CHAPTER FOUR - A FUTURE NO ONE WANTS

Mr Grumpfish couldn't see the third spirit, but he had no doubt that it was there. He was shivering, and not just from the chilling breeze. As I'm sure you can guess, there was no getting out of this. He gulped down his fear and turned around. The moment he saw what was standing before him, he gasped.

The third spirit, like those before it, resembled a young child. Except this child was hidden almost completely underneath a dusty old cloak. They held a scythe in their hand, reminding Mr Grumpfish a little too much of a certain other hooded figure. And if the younger people in my audience don't know who I'm referring to, well… I'm afraid I can't tell you.

'Your… your friend mentioned you,' Mr Grumpfish said. 'She said you were the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Does that mean you're going to show me what's going to happen in the future?'

'Yes,' The spirit replied.

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come (that really is a mouthful) didn't sound much like the previous spirits. The other two were bubbly little girls, whose voices brimmed with energy. This spirit, however, sounded like a young boy without any hint of emotion in his voice. It was quiet, sounding almost like wind. You can guess which student of mine is playing this role.

'But you may call me Nonny,' He said.

(Yes, I know the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come traditionally says next to nothing, if anything at all. But my students insisted that Nonny get dialogue.)

Nonny swam closer to Mr Grumpfish, slowly but surely. The closer he got, the more visible his face became in the moonlight. Mr Grumpfish could make out a pair of goggles and scruffy lashes of orange hair.

'I must warn you,' Nonny said. 'What I will show will not be pleasant. I will not hide anything from you.'

'A-Alright,' Mr Grumpfish said. 'I understand. Show me everything. Don't hide a thing.'

'You were far less cooperative with my friends. Good. Now, come with me.'

Nonny led Mr Grumpfish outside. The old fish couldn't help thinking that this was like swimming down the green mile. And if my younger readers are confused by that reference too… please don't ask your parents about it. You'll understand it when you get older.

Once Mr Grumpfish made it outside, he noticed something felt off about this Christmas. There were no cheerful lights or decorations flooding the streets. The people weren't chatting among themselves, merely rushing home to get out of the cold. Not one note of carolling could be heard.

They swam through these lonely streets slowly. Mr Grumpfish could easily make out what the others were saying, clear as day. These words were horrible, yes, but it wouldn't be right if I didn't tell you what was said. That's my job as the narrator, after all.

'So the ol' jerk finally kicked the bucket,' One woman said. 'Took long enough.'

A man laughed. 'Took too long, if you ask me! The world's a better place now.'

'Heard he tripped and fell down the stairs. That's karma right there. Wish I could've been there to see it.'

'I heard they haven't even buried the body yet. You can go see it if you want!'

'Maybe I do. I'll spit on it for good luck.'

I'll admit, reading these words makes me uncomfortable. But no one was more uncomfortable than Mr Grumpfish. Those words gave him chills that even the coldest Christmas breeze couldn't give him.

'W-Who are they talking about?' He asked.

'Guess,' Nonny replied. 'You can figure it out.'

Mr Grumpfish could not. But I'm sure you can. Can't you? Those voices did not stop. It seemed like everyone had something unpleasant to say about this 'dearly' departed man.

'I can't believe it,' Mr Grumpfish said. 'Why are they so happy that someone died? I know I wasn't really sad when my father died, but I wasn't laughing about spitting on his body!'

'They have good reason to celebrate,' Nonny said. 'As I'm sure you'll find out.'

'But who could this possibly be?'

It was then that Nonny stopped and turned around. His expression was blank, so Mr Grumpfish had no idea what the spirit was feeling. He had a suspicion that it wasn't a good look, however. The scythe made him nervous. It'd certainly make me nervous too!

'I think you know,' Nonny said. 'You know exactly who they're talking about. You just don't want to face that truth. I don't blame you. The truth can hurt. But you must face it sooner or later, or I will force you to. There is one place where you will get your answer.'

'And where is that?' Mr Grumpfish asked.

'Where else, but the graveyard?'

While Mr Grumpfish continues his journey in horror, let me take this time to give my readers a warning. What follows may be frightening or upsetting to the more sensitive readers in my audience. But if I were to censor what is to come, then I would be withholding parts of the story. And, well, this part is important. If you're familiar with the story - and I'm sure that you are - you understand what I mean.

With that out of the way, we continue. Nonny had brought Mr Grumpfish all the way to the graveyard. You may not have realised Bubbletucky even has a graveyard. Indeed it does, in real life as well as this story. Even the happy town of Bubbletucky can't escape the inevitable end. But it wasn't a dark and dreary cemetery like you may expect. It may not have been the sunniest place, but it was warm. And welcoming. A resting ground need not be scary.

'Look over there, Mr Grumpfish,' Nonny said. 'That is where your answer lies.'

