A Christmas Carol

If that thought was aimed at providing consolation, it was short-lived. Just as the notion was enunciated out loud, its fallacy would become immediately apparent.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a buzzing, whizzing sound. He looked up and the light in the room started to brighten. As it did so, the humming sound increased in pitch and intensity. It built up and up as the room became ever more illuminated. The light became blinding and Ben covered his eyes. There was a roaring sound, like a jet taking off from a run way. He couldn't think, so loud was the noise, so bright was the light.

And then the noise was gone.

Ben looked up, his ears still ringing, and he saw a short, slight figure stood a few feet in front of him. It wasn't clear if this new intruder was a man or a woman. Or whether he or she was old or young. Somehow, he couldn't get a grasp on this mysterious person's features. One moment, they were a child, the next they were as ancient and elderly as the hills.

Their body seemed to crackle and vibrate, like a television picture that wasn't properly tuned in. They flickered and flashed, bolts of light shooting out like fireworks. Ben looked on in awe, mixed with unease and uncertainty.

"You're a spirit? One of the ghosts Jake talked about?"

The spirit - if that was what it was - simply looked towards him and nodded. There was a crackling humming sound emanating from its frame, but there would be no conversation. This ghost was silent, keeping its mouth resolutely shut.

"What do you want from me?"

No reply. But the spirit held out its hand. Despite himself, compelled by a force he couldn't understand or resist, Ben reached out and took it in his own. The proffered limb felt warm to the touch. As soon as he grabbed hold of it, the hand closed around his, and everything went black. There was a whooshing sound, and a sensation of air being sucked out of the room.

Then Ben was stood in a different room in a different place. A familiar place.

It was a living room, small and unremarkable, and decorated for Christmas. There was a tree in the corner of the room, with presents lying beneath it. Tinsel was draped over picture frames. Sprigs of holly were attached to the top of door frames. Ben looked around, soaking in the ambience surrounding him.

"Has he been? Has he been?" A voice cried out.

Ben looked sideways, towards the door at the far end of the room. He heard the pitter patter of footsteps, then a small boy burst into sight. The child must only have been four or five years old. Small, a little chubby, with a shock of red hair. He was wearing pyjamas and an adorable little dressing gown. His little legs were pumping, his fists were swinging, as he ran towards the tree. He was completely unaware of Ben and the spirit stood next to him.

"Look, Mommy, there are presents, he has been! Santa's been!" The kid shouted, pointing at the wrapped parcels on the floor.

"It sure looks that way, kiddo," a female voice replied.

Ben knew that voice, knew it intimately. It was a voice he hadn't heard in more than ten years.

"Mom?" He said, looking back at the dark doorway.

And then she was there. His mother. Much younger than when he last saw her, but it was his mom nonetheless. She was of average height, but that was the only average thing about her. She was beautiful. Stunning. Breathtaking. She was wearing silk pyjamas, a shirt and a pair of shorts, and they did little to hide her incredible curves.

She was all jiggling bumps and lumps, shiny shadows and peaks; her large breasts ostensibly hidden away, and yet totally obvious and effectively on display. Her full lips, her dazzling blue eyes, the thick waves of dark red hair. Ben was mystified, captivated, astonished. His mother stood there, right next to him, completely unaware of his presence.

"Can I open one of them? Can I, Mom?" The young Ben asked.

"Okay, but only one," she replied.

Little Ben, being a child after all, found the biggest parcel and pulled it out, with frantic excitement. He tore at the wrapping paper, revealing the present beneath.

"It's a remote-controlled car!"

"You like it?"

"I love it!"

He leapt into his mother's arms and she enveloped him in a hug. He was a tiny little thing and she wrapped her arms around her son. She kissed him affectionately on his forehead, cradling the little boy like a delicate prize.

"I remember this moment," big Ben said, "I remember her. I remember her smell. Her warmth. I remember the softness of her breasts against my body. I was so secure. So safe. I loved her so much."

The ghost didn't respond. It just stood there impassively, its face flickering between old and new, male and female, its body still fizzing and crackling with energy. Then, it lifted its arm and waved its hand from right to left. There was a whooshing sound and everything went dark. Half a second later, the lights came back on.

