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Thats the last one, the old man groaned, slowly getting up from the floor where hed been wrapping Christmas presents. It was Christmas Eve, and the following day, his large and normally quiet house would be overrun with the delighted sounds of children unwrapping presents and finding exactly what theyd asked for. He pondered this as he stared at the tall Christmas tree, all aglow with the soft white light of hundreds of bulbs. It filled the room with a warm glow as it reached up towards the vaulted ceiling. Upon the topmost branch sat an Angel ornament. In his hands he held a candle and a book, slowly turning his smiling mechanical face to look first at one and then at the other. The man regarded him with a smile. As he looked down the tree, his eyes taking in every individual ornament and his mind recalling every individual memory behind each one of them, he smiled again. Each one told a story, and each one held a happy memory. There were old decorations, carefully preserved remnants of his own boyhood Christmases long past. There were not-so-old ones, from the time when his own children had been little children. There were newer ones, added in the interim period of the years that were spent in anticipation of grandchildren. And then, there were the newer ones. But it was the older ornaments that held a special place in his heart. For a long while, he stared at a large glass bulb fragile and older than he was and remembered the man who had given it to him. I still miss you, the old man whispered, thinking of the rather slim and nearly giftless Christmas when hed received it so long ago. The ornament, with most of its cracked paint long since flaked away, had been his only enduring gift that year hed turned 10 himself. Along with a large basket of fruit a kingly gift in those lean days it was all that remained of that particular Christmas Past. That, and his Memories. But what do I do with it? The boy had asked, shivering by the fireplace that now held a modern gas log. Keep it, always, his friend had told him. Someday youll remember me by it, and perhaps pass it on. And the boy, who would later wrap it carefully in old newspaper, did just that. He continued to do so for the next fifty years. Whod have thought? He wondered aloud, raising a slightly arthritic finger to gently touch the image of a smiling little face that had been burned into a hybrid rubber ornament in full, vivid color. Smiling back at him was the face of one of his grandchildren, soon to be 10 that year. Ahhh, too old to believe in Santa, the old man sighed. Well, for what I spent this year, the jolly old elf should thank me, he congratulated himself, heading to the kitchen for a spot of warm milk before bed. From his perch high atop the tree, the Angel looked down and sighed. It was a mechanical sound, however, and not a real one. There was no emotion in it as the cheaply made gear that drove his electrical body gave out. A few branches below him, the antique glass ornament happily hung there, reflecting the light of the electric bulbs next to it. Yep, everything they wanted, the old man sighed, as he climbed into bed and pulled the rather expensive and thick blankets up to his chin. A minute later, and a soft peep announced the fact that the security system was online and guarding what he considered important in this world. Dont know what theyd do without me, he congratulated himself. Moments later, he was asleep and dreaming of the happy faces of his grandchildren. Outside, the temperature began to fall. Somewhere overhead, a cloud let go with uncountable snowflakes, covering the expansive lawn behind the high fences. The wind began to blow, making the snow drift all around the house. And at the front gates, electronically locked and monitored by a security company some miles distant, it drifted over the paved drive. And outside the fence, a passerby stopped to look at the address. After a moments consideration, he nodded slowly and resumed his journey into a night not fight for neither man nor beast. Miles away, the tired lady monitoring the security system saw no alert as the passerby pushed the gates open. The raccoon that came in search of fresh garbage saw him, however, and stood up on his hind legs to chatter at him. The passerby smiled at the small animal, who then hissed and ran snarling as if in fear of life. The stranger then continued on up the drive, through the cold wind and drifting snow which would have normally covered any tracks in seconds. There were no tracks to cover, however, for the stranger left none. Very soon, he reached the cul-de-sac at the front of the house where he was greeted by a pair of very large dogs who were quite unhappy about being awakened and called from their warm doghouses. They too, took one look at him and ran, whining like puppies instead of expensive and well-trained attack dogs. He stopped at the locked front door, studying it for only a second as he walked through. The security system ignored him, and as he passed through the foyer, the tall and bushy poinsettias from the local nursery bowed their scarlet heads and wilted into dry and brittle sticks in arid soil. As he crossed the receiving room, the white and red blooms on the Christmas Cactus withered and fell to the polished hardwood floor. In the dining room, a bowl of fruit went rancid at the strangers touch. And in the family room, where stood