Scrooge You

AN: This chap goes out to nilfheim for being my first (coughonlycough) reviewer! Thanks! .

Disclaimer: I don't own A Muppet Christmas Carol. Or Doom.

Act Two: Who the Hell are You?

Lambert sighed as he hung up his patented Black Cloak of Doom on the coat hanger when he entered his empty, desolate, funny-smelling apartment. It was a rather lonely place, for there were no pictures, no Christmas wreaths or décor, and certainly no heat source. Heat sources were for the weak, manly men lived in sub-zero temperatures.

Hey, actually, it was set up almost exactly the same as his work cubicle. I guess we need to add 'interior-design inept' to the list of qualities that describe Lambert.

Anyways, Lambert headed over to the mini-fridge where he stored his food, as he was quite famished from the long day of bossing Stanton around. He opened it to reveal a plethora of non-alcoholic six packs and several microwaveable chicken potpies. Grinning like a fiend, he removed a potpie from the mini-fridge and placed it over the stove in a pot. Now, many a person would think that this didn't make sense, but to Lambert, cooking potpies in a pot was the only way to go.

Nodding contently at his fine meal, he turned away from the unattended open flame and went towards his bedroom to change into his PJs. When he emerged, he was wearing a one piece, blue, zip-up fleece pajama suit…complete with footeys. On the front, there was a picture of a yellow fish smiling and the writing under it said 'Catch of the Day.' Lambert figured since he was in the comfort of his own home and would not be seen in the public eye, it was okay to wear his nighties from his great, long dead, aunt Bernice.

He walked over to the now perfectly cooked chicken potpie, and placed it on a plate, hissing girlishly as it was hot to the touch and slightly scalded his palms. He then took the food and plopped down on his only, and horribly upholstered, recliner. Withdrawing a fork from who knows where, he then began to eat his feast.

So engaged was he with his eating, that he didn't notice the rather ominous signs of doom that were quickly filling the apartment. The slowly moving rocking chair, for instance, or the sly wind that howled and opened all of his sealed windows. Lambert was also oblivious to the newspaper headline on his table that read 'Angry, Bitter, and Interior-Design Inept Man Is Cruelly Forced To Accept the True Meaning of Christmas!'. He didn't even notice the rather large neon-sign outside of his apartment that kept flashing 'DOOM!' in a variety of colors.

Lambert eyed something on his fork with suspicion, "Is this a piece of beef? In my chicken potpie! Oh the nerve!"

The signs of warning, however, were finally beginning to get ticked off that Lambert wasn't noticing them, so they decided the hell with it, and disappeared.

Lambert looked up from his meal for a mili-second, "Hey, there are no blatant signs of foreshadowing!" He paled, "Oh no, something must be dreadfully amiss."

Suddenly, Lambert heard a strange noise coming from down the hall. He turned quickly, but there was no one there. He sighed and began to eat the deliciously golden and flaky crust.

After a few moment, the noise returned, followed by a scraping sound. It dawned upon him that the noise sounded like chains or something of the nature dragging across the floor. He sighed and sat up slowly, pushing away his TV tray and lowering his head, so his ear was against the floor. Shaking his head, he then began to yell.

"HEY! YOU DAMN KIDS!" He hollered to the people who lived below him, "I'VE TOLD YOU THREE THOUSAND TIMES! IF YOU'RE GOING TO PERFORM FREAKISH CEREMONIES TO YOUR UNDEAD LORD KEEP IT QUIET!" He paused, recalling another time their damn cult rituals had kept him from his beloved potpie, "AND YOU BETTER NOT BE KILLING CATS LIKE LAST TIME!"

The chain noise stopped and he nodded contently, mumbling, "Goddamn kids. That'll show them." He then went back to his recliner and sat down.

Yet the noise returned, closer this time. Lambert pinched the bridge of his nose, sitting up straight, about to yell various threats and curses to those damn punks that lived below him. But he stopped, when he heard a ghostly voice.

"Laaaammmmmmm-"

Lambert stood up, fear filling him.

"-mmmmmmmmmm-"

He tensed, waiting for an attack.

"-bbbbbbbbbbb-"

His rigid defense mode began to slack off a bit.

"-eeeeeeeeeeeeee-"

He groaned and his posture became sloaching.

"-rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-"

He looked at his sundial, this was beginning to become ridiculous.

"-ttttttttttttttttttttt-"

He straightened, seeing that the ghostly voice had finally uttered his name, and was about to ask who it was when-

"-!-"

Lambert's face contorted in irritation, "Are you kidding me? That's just punctuation!" He slapped his hand against his face and said, with no enthusiasm or terror, "What do you want?"

A figure appeared, and Lambert recognized it as a pale man, draped in chains and looking quite dismal. The man pointed a ghastly finger at him and beckoned to Lambert slowly.

