The bell strikes one. Logan looks around nervously. He can't see where the noise is coming from.
When he turns back the first ghost is standing in front of him. He had already known in his heart who it would be. A small girl, with red hair and blue eyes that look wiser than her years. He had never seen her like this, of course, she had been a baby the last time he saw her, but this is how he imagined she would have looked, had she lived.
"Rose." It's a statement, not a question. These spirits know how best to torment him.
"Hello, big brother." Her voice is ethereal, calm and echoing. "I am the ghost of Christmas—"
"Yeah, yeah. I've seen the movies."
"Then you know I have to show you your past."
"Get on with it, then."
Rose sighs, and the scene around them changes.
They're standing outside a small house, in Dundee. Logan feels a strange surge of sadness, seeing his first home. He looks at Rose and she nods as if giving him permission, gesturing towards the window.
Logan moves closer to the window and peers through into the small front room. His mother is hanging decorations on the small Christmas tree. She turns and Logan can see her swollen belly. She must be pregnant with Rose.
The young Logan and Ewan are playing cards by the fireplace. There's a mince pie laid out by the entrance to the chimney, along with some carrots for the reindeer.
"This was the last Christmas at home," Logan remembers aloud. "Father died not long after, and then we were sent to Quebec." He presses his face to the window, hoping to see his father, and sure enough the man he only has vague memories of enters, kissing his wife on the cheek by the tree. The two boys giggle by the fireplace.
"We can go inside, if you want," says Rose at his side. Logan shakes his head no.
"The past is all made up," he says. "Only the present is real."
"The past is always with us," says Rose.
"Take me away from here." He can't bear to look at the happy family any more.
Rose slips her tiny hand into his. They're in a different house now, a bigger one, with a bigger Christmas tree. A large open room, part of a ranch. Uncle Noah's house.
"Perhaps you remember this Christmas better?" says Rose. Logan watches as his younger self, back from boarding school, enters the room followed by his uncle.
"I warned you," Uncle Noah is saying, his voice rising. He's holding a belt, the shape of which Logan remembers all too well. "I told you what would happen if you ruined your aunt's Christmas."
"I didn't mean to," the young Logan mutters.
"No? Like you didn't mean to infect your sister, is that it?" Noah raises the belt. "Take your shirt off."
With trembling hands, Logan does.
"Bend down." Logan drops to his knees.
The crack of the belt is loud enough to bring Ewan running into the room. "Stop!" he yells, running towards Noah. The belt hits him across the face.
"Back off!" Noah roars at Ewan. He brings the belt down again, on Logan's already scarred back.
"Leave him alone!" Ewan throws himself across Logan's cowering form. "Hit me instead."
That brings Noah up short. Staring at the two boys, he walks over to the fireplace and returns holding a plate full of roast chestnuts.
"Tell you what," he says. "We'll play a game. A lovely Christmas game."
"Noah—" Their aunt has entered the room, looking from her husband to the two boys on the floor.
"Quiet. The last boy to eat a chestnut, loses. The other one gets to walk away."
"You're insane," Ewan mutters.
"What was that?" Ewan doesn't repeat himself. Uncle Noah throws the first chestnut on the floor and Logan dives for it.
The next few minutes feel like an eternity as the two boys fight like dogs over the chestnuts on the floor. Their aunt watches with her hands clasped over her mouth.
"I got the last one!" Logan yells triumphantly, holding up a chestnut, which he promptly bites into. "Ewan loses." Logan can remember the pride of that moment. It only now occurs to him that his brother might have let him win.
"Well done, Logan," says Uncle Noah, sounding almost jovial. "You can go. Your aunt will take you to bed."
Logan hesitates, looking between his uncle and his brother. Ewan nods at him.
"I said, go." Noah holds up the belt menacingly. Logan scrambles to his feet and follows his aunt out of the room, leaving his brother on the floor in front of his uncle. The room around them starts to fade away.
"Wait," the adult Logan says to his sister. "I want to see what happened."
"I can only show you your own memories," says Rose. "Besides, the past is made up, remember?" Logan glares at her.
They're in a bedroom now, watching a young couple in bed together. Logan as a young man, with a beautiful blonde woman in his arms. She has startlingly blue eyes, that look a little green in certain lights. Connor's eyes.
"Let me see your back," she's saying, her hand resting on Logan's chest.
Logan hesitates, running a hand through thick black hair. He turns over so his back is visible, the scars looking harsh in the bright light of the room.
Connie gently runs her hand over his back. "Don't be ashamed of these scars. It's your uncle who should be ashamed."
"Good luck with that, since he's dead."
Connie sighs as he rolls back over to face her. She brings her hands up to his face. "I love you, Logan."
The young man in the bed looks shocked. "I haven't heard that since my mother died."
"Well, it's true." She curls into his chest. He doesn't say it back, but he strokes her hair absently and says, "Merry Christmas."
The scene is fading again, they're in an apartment in New York, in front of another Christmas tree. Logan and Connie are having a heated row, their voices raised while Connor cowers in the corner.
"You swore you would take all of Christmas off!" Connie is yelling.
"I'm building a business here!" Logan shouts back. He's in his early thirties now, his hair already starting to turn grey around the temples. "All you do is spend my fucking money."
"You never have time for me or your son!"
"I didn't ask for a son, did I? You sprang that on me to trap me."
"You!" Connie makes as if to slap him, but he smacks her around the face before she can, nearly knocking her into the Christmas tree.
"Pa!" Connor cries from the corner.
"Go to your room!" Logan roars at him. Connor does as he's told, rushing from the room.
"It was a stressful time," Logan says quietly, although Rose hasn't reproached him. "I was just starting the business."
"Lashing out at Christmas would become a habit, though," says Rose. Their surroundings have changed to another Christmas in another house, the trappings of wealth now more apparent.
There are three kids sitting by the fireplace. Kendall has his nose stuck in a book, ignoring the younger two, who appear to be having some kind of wrestling match.
"What is the matter with you two?" Logan roars as he enters the room, now nearly fifty and completely grey. He pulls the two kids apart. "Can't I leave the room for five seconds?"
"They were only playing, darling." Caroline appears at Logan's side, looking as calm as ever.
"She started it," Roman mutters. Logan yanks his son to his feet and delivers a backhand across his face.
"Don't answer me back!" he yells. Roman bursts into noisy sobs.
Logan recoils at Rose's side. He remembers this incident, but it looks so much worse from the outside.
"Hey!" Kendall drops his book, springing to protect Roman. "Leave him alone." Shiv runs and throws her arms around her mother's skirt. Caroline steps away from her.
"Romulus was always difficult," Logan says to Rose, watching Kendall comfort Roman while Caroline puts a soothing hand on her husband's arm. "I never knew what to do with him."
"You saw yourself in him," says Rose. "And you tried to beat it out of him."
"Must you torment me like this?"
"These are the shadows of the things that have been," says Rose. "The past may be made up, but not by me."
The scene around them has faded once again. For a moment there is just Logan and his sister, looking into each other's eyes.
"I didn't mean to kill you," he says at last.
"You didn't," Rose says gently. "I was always going to die of polio. Our aunt and uncle lied to you."
Logan feels a decades-old weight lift, although it doesn't really make a difference to anything. "It's a bit late, telling me that now."
Rose shrugs apologetically. "I have to go now. The ghost of Christmas present will soon be with you."
"No, wait—" He calls out to her, but it's too late, she's gone. He's back in the white room, alone again.