the magnificent tree that held all of the old mans memories of Christmases Past, every single bulb went out in a soft POP! as the stranger passed by. In the bedroom upstairs, the old man awoke with a start. A chill had fallen over the room, but it was not that which had awakened him. It had been the nightmare. Normally, the old man was a very good sleeper. After all, he was well-to-do and soon to retire. His children were successful, and he had been presented with many fine grandchildren. There was nothing in the world that he did not want for, and if he did, then he simply bought it. His sleep was peaceful, because like so few, he had nothing to worry about to keep him up at night. On that particular night, hed gone to sleep unworried about receiving gifts, because he was looking forward to seeing the faces of those who received gifts from HIM. And as hed fallen asleep, hed told himself, Isnt that what its all about? Such was the conundrum of his nightmare. There was no logical reason for having it, he reasoned. Why should HE have such a horrible dream? Must be the milk, sour or something, he told himself, recalling the dream in uncanny clarity. Such was unusual for the old man, since he seldom recalled dreams. Yet when he did, they were happy ones. More often than not, they were dreams of days gone by, when hed been a boy. And they were often dreams of his friend. But why was he doing that? The old man wondered, getting out of his king-sized bed to check the thermostat. He turned it up a bit, cursing the gas company as he did, and trying to shake the chill that seemed to have penetrated into his very core. He went back to his bed, still wondering and shivering, and pondering what he had dreamt. In the dream no, the nightmare he reminded himself, he had been standing behind a high fence topped in barbed wire. His friend, the man who had practically raised him, had been standing on the other side of that fence. And hed been staring. Simply staring as if he had beheld something that he simply could not believe. Hed called out to him, the old man had, but his friend had just turned and walked away with his head down. It was cold, the old man mumbled, So very cold. Why would he have been out on such a night? Then he looked out his window, out into the snowy night illuminated by the security lights along his long driveway. A night like that, must be the storm, he mused, hoping that the weather wouldnt be too bad to spoil his planned Christmas party. Somewhere in the house below him, a door squeaked. Must be a draft, the old man wondered aloud, getting back into bed. He was just situating his pillow when he heard a squeak again. Much closer this time. What the devil? He shouted, raising up to see the door to his bedroom slowly opening. The temperature of the room fell even farther. And then the old mans heart skipped a beat as he stared at the open door. For standing there was the most beautiful child that hed ever seen. A little boy. He was not tall, and the old fellow guessed him to be 9 10 at the most. The childs hair was wavy and white, and it covered the tips of his ears and the nape of his neck. He was dressed in a long white nightshirt, of an old style, and his bare feet made no sound on the floor as he moved into the room. His face was angelic and flawless, but what got the old mans attention were his eyes. The sparkled in every color of the rainbow, delicately, as if catching and literally shredding into the spectrum every bit of light that they could catch. His countenance seemed afire with it as well, and the old man could have sworn that the boy almost glowed. For just a moment, the old man was overcome by this strange childs unnatural beauty. But then common sense prevailed. How the hell did you get in here? He demanded of the boy, who surprisingly, did not look away. The boy said nothing. The old man got out of bed, suddenly feeling angry. After all, hed spent a fortune on security systems, dogs, fences, and monitoring. And yet somehow, on this of all nights, a mere child had walked into his house? It made no sense. But as he made to take the child by the arm and demand to know his business, he stopped. He stared at the small intruder. It was his eyes. For all of the swirling colors in the boys eyes had gone away. They were now only colorless and gray, and looking for all the world as if they had exhausted every bit of happiness and light and were left with only what? Insanity, the old man shouted, yet the child didnt flinch. Who are you, and how did you get in here? He demanded, making as if to take the boy by the arm and haul him out of the room. But again, the old man paused. Now he saw that the childs perfect visage was marred by a black eye. His lower lip was swollen, and there was the faint remnant of a long pink scar on his cheek. His white nightshirt, which had perfectly clean and flawless upon first glance, was now torn and dirty. As the old man looked down, he saw the boys dirty feet and the grime on his hands. The old man picked up a cellular phone from the night table, but it was dead. He tried the landline, with no success. Alright, one more time, who are you and what do you want? And finally, the strange boy spoke. I want nothing that you have, he replied, in a high voice filled with pain. There is nothing that you have, sir, could possibly benefit me. Thinking as if to play along, the old man grinned at him. He thought of the gun behind the