They were still in Ben's family home, but things looked subtly different. The wallpaper was changed, the carpet was new, some of the furniture had been replaced. A different Christmas tree stood in the corner, but many of the decorations remained the same.

And once again, Ben could see a younger version of himself, still as a child, but older now. Taller. A little more mature. He was sat astride a bike, another present from Santa. His mother standing next to him, her hands on his shoulders.

The ghost lifted its arm and whoosh...

...another jump through time. Ben is older still, and he is unwrapping a stereo system...

...whoosh...

...a laptop...

...whoosh...

...a motorbike...

One last whoosh and the festive scene was very different. Ben was getting a present, but not one made of plastic or metal or wood.

Now, younger Ben wasn't that young at all. He and his mother were on the couch, both of them were naked. Their bodies were pressed together, limbs and torsos intertwined. She had her fingers wrapped round his cock, gently masturbating him. He was suckling on her nipple, his hands clasped round a large, prodigious breast. His eyes staring up into hers, as he consumed as much of her tit as he possibly could.

"We were a team, she and I. Always," the older Ben whispered to a ghost that remained impossibly silent, "it was always the two of us against the world. Dad was a cold, distant figure, hard to love. But Mom? Mom was perfect. I worshipped her."

He looked at the scene playing out in front of him. The naked mother clambered up on top of her teenage son, still holding his dick in her hand. She lined it up with her frothy slot and, with a sigh of satisfaction and contentment, she impaled herself upon it. Both of them groaned, as his dick buried itself inside her hot, tight snatch.

"I couldn't believe it when she responded to my affections," he said softly. "I had wanted her for so long, and she knew it, but she wouldn't let anything happen until I was eighteen. Then, on the night of my birthday, she came to my room and, without saying a word, she took off her clothes and let me touch her body. We made love on my bed for the first time. It was magical."

Ben could hear the panting and heavy breathing as the incestuous couple fucked in front of him. He stared on in wonder as his mother's flesh rippled and swayed, her buttocks rising and dropping, as she let his dick plough its way into her twat. He could see his cock glistening with her juices, a surreal sight for the older man to compute.

"There was never any discussion, or doubt, or trauma. She knew what I wanted and she let me have it. Without question. She let me have her."

His mother threw her head back, shaking that incredible mane of red hair, as she rode her son like bucking bronco.

"Oh fuck, baby, you're so big," she panted.

"I love you, Mom, I love you so much."

"I love you too, darling. More than anything. You know that."

And so it continued, this insane spectacle of debauchery. Ben could have stayed there all night, drinking in these forbidden golden memories. But his mysterious companion had other ideas. The spirit lifted its arm once more and suddenly they jumped forward in time again, but only a year or two.

There was younger Ben and his mother. They were sat on the floor now. Both of them were naked and their legs were intertwined. If they had been fucking, they had only just stopped a few moments before. Their breathing was still heavy and they were both flushed, and slick with sweat, their hair was damp and plastered to their respective faces. Ben stroked and cupped his mother's cheeks, staring lovingly into her eyes.

She was clearly heavily pregnant. Her belly and breasts had all swollen markedly. By the size of her, it must only have been a matter of weeks before she was due to give birth. She looked like a kind of Buddha. She was gently caressing her expanded stomach, the large size of it, an awesome proposition.

"I know I've asked this before, but you know it's mine?" Young Ben queried.

She sighed, rolling her eyes in an exaggerated, almost comic fashion.

"Of course it's yours. Do you think I've been fucking my way round the parish?"

"No, but you may have been fucking Dad?"

"Don't be silly, baby. I told you, I haven't been with your father for a long, long time. Not since we got together. I haven't let him touch me. I'm a one guy type of girl. The only person I spread my legs for is you. The only dick I let inside me is yours. I'm your woman, sweetheart. Only yours. I'm your woman and you're my man. And this is our baby."

"So, if you and he haven't been fucking, he must know he's not the father?"

"Yes, he knows. He doesn't know you are the guilty party, of course, but he knows the kid ain't is."

"Who does he think is the guilty party?"

"I don't know. I won't discuss the matter with him. He's prepared to pretend, for appearance's sake, that he is the father, but he's not."

"So what do we do? I'm going to have a baby, and that baby won't know I'm its Dad?"

