Chapter 2 – The Phantom Strikes!

"I think there's something wrong with me, Dr. Cox," the unusually nerdy JD said to his mentor, dressed in a bright white robe for his role in the play. "Christmas is coming, but I'm not happy; I'm not feeling the way I'm supposed to feel. I just don't understand Christmas I guess. I like getting my holiday rectal exam, and sending letter bomb Christmas cards, and decorating my penis with tinsel! But I'm still not happy; I always end up feeling depressed."

"You know, Newbie, you're the only person I know – other than the drunk Santa outside the Kwik-E-Mart – who can take a wonderful holiday like Christmas and turn it into a problem. Of all the Lucys, Sallies, and Peppermint Patties in the world, you are by far the most pathetic! You're just pathetic! You're pathetic! You're embarrassingly pathetic! You're beyond pathetic! You're pathetic's pathetic!" Cox ranted, stomping away from JD in a huff.

"Okay, everyone!" Arthur shouted. "It's time to start! Daffy, Porky, you guys are up!"

"Right-O!" the little black duck Daffy Duck saluted, wearing a fancy blue dress suit with top hat. "Let's go, Sir Pork-A-Lot!"

"I w-w-w-wish you'd st-st-stop calling m-m-me that," the pink Porky Pig frowned despondently, also wearing the same kind of dress suit as Daffy's. They both inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, calming down, and marched out in front of the crimson curtain. The audience's quiet chattering died down upon Daffy and Porky's entry, which signaled the start of the play. "G-g-greetings and w-welcome!" he said stridently. "Charles Dickens w-w-was one of the g-g-greatest writers of the nineteenth cen-cen-century. And w-w-we pay tr-tr-tribute to one of his n-n-novels today."

"As the author himself once described, this story, 'was his own little Christmas Book,'" Daffy recited. "My friend and I are here to narrate this story for you all. My name is Charles Dickens!"

"N-n-no," Porky deadpanned.

"What do you mean?" Daffy replied, turning to his co-narrator.

"W-w-we are NOT go-go-going to us-us-use that joke. Peop-peop-people will mistake this f-f-f-for a p-parody," he explained.

"Oh, yeah, we really don't want that," Daffy agreed, causing the members of the audience to laugh. "All right-y then! I'm Daffy Duck!"

"And I-I'm Porky Pig," he added, tipping his top hat.

"Let us begin…" Daffy whispered mysteriously as he and Porky held out their arms and walked backwards off the set; the large red curtains drew open as the lights all dimmed except for one spotlight on the stage. Standing in the middle of the stage, back to the audience, was House. He turned around with a cruel glare in his eyes and a long scowl across his face. "Ebenezer House was a lucrative businessman," Daffy's voice narrated through speakers found all around the theater. "But was a nasty old man, whose heart was only filled with greed and his lust for money."

"Ho-Hou-House cared for no one," Porky continued, "the only th-th-thing he lo-loved was his dollars and coins."

"And those of others' that'll become his, if he had the chance," Daffy added.

House began moving his feet in place, imitating walking. Arthur, meanwhile, was nodding and flipping through the papers in his clipboard, but his eyes started bugging out. "Where's the snow?!" he yelped. "There's supposed to be snow falling down as House is walking! Marvin!" he called.

Out of his little corner of the room, a handsome chrome android stomped out, wandering up to Arthur. Its head was large and spherical, showing its impressive intelligence. "Yes?" he asked in a voice of such intense boredom and depression it made everyone in the room flinch involuntarily. "I think you ought to know, I'm feeling very depressed."

"You're always depressed!" Arthur snapped. "Anyway, I need you to do something for me."

"Oh, you need me," Marvin repeated scathingly. "That's a first. I always thought you all hated me and wanted to sell me to a scrap yard?"

"Just go up to the rafters and figure out why Jim hasn't thrown down the fake snow yet!" he hissed, pulling on his hair so hard that the roots were barely holding on.

"Very well," the robot sneered, waddling out off toward the stepladder. "I'll tell you right now I won't enjoy this. Gads, brain the size of a planet and they have me checking up on a worm. You call this job satisfaction? 'Cause I don't. Lord, I loathe them all with a passion." Peeking up on the rafter, Marvin's large head scanned the area. He paused a moment to stare at a rotted skeleton with an insane grin and a sign that read EAT AT JOE'S. "Anyone here that isn't dead?" he called monotonously. "Not that I care." Hearing muffled sounds from above him, Marvin looked up to see a strange worm in a hi-tech, state-of-the-art spacesuit ensnared to the ceiling with duct tape and a piece over its mouth. "Oh, did you go up there to look even more down on me?" Marvin asked dully with a hint of delight. Earthworm Jim attempted to scream through the duct tape. Marvin drearily lifted his left arm and a little laser popped out of his wrist, cutting through the duct tape and freeing Jim.

"Thank you, my little robot friend!" he thundered, flexing his might muscles melodramatically.

Marvin shook his head contemptuously. "You're not welcome. Only because I was told to find out, why didn't you throw down the fake snow?"

"Oh, you won't believe it, Marvin!" Jim declared in rapid-fire delivery, only as good as any sports commentator could possibly hope to achieve. "I was waiting here, just as what my job wanted me to do – which I'm totally upset about since I thought I would've made a great Ghost of Christmas Present – but that isn't the point! I was just here doing my crappy job as a special effects guy when, suddenly, this sabotage-man showed up! I tried to blast that little sucker into submission, screaming, 'Eat dirt, you V for Vendetta wannabe!' But he evaded my incredible pin-point laser accuracy – I swear he cheated. And, the next thing I knew, I was bound and gagged to the ceiling! Oh, wow, what a hoot!"

Marvin put his hand on the side of his head. "Oh, God, my already present headache just got worse."

"Oh, almost forgot! The fellow left THIS behind." Jim held up a little card and handed it to him. Marvin's green-lit eyes stared at the short, handwritten message.

This is only the beginning.

– The Phantom of the Golden Soul Theater