books on the headboard of his bed, and he tended back in that direction. Then why have you come, miraculous as that may be? He asked the boy sarcastically, How is it that a child that can climb electrified gates, walk barefoot in the snow on a freezing winter night, get past trained dogs and a state of the art security system, why, how is it that one of your obvious talents would come HERE to trouble ME? The boy did not look away. Instead, his gaze was penetrating and steady. The old man was the one who finally looked away. You should not be here. You should be at home, on this of all nights, the old man advised, suddenly realizing that shooting a burglar no, a child in his house would not look good for his reputation! I have no home, the boy replied. A concept with which YOU, of all people, should be an expert about. The old man gaped at him, his sudden compassion giving way to anger again. After all, what WAS this child doing in his house on Christmas Eve in the middle of a blizzard? And then a ridiculous notion crossed the old mans mind. He laughed. The boy continued to stare at him. So, are you the Ghost of Christmas Past, Present, or Future? The old demanded of the child. For whichever you are, youve already been done to death in books, movies, and cartoons. Even my grandchildren arent amused by your story anymore! Actually, Im a glass of bad milk, the boy said softly, finally grinning. The old man saw that his teeth were in need of a good dentist. How cliché, the old man drawled, fiddling with his cell phone again. Im going to call the police! There are worse things than jail, the boy disagreed. The old man snorted. So now comes the lecture about money, evil, and goodness to my fellow man? He guessed. No, the boy said simply. You have money, and you do many good works with it. You are not necessarily an evil man, and you have a great deal of love to give and you do give it. One would be lucky to be one of the names on any box under your Christmas tree. Then, Mr. Sour-milk-in-the-night, the old man asked, You must be a nightmare brought on by stress, or impending senility, if you are not one of those tired old Ghosts? Still, the telephones refused to work. Not old, and not tired, no, the boy replied, moving closer. The old man stepped back, a chill passing over him once again. On some deep level, something told him that this was indeed no dream. How Dickensian, the old man mused. And I dont believe in fairy tales. But I thought wed already been through all that? Not quite, the child disagreed, moving to look at the pictures of the grandchildren in their ornate frames. He sighed and then smiled again, but only briefly. But a love that is so selective and polarized is hardly a love, he mused. HOW DARE YOU? The old man demanded, thinking again of his gun and beginning to wish that the damn phones would work. I must insist that you leave at once, before I , Before you what?! The boy said harshly, spinning around as the glass in the picture that he beheld shattered. Your telephones do not work, your dogs have run away, and your computer-driven security system cannot see me. What can you DO to someone who walks into your prison-like home on this night, taking you unawares, and engaging you in nothing more than conversation? You are an odd one, the old man admitted, This makes no sense to me. But I would know who you are and why you have come, regardless of how. The boy regarded him, looking somewhat pleased. He then began to unbutton his nightshirt. My name is , the old man began, but the boys look silenced him. I know who you are, he said softly. And might I have your name, young sir? You may, and you will, the boy nodded, seeming to brighten a bit as he turned, almost in modesty. Listen, its cold, the heats not working and I dont think you should do that! Just what I need, the old man thought, someone to find out I had a naked boy in here on Christmas Eve and Why? The boy asked, having his back to the old man as his nightshirt fell to the floor. The man gasped as he saw the faded marks of scars that could only have come from many a harsh beating. Dont like what you see? Does it remind you of something? Of someone? SomeoneS? Then he turned around, slowly. The old man gasped as he stared at the form of the nude boy in front of him. He was not that old, not having gained the musculature of adolescence or quite lost the little belly of boyhood. He was thin, hungry looking, as if hed never properly been fed. His skin was pale and dirty, and he was bruised here and there. It was painfully obvious that he had been, and probably still was, abused. Who did this to you, boy? The old man demanded in surprise. Who would do such a thing to one so , So what? The boy asked curiously. You, caring? Now? After thinking that you were going to shoot me? But you asked me my name, sir, and I said you would have it. You were close in your guess, you were. For you think me a boy, do you not? A very articulate one, at that, the old man nodded, his eyes wandering down the boys thin form. When they reached the boys midsection, they froze. I am not a boy, the child informed him flatly. As you thought. The old man could only nod as he stared. For some perverse reason, he told himself, he could not look away from the childs tightly circumcised penis. It was not large, and it looked as if it had been cut cruelly to remove as much of the pleasurable areas as possible. The skin was stretched taunt, pulling