A Christmas Carol - The End of It
Julie’s head was thudding. Her feet pounded the floor, slightly arryhmically – her left ankle was bloodied, and she limped just a bit. The promise of thunder boomed, rumbling, in pregnant clouds.
She had the vague sense, growing surer and surer, that the world was unraveling around her, slowly and surely, like a sprawling tapestry being pulled apart through a long, trailing tug on a thread. It was unraveling in ways she couldn’t even see, or describe, that scratched at the inside of her temples. She kept running. Something growled, and a shadow receded a few inches. She kept running. Her heart thumped like her feet.
Sweet Offerings wasn’t far. It was down the road, whichever one this was – enough of its history had been torn off and hungrily swallowed that she didn’t quite know for sure. There wasn’t even much left of the road itself – it was lined with blurry, nondescript blob shapes that might once have been buildings, and the staticky, flickering remnants of cars. Shadows streaked in front of blood-red stars, coated in rags, peering down at her with hollow eyes before the thunderclaps warded them off. They could wait. They had time. Most of it was going down their throats.
Julie knew she should have gone straight there, when the first inklings of a disaster had crackled out, as they so often did, through the radio. Totec probably had wards set up, and enough rabbit-hole bunkers in alternate dimensions for half the town to sit things out in. But she’d gone to Cactus Bloom first, to get…
…something. Someone.
She’d gone to get someone, and she didn’t know who. She’d tried thinking about it, through the pulses and jolts of adrenaline that burned through her nerves every time a shadow dipped low in the sky, but all she could come up with was a gaping absence. A face had been torn from her memories, and all that was left was another formless shape, and the vague and thin memories of happiness and love. It hurt to think about.
So she didn’t, or tried not to. She kept running.
Suddenly, there was a yell.
She’d heard a lot of those as she’d run down the street. Usually, they ended abruptly, and far too close for her liking. This one was close, too, but it continued, rattling from building to building like the chains of a cursed ghost. It was deeper than most oceans. Entangled in the soundscape was the infernal screeching of a Potential Future, and the sound of its heavy, flapping robes.
She bit her lip. She knew the smart move would be to keep running. She remembered, all too vividly, what had been the result of the last time she’d come to the aid of someone in serious trouble. Night Vale had been an escape.
But she couldn’t leave the screamer to die. And no-one else was coming. She sighed, exhaling a shaky breath, and ran towards the sound.
“HEY! Get AWAY FROM THERE!”
Her voice was hoarse, and struggled on the wind. She could see two figures, under the sickly light of a half-erased lamppost. One was shrouded in a vast hooded cloak, trying desperately to fend off his assailant – a shrieking bundle of rags and hunger, with a bare skull for a face. Its jaws were set in a snapping, humourless rictus grin. It had its prey pinned to the floor.
"HEY!”
Julie flailed her arms, pushing them forward. It was clumsy, and unco-ordinated, but it was enough to summon a particularly loud clap of thunder and a brief flash of lightning. It was enough to startle the Potential Future. It whirled to face her. Eyeless sockets stared her down.
The hooded figure brought a fist down onto its head, with all the momentum of a decade behind it, and the skull cracked like an egg. The figure slumped forward, and dematerialized into nothing before it even managed to hit the floor.
The hooded figure stood up.
It was a solemn phantom, draped and hooded, flowing upwards like a rising fog. It was tall and stately, and even in the midst of the horror surrounding her, Julie still felt a small sense of dread as it turned to look her in the eyes. Only a hand was visible from within the unfathomable depths of the figure’s robe, poking out of its sleeve like a particularly grim magic trick had just been exposed. Slowly, slowly, the mottled hand raised, stretching outward as if to grab Julie by the throat. She backed away, just a step.
It gave her a thumbs-up. The figure watched her reaction, occasionally glancing back at its hand, just to see if it was doing it right. The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come wasn’t used to talking to people, but he supposed doing so was a vital part of Reinventing Yourself.
THANK YOU FOR YOUR AID, HUMAN. MAY THE DEATH I BRING YOU BE SWIFT AND PAINLESS.
He fumbled, slightly, trying to remember Present’s omnipresent chuckle. Under the hood, he tried a smile – if Julie had been able to see it past the fog of ages, she might have seen exactly HOW the spirit smiled – like he’d never actually DONE it, read how to do it out of a book. Without pictures.
HO. HO. HO.
He fidgeted, in the silence. Julie let it hang there for a few more moments, before nodding her head slightly.
“You’re…you’re welcome.” Julie coughed, shuffling backwards slightly in the general direction of Sweet Offerings. “Come on. It isn’t safe here.”