"Maybe when it's older, we'll tell her or him. But for now, no, they won't know. It's for the best, sweetheart. It's too complicated for everyone to know the truth. It's illegal for starters."

"I don't care. I want to be the father of my child."

"And you always will be. Always," she exclaimed. "Just think, once the baby's born, when it's sleeping in its crib, we'll be able to stand together and watch it. Together. Proud parents. You will know. I will know."

"But the baby won't know!"

"Shhh, silly," she whispered, "you're the father of my baby. That's all that matters."

She stopped stroking her belly and began to rub on his dick, her hand squeezing and fondling his cock. A few moments later they were making love once more.

"We never told Freddy," the older Ben stated, talking to himself more than anyone else, "to this day, she just thinks of me as her brother, not her father."

The ghost remained inscrutable. Then it performed its perennial party trick and time leapt forward once more.

Young Ben was sat on the couch, wearing a dark suit. A young girl sat on his lap. She was probably no older than five or six. He was holding her tightly, his arms wrapped round her body. The little girl had her face buried in his chest, and her body was twitching and shaking. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

"Oh fuck, I don't want to see this," older Ben said, turning towards to spirit next to him, "please, I beg you, not this day."

The Christmas decorations were still up, but the lights hadn't been switched on. Young Ben was gently stroking the little girl's back, doing what he could to soothe her. The little girl that was his sister and his daughter, both at the same time.

"She died on Christmas Day," the older man said, his words flat and lifeless, a tear running down his cheek, "she'd forgotten an ingredient for dinner, something for the stuffing I think, and she went to the store. I offered to go instead, but she said there was no need. After an hour, I started to get concerned. Then I went to look for her..."

The spirit said nothing, still passive, still humming and fizzing.

"...the ambulance had left by then, but the police were still there. I saw blood on the street. My mother's blood. She had been walking out of the store when a drunk driver ploughed straight into her. Death would have been instant. Painless, we were told. Dying on Christmas Day...so pointless. So tragic. I'd lost my mother. I'd lost my lover. I'd lost my world."

Little Freddy seemed to have cried herself asleep, her small body lying prone on top of the younger Ben.

"She was heartbroken; losing her mother at such a young age. I tried to reassure her. I wanted to tell her everything was going to be okay, even though I didn't believe it myself. Dad was hopeless. He had always been distant with Freddy; for obvious reasons, I suppose, since he knew she wasn't his. So, I had to try and look after her. She cried herself to sleep every night for months afterwards. My poor little girl."

Finally, the Ghost of Christmas Past had seen enough. It turned towards Ben and its whole body began to glow. This ethereal illumination became ever more intense, ever brighter, ever more blinding. With it, there was a rumbling, roaring sound that climbed in pitch and volume. Ben brought his hands to his ears, trying to block it out. His teeth rattled, his eardrums throbbed.

And then there was nothing but silence and darkness.

4

Ben awoke. He was back in his apartment, lying on the floor. A spilled glass of whisky lay next to him. He sat up, his head spinning, his mouth dry.

"What the fuck?" He whispered to himself.

"Salutations! Felicitations! Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice!" A booming voice rang out.

Ben looked up and saw a giant man stood on the other side of the room. He must have been at least seven feet tall, maybe taller. He wore a crown of holly upon his head. He had a thick beard and was resplendent in long robes of deep green and crimson, lined with fur.

"Who the fuck are you?" Ben asked.

"Christ is born, my dear boy!" He bellowed, his cheeks rosy, his smile almost manic and intense. "Let us celebrate that joyous news. A day to rage against the darkness of winter! A day to feast, to dance, to celebrate! Let us commence our revelries and enjoy the magical marvels of this day!"

"So, you're the ghost of Christmas present, I presume?"

"That's me, dear boy, that's me. Come, let us witness the glories of this day together."

The giant man barrelled across the room, the floor bouncing and vibrating as he stomped towards Ben. The next thing he knew, the pair of them were soaring through the air, flying high above the streets of Manhattan. Sheer terror gripped him, as he defied all the laws of gravity, staring down at the city beneath him. The giant ghost was holding his hand and the two of them flew together.

"Millions of souls...billions...each one marking this day, sharing in the love and warmth of Christmas. Isn't it remarkable?" The ghost said, his voice perfectly audible, despite the wind and the sounds of the city.

"Where are we going?"

"To see your loved ones."

Suddenly they were swooping downwards, plummeting towards the ground, diving like a Japanese bomber attacking Pearl Harbour. Ben screamed in terror, covering his eyes with his hands, waiting for the impact that was sure to come...

...and then he was stood, perfectly still, in what appeared to be the main living room of a small apartment. It was, despite its size, a very beautiful space, tastefully decorated and emanating a sense of warmth and coziness. Christmas lights lit up the room, tinsel adorned prints and framed posters on the wall.

A young boy was sat on the floor, lifting parcels up from under the Christmas tree. He would weigh each present, shake it a little, bring it up to his ear, then put it back in the tree.

"You have to wait until the morning, sweetheart," a familiar voice rang out.

"I know, Momma, but I can't wait. I love Christmas!" The little boy exclaimed.

Ben looked up and saw Bobby stood at the doorway. She looked beautiful. Tired but beautiful. The little kid was her son, Tim. Ben had seen photos of him, but had never actually met him in the flesh. He was happy enough to fuck his mom on a regular basis, but he had studiously avoided any intrusion in her private life. It was better that way, he had told himself. Fewer complications.

"Come on, champ, time for bed," she said.

"Okay, Momma."

The small boy clambered up, but he took his time. He was only six or seven years old, but he moved a lot like an old man. There was a frailty to him, a vulnerability, that was marked and obvious.

"Just look at him, the poor kid," Ben said, more to himself than anyone else, "I mean, I knew he wasn't well, but I hadn't seen it in the flesh."

"A terrible affliction," the ghost offered, in an unusually quiet tone, "but still the poor little lad loves this time of year."

"Why didn't she tell me? Why didn't she tell me how bad his situation is?"

"You are emotionally distant, young Ben. Especially this time of year. And you are becoming more so. You are throwing up barriers, distancing yourself from the people you love. The people who love you. She doesn't want to worry you."

Tim walks over to his mother and she lifts him up in her arms. She kisses his cheek and strokes his hair.

"You know you have to take your tablet before you go to bed?"

"Ewwww, it tastes nasty. Do I have to Momma?"

"Yes, baby. You need to take your medicine, if you want to get better. Then, straight to bed, and in a few hours, there will be even more presents under the tree."

"'Cos Santa will have been?"

"Yes, sweetie. Santa will have been. You've been a good boy, haven't you?"

"Well, duh," he said, his mother laughing at his precocious response.

She kissed him again and then she carried him off out of the room.

"I've never seen her like that," Ben said, "I've never seen her as a mother. I had no idea of the responsibilities she had to take on."

"No, you were a little too busy doing other things with her, weren't you?" The ghost chuckled.

"I haven't forced her into doing anything she didn't want to," Ben scowled, "and how the hell do you know what I do with my private life, anyway?

"I am a spectral presence, dear Benjamin, I see everything. Everything."

"You're a dirty pervert, spying on people."

"I don't need to hang around and study your revelries in detail. I pass no judgement. Love is always a joyous thing, however it is expressed. You love her and she loves you."

"She does?"

"Yes, very much. Can't you tell?"

"Well, obviously we like each other, but I don't think she loves me."

"She wants to, but will you let her?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do," the giant replies, "and speaking of people who love you..."

The giant spirit took hold of his hand and once again Ben was soaring through the air. Despite the fact he was only wearing his suit pants and a shirt, he didn't feel the cold. It was midwinter in Manhattan and he was flying thousands of feet in the air, but he felt perfectly warm.

The two of them swooshed and whooshed across the canyons of the Big Apple, until they were stood in another apartment in a distinctly less salubrious part of town. It was a grimy, dirty, trashy place, with damp climbing the walls and wallpaper peeling on to the floor. But even here, the festive spirit had taken hold. Just a little. In the corner of the room, on top of an ancient television that was silently showing a basketball game, there was a little toy Santa that kept bending over to reveal its naked butt. Every time it did so, a little ho ho ho sound would emanate from its body.

Sat on a big leather chair was a ginormous, morbidly obese black guy. He was wearing jogging pants and a Batman t-shirt that barely covered his huge gut and man boobs. Stood in front of him was Ben's sister and daughter, Freddy.