Author: Scott Adamson

The bell above the door jingled as the spirit walked in, and he quickly made his way to a booth in the far corner of the Havisham Diner.

“Ghost of Christmas Past, how are you, hon?” asked Estella, pouring a hot cup of coffee into one of the three thick holiday mugs on the table. “I figured I’d be seeing you pretty soon. You ready for the holidays?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be – or ever am, Estella,” he said in a weary tone. “Just trying to gather up as many memories as I can before me and the guys go to work on Christmas Eve.”

Estella looked toward the door.

“Are the Ghost of Christmas Present and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come late, or are you just early?”

The phantom sighed.

“Eh, I guess I’m a little early. I like to relax a little before we start talking business. Gotta lotta Scrooge-types to deal with this year … a lotta Scrooge-types. There’s one who pushed his young cousin overboard when he took daddy’s yacht out for a spin back in the 1980s, and another who got his kicks by making his landscape workers fight – bare knuckle – in a gazebo in 1992. Sick stuff. They probably don’t even remember doing it now, so I’m gonna give ‘em a reminder.”

Estella shook her head.

“Sorry, hon … that’s awful. Do you want to order something for the table or …”

The bell jingled and the door flew open as the Ghost of Christmas Present barreled into the establishment.

“Hello, hello, good people!” he shouted as he snuffed out his torch. “Happy holidays to you all!”

The first spirit waved him over.

“Ghost of Christmas Past!” he exclaimed. “May I call you Past? You can just call me Present … it simplifies things. I’ve heard so much about you – all good. And Estella … I can’t wait to sample some of your delicious coffee. How’s Pip doing? I hope he’s recovered from those burns he got on his arms from fighting that fire at Satis House.”

Estella provided a heavy pour and grinned.

“It hurt like the dickens, but he’s doing great now … thanks for asking. Tell you what … I’ll let you boys talk and then I’ll be back when your friend gets here.”

As Estella walked away, Present flicked the fingers of his right hand and sent some sparkling, magic incense her way.

“What a wonderful woman … let’s be sure to give her a big tip,” he said, winking at Past. “Just so you know, my 2,024 brothers speak very highly of you and I must say it’s a real pleasure to finally meet you in person. I like your outfit, by the way … very festive.”

While the silver-haired Ghost of Christmas Past was adorned in a glowing gold suit, the bearded Ghost of Christmas Present was bedecked in a green robe that complemented the holly wreath atop his curly brown locks.

“I know you’ve been busy compiling memories for the folks we’ll be visiting,” Present said. “And I’ve been recording the here and now. Man, oh man … hard to believe what’s going on out there. This one fellow is worth $250 million, but he only pays the workers at his company $20 an hour. And there’s a CEO at a discount store who pulls in more than $130 million a year, but most of his folks make $7.25. Can you believe that … $7.25. Just hard to understand some people. For every Fanny Cleaver, Amy Dorrit and Joe Gargery there are hundreds of Ralph Nicklebys and Bill Sikes.”

Past huffed.

“You know, after Scrooge got turned around, I thought this job would be easy, I really did.” Past lamented. “Show people how their actions affect others, appeal to their humanity, and then basic human decency takes over. Scrooge went from one of the worst men in the world to one of the kindest. But these modern humans … I don’t know. Sometimes their humanity is hard to find. I mean, back in the day our success rate was almost 100 percent, but it keeps dropping year after year. For example, me, one of your brothers and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come had to deal with a person who had done countless horrible, cruel things, but he was powerful so he always got away with everything. We showed him his past, how he was hurting people in the present and what his fate would be in the future if he didn’t change his ways. And you know what he did? He laughed. Said the only spirits he was interested in came from his vineyard in Napa Valley. I tell you, Present, the longer I do this, the more disheartening it gets.”

The spirits continued their chat – and continued to wait on the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Finally, the bell jingled and a dark, hooded figure slowly glided inside.

“Gentleman,” he muttered, plopping down in the booth.

Estella came to the table and refreshed Past and Present’s coffee, but the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come turned his cup upside down.

“None for me, Estella … thank you, though,” he said in a low, guttural voice. “Caffeine makes me jittery and I’m jittery enough these days.”

“No problem,” she said. “I’ll give you fellows a few minutes to look at the menu, and I’ll check on you again in a bit.”

Once Estella was back behind the counter, the specter produced a flask and took a big gulp.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us this year, fellows,” he said. “It’s gonna be harder than ever. Some of these people you just can’t reach no matter how hard you try. They’re lost causes.”