Lambert could feel the rage festering, "Who the hell are you? And what are you doing in my apartment!"

The ghost inhaled, "Laaaa-"

Lambert held up a hand, "Don't even start with that again!" He squinted, "Get out of here now! I don't even know you!"

The ghost then stared at him in disbelief, "You don't know who I am?" It croaked.

"No."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Get the hell out."

The ghost shook its head, causing a rattling noise, "I'm Malcolm. You remember, Malcolm? Evil Lackey of the Atrox? Decomposing Regulator? Kinda scary? Oooo!" The ghost added for emphasis, doing a scary jig.

Lambert tapped a finger to his chin, "I can't say that I do."

"Are you sure?" The ghost asked, beginning to sound desperate.

"Pretty sure." He paused, "Wait a minute, were you a minor supporting character with no true development or purpose?"

Malcolm's face brightened, "Yes! That's me!"

"Oh. Ok then. I remember you." Lambert admitted, sitting back down in his chair and beginning to eat his potpie once again.

Malcolm stared at him incredulously, "That's it?" He queried.

"What's it?" Lambert replied dispassionately, eating a rather big carrot slice.

"I mean, you're just going to eat your potpie? You're not curious as to why a spectral form of a dead Regulator just showed up and is wearing all these chains?" Malcolm rattled a few of his ridiculous amounts of chains for good measure.

Lambert regarded him for a moment, "You're not here to collect my unpaid taxes, are you?"

"Uh, no."

"Or for some crackpot charity organization?"

"Nope."

"Then no, I don't care. Get the hell out."

"But I have an important message to tell you!" Malcolm pleaded.

Lambert rolled his eyes, "If you tell me your little 'message' will you then get the hell out?"

He nodded frantically, looking like a hyperactive puppy for a fraction of a second. A horribly disfigured puppy, but a puppy nonetheless. Lambert resisted the urge to kick him.

Lambert slumped into the back of his recliner and crossed his arms, "Then tell me the stupid message."

Malcolm broke into a huge smile and was about to go on a bout of girlish squeals, but restrained himself. He cleared his throat and did his most doom-implying voice, "Lambert Malmaris!" He cried hauntingly. "You are a terrible man undeserving of life!"

Lambert blinked and wiped his runny nose on the sleeve of his pajamas.

"You have kicked puppies, sprayed young children with garden hoses, and downloaded music illegally off of the internet! You also re-gift!" Accused the Malcolm ghost, "I was also once a re-gifter, and because of that I now wear these chains in the afterlife!"

Lambert rose an eyebrow skeptically, "Are you sure it wasn't because you were a hopeless, ruthless, killing machine who brutally butchered the innocent?"

Malcolm seemed to mull this over, but then he shook his head, "No, I wear these definitely because I was a re-gifter!"

Lambert gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like 'denial!'.

"Anyways," Malcolm said pointedly, "The Moon Goddess Selene has given you a chance to repent your evil ways of …um, evil, so you will not have to wear these chains I wear!"

Lambert snorted, "Now that's just silliness and tomfoolery!"

"But-!" Protested Malcolm.

"Tomfoolery!" Lambert repeated, "The fourth week of December is full of the stupid. And I'm not going to forsake my regifting ways. I mean, have you seen some of the things I get? One year I got a teddy bear! With a bowtie! That's disgusting!"

Malcolm sighed, feeling very irritated, "We will see. Selene has sent three Spirits to visit you tonight-"

"Lemme guess. The Spirits of Christmas Past, Present, and Future." Lambert stated, rolling his eyes.

Malcolm looked quite shocked, "How did you know!"

"Puh-lease, like I'm the only one who's seen A Muppet Christmas Carol." He scoffed.

Malcolm then appeared slightly put-off, and the dramatic fervor he once held diminished slightly, "Whatever. Just remember to listen to what they have to say, otherwise you'll end up like me-"

"A sad, pathetic, excuse for a ghost?"

Malcolm's eyes narrowed, "No."

"Oh! An unnoticed and unwanted minor character?"

"A ghost in chains!" Malcolm growled, mumbling something to himself, "You know what? Fine! Whatever! I hope you asphyxiate yourself on holiday ribbon! You're a HUGE meanie-head!"

And with that, Malcolm vanished in a puff of diabolical smoke, with one last ominous message, "By the way, your pajamas look stupid!"

Lambert yet again rolled his eyes, returning the potpie, "Ghosts these days have become so melodramatic." He said to himself.

Suddenly, the sundial somehow managed to chime, and Lambert looked at it, "Ah, it's three flickers passed the ninth dash, time for bed."

And with that, Lambert returned to his chambers, curling up next to his teddy bear with a bowtie and floating into a dreamless sleep.

-o-o-o-

Hope you guys are enjoying this! Reviews are always appreciated!

!nym!