Nonny pointed his scythe over to somewhere else in the cemetery. Towards the only part shrouded entirely in shadow. He did not move. Mr Grumpfish had to make the journey there himself. There, he found two people - a snail man and a lobster woman. They had shovels and were standing next to a half-dug grave. Not at all an unusual or frightening sight at a cemetery. But what had Mr Grumpfish so worried were the looks on their faces.

They were smiling. Which is quite unusual to see.

'We get the honours of burying this jerk!' The snail said. 'How lucky is that?'

'Eh, we don't have to do it right away,' The lobster said. 'We can just let 'im sit there for a bit.'

'Yeah, you're right. After all, he's not going anywhere!'

'And I don't think anyone at this funeral would mind.'

The two diggers left the hole and their shovels alone. Mr Grumpfish, though hesitantly, approached this abandoned hole. Just looking in there was enough to give him the chills.

'Spirit, whose grave is this?' He asked.

Nonny swam after him, stopping at the foot of this grave. 'You know whose it is. Do not deny it any longer. But, if you must know, look at the tombstone.'

Mr Grumpfish gulped and did just that. Really, Nonny was right. There was no doubt about it. Mr Grumpfish knew what name he'd see. If he didn't, he wouldn't have been so hesitant to look at it. But you and I know whose name was carved into the rock. Carved so carelessly too.

LEONARD GRUMPFISH

There it was. A name belonging to no one else. Dated just a few weeks before Christmas.

'No!' Mr Grumpfish cried. 'It can't be!'

'Can't it?' Nonny asked. 'Who else would it be? No one else in this lovely town is nearly as wicked as you are.'

'No one came to save me, and n-no one cares that I'm dead. Oh, it's much worse than that. They're happy that I'm dead!'

Now, I have to ask you, my readers. If you found out that your death would make dozens upon dozens of people happier, how would that make you feel? We can't improve the lives of everyone around us, of course, and there will always be someone out there happy to see you gone. But an entire city? Whole communities? It's unheard of.

And Mr Grumpfish was staring at hard evidence that he was this very person.

'I know I have problems,' He said. 'I've seen how greedy I can truly be. But I can't be this awful that people celebrate my death. Surely!'

'I understand why you deny it,' Nonny said. 'But you have to face it. No one has done this to you but yourself. This is what your partner tried to warn you about. She had gone through this once before. And, it will happen to you.'

Mr Grumpfish stood there in silence, staring at his own gravestone. It wasn't the death itself that unsettled him. It's where we'll all end up. But to think that he died and it made people happy, well… that was a whole other thing.

'We can't wait here long,' Nonny said. 'There is one other grave I must show you, so I can know for sure that you understand the consequences of your actions. But we won't find it here. Come with me.'

'I'm sorry, spirit,' Mr Grumpfish said. 'But I don't think I can take any more.'

'Good. You should feel like that. It means that you understand what I'm showing you. I don't want to put you through this. Really, I don't. But your obstinance has left me no choice. Come.'

Though he wanted to do anything else, Mr Grumpfish followed him outside of the cemetery and towards a little hill. If his own grave wasn't the last thing he was going to see tonight, he couldn't imagine what was to follow. But you might be able to guess, especially if you're familiar with this story. The tale becomes much harder to bear, so please, hang on. I promise this all ends well, but it may take a hard journey to get there.

'Here we are,' Nonny said.

They stopped at the bottom of the little hill. The skies above had clouded over, but there was a tiny sliver of light beaming through. It shone upon one person who was swimming up to the top. Mr Grumpfish recognised her straight away.

'It's Miss Cratchit!' He said.

And indeed it was. That pink hair was unmistakable. Molly was a year older, obviously, but otherwise didn't look any different to how Mr Grumpfish knew her. At first, he wondered what had happened to her after his death. What was her job now? Was she employed at all? How did she react to his demise? But he forgot all about those questions when he saw the look on his face. It gave him a much more important question:

Why was she so sad?

Molly had someone following close behind her - Gil, who didn't look much happier than her. His hand was placed upon her shoulder. And Molly had something in her hands. Mr Grumpfish couldn't recognise it at first. Not until he swam a little closer. And that object was… well, the answer is harsh. Like I said, this is when this story gets tough. I wouldn't blame anyone if they backed out now. But I'm the narrator, and it's my job to keep going.

So, I must tell you that the object that Molly held in her arms was… a cane. A little, lonely cane that was chipped and scratched from use. It had been polished clean as a whistle. Its owner was nowhere in sight. One quick look at that little cane was enough for Mr Grumpfish to understand precisely what he was looking at. And it was enough to break his heart.

'NO!' He cried.

Molly laid the cane by the base of the tree, on top of a small pile of rocks. Once she lifted her head back up, Mr Grumpfish could see tears building up inside her eyes. Now, he was speechless. For what could he say?

'H-Hey, Mia,' She said.

She could barely put the words together. Her mouth tried to pull up into a smile, but it was crumbling like a building without its foundation.