The trio then sat in silence for a few moments while looking over the menu.

“Well,” Present said. “It’s easy to be all gloom and doom – heck, it’s hard not to be. So much hate … so much pain. But you know what? I don’t have time to dwell on all that. As you both probably know, I have a pretty short run on earth and Christmas Eve is my last hurrah, so I’m gonna make the most of my limited time here.”

He smiled at Estella, signaling that they were ready to order.

“Have you gentlemen decided?”

“I’ve decided for us,” Present said, speaking for the three spirits as he stood up and handed the menus to Estella. “Everything on here looks great, but we’ll have Hope. I think we could all use a heaping helping of that right about now, don’t you? And bring me the check – in  fact, bring me everybody’s checks. It’s my treat … just think of it as a present from the Ghost of Christmas Present.”

The patrons in Havisham Diner broke out in spontaneous applause, and Estella flashed a huge smile. For the first time in a long time, she sensed happiness – and joy – among the customers.

“Hope,” she said to herself. “That’s an excellent choice.”

It was a December tradition for Joanie and Irv: Put up the artificial silver Christmas tree, trim it with gaudy ornaments, and scatter a few holiday knick-knacks and holiday cards across the mantel of the fireplace.

The final piece of the decorating puzzle was loading three new Double-A batteries into the small snow globe, aka “Mr. Globe.” Then, with a flick of a switch, a light would come on and initiate an aquatic glitter spray, engulfing the small white snowman, a trio of green trees and lone brown reindeer in a mini winter wonderland.

This time, however, there was nothing.

Despite a double check of the batteries, a slap on the bottom of the globe’s base and a vigorous shake, the light wouldn’t come on and, therefore, the faux snow wouldn’t fall.

“Well, dang,” said Irv, eying the globe with a concerned look. “I’m afraid Mr. Globe finally crapped out.”

Joanie took the sphere from Irv, jiggled the switch, and tried in vain to make it work.

Still no light … still no fake snowstorm.

“This is sad,” she said, gently placing Mr. Globe on the floor. “He’s been part of our Christmases for what … nine years? Ten years?”

“I’m sure it’s been 10 years,” Irv said. “I remember going to Discount Dude’s to get some wrapping paper and saw it while I was checking out. I think it cost $2.99. That was our first Christmas together, and we were decorating on a budget. Three bucks for a snow globe was too good a deal to pass up. But we definitely got our money’s worth out of it.”

Irv picked up the globe, walked to the wastebasket in the kitchen, and dropped it in.

“Goodbye, Mr. Globe,” he said. “You served us well, good sir.”

Joanie frowned.

“Aw, man … are you just gonna throw him away?” she asked in a disappointed tone.

Irv shrugged.

“Well, I mean, he’s broken. And let’s face it, something that cheap probably shouldn’t have lasted more than a year, anyway. We can get another one … a better one. I imagine Discount Dude has a wide selection.”

Joanie pulled out her phone and began scrolling through the  photo library. After a few flicks of her finger, she chuckled.

“Irv, come check this out,” she said.

The photo, from 2020, showed Mr. Globe on the steps of their front porch, framed by real falling snow.

“That was Mr. Globe in an actual snowstorm,” she said. “He’d given us snow inside the house, so it seemed only fair he got to experience it himself.”

The couple sat down on the couch, scooted close together, and continued to glance through the pics.

An image from 2017 showed their ancient cat, Edison, peering intently inside the globe.

“He looks like he’s trying to get to that reindeer,” Irv said softly. “Edison was a great cat … I still miss him.”

Turns out Mr. Globe had popped up in a multitude of photos. Sometimes it was merely in the background, but on other occasions it shared star billing with people and pets.

After Edison was gone the new cat, Carver, liked to tap the globe’s base with its paws. And it was a popular selfie prop for friends and family members.

“I love this one of your Uncle Thatch where he’s pretending to lick the globe,” Joanie said. “Well, maybe he wasn’t pretending. Your uncle was a weird dude. I loved him, but he was strange.”

After reaching the end of the feed Irv rose, stretched, and walked back to the kitchen. Joanie heard some rustling coming from the wastebasket, and when Irv returned, he had Mr. Globe in his hand.

He surveyed the mantel and placed it next to the scented mistletoe candle.

“Ah, what the heck,” Irv chortled. “It’s the same snowman, same reindeer and same trees. Let’s pretend the snow stopped and it’s getting dark outside, and we decided to let Mr. Globe warm up by the fire.”