the image of his deceased wife; fear written all over his face.
"Hello, Vernon," said the ghost of Petunia.
"You're d…d…dead," said Vernon stupidly.
"Indeed, I am," said Petunia, smiling at him.
"Then, why are you haunting me?" he sobbed. "Go back to where you came from."
"I will, Vernon," said Petunia sadly. "As soon as I tell you a few things you have to know."
"About?" snarled Vernon.
"About Harry," replied Petunia.
"What are you going to tell me about that freak of your nephew," growled Vernon. "He is responsible for your death!"
"No, that's where you're strongly mistaken," said Petunia, sighing sadly.
"So, he has brainwashed you with his filthy, freakish lies?" said Vernon, with a bitter laugh. "It's ironical isn't it, Petunia? The same boy you hated while you were alive is suddenly being defended by you."
"I never hated him, Vernon. It was a grudge I held against his mother, which got carried over. Lily was everything I ever wanted to be and she died so suddenly. My guilt over not making peace with her led to a grudge against Harry," said Petunia.
Vernon stated at the ghost of his dead wife, not believing what he was hearing. This was the same woman who made it a point to make his life miserable.
"Why the change of heart, Petunia?" he said.
"Harry saved our life one time, Vernon," said Petunia, quietly. "I made peace with him immediately after that."
"I don't believe you," snapped Vernon.
"Fine," said Petunia. "You will find out yourself this night as to what he actually did. You need to see it yourself. If you aren't convinced, it'll be a pity."
"Why would it be a pity?" said Vernon puzzled.
"Because, Vernon," said Petunia, "tonight is the night, which will either make you or break you."
"What is that supposed to mean?" screamed Vernon, fear written all over his face again.
"I have to leave now. My time is up," said Petunia, smiling at him. "I love you, Vernon and I always will be looking out for you. Remember what I told you and make the wise decision. It's your life at stake here."
"B…b…but," stuttered Vernon.
"Goodbye," said Petunia and the image disappeared, leaving Vernon to look at his reflection, which was sweating profusely and still holding onto the pair of scissors.