"Baron Humbert von Gikkingken," said a voice from behind his chair.
He stiffened. It had been so very long since he had heard that voice. Its owner was dead. Her wooden form was probably wrapped up as a gift to some careless child this very moment. He glanced at the portrait he had painted of her, that spring day when she had agreed to marry him, the day before her life had been taken from her.
"Humbert," the voice said, drawing closer.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he steeled himself to turn in his chair and face whatever it might be, that sounded so like his long-dead Louise.
A figure floated there, translucent and slightly blue around the edges – but then, she had always liked blue dresses, they brought out her eyes. White fur and a soft smile, she drifted closer to him.
"Louise?"
"That's right," she said. "Why are you doing this to yourself Humbert? I was pulled from my slumber to speak to you this night. You're killing yourself."
"It can't be you," Baron said, too shocked by her presence to be aware of her words.
"But it is," she answered, kneeling down beside the arm of his chair, just as she had done when she was alive and wanted most desperately for him to listen to what she was saying. He had often been distracted by his work… "Humbert, I don't have long with you. I have been sent to warn you: you will be visited this night by three spectres, and you must listen to what they have to teach you. Not only for your sake, but also for the sake of others. Humbert, please, you must listen," Louise appealed, covering his hand with hers just as she began to fade, disappearing again.
"Louise…" he still couldn't take it all in.
She was gone.
His empty teacup fell from his hands, and tears started to flow. It had been so long since he had felt anything, and now she came and went, breaking his heart all over again.
He had no notion of how long he sat there, crying, but when the grandfather clock struck the first hour he had finally run out of tears.
A bright light, different to his own light show, flashed about the room and a hand touched his shoulder. The hand belonged to a young man… a child… a little old man covered in wrinkles… the light burned above his long white hair.
"Who are you?" asked the Baron, surprised to have a visitor so late at night. He hadn't even heard the door.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Past," said the old looking young man. There was a cap under his arm, likely for hiding the light that burned over his head, and he wore a cloak of thick, undyed wool.
"Long past?" asked the Baron, curious about his visitor.
"I can remember back to the very first, the reason that Christmas is celebrated, but I am here, Baron von Gikkingken, about Christmas Past since you first saw them. Come along," he said, grabbing the cat by his gloved hand and towing him to the door.
The spirit didn't bother to open the fixture, simply passing through it as though it was not there. Baron was surprised when, following, he did likewise. What confronted him beyond the door, however, was not the refuge. It was the workshop where he was made, and there was the apprentice, carving and painting.
"Dear boy, making a gift for his sister, working late on Christmas Eve, just so that she can smile in the morning," said the spirit, smiling upon the young man.
Baron moved closer, over and around the pots and tools that covered the workbench. Intent on what his maker was doing.
"Samuel," a voice said from the door. The boy looked up, freckles on his nose, paint on his cheek and a mop of red hair sticking out from under his cap. "I'm going now, will you lock up?"
"Yes Master Jason," the lad answered.
"Don't work too late, and I'll see you in the New Year."
"Enjoy your holiday Master Jason," the boy said, watching the door close behind the man who was teaching him his craft.
"Now Baron Humbert von Gikkingken, Baroness Louise von Wattlebriar, will you make sure that my sister smiles in the morning?" the boy asked his creations as he set them on the shelf to dry. "Yes, I think you will." With that, he went to find a box for the dolls, and wrapping paper and a ribbon.
Baron smiled as he watched his maker wrap them up tenderly. They had made little Harriet smile the next morning, when they had blinked and asked her if it was time to get up when she pulled the tissue paper away from them.
"A happy beginning," the spirit said, laying a hand on Baron's shoulder.
"There were many happy Christmases with Samuel and Harriet, but she got sick, and he got old, and only Louise and I were left," Baron remembered.
"Let us see one of those Christmases," suggested the spirit, urging Baron forward, through another door – a doll's house not yet finished. Beyond, a snow covered park lay waiting for them. One pocket of green only to be seen, under the boughs of the pine tree that had been decorated for the season.
Baron saw himself, just as he had been, just as he still was, running, Louise in his arms. He knew what this was, this was the last Christmas he had spent with his beloved: the Christmas she had died.
