Chapter 4

Klink gulped and looked nervously around him; not that he could see anything. "Sp-spirit?" Somewhere in the darkness, a bell tolled. It struck twelve.

"Hello?" Klink called out in a small, frightened voice. "Spirit?"

A cold chill ran up his spine when a finger tapped his shoulder from behind him. "YIPE!" He jumped and turned to face who had tapped him. Standing behind him was figure wearing a black cloak with the hood covering the ghost's face. A dagger hung on his hip. (Pun fully intended. Get it? "Cloak and dagger"? Eh heh heh…*crickets chirp*…ahem yes, well…)

"Are-are y-you the third spirit? The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come?" Klink stuttered.

The ghost nodded.

"And you're going to show me what hasn't happened yet?"

Another nod.

"Can't you talk?"

"Yeah, but I ain't supposed to, bud. It says so in my script," the ghost had a gravelly voice and reminded Klink somewhat of a gangster he had seen in one of the captured American movies. "I's supposed to be a real frightenin' character. And If I don't talk it's supposed to make me even scarier."

"But you just did."

"Just did what?"

"Talked!"

"Oh…Oh! Eh heh, whoops. Forget I said anything, pal." The ghost cleared his throat and assumed a new position. He stood very straight with one arm outstretched, a single finger pointing forward. He began marching away from Klink, still pointing his finger.

"Where are you going? Am I supposed to follow?" Klink got no answer to his question so he hurried to catch up with the ghost.

The building seemed to spring up around them. It was a very elegant dining room and at one end of the table sitting in a high back chair was…

"The Führer!" Klink gasped. Another man was sitting at the other end. A large, portly man wearing a Nazi General's uniform. "And General Burkhalter!"

Klink listened to the conversation passing between Adolf Hitler and General Burkhalter.

"He died this morning, mein Führer," Burkhalter stated.

"Bah! He was a pest anyway. He was always suspected of sabotage and of being a traitor by the Gestapo. Good riddance, I say!"

"Yes, I know what you mean."

The scene changed quickly. Now Klink and the ghost stood in Schultz's sister's home. The atmosphere was dull and dreary. Not at all like it was the last time Klink had been there with the last spirit. It didn't take Klink but a second to notice what was wrong. Wolfie was not there. His mother wore her mourning clothes and she was crying.

The scene changed again. This spirit must be on a tight schedule, Klink thought dryly. They were back at Hogan's barracks at Stalag 13 again. Schultz was talking to the men. "Schultz! You're not supposed to fraternize with the prisoners!" Klink yelled before remembering that he couldn't be seen nor heard.

"So the old buzzard kicked the bucket, eh?" Newkirk was saying.

"Please, Newkirk! Don't speak of the dead like that. It is mean," Schultz reprimanded him.

"Wonder what killed him," Kinch thought aloud.

LeBeau snorted. "Probably his own meanness. Imagine! Not letting Schultzy go for one night." LeBeau patted Schultz's stomach.

Schultz shrugged. "I don't know but his replacement is coming tomorrow morning."

Klink said to the spirit, "I think I understand. I will end up like this man these people are talking about. Unloved and forgotten. Is that right?"

The spirit made no indication of hearing Klink's question and he began walking again. They walked out the barrack's door. But instead of stepping out into the stalag yard, they were in another home. This one Klink had never seen before. It was homey-looking place though. Up on a shelf were photographs of, Klink assumed, the family who lived here.

There was laughter coming from another room where the ghost was pointing. Klink slowly went toward the room and looked inside. To his surprise, there was Hogan of all people, standing in the middle of the sitting room, and he was wearing civilian clothes! He looked a little bit older but Klink couldn't mistake him for anyone else. Gathered together on the sofa were three young children. Two boys and a girl.

"…And that's what he was like." Hogan finished.

"Who? Who?!" Klink asked, even though nobody could hear him. I hate missing the whole story and only hearing the end.

"Wow! Did he ever find out about the spyin' and stuff?"

Hogan shook his head. "Nope. Though he did come close from time to time. He died on Christmas Eve hated by all his men."

"Gee, that's awful."

"And on Christmas Eve?" The girl asked.

"Yup."

"Spirit, I've seen enough. I know what will happen if I don't change. But I am changed! I listened to all three of you and I've changed my ways!" Klink told the spirit.

Again, the spirit said nothing and the scene around them change once more. This time they were outdoors. It was dark, cold and dreary. Then Klink saw the stones. The gravestones. "YIIIIPE!" He yelped and jumped into the spirit's arms.

"Hey, what's da big idea?" The spirit dropped him and huffed. He straightened his cloak and then pointed in a new direction.

Klink rubbed his back and got up off the hard ground where the spirit had dropped him. "What's over there?"

The spirit continued pointing.

Klink walked cautiously to where the spirit had pointed. There was a small stone there, uncared for and surrounded by overgrown weeds and grasses. The spirit walked up and stood beside Klink.

"Whose grave is it?"

The spirit leaned over and whispered to Klink. "Ya gotta clear dem weeds and stuff."

"Oh." Klink bent down and began clearing 'dem weeds and stuff'. He uncovered the first name. 'Wilhelm' it read. Klink chuckled nervously. "This man had the same first name as me."

When he finished removing the weeds he gasped when he read the whole name. Everything before him went black.

"Hey! Hey, Klinky boy! Wake up! Ya wasn't supposed to faint!"

Klink groaned and opened his eyes. "What happened?"

"Now dere's a corny line. Ya fainted, bud."

Suddenly, Klink was wide awake. He grabbed the spirit by his cloak. "Tell me! Tell me I read that stone wrong!"

"Uh…I can't read, mister."

"Oh…"

"But I know it's supposed to say your name."

Klink whimpered and bit his nails, looking at the gravestone. Then he turned back to the spirit. "Oh no! No, spirit!"

"You can call me Ralph."

"Ralph! I'll remember the lessons that all three of the spirits have shown me." Klink had still been grasping the spirit's cloak and had closed his eyes. When he opened them he was back in his room and clutching his blanket tightly. It was morning.