• Nick's Past

    Nick sat on his grand four poster bed and stared at the cherry wood, elaborately carved grandfather clock across him huge bedroom. It ticked mercilessly onward. Nick had pulled his long white hair back into a braid and donned his robe, pulling it tightly closed against the chill he wasn’t sure was real or ethereal.

    His body tensed. The hands met at one and twelve. There was a single loud dong that echoed in the empty room. The clock continued to tick. His hands clenched on his sheet for a moment and then he relaxed.

    But the moment his shoulders slumped, a bell jingled. Immediately, Nick’s back straightened. The jingle sounded again. He searched for the sound. It continued. Forced out of the bed, Nick put on his slippers and followed the sound.

    It led him to the other side of his grand room to a well-cushioned chair. He didn’t believe he’d ever sat on it. But in that chair lay a doll. A familiar doll in red and green. Nick bent down and reached for it.

    The doll sat up, the small bell on its hat jingling.

    Nick stumbled back.

    The doll stood, its small hands brushed itself off, the jingle perpetually sounding to its every movement.

    “What are you?” Nick breathed.

    “I?” the doll asked, its voice like a bell as well. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.”

    “Christmas past?”

    The doll floated into the air and toward Nick. He lifted an arm to protect himself, but the spirit stopped. Its glassy eyes seemed to stare right through Nick. It tilted its head. “Yes. Christmas Past. I am here to take you back to the Christmases of your past.”

    “Why would we do that?” Nick asked. “How could we possibly do that?”

    “Take my hand, and I will guide you. Your salvation depends on it.”

    “My salvation,” he said, his voice shaky and skeptical. Trembling, Nick lifted his arm. He was terrified, but he feared what would happen to him if he refused much more. Not what the other spirit—Polaris—had warned him about. Life after death. His immortal soul. That was too intangible for him to fear. But the possibility of nightly hauntings that his magic could not prevent was true, tangible fear. His forefinger and thumb clasped the tiny hand.
    In a whirl of cinnamon colored dust, the world fell away around them and was consumed by these winds of scents. Pine, cinnamon, gravy and roasting turkey. The doll began to float forward, and somehow its small body pulled Nick along through the blur. Sounds began to become clearer. Soft music, laughter, a gentle voice singing. The haze of wind and dust began to dissipate, and the place was revealed.

    Nick’s eyes widened.

    It was his childhood home. The Christmas tree that always had seemed bigger than life. Three children played together by the base of the tree, spread out on a luscious, red rug. Serious Ebenezer unwrapped his nutcracker soldier of blue and white. Mary, already holding her doll that matched her blond curls, threw herself at Ebenezer with a shout of excitement. The eldest smiled and hugged his giggling little sister. Nick reached out to touch them and a boy called out, “Hey!” from the door way.

    Nick stiffened as he watched himself run toward the other two and laughingly tackle them, sending the three sprawling onto the rug.

    “Nicky!” Mary whined. “You could’ve broken Ebenezer’s and my doll!”

    “Mine isn’t a doll,” Ebenezer said. “It’s a soldier.”

    “No,” Nick said with a grin. “It’s a nutcracker! Will you crack nuts for us Ebenezer? Please, please?”

    “Oh, yes, Ebbie, please?” Mary said.

    A smile cracked on the older Nick who watched the scene. “Ebbie. Ha. I remember that.” He tried again to touch the three, fighting the compulsion to pull them all into his arms and somehow tell them it will be all right. Though… he was not sure why.

    “These are shadows, Nick,” the floating spirit doll said. “They cannot see you or hear you. You are watching events that have passed and can no longer be changed.”

    Nick’s smile faded away as the watched the children which were he, his brother and his sister. “I see.” He straightened.

    “Children?”

    All three stopped their playing and looked up. “Yes, sir?” Ebenezer said.

    The older Nick stiffened as he recognized the man who had stopped the play. “Lord Colderidge.”

    “You remember this Christmas?” the ghost asked.

    “Yes. It was the last Christmas we would ever spend together,” Nick said.

    The man’s voice loomed over the children as their faces slowly took on the devastation of their now changed reality. “Ebenezer, Nick—both of you will be going to a special all boys boarding school. Westminister is an established and prestigious school. You will be there until you graduate. Mary, I don’t believe a girl should be sent to school, but your mother insists. So you will be sent to St. Josephine’s Boarding School for Girls until you come of age to be wed…” The voice continued, but the words faded into a murmur.

    “My mother married him three years after our father died. Mary barely remembered our father. My mother held out for a long time alone, but eventually pressures from the rest of the family forced her to marry again. I didn’t understand that for a long time. For years, I blamed Colderidge for tearing us apart—for the destruction of my family, and blamed my mother for letting him. I didn’t go to either of their funerals,” Nick said coldly.