it into an almost half erection, but the old man realized that it only looked so because it was cut too tightly to hang limply. But what drew his gaze, and his ire, even more, was the lack of anything behind it. The pathetic child in front of him, who had appeared at first so dazzlingly beautiful, had been castrated. Instead, he had an angry scar that ran under his penis for the full length of where his scrotum should have been. It appeared, much like his circumcision, that the surgeon had taken away as much flesh as were possible to still allow closure of the wound. It was a scar that simply said, by a glance, that it had been made not in mercy, but in something else. The child touched himself there, running a finger over that scar and then pointing at the old man. The old man shook his head in disbelief. Its not possible, he argued, despite what stood before him. Castrati eunuchs boys with no balls are are a myth! A thing of jokes, teases, threats, nothing more! He sat down on the bed, heavily, his heart hammering in his chest as he continued to stare at the gelded child in disbelief. The child moved closer and offered his hand. I am, as you guessed, a Ghost, sir, he offered, extending his hand. The old man recoiled in horror. I am The Ghost of Christmas That Never Was. The old man screamed. *** How? He finally managed, scrambling backwards on the bed until the wall stopped him. W-who-who?! The child lowered his hand and bowed his head. As I said, I am that which never was. I am not the Ghosts of popular fiction, read once a year for fun. I am not the Ghost who reminds one of happy times, although you have many. I saw such, carefully preserved and all aglow on your Christmas tree, you know. And I am not the Ghost of shows one the happiness of others today, no matter how much or how little they have. There is nothing I can show you nothing taking place now that would move you. For you, sir, are totally convinced that you have it all, and perhaps you do. That is not for me to judge. W-will you will you then show me , The old man began, a pain welling up in his chest as he stared at the child. But the child shook his head. This time, there were tears in his colorless eyes. I do not show anyone things to come. I am not that Ghost, either. What then? The old man gasped, as if too afraid to accept the answer. As I said, I am that which never was. I am that which cannot ever be, the child explained. I am Plans gone astray. I am all the loose Ends that were never tied up. I am all the Things that one never had the time for. I am Dreams unrealized, Faith lost, and Hopes destroyed. Why, then, Spirit? the old man asked, knocking his wallet from the headboard as he madly reached into the bookcase there. But his groping hands found no gun. He looked back to see the child holding it. Why do they always say that? the child asked sadly. The bullet in this gun would have been kinder, you know, he mused, as the gun vanished into a puff not unlike that of hot breath on a cold day. You you make no sense! The old man countered. How can you BE, if you cannot BE?! I am, the child replied, Because of Acts done without regard. Because of Decisions made in haste. Because of Deeds come to pass by those who thought they knew better. He then paused to pick up the fragments of glass that had fallen from the picture hed been looking at. I am Morals gone unquestioned. I am Love polarized. I am Innocence betrayed. And finally, after what seemed like a very long time, he added, I am Consequences of past actions. I I only did my j-job, the old man defended himself, as the enormity of the childs words struck him. I did what was right, damn you! He shouted. You built your career upon the suffering of innocents and unfortunates, the child countered, And you defended it by the excuse called the letter of the law. Laws that were done away with. Pity that their ramifications cannot be erased by a pen. The child then held up a fountain pen. It was old and had lost its shine. I believe this is yours, he said, handing it to the old man. Dont you recognize it, Headmaster? With a trembling hand, the old man took the pen and studied it. There, etched in ornate script, he saw his own name and the name of the institution from which he was shortly to retire. The old man raised the pump of the old fountain pen, and it dripped blood on his fine bedclothes. Again, he screamed as the child reached out and took his hand. *** When he regained his senses, he found himself standing outside in the snow. The wind was not blowing, but the snow was deep and it was bitterly cold. He was looking through a fence topped in barbed wire, gazing up a long hill dotted with evergreens. The air was crisp and exhilarating, yet he himself was not cold. An excellent hill for sledding, the child at his side told him. You should remember that. I do, The old man sighed, remembering his mostly happy childhood days. One can only wonder how a child so loved ended up in such a line of work, the child prodded him. Now you listen to me, boy, the old said, as the child took his hand and led him right through the fence. He gasped. I I needed a job, and this one was open. I worked long hours, mind, and I did what I was told! I followed the rules! Yes, the child agreed, Make good grades, graduate, get a job, get married, have children, work, provide, grow old, retire, and dote upon your grandchildren? Whats wrong with that? The old man asked, as