"We're following them," ordered the ghost, grabbing hold of Baron's hand and flying after the running figure, almost lost in the snow.
He watched it all over again, holding Louise in his arms by the grated fire of what was now the Cat Bureau as she died, slowly losing life and warmth, turning back to wood forever.
"Humbert, I want you to promise me that you will keep on living," Louise said, a white hand caressing his cheek. "Promise me."
"You took her to an antique shop a week later, too broken hearted to even look at her," the spirit reminded him. "But you kept her portrait."
"That wretched portrait," answered the Baron, "is why she died. Standing out in the snow, not complaining that the cold bit at her. I had to keep it though."
"I won't ask why," said the Ghost of Christmas Past. "But we have some other Christmases to visit," he said, turning the Baron once more for the door.
"Is that Muta?" Baron asked, incredulous, as he watched a kitten shiver in the cold, rake thin and pitiful.
"It is," answered the spirit. "This was his first Christmas, the one he drowns every day in eating, thrusts away every year by celebrating in as gung-ho a way as he can." The spirit turned a hard golden eye on the Baron. "A Christmas without decoration brings Muta back to this memory, when he was alone and starving. Fortunately, he was found."
Baron looked again at the nearly frozen kitten and saw that a young woman was picking him up.
"Poor thing," said the girl, she was probably in her late teens judging from the shape of her clothes. "Come on, I can't keep you, but what Mum and Dad don't know can't hurt us," she added, tucking Muta into her jacket for a little extra warmth.
Baron and ghost followed Muta and his saviour until they came to a simple little house, hardly a decoration in sight; just a wreath hanging on the door.
"My parents are away, working over the Christmas and New Year break, so there isn't much," the girl explained, fetching out a dish, some milk and some fish, which she gave to the young Muta.
"I think I understand him better now," Baron said quietly, watching the kitten eat as fast as he could, desperate to not let the food get away from him.
"We have one more Christmas to visit," said the ghost, tugging gently at Baron's elbow.
"Wait, what's her name? This girl who saved Muta, whose parents are working over Christmas?" asked the cat, resisting the pull for a moment.
"Naoko," answered the ghost.
Baron let himself be taken.
This house was much like the one they had just left, only there were more decorations.
"Mummy, how will we get the star on top of the tree without Daddy to hold me up on his shoulders?" asked a little girl, big brown eyes wet.
Baron felt as if he should know this girl, and her mother, but he could not place them.
"We could bend the tree over," suggested the mother, trying to joke, despite the despair that oppressed her. "Oh Haru, no, don't cry," she said, taking her child in her arms and holding her tight.
Haru. This was Haru's first Christmas without her father. It seemed like no one had a perfectly happy Christmas every year. Baron watched, sympathetic to mother and child – hadn't he lost a loved one just before Christmas too?
"Naoko?" a voice called from the door.
"Oh, come in!" the woman called back, still holding her daughter.
Baron stared. Haru had saved Yuki and Lune, Naoko had saved Muta – it seemed that saving cats ran in the family.
"I thought you might appreciate this," said suit-clad gentleman, a large cardboard box in his arms. "He said that he wanted me to bring it around on Christmas morning, but… I thought Haru might like her present from her father a day early."
"Thanks Harry," Naoko said, letting go of her child just enough to extend an arm to her brother-in-law, meaning to include him in the hug as well.
"Don't thank me just yet, I'm afraid it grew the other day," Harry said, putting the box down.
"Grew?" Naoko asked as Haru unfolded the top of the cardboard box. A look of wonder spread across young Haru's face.
"Sam got her a cat, then she met the old tom who sometimes visits me, and now there are kittens," Harry explained.
"That's all right, I always wanted a couple of cats," Naoko answered, gently picking up one kitten that looked a lot like Muta. "I think I know your father," she said quietly, though she had never been at Harry's house when the afore-mentioned "old tom" was visiting.
"Spirit," asked the Baron, "Why do you show me these things that make my heart ache?"
"They're just shadows of what has been, I cannot help what they are, I merely keep them. It's time now, you have two more visitors yet this night," with that, the spirit vanished, leaving Baron once more alone in his chair by the fire in the Cat Bureau.