The upper portion of the garment was contracted for an instant in its folds, as if the Spirit had inclined its head. It looked to the left, and to the right, almost pointedly. It shook its head.
NOWHERE IS SAFE. THE TEMPORAL COLLAPSE ENTERS ITS FINAL STAGE.
“The temporal collapse?” Julie looked around her, at the dying sky and the festering ruins of the desert. “Is that what this is?”
INDEED. ALL REALITY IS THREATENED. GODS WILL TOPPLE TO THE GROUND. ALL LIFE WILL PERISH UNDER THE LIGHT OF EXTINGUISHED STARS.
The Spirit’s voice wavered, ever so slightly, as it reached the most important point of all.
THERE WILL NOT BE ANY MORE CHRISTMAS.
“…you’re a cheerful guy, aren’t you?”
I TRY.
Julie couldn’t tell if that was a quip or just a statement. The spirit’s voice was low, and flat, like the peals of a funeral bell or a coffin lid being slammed shut. It rattled off a thousand surfaces even where surfaces didn’t exist. It apparently felt intonation was something other people did.
COME ON. IT IS NOT SAFE HERE.
“Alright.” Julie started walking again, towards Sweet Offerings, and cast a look over her shoulder. The spirit remained still. It appeared to be looking somewhere else. “Uh, the store’s over this way!”
IT IS NOT SAFE THERE.
Julie frowned, brows knitting with worry. “Then where do we go?”
The Spirit flicked an unseeable eye over the temporal fault-lines. It had an idea. There was ONE place. The usual place. A place where so many Potential Futures had been unceremoniously cut off. But…
He sighed.
The Ghost raised a mottled hand, and pointed forward, with a shaking finger. It dropped the hand even as it stalked past Julie, mumbling sullenly about unescapable recurrences. Julie raised her eyebrows. Even with things as they were, a snarky little voice in her head silently wondered if she was going to have to stab an assassin at the end of this. She’d need a poker, for one thing.
She followed. Another star went out.
--------------
Robin landed on something soft. It was, arguably, the first bit of good luck he’d had that night. The sweet and artificial smell of lavender and nostalgia hit his nose immediately, but it took the creaking of bedsprings and the feel of plush, soft fabric for him to realize he’d apparently landed on his old bed. He awkwardly pulled himself up, extracting his face from the duvet, and clutched the flux capacitor to his chest.
Someone was staring at him. He was staring at him, from two years ago, with wide and apprehensive eyes. With shaking hands, the younger scientist grabbed the nearest geode, holding it out in front of him like it might actually do something. His swivel-chair squeaked, as he kicked his feet with a little spasm and shoved himself back.
“Who the hell are you?!” The younger Robin waved his geode slightly. “Are you a ghost? You knew my future-“
The younger man’s face fell into a scowl faster than a reindeer tied to a cinder-block.
“Is this a joke? Is this meant to be like A Christmas Carol?”
Robin took a deep breath. A little vein throbbed slightly on his temple.
“Oh, you have no idea.”
The room appeared to be how he’d left it. The Night Vale application was still scrunched up on the floor, with a few other bits of paper lying near it like discarded snowballs – the bin under his desk appeared to be full, and overflowing slightly. The world, too, didn’t seem to be in any immediate peril. There were no Potential Futures, and nobody was screaming. The stars in the bright sky glittered, from Robin’s window.
The younger man raised his eyebrows, and scooched forward a bit with the chair. He held onto his geode, shutting his laptop with his free hand, but rested the rock on his knee.
“…no. That’s crazy. That…that doesn’t happen.” He shook his head. “Ghosts? Time-travel?”
“Yeah, I remember when I thought so too. Actually, that was like two hours ago. Night Vale’s weird like that.”
The look on his counterpart’s face – the look of uncomprehending confusion and disbelief when faced with something utterly impossible, like a cow being given a Rubik’s Cube – was probably the right reaction to have to something like that. He was lost for words. The older Robin remembered that reaction, and wondered when he’d stopped using it quite so often.
Eventually, younger Robin managed a response.
“Night Vale? As in…” He picked up the application, smoothing it out. “That desert town? They have ghosts?”
“Uh-huh. Also hooded figures, pterodactyls, bloodstones, candied bats that are kind of alive aaand a mayoral race between a five-headed dragon and a faceless old woman.” Robin nodded. His younger self was aghast.
"And people live there?!”
“Yeah.” Robin rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, when you get used to it…it’s not that bad. Sometimes.”
"But that woman said I almost die.”
“Yes, that…happens.” Robin neglected to mention exactly how many times, and moved hastily on. “But, on the bright side, I – you – well, it’s kind of a team effort, there’s this guy you meet called Carlos – but anyway, we discover more stuff over there than you expected you would in your entire life.” He cocked a grin. “It’s the final frontier. The other one. And there’s a cave full of musgravite.”
He knew exactly how to get his own attention. Curiosity shone from his eyes, and the scientist leaned forward in his chair.
“Musgravite?”
“And painite. Cross my heart.” He grinned. “There’s someone you meet who shows you all of it, and she’s…special.” He nodded. “The best thing you end up discovering.”
“Really? Wow.” Robin’s face lit up. “So what if I-“
“HI-YA!”
There was a spectral flash, and a thudding sound. Younger Robin wobbled, eyes unfocusing, and toppled off his chair to land face-first onto the floor. Liesel Meminger smiled brightly, and adjusted the wrench in her arm, stepping around the chair.
“I got it! I got – oh dear.” Her smile faltered rapidly, and she paled slightly, even through her dark-blue tinge. “That’s…” She looked up at Robin, worried. “Are you OK?”
“I’m…fine.” Robin looked down at himself. He didn’t appear to be bleeding. “I-I was just telling him about Night Vale.”
“Oh! Well. Good! I hope he learned a lesson. Though, frankly, we’re probably going to have to erase his memory by the end of the night, just to be sure.” She awkwardly lifted the scientist back onto his chair, trying to flop him down comfortably as a sort of silent apology.
“Is there gonna BE an end of the night?!” Robin was starting to get angry. He was tired. He was getting pretty sick of Liesel Meminger. “I mean, they set off tomorrow! I’m not exactly in a fit state to apply here, am I-“
“OH!”
Liesel raised a hand, an epiphany flashing across her face. Robin could almost see the lightbulb forming above her forehead, and at any rate a little beam of light loosed itself from the tresses.
“What? What’ve you thought of?”
Liesel beamed, from ear to ear. She ran over to the flux capacitor, clicking a few buttons and receiving a chorus of satisfying beeps.
“I MIGHT have just had an idea.”
---------
Robin remembered, later, that he’d never actually figured out HOW he’d ended up in Night Vale, even before the Apache Tracker had so rudely materalized into his room.
He’d found Carlos later, of course, and the team, and they seemed to have expected his arrival – in fact, apparently, his acceptance letter had arrived almost a week early. But he didn’t remember much about GETTING there, as was apparently commonplace for Night Vale residents. In his case, he remembered waking up on the side of a desert road, with a kind of warping, zapping sound in his ears and a flash that burned his eyes. He remembered that his head had hurt.
And he remembered feeling a kind of resentment, at nothing in particular. It had seemed to flare up slightly, when he’d crossed the border and the three-headed dog on a rusted chain started snarling at him.
He’d had a feeling he was going to hate the place.
--------------
Julie stood in the centre of the graveyard, shivering, and stared up at the sky.
The crack in the sky was shrinking, and howling, and the sky was on fire. A billion Potential Futures were disappearing into the ether, being sucked back in, beat back like boats against a current. The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come stood at a gravesite, hands in the air, pulling the world back together through sheer force of will. His old power was flowing through him – the unstoppable, uncontrollable power of his Future asserting itself.
“What’s happening?”
The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come stood resplendent. He looked down at Julie, and brought his hands together.
AN END.
-------------
Robin’s eyes snapped open. He looked round.
The walls were his own. The bed was his own. The room was his own. Robin scrambled out of bed, hurriedly, and flung open the door to the rest of his apartment – there was his kitchen! His living room! His radio – playing a festive Christmas show, apparently. It seemed to be the sound of jingling bells over breaking glass and a low, discordant moan. They’d played it last year. Apparently the rights had been really cheap.
He ran to the window, and flung the curtains open. There was the universe, just as he’d left it – the sandy dunes of the desert stretched out towards the horizon, where the mountain that probably existed loomed with its blinking light. The sky was sunny, with a few wispy clouds trailing in. There was a child outside, so it seemed – one of the ones from last night, the one with the spiderwolf.
“Hey! Hey kid!” Robin forced open the window, and waved. “What day is it?”
The child cocked his head. His mother had always told him about strangers, but he didn’t have any holy water to hand.
“It’s Christmas!”
“GOOD!” Robin laughed, and couldn’t help it. “Brilliant! Wait-wait right there! Listen! I’ve got something for you!”
The scientist’s heart fluttered. Relief washed over him like a baptism. He was as happy as an angel, as merry as a schoolboy, as giddy as a drunken man! He pulled out his phone, dialing quickly and muttering the number under his breath. He heard it ring. He tapped his foot.
“Hello?”
Another surge of relief rolled through him.
“Julie! Julie I’m just…listen, i-if you’re still OK with me coming over, I’m coming today. We can do Christmas. Properly. I mean I got a present just in case…”
“Really?” Julie’s voice caught slightly, hopeful, before confusion set in. “What happened? Are you OK?”
“Fine. Better than fine.” He grinned, pacing toward the door. “I’ll tell you when I get there. Though if you want some spoilers, read Dickens.” He chuckled. “I love you.”
“Love you too."
Robin put the phone down, running to grab Julie’s present from the dresser-drawer, with Katt’s and Cecile’s and Seamus’. He didn’t have time to waste – he needed to get the food ready and THEN, if there was time-
There was a knock on the door.
“Come out! Hoho! And know us better, man!”
“Well, that’s hardly subtle, is it?”
I WAS UNAWARE WE DID SUBTLETY-
Robin swung open the door, and glowered.
There were three figures, filling the doorway. Liesel Meminger beamed at him – she had her mechanic’s jumpsuit on rather than her Victorian outfit, and her trusty wrench still shining on her belt. Christmas Present clutched a sack in one fat hand, and gave Robin a smile as broad as the moon. His hair looked greyer, and wrinkles lined his plump face, but his eyes were as bright as ever. And there was another one, in the back, probably THE other one – a tall hooded figure in robes of midnight, glowering back at him like a dying star.
“Hello!” Liesel waved. “So, listen, about last night-“
“Save it.” Robin held up a hand. “Or, y’know, come to me tomorrow, we’ll write a report, but right now I really have to get going-“
“Well, look, we wanted to give you something!”
Liesel stuck a hand out, to block off his exit. Robin almost pushed her out of the way, before getting a blast of ice-cold, refined dread from the looming phantom behind her.
“Um.” Liesel cleared her throat. “In recognition of all your hard work, and as an apology for the…unorthodox, direction, your epiphany experience took, we thought we’d give you some presents! As a thank you.”
She pushed a sheet of paper at him. Blinking, he took it.
“…that’s…OK. Thank you.”
“Take these, my good man!”
Present lumbered forward, passing Robin a burlap sack. It appeared to be filled to the brim with food, and a smorgasbord of rich and exotic smells wafted from its innards. Present winked, with a twinkle.
“Now, don’t eat it all at once! Hoho!”
“Thank you.” Robin nodded. That’d save him some time cooking, at least. “Now, if you’ll excuse me-“
AND THIS.
The hooded figure’s voice rumbled, archly. He outstretched his clammy hand. It held a note, typed out in neat black letters with pointed little serifs. Robin scanned it. His eyes went wide.
“That’s...every phenomena that’s going to show up in the next month! That’s…”
I AM TOLD THEY CALL IT “COMPENSATION”.
Liesel patted Future’s arm. “It means that now you might have some time spare. So at least we fixed something.”
“That’s…” For the first time since he talked to them, he genuinely smiled. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” Liesel nodded, and stepped aside to let him pass. “See you next year, huh?”
All of them heard the response Robin muttered under his breath, but none of them deigned to comment. The scientist bounced past them, clutching his impromptu presents, and headed down the stairs, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken.
“This is a lovely apartment!” Present looked up at the ceiling, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “Who lives here?”
Liesel rolled her eyes, lightly. She tapped Future on the arm.
“So, do you want to say it? You NEVER say it.”
Future raised a shadowed eyebrow. Under his hood, where only the spirits could see it, he smiled.
GOD BLESS US. EVERY ONE.
Liesel and Present gave a little round of applause. Under the hood, Future flushed, turning a slightly redder shade of mottled, dead blue than normal. Then he cleared his throat.
NOW THEN. THERE IS AN ENTITY IN THE NEIGHBOURING TOWNSHIP OF DESERT BLUFFS KNOWN ONLY AS THE “SMILING GOD”. YESTERDAY, ON DECEMBER 24TH, IT WAS HEARD TO UTTER SOMETHING IN AN UNKNOWABLE TONGUE, THAT COULD ONLY BE TRANSLATED AS “A SMALL, STRIPED, BOILED SWEET.
Liesel beamed. “Which means…”
COME ALONG. Future nodded, already stalking away. WE HAVE WORK TO DO.
Later, a bemused child was approached by the restless spirit of the former President of the United States, Andrew Jackson, who enquired particularly restlessly about whether or not he’d missed “Robin Statler’s” thing. When the child said “yes”, he was promptly challenged to a duel.