the child led him towards a very uninviting brick building with barred opaque windows. Look there, the child suggested, as they suddenly found themselves in a long hallway. Somewhere near the end of that hallway came the pitiful sounds of crying. The old mans face paled, and the pen grew hot in his hand. He looked up and gasped. They were in an office, and the old man himself was seated at an industrial type desk. He was holding the same pen and signing a paper. There were other papers scattered about the desk as well. Sub-standard test scores, run-ins with the law, the younger man sighed. No family to take him, bad school record, he muttered, as he signed the paper. Obviously feeble-minded, too, from the looks of the interview. So, he was talking to himself, In accordance with State laws pertaining to eugenics, he continued, as if reciting a memorized sermon, said minor will be sterilized at once in accordance to , He then signed the paper and filed it. That was, I think, the child reminded him, Your first official decision? One of many to follow? Sterilization was good for the gene pool! Good for Society at large! The old man defended himself. It was the law! I see, the child sighed again, as he tugged at the old mans hand. They found themselves suddenly in a doctors office, but it was empty. The child was studying some rather grotesque looking tools. Vasectomies, to sterilize boys so they couldnt make more feeble-minded children, in their own Image, would you say? Dont get all Biblical on me, the old man grumbled. WE did what was right! The book called for sterilization, pity it didnt say how, the child continued. I guess castration was just as fast and sure? But why the circumcision, too? And whats this? He asked, holding up a long metal probe with a rough, bulbous end. It kept them from playing with it! Masturbation was unhealthy and epidemic! The old man explained. And it made them easier to keep clean, and looked better. Did you look a lot? The child asked curiously. How dare you? The old man snapped. And put that down! As if cutting their balls off wasnt enough, sometimes you had to tear up their brains, too? The child asked in wonder. Did that make them easier to keep clean? Sometimes, boys were violent, the old man said, looking rather ill. Thats called a leucotome. I know what it is, the child replied. A few good pokes to the frontal lobes, and Junior was as docile as a bunny rabbit when he woke up, right? After the shock treatments wore off? We did what we thought was in the best interest of , At least these were nice and warm, seeing as how you didnt spend any State funds on heat, the child interrupted him, holding up a heavy looking canvas jacket. Wrapped em up like Christmas presents, didnt you? These boys were criminals! The old man shouted, just as two attendants brought in a young boy. They quickly removed his exam gown and strapped him to the exam table. One of them stuffed a rubber gag into his mouth as the other secured his limbs to the table via leather straps. The old man watched, knowing that the guards werent seeing them. They were only seeing the weakly struggling boy they were restraining. He wont have so much fight in him once they cut his balls off, one of them said. Yeah, the other agreed, picking up what looked liked two small drumsticks connected to a small machine by wires. He rubbed some jelly-like substance on them, and then applied them to the sides of the boys shaven head. The boy convulsed as the other guard pushed a button, sending several volts of electricity into the boys brain. He went limp as his glazed eyes stared at the ceiling. Your pen was mighty, the child reminded the old man. But we wont linger to see the castration. After all, youve seen one boy have his balls cut off, youve seen them all, right? Wait! The old man cried, but the exam room flew away as the child took his hand again. *** His name was Tommy, the child said, as they walked down a slushy street. It was winter still, and the air was cold. Christmas lights hung along the street lamps in the small town, looking festive. When his parents died, you see, the child went on, pointing on down the road where a couple of young boys were walking. They were chattering anxiously about Christmas presents. Tommy was sent to your place. He wasnt too smart, but thats because he needed glasses. He couldnt SEE the test you gave him. You did give him an EYE test, right? The old man said nothing. Who are they? he finally asked, pointing at the boys. That would be Tommys son, Tommy Jr., and his best buddy, Matt. The child then raised his hand, and for just a moment, he was once more the vision of beauty that the old man had first beheld in his own bedroom not moments ago. Matts folks died, and since they lived next door, Tommy and his family took him in. Adoption was a lot easier then, you know. Nothing to it. Everyone deserves a happy childhood, after all. Matt went on to win the Nobel Prize for , the child then paused, and snapped his fingers. The boys vanished. Their tracks ended abruptly in the snow. HOWEVER, the child explained, once again looking beaten and abused and dirty, Tommy got castrated because he flunked a test, right after his folks died, remember? Pity his Aunt and Uncle claimed him a year too late, when they heard, but paper letters take time, dont they? And the less kids you have in there, the less money the Institution takes in? We did get funding, the old