Xmas Spirit

  For her, this whole thing was not about money anymore, if it ever really was. The flash blinded Charlotte for a second, and as she rubbed at her eyes, she could have sworn she saw a familiar face standing in the distance but quickly decided it was either a figment of her imagination or a damaged retina.

  “Alrighty then,” Mr. Wormsmoth said, signaling Damen to tether the casket to the winch.

  Damen hit the switch, and the cable tightened, lifting the casket from the carriage into the air. He pressed all the right levers and slowly guided it over the hole, where it remained suspended for a moment. Charlotte looked up at the falling snow and around at the headstones and was filled neither with joy nor fear, but with sadness. Like seeds planted in fertile soil, the otherworldly warnings from Virginia, Prue, and Pam began to sprout in her consciousness. She closed her eyes, trying to chase away the thoughts of her visitors from the Great Beyond. Charlotte felt a slight jerk as she began to descend.

  As Damen lowered her down slowly, Charlotte opened her eyes and struggled to stay connected to the present by meeting Damen’s eyes through the snow-flecked coffin lid. He did likewise, trying his hardest to maintain a steady speed and bearing, staying entirely focused on his task even as his hands were freezing and his boots were skidding slightly out from under him.

  “I see you,” he whispered, encouraging himself. “I see you.”

  Charlotte waited with satisfaction as she went deeper and deeper. This was it, her dream come true. All eyes on her. Damen, Petula, and The Wendys. Scarlet. Charlotte’s whole body began to tingle, and her attention was momentarily diverted from Damen’s face to the space beside him, where a lone figure appeared. His hair piled high, stance wide, guitar in hand, singing. She saw his face. It was a face she loved. And then she knew.

  It was Eric.

  Charlotte smiled, transfixed in his gaze, and Eric smiled back. He let go of his guitar. Let it hang from around him as he opened his arms wide.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Come back. I love you.”

  A sudden gasp came from the crowd so loud that even Charlotte could hear it.

  “Holy crap,” Damen shouted as he felt the winch lever inexplicably move forward. “I can’t stop it!”

  The coffin slipped perilously out of control and headed directly for the bottom of the grave. The casket crash-landed, and Charlotte did just what she was warned against doing. She slowly reached for the emergency lever and pulled it with all her might, popping the lid and causing a ton of dirt and snow to collapse onto her.

  A premature burial.

  “Oh my God,” Scarlet shouted, rushing to the hole. “Charlotte!”

  Damen was already kneeling in the collapsed grave and digging frantically. Scarlet threw herself down and started digging beside him. The Wendys and Petula checked their manicures and balked.

  “Let’s leave this to the professionals,” Petula advised.

  “I swear I didn’t do it,” Damen said.

  Scarlet reached for his cold, dirty hand and grasped it, bringing some warmth to him and to the cold, dead scene.

  They dug and they dug, finally reaching her. Together, they pulled Charlotte from the grave and placed her on the newly fallen snow. She was pale, her pulse faint, her breathing shallow.

  “Are you okay?” Scarlet asked desperately, tears streaming from her eyes.

  Charlotte felt the warm tears from her friend mingle with the cold snowflakes, filling her with joy even as the life was leaving her. Her eyes locked on Scarlet’s, and Scarlet held her hand and wiped the earth from her face.

  “She looks so peaceful,” Scarlet said to Damen through her tears. “Beautiful.”

  “Yeah,” Wendy A. said. “They aren’t kidding about that makeup.”

  “Will somebody call an ambulance?” Scarlet begged, angry at The Wendys and Petula for just standing around in the face of such dire circumstances.

  Mr. Wormsmoth was already on the phone to emergency services, having dropped the contract to the ground in his haste.

  “Somebody call a lawyer!” Petula sniped at The Wendys as she read over the document with Charlotte’s signature.

  “Why?” Wendy A. said.

  “You two idiots had her sign the contract in invisible ink!”

  “It doesn’t matter; we still get paid, right?” Wendy A. asked.

  “No contract, no money,” said Wormsmoth, tearing up the document in their faces.

  “And no present for me either!” Petula moaned, stomping her foot.

  Cameras started rolling as Petula and The Wendys broke down and fell to their knees over Charlotte, forming a circle of self-serving grief worthy of a Daytime Emmy nomination. A torrent of their tears deluged Charlotte as they cleared the dirt from her face. Charlotte gave them a final knowing smile and slowly faded away.

  The ambulance finally arrived and Damen lifted Charlotte up gently, helping the EMTs lay her on the gurney. Scarlet watched them place Charlotte in the ambulance and looked down. At the place where she’d lain, the impression of her body was left like a snow angel, along with a beautiful box. Scarlet knelt down to pick it up. She lifted the lid and saw a tag with an item number and, to her amazement, her name on it. She put it gently in her coat pocket.

  The Wendys and Petula were long gone, having mistaken the ambulance siren for the police.

  “She pulled the lever,” Wormsmoth said, inspecting the coffin. “She did it on purpose.”

  “What?” Scarlet said. “Why would she do that?”

  “There are some things we’ll never know,” Damen said. He walked over to Scarlet, who was still kneeling in the snow beside Charlotte’s indentation, and knelt beside her. Grieving.

  “Maybe,” she said softly.

  Scarlet was just beginning to figure it. That she was Charlotte’s someone special.

  “Did you know her well?” Damen asked quietly.

  “No,” Scarlet replied.

  “I don’t know why,” he said, “but I wish I had.”

  “Me too,” Scarlet agreed, wiping at her eyes and runny nose.

  “Can I give you a ride?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said.

  He helped her up, and she grabbed his arm as they walked together over the newly fallen snow. Damen opened the door for her and closed it as she slid into the passenger seat.

  “Home?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “