A TEENAGED CHRISTMAS CAROL


	On the night before Christmas, not a creature was stirring, not even flighty teenager Carol. She was snug in her bed, fast asleep.

	A chilly breeze and a soft moaning noise coaxed Carol to open an eye. She wished that she hadn't, though, and before long she was sitting up in her bed, staring at the female figure in her bedroom. “How did you get in here?” she demanded.

	“Carol...” The ethereal girl tried to drag out the name as long as possible. “I am the ghost of your tennis partner, Jackie Morley!”

	“No, no you ain't,” contradicted Carol, waving a finger. “I seen you just this afternoon, Jackie, and you ain't dead. Now, quit playin'.”

	“I am so dead,” insisted the figure. “See?” With that, she demonstrated by passing through Carol's dresser as if it weren't there.

	“Okay, whatever, so you're a ghost,” Carol surrendered. “But you can't really be Jackie.”

	The ghost sighed, but seemed to ignore what Carol had said. Trying to act more menacing, she continued, “These are the chains I forged in life!”

	“Now, see, that there's a charm bracelet.”

	The ghost threw up her hands. “Do you have to make this difficult? Seriously!”

	“Fine, fine, I'll play along.” Carol rolled her eyes.

	The ghost's enthusiasm returned. “Tonight, you will be visited by three spirits!”

	“Yeah, okay,” said Carol, returning to a sleeping posture. “I think I know the rest. Goodnight and goodbye!”

	“I was hopin' that would be more dramatic,” sighed the ghost, as she faded away.


	Drifting back to sleep didn't help much. As the clock struck, Carol immediately found herself standing in an unfamiliar neighborhood in the presence of a winged baby. “Aww! Ain't you just the cutest thing ever!” she beamed.

	“I am the ghost of Christmas Past,” the infant explained. “Take a look over there!”

	Sitting on a glider on the front porch of a home were a woman and man in their early twenties. It was obvious that the two were a romantic couple.

	“Who...?” Carol strained to see. “Is that my grandma when she was young?”

	The tiny ghost nodded. “Quite a looker in her day, don't you think?”

	“Yeah, but, who's the guy? He don't look anything like my grandpa. What's goin' on, spirit?”

	The ghost merely shrugged. Shortly thereafter, the couple on the porch leaned in for a kiss. “Oh, hey now,” Carol protested, “I did NOT need to see that! I don't even know who that dude is!”

	“She wasn't always your grandmother, you know,” the ghost said casually.

	“Yeah but...” Suddenly, it dawned on Carol. “Hey, ain't you supposed to be explorin' MY past? I get the feelin' I won't be born for decades. What's the deal, spirit?”

	“I don't know,” the ghost admitted. “I just thought you should see... Hey, stop! Why are you kissing my forehead!?”

	“You're a baby,” explained Carol with another kiss. “I can't help it.”


	Carol suddenly found herself back home, in the presence of another spirit. “Ghost of Christmas Present, I presume?” Carol said, looking the being up and down. “You look like one of them old-fashioned Santa Claus pictures.”

	“I get that a lot,” the ghost replied heavily. “Now come, and I will show you Christmas in the present moment!”

	“Okay, uh...” Carol studied the scene. “My mom and dad are in bed asleep. This ain't tellin' me a whole lot, spirit. I think you're takin' the whole 'present' thing a bit too literally.”

	“That's what I do,” the spirit explained. “I live in the moment!”

	“Yeah, whatever. Can't you show me somethin' with a little more action?”

	In the blink of an eye, Carol and the spirit were standing in a snowy downtown area. People were scurrying about, and most of them seemed to be in a cheerful mood. “Now this is better,” Carol acknowledged, “But I can't understand what they're sayin'. Where are we exactly?”

	“We're in Russia,” the ghost smiled. “It's already Christmas morning there.”

	“Now, here we go again, showin' me the most pointless things! Ain't this supposed to be about me and my life?”

	The spirit rubbed his face. “Teenagers are so self-centered...”


	Carol popped back into the house. It seemed like her house, more or less, but the walls were different colors and the furniture didn't seem familiar. As she turned around, she let out a small shriek as she noticed her new companion.

	“You must be the ghost of Christmas Yet To Come,” she realized. “Or are you the Grim Reaper? Am I dead? Or am I gonna die, like right now? Tell me, spirit. Oh, that's right, you don't talk. Never mind.”

	At that moment, she heard a familiar sound: her own voice, coming from the next room. “So I ain't dead yet,” she concluded. “Let me take a look...”

	Seeing yourself would be enough to traumatize most people, especially seeing yourself thirty years down the road. But what Carol saw evoked a horror movie-worthy reaction. When she had finished screaming, she howled, “I'm wearin' stirrup pants!”

	“Please spirit,” she begged on her knees, “I don't ever wanna wear stirrup pants and awful, kitchy snowman sweaters! And look! No!! I done collected a cabinet full of owl figurines! Oh, this is terrible, spirit! Please, no more, no more!” She wept excessively.


	Carol's pillow was soaked with tears. She opened her eyes to see saw sunlight peeking through the window. It was Christmas morning, and all seemed right with the world. “That there was the stupidest dream I ever had.”

	Her scowl soon melted into a grin. Throwing open her bedroom window, she shouted, “Merry Christmas, world!”

	Stricken by a blast of frosty air, she quickly shut the window. “I do so enjoy Christmas,” she said with a sigh. “But if anybody bought me an owl figurine, I'll be findin' myself at the return counter first thing tomorrow!”

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Inspired by Charles Dickens. Word Count: 992