man admitted. Then came Social Security Survivors, the child continued, And someone had to administrate that money for the orphans, right? Bad bunch, orphans. Not like they murdered their own folks for the money. High crimes, no, being an orphan of the wrong color? The old man said nothing. You DID manage those funds, didnt you? The child asked plainly. The old man looked away. Hard job, wasnt it? So anyhow, Tommy got castrated, his relatives showed up for him, but by then its a bit late and theres not much money. Theres not much going in life for little Tommy, and his son, well, his son went out in the garbage some years before, right? Right along with his testicles? So by the time Matt comes along and has his tragedy, well, Tommy isnt married is he? No woman would have him, right? Whod want a eunuch? Back then, once the balls were gone, they were gone no HRT back then, was there? Wonderful thing for unfortunate boys in modern times, implants too? Cant even tell anymore, can you? Other than sterility, and we know all about that? No balls, no puberty, no wife and kids later on no family for Matt when he needed one. The old man looked ill, staring at footprints in the snow that stopped. No wife, no son for Tommy, the old man said distractedly, Matt came along, and had no family next door to take him in? Youre a quick one, the child said happily. Then he made a face. Matt went to a good Institution, though, where he got the best of care, if not a happy childhood I mentioned. Goodbye Nobel Prize, hello war! He would have stopped a war? He would have, yes, but you ordered him castrated some years ago. Just another paper to sign, right? Too bad Matts son never came to be, the child sighed, taking the mans hand again. He really loved Christmas. Hope I saved the receipts! What receipts? Never mind, the child waved him off. Theres something else you should probably see, though, before we go. After all, Time is short. Reluctantly, and still gaping at the last pair of footprints in the snow, the man reached for the childs hand. Its still snowing, he grumbled, as the festively lit street was replaced by another. This street, however, was not lit in twinkling Christmas lights. Instead, there were boughs of holly and evergreen tied to lamp posts, where the globes high above their heads hissed and sputtered in the cold. There decorations in various Shoppe windows, all lit by candles. There were very few cars in the street, but quite a few horses and buggies. Whewww, that was a big one, the child groaned. But then again, youre pretty damn old, and your friend was even older when he died. This looks just like , the old man began, but the child interrupted him. Just like something out of one of that old guys stories? Back when I was a boy, you know, we didnt have , SHUT UP! The old man yelled, as a man and boy passed them by without a look. They ducked into one of the stores where a window display showed hand-blown glass curiosities for sale. There was a Christmas tree in the window. The child led the old man inside behind the father and son. As they studied the various items for sale, the shopkeeper went to the window and carefully removed a beautiful painted glass ornament from the tree. He wrapped it in tissue and handed it to the wide-eyed boy, who cradled it in his small hands as if he were holding a bomb. His angelic little face was a study in joy. I didnt think wed not this, year, I mean. Thank you, Father! The little boy exclaimed. The father paid the merchant and laid a hand on his sons shoulder. Your mother would have thought it silly, especially now, he said heavily, But tradition goes on. There must be one more new one, each year, as there has been since you were born. The little boy nodded as he allowed the merchant to take the ornament and put it in a box. As he double checked the wrapping, which had slipped in the grasp of the boys mittens, the old man and strange child caught a glimpse of the etching on the bulb. It was a small Angel reaching his hand out to an even smaller child a little girl. Come along Curtis, this man wants to close and go home to his family, the father prompted the son. Yes, sir, the boy said respectively. Thank you! The old mans jaw dropped. Ill bet you always wondered what was painted on that ornament of yours, didnt you? The strange child asked him. Curtis, The old man breathed, watching as the father and son left. Thats thats the man who , The man who gave you that same ornament, about fifty years from NOW, relatively speaking. He never married, did he? And he was always there, living next door to you when you were a boy? Never married, no kids of his own, but a big family that always coming and going. I wonder why such a boy whos heart is so full never found it within himself to have a family of his own? I I dont know, the old man answered, staring in disbelief at the boy that his adult friend had once been. He never told you, did he? The strange child asked, taking the old mans hand again. This time, he gripped it tighter, and his face was angry. He never told anyone. Oh, there were rumors, but no one ever knew. Tell me! The old man demanded, enraged at the fact that this child knew something of the man he had so dearly loved in his own boyhood. Every year, Curtis family bought one new special decoration to hang on the Christmas tree. He might only get clothes, fruit, nuts and hard candy for Christmas, but this year he got a toy. And that ornament. It would hold a special place in his heart for many years to come even the years when there were no gifts under his lonely little Christmas tree in that empty house where no children awaited Santa. And it was there, waiting, hanging on the topmost branch when a little boy finally did show up at his door one night. Starting to sound familiar? The child pressed the old man. I went to Curtis house when my father , That night your father never came back? Yes, I remember that one. I was there. Lovely night, it was. Good thing that Curtis was there waiting when YOUR father never came home, wasnt it? Too bad no one was there for him when HIS father didnt come one night. The child then grinned at the old man, a malicious grin full of satisfaction. Curtis never told you that he spent some time in an orphanage, did he? Lucky any of his personal effects survived those years. But they took good care of him, didnt they? Never mind the fact that he liked to masturbate, as most teenage boys do. The people who ran the orphans home didnt care for it, though, so they cured him of it. But he was successful, the old man wondered. Well, what else did he have to do, or who else did he have to spend his money on? The child asked, giving the old mans hand a hard tug. I guess its for the best, though, since he was there when you showed up. Alls well that ends well, then? Curtis and his father had long since driven away up the road, leaving the stunned old man standing beneath the sputtering gas lamps. But the street had vanished. They found themselves back in the bedroom of the old mans opulent home. The clock was striking one in the morning. And just what do you expect me to do? The old man said bitterly. Would you have me turn back Time? Or would you settle for a confession that I was wrong, and see me grovel for forgiveness? And what did you say, you weren't one of those other Ghosts who showed things? Yet there we were! The child simply shook his head, though, and turned away. "I lied," he said smugly. No one has the power to turn back Time, not even me, he said. I dont even exist, really. WHY do you come, then, foul little Spirit? The old man demanded, suddenly and inexplicably angry. If you came expecting grief, if you came expecting pity, youll see none of it from me! I have done what I have done, and I believe I have done right for the greater good! I come for only one reason, the child said, a beatific expression coming to his once again beautiful face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wallet-sized calendar. It is now Christmas 2004, and here I do not belong. Be gone, then! The old man ordered him. Since you prove nothing! I came not to prove, the child stated flatly, But to teach. Did you learn nothing this night? He asked sadly. He then handed the old man the 8x10 picture under shattered glass. Hes your favorite grandson, isnt he? I play no favorites, I love them all. Liar. Fine, then, yes, Adams my favorite. He was the first boy. I admit it. Happy now? The old man asked bitterly. Hes 10? Almost, why? The child then ripped away the December 2004 page of the calendar. But instead of January 2005, the calendar showed December 2005. The boxes for the days ran from 1 to 2 to 3 and on up to the 24th. And there they ended. Enjoy the Christmas that is to come to this house in a few hours, the child suggested, heading for the door. Ill show myself out. Wait! The old man yelled. Explain this! Its very simply, really, the child said. I am the Ghost of Christmas That Never Was, and your Adam is sick. What?! Hes also got a rather rare and nasty form of leukemia brewing deep in his bone marrow right NOW, the child said with a cold note of finality. Hell need two transplants of marrow to survive, to say nothing of the chemo. Lets just say you wouldnt be getting any great-grandchildren from Adam, even IF hed lived through it. The old man collapsed onto the bed, clutching the picture. Shards of glass cut into his palms as he squeezed it, as if somehow this action could stave off the prediction that The Ghost of Christmas That Never Was had just made. He hell have the best care, the old man protested vehemently, Not a dime will be spared to save him! Exhaust your fortune of blood money, then, old man, the child glared at him, throwing the leaf torn from his calendar on the floor. For this is the monument you have built for yourself. Then, once again, the child unbuttoned his nightshirt to reveal the shame of his emasculation. You have learned nothing, he sighed. The old man picked up the small calendar page and stared at it. December 2004 ended with the date of the 30th. There was no New Years Eve marked on it. There is where I go to, The Ghost said by way of goodbye. To Christmas 2005, to be with your Adam. To be with all of those Children Who Never Were. I suppose we have only you to thank. Who who was would have been the donor for Adam? The old man asked weakly, tears finally coming to his eyes as he looked up to see a room filled with the sad faces of children who stared back at him accusingly. The lights flickered once, and then the children were gone. Only one remained. The Ghost of Christmas That Never Was paused in the doorway just long enough to reply, Matts grandson. Wait! The old man called out, as a cold draft blew the door shut. Somewhere far below, he heard something shatter. Id sweep that glass up, if I were you, before Adam gets here, the Ghost called back. |