'D-Do you remember, when you were really little, and w-we'd go for swims up to the top of this hill? You r-really liked it. And… and even when you got too sick, w-we were happy just to sit at the bottom? Look, Mia!'

She pointed to the little creek, her arm shaking. (Oh, this is hard to get through even for me). There was a little family of ducks floating on by.

'You love watching the birdies swim by, don't you?' Molly said. 'It was your favourite thing to do! A-And now, you don't have to worry about climbing this hill ever again. You c-can stay on top, f-forever! And no… and no one can make you leave. You don't have to worry about going hungry or using your cane ever again, cos you're… you're…'

(Forgive me, dear readers. I… I need a brief moment to recompose myself. It may just be a story, but I know these people in real life.)

It was clear that Molly was trying to see the bright side. But what bright side was there? Her 'smile' - if you could even call it that - gave up. Her whole body gave up. Tears streamed down her face and she collapsed to the ground, pressing herself up against the small pile of rocks.

'You're GONE!' She cried. 'Your happy little eyes, your sweet little smile, your wonderful little laugh… gone!'

Mr Grumpfish hadn't moved an inch or said a word. He couldn't. Not even if he wanted to. All he could do was stare in horror.

'I-I… I can still remember the day you were born. When I held you in my hands for the first time. Y-you were so small. So weak. I can remember the way you squirmed around in my arms when I tried to give you a hug. A-And now, I won't ever be able to hold you again!'

Mr Grumpfish, too, could feel a tear trickling down his face.

Gil wrapped his arm around Molly's shoulder. He was keeping it together, but just barely. You could tell that if he wasn't there to comfort Molly, he'd be breaking down into tears too.

'It will be okay, Molly,' He said. 'One day, you-'

To his surprise - and Mr Grumpfish's surprise as well - Molly shoved him away so hard that he fell to the ground. Her face was crunched up from anger and hurt.

'No, no it won't!' She cried. 'It will never be okay! Everything I did was for Mia. She was the only thing that made working for that horrible scrooge and living in that rundown house worth it. But now… now I don't even have that!'

She stormed off and left Gil by the pile of rocks. Many may have left her, but not Gil. Just what I'd expect from him. He swam off after her as fast as he could go.

'Molly, wait!' He said. 'I-I'm sorry! MOLLY!'

And the only ones left by the pile of rocks was Mr Grumpfish and Nonny.

'It… it can't be…' Mr Grumpfish said.

'Now you see why everyone is so happy to see you dead,' Nonny said.

'I didn't cause this! It isn't my fault if a young child is taken from us. Life is just unfair!'

'Is it really? Or is it only unfair because of people like you?'

Now that cut Mr Grumpfish right to his soul. Even I'm impressed with how blunt Nonny was, and I'm the narrator. Who knew that such a gentle and quiet kid could be so good at getting you right where it hurts? And the realisation hit Mr Grumpfish like a truck. It dawned on him that the death of Mia, and the deaths of who knows who else, all came down to one thing: him.

'Oh please, spirit!' He pleaded, tears building up in his eyes. 'Tell me, please. I have to know. Were these horrible images what was to come, or is it just a possibility?'

'All I have shown you is what is due for your future,' Nonny said. 'If you keep up your selfish and cruel ways.'

'So… s-so it can all change, right? Surely you wouldn't have even bothered to show me these things if I could do nothing to change them! That's why you showed me these things, right? Right?!'

Mr Grumpfish had never been so desperate before in his life. But Nonny didn't answer any of his questions. He just gave Mr Grumpfish a stare. The kind of stare that pierces through you and hits you right in the soul. I couldn't imagine the real Nonny giving someone a look like that, but he has always surprised me.

'I know things can change,' Mr Grumpfish said. 'If they couldn't, then why would you and your spirit friends even bother to show me what you did? It'd be pointless! And… and I can change! I will change!'

Nonny did not respond to him at all. He simply turned around and held his scythe in both arms. It was like there was no one else for him to talk to.

'I will change, and I will stop this from ever happening!' Mr Grumpfish said. 'And I'll prove it to you, and your spirit friends!'

'Truth be told, Leonard,' Nonny said, not turning around. 'I'm not the one who you have to convince.'

And Mr Grumpfish got it. Finally, he truly got it.

'I have to help Mia!' He declared.

That was the last thing he said before the graveyard vanished, taking the spirit with it. Mr Grumpfish was back in his room, right where the spirits had found him. The candle was out. The chill was gone. And, biggest of all, it was now early morning. Mr Grumpfish could see the sun rising in the distance. Strangely, he didn't feel tired at all. But that was probably because he was so excited that he couldn't feel tired!

'Oh, thank you, spirits!' He said. 'And thank you too, Miss Witch. If it wasn't for you, I'd never see the error of my ways!'

But it wasn't time to celebrate just yet. Mr Grumpfish had a lot of work to do!