Short story: Screwj

It is not the night before Christmas. Instead, it is a nicely warm night in the middle of spring. The rich Mr. Evan E. R. Screwj has just settled into bed, when the ghost of his old workmate, Matthew Scrimp, appears in room.

Scrimp warns Evan that he has not given to charity, friends or family in his life enough, especially friends, nudge nudge, and will be visited by three ghosts over the night. Evan mentions in a cautious voice that Scrimp kept on loosing all his money on cards.

But the ghost of Matthew Scrimp has gone now, and is replaced by a fat, jolly ghost who calls himself the Past. He takes Evan through time to see a piece of his own history. They observe a large gathering where his family met for a large meal. He sees his cousin, Phil, stuffing everything he can lay a hand on down his gullet, and remembers that he died of heart failure later that year. His family, who were all quite large, had practically been proud.

Evan is a bit confused, and now the ghost of the Past has gone to the great feast in the sky and Evan is guided to his current day neighborhood by the ghost of Present. She shows him some local women who hang around near traffic lights on most nights, and says in a helpful kind of voice that they do not have much money. Wincing at the sight of one of them dislocating her hip in what is meant to presumably be an attractive pose, Evan doesn't feel inclined to give them money for anything anytime soon.

The ghost of Present happily struts off and Evan is finally joined by the large, dark and silent figure of the Future, who apparently has something for those 'just-drape-a-black-curtain-over-him' costumes.

The ghost of Future pushes him forward through time into a heavy fog, and points Evan towards a gravestone. Evan reads his own name carved into it.

"Now hang on," exclaimed Evan, "I'm not having this. This is not on! I mean, what the dickens do you three thing you're achieving?"

The ghost of the Future looked back at him with surprise where his face should have been, and said in a surprisingly cockney accent, "...Whot?"

"I mean," Evan continued, "that this isn't fair! I volunteer at the charity shop on Saturdays, I smile at people. Even strangers! I keep my spouse comfortable, and I supported my kids in their career choices, even though they were ridiculous. Why all this morbid business? Why me??"

"Look, lad," said Future, slumping back to perch on a gravestone, "you ain't exactly dishin' out the greens, are ya now? A gift or two never hurt no-one, is fact it-is." He lit a cigar and held it, presumably, in his mouth, and folded his arms.

"What about the recession?” Evan was just getting going. “The Screwj family needs something stored away for a rainy day! OK, so maybe I've never been very good at giving presents to people. Maybe I'm more of a hugs person, which is currently more popular anyway. Or, so the kids tell me."

Future looked at him in an unimpressed way. He was good at it for someone without eyes. Evan was still standing by his grave, feeling a bit lost. "Look," he sighed, "If I put my mind to it, I know I'm not perfect. But why does that mean you have to end my life so suddenly?"

"Suddenly??" Future burst into an invisible grin. "Who said anything about cutting it short?? Ha! That would be mean, lad. Heh. Good idea though... no, don't make that face, I'm just 'avin one on, it-is. Heh! Heh!"

"So why am I here?" Evan whined. You would have, too, if you'd been time-traveling with idealistic spirits all night.

"Just to point out to ya," the ghost now stood up again, "that you are, a fact it-is, going to die. Now hang about hang about, don't start off again, just take a second to sit on what I've told ya."

Evan held his tongue, and let things settle in his mind a bit better. After a minute he took a breath, and said in a much calmer tone, "I suppose I haven't ever thought about it much before. Probably because it never seemed immediately relevant. But since you're here, can you tell me why it has to happen?"

Future nodded. "It's because, as ya noted earlier, you ain't perfect. Thus, you die."

Future started leading Evan out of the mists of the graveyard. "OK," said Evan, "but no-one's perfect. So what am I supposed to do with this information?"

"We've come to ya tonight, Evan, to give ya the bad news," said Future, "although it shouldn't be news, for honest! Heh! So now, your good self can leave dreamland and put some effort into findin' the antidote. The ducks cure. The good news. I wish ya luck it-is, Screwj! Be seein' ya soon..."

The ghost of the future faded into darkness, and when Mr. Evan E. R. Screwj opened his eyes, he found himself in his bed.

The morning sun was lighting up the room.



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