    “There were many Christmases spent at Westminister Academy, true?” the spirit said as the wind and dust swirled around them again.

    “They were all mostly the same. Lonely.”

    “But you had your brother.”

    Nick said nothing.

    The den of Nick’s wing in Westminister Academy loomed before them. It was empty save for Nick. All the other students had gone home for Christmas. He was working on an invention. It was a small one—one of this first. It was a writing tool similar to a quill in which the ink was already inside, so one would not have to dip it constantly. The tip was very similar to that of a quill.

    Nick walked toward his younger self, remembering that invention. The “fountain pen.” He had made a fortune with it once it had been perfected. He had only made them for himself and for a few who had asked, but soon everyone had asked and offered him money. It was the first invention when he realized he could sell them for money.

    The door to the den creaked open.

    Ebenezer stepped into the room and stopped. The chill in the air between the brothers, brought an ache into Nick’s chest. The spirit floated besides Nick as they watched young Ebenezer approach the young Nick.

    “Working on another stupid invention?” the young Ebenezer said and sneered.

    “They’re not stupid, Ebenezer. I like making things. Not destroying them like you,” the young Nick said.

    “I destroy what gets in my way. That’s why I like war and history and tactics. There are more things you can learn from that rather than making stupid things no one will use.”

    Young Nick stood up, his hands fisted at his sides. “I create things because that’s how I control what happens to me. I can make things with my own hands. You can’t make anything! You just suck up to all the teachers.”

    “At least I get good grades.”

    “By manipulating the teachers! That’s cheating!”

    Ebenezer shrugged. “I control what happens to me by controlling others.”

    “You can’t control me!”

    Ebenezer smirked. “But I don’t care about you. You and your toys can’t do anything to me. You’re not important. I can reach the top without you.” He turned and walked away. The young Nick stood there, fists still clenched, eyes tightly closed, and tears running down his cheeks.

    Nick looked away from his young self.

    “So different,” the doll said in its tinkling voice. “From happy brothers to fighting like this for no reason.”

    “We were encouraged to be competitive, to be better by diminishing others.” Nick shook his head. “I hated this place. And I hated every Christmas here.”

    “But you graduated,” the ghost said. Dust and wind swirled around them again.

    “Yes, I did.”

    “And you worked for a toy company.”

    “Yes.”

    “You made inventions for them. Invented toys too.”

    “Yes.”

    “And you met a girl.”

    Nick froze. He looked up at the doll. The glassy black eyes stared back. “No…” Nick croaked.

    The wind and dust settled. It was the house of the owner of the toy factory. Mr. Wordsworth. People milled around laughing and talking. Smells and sounds penetrated through Nick’s skull. He whirled around taking it all in and found himself despite himself, basking in the memory.

    “Wordsworth’s Christmas Party! He always let me try a new invention at these, and for five years running, one of the toys I had designed that year was ‘the’ Christmas toy of the year!” Nick laughed as he began to point out people to the doll. “That’s old Mrs. Lovett. And that’s Red Jack—he used to always get me all the parts I needed for my inventions. Oh, and there’s Mr. Glasgow. He helped me to improve my magic and my spells. I graduated a wizard from Westminister, but he helped me to perfect my skills. Mr. Wordsworth invited everyone to these parties, it didn’t matter their status. Lord, these were fun.”

    Nick stopped however when he saw his younger self rush into the crowded room toward Mr. Wordsworth, grease and frosting on his face. His white hair was pulled back into a queue, but a strand of bangs had escaped and hung on his cheek. There was a glop of blue frosting on the top of those bangs. He wore green this Christmas Eve and looked frazzled.

    “Mr. Wordsworth—I know you told me not to try and fix anything with a spell, but the frosting distributor I invented began to leak and I tried to patch it up as best I could because I know the cakes have to be out here but it wouldn’t work my hands wouldn’t stop shaking so I tried a spell Mr. Glasgow showed me last week, but I must’ve been so nervous that…” Nick stopped his rambling suddenly. “It exploded all over the kitchen.”

    Mr. Wordsworth burst out laughing. “Well, did you clean it up?” he asked.

    “The mop and pail are hard at work, sir.”

    “Well, then don’t worry about it! Let the cooks do it the old fashioned way! Just relax and enjoy the evening, Nick.”

    “But, Mr. Wordsworth, sir…”

    “No buts. Go dance with River over there. She can’t seem to land a partner.” Mr. Wordsworth, a big man, though not as large as Nick himself had become—shoved the young man with ease toward the auburn haired woman with the glowing green eyes. Her hair curled about her face.

    “Oh, hello,” she said and flushed.

    “Uh… Hello,” Nick replied and also blushed.

