“Yeah?” His voice sounded not so much annoyed, as confused.

“I…. am the GHOST…… of CHRISt-mas PAST…….”

She stepped forward, holding up the photo.

“This….is……your……..past!”

He was silent, so she waved the picture for emphasis.

“Do you SEEEEEE this?” She roared.

“Oh.. Um, yeah,” he said.

“Good.”

The Ghost turned and shuffled back through the door. I switched off the light.

Bruce had to know I was there, but he said nothing. Predictably, within moments, the Ghost was back, illuminated again in the flashlight beam. This time she carried two squirming kittens.

“BROOOOOOOOOCE!” the voice again implored.

“Uh huh?” came the reply.

“I am the GHOST of CHRISt-mas PRESENT!”

When this announcement received no response, she held up the kittens. “These are your kids! You must take care of them! They are depending on you! Think about it! You said, “Night!” Not, “Goodnight!””

“Oh,” he said.

“Remember, it’s, “Goodnight!”” She turned and carried the kittens carefully out. The door slammed behind her. I switched the light off.

A few moments later, the Ghost was back. This time, she carried a picture. It was a red piece of construction paper with a crude drawing in the shape of a headstone. It read, “BRUCE BALL, 1960 -?”

This Ghost was attempting to be ominous, despite the sheet that now sagged below her knees and dragged along the carpet. She said nothing. She suddenly thrust out an arm and pointed a pudgy finger straight at Bruce. She stood silently in the light, holding the piece of paper and pointing. She turned then and waddled back out.

After this last spirit’s visit, I sneaked out of the bedroom. I met Amanda in the hallway, the sheet now bunched up in her arms. We high fived and went downstairs for a celebration of milk and Bruce cookies.

“You were great!” I said.

“Do you think it worked?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see.”

Having more shopping planned, Amanda and I were up early the next morning. She made coffee and I put bread in the toaster. Suddenly, two pennies hit the floor next to us, bouncing and rolling across the room. Startled, we looked up and saw Bruce watching us from the top of the stairs.

“You girls run into town and get a turkey,” he said. “Buy the biggest one they have!”

“WOO HOO!” Amanda yelped. We got up and did a little dance, holding the paper chain between us.

Addendum:

Actually, that’s not the real ending. In real life, when Bruce got up the next morning, he just looked at us grumpily. We shrugged and had a nice Christmas anyway.

But it makes for a better story, doesn’t it?

I dumped Bruce a couple of years later. Now, Christmas just keeps getting better and better for Amanda and me.