A Present for the Ghost of Christmas Present

3 Dec

Embed from Getty Images
A Special Report By Grimm Report Chief Retail Correspondent,
Jocelyn Koehler
teamblood.org | @jocelynk414

Sharp eyed citizens (or those haunted by seven-years’-dead business partners) caught a special holiday sight yesterday at the local mall. The Ghost of Christmas Present returned! Yes, the massive, jolly, be-robed spirit once again walked amongst the populace, strolling in and out of the cheerfully decorated stores, from the Williams-Sonoma to the Eddie Bauer, from one anchor department store to the other. Less noticeable were his two companions, an emaciated young boy and girl who even the cheeriest shoppers didn’t seem to see.

“Merry Christmas!!” the Ghost boomed to all, though only a few souls ever heard his voice in the back of their conscious minds. “Come and know me better! It’s my one day to walk and talk with you all, and by midnight, I’ll be dead! Ho, ho! What a time to be alive!”

Outside the Anthropologie, a man on a bench hunched over his smartphone. Leaning over, the Ghost whispered, “That’s a great score on Threes, but your time would be better spent by calling up the nursing home to tell them you want to pick up your dad for Christmas dinner. Last chance, buddy. Just sayin.” The man shivered and quickly started to listen to a podcast.

Undaunted, Ghost continued his journey through the mall until he spied a woman weighed down with shopping bags. “You’re a mom!! Come meet my friends!” the Ghost said. “This boy is Ignorance and this girl is Want. There’s a reason I bring ‘em out on days like this. Hey, lady, look at those fifteen sweaters you just grabbed on the killer sale at Anne Taylor. You could toss one of them to Iggy here. He’s cold all the time.”

The woman brushed by, and the Ghost continued, “No? Okay. Well, enjoy storing those in your closet and then the offsite unit, never to be worn until you die, and then your kids sell the unit sight unseen. Did I mention that I can see the shadows of possible futures? True. Your daughter doesn’t want another cashmere sweater. She just wanted you to come over that one day last month. She has something to tell you.”

As the hours passed, the Ghost aged visibly, his hair growing grey. Still he tirelessly introduced Ignorance and Want to the shoppers, who inevitably passed by without acknowledging the mystic, terrifying beings standing between them and the nearest Starbucks.

“Stay positive,” the Ghost told himself out loud at one point, just after passing Hot Topic. “It’s the season of love and forgiveness. Your 2000 brothers could do it. So can you. Okay, let’s go!”

Then, just outside the mall, a homeless punk rocker finally saw the holiday sprits, asking, “Hey, kid, why do you have “DOOM” written on your forehead?”

“I dunno,” said Ignorance.

“Well, it’s pretty sick. You want some coffee? I fish the cups out of the trash and the baristas have to give me free refills.”

Ignorance accepted the offered cup of steaming hobo coffee and shared it with Want. Just at the stroke of midnight, the dying Ghost laughed and said, “Best present ever. Merry Christmas, everyone!” before all three vanished in a fog.


3 Responses to “A Present for the Ghost of Christmas Present”

  1. rgdole 12/03/2014 at 9:36 am #

    The Ghost of Christmas Present was always my favorite… though I usually watch Muppets Christmas Carol and had forgotten about the kids that cling to him… apparently that was too creepy for the Muppets…

  2. idiotprufs 12/03/2014 at 10:21 am #

    Dickens must have been a cheery fellow.

  3. deshipley 12/03/2014 at 12:09 pm #

    Amusing /and/ deep. Well-reported.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s