    She giggled, lifted a hand and wiped the frosting off his head. She licked it from her fingers. “You had frosting there.”

    “Oh.” Nick’s face was deep crimson for a moment as he stared at her. He recovered, after a long moment (and an arched brow from her), and took her hand. He gave it a soft kiss on the knuckles. “My name is Nick. Would you care for a dance?” he asked, his voice soft as he looked at the young woman.

    She curtsied. “I’m River. I would love a dance, Sir Nick.”

    He smiled, she smiled back. He pulled her into his arms and cut across the dance floor with her.

    The doll sat on Nick’s shoulder. It startled him for a moment, so preoccupied he was with watching the younger him and the woman in his arms. “You remember this meeting?” the doll asked.

    “Oh, yes. I thought my life had finally begun when I met her,” Nick said.

    “You spent many Christmases with her. Three.”

    “No. Just two.”

    “Let’s go to that third Christmas you had with her.”

    Nick winced. “No, please. I don’t want to remember… I don’t want to remember that.”

    “Come,” the spirit said, and put its small hand on Nick’s cheek.

    The world turned white and Nick closed his eyes, anticipating and dreading what was to come. He felt the first snowflake on his cheek and opened his eyes. It snowed, as light as it did that day. He saw River in the distance and was drawn to her. The doll floated beside him as he walked closer.

    “Nick!”

    He froze when River called his name. She pulled off her gloves and ran toward him and the hood of her cloak came free. Her hair, fiery and dark, came lose. Nick, for a moment, felt a rush of happiness—real happiness—something he had forgotten he could feel, and opened his arms to her. But River rushed right through him, as if he was a specter.

    Nick turned around and saw River pelt herself into the arms of a younger, smiling version of himself. It hadn’t been as long ago as he thought. He didn’t feel jealous of his younger self, just watched as he held River close and kissed her.

    “Hello, River,” the younger Nick said.

    “Hello, handsome,” River responded. “Well?”

    “Well, what?”

    River made a face. “I thought you said you were going to talk to Mr. Marley and then you were going to have a surprise for me. So out with it. What’s the surprise?”

    Nick rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bench. “He didn’t buy the watch bracelet. He said the idea was foolish, since people already had watches on chains they could put in their pockets. It would be too bulky. I tried to show him that they were smaller and lighter, but he would have none of it. Instead he talked about this community he was financing. Cheap buildings for ridiculous prices on prime real estate. He suggested I invest.”

    River sat beside him. “You didn’t, did you? Everyone says that Marley’s houses are drafty and badly put together.”

    “It’s money, River. Good money. And once the investment comes back we can finally get married,” Nick said.

    River was silent. “So… you’re not asking me to marry you now? What was the surprise going to be then?”

    Nick gave her a sheepish smile. “A nice dinner?”

    River glared at him and then stood up. “You’re actually going to go into business with that vampire?”

    “Only for a while until I can put up my own business and sell my own inventions,” Nick said and stood up too. He put his hands on her shoulders. “River…”

    “No, Nick. It’s been three years. Three years and you keep saying you want to marry me, but you never ask, you keep putting it off, you’re obsessed with making money. I know why you want money, but, Nick, for goodness sake, I don’t need money I just need you.” She whirled on him. “Where did that eager, good man go? You’re going to into business with Marley? He’s a leech, a monster. He’ll corrupt you.”

    Nick watched his younger self frown and winced, remembering what had gone through his mind all those years ago. The anger he felt then no longer existed. Only regret.

    “He won’t corrupt me, River. I already am corrupt. If I want money, I have to fight to get on top. My brother is already head of the Gaian University. If I don’t do something with my life, if I don’t become rich, I’ll be crushed like everyone else under his foot.”

    River shook her head. “What happened to you?”

    “I grew up. I thought you did too.”

    River stared at him in silence, turned around and walked away from him.

    That was the last time Nick saw her. Years later he would ask a servant or two for some information about her, but when they returned with it, he didn’t want to hear about her anymore. He didn’t want to know if she was married or not. If she had children. If she was happy without him. He didn’t want to remember what it felt like when she turned away and never looked back.

    Nick felt tears running down his cheeks as he watched River walk away for the second time. “Go after her, you idiot!” he yelled at his younger self. “You went after everything you wanted in life. Power, money, magic. And the one thing you wanted more than all of that you just let her get away!” He collapsed onto the bench where the two of them had been sitting and covered his face with his hands.

    “Why did you show me all this?” he whispered to the spirit which sat on his knee.

    The doll swayed. “To help you remember.”

    When Nick looked up to respond, he was in his house again, the fire roaring. His clothes were still wet from the fresh snow of the past, and the spirit was gone.

    He already felt exhausted and there were still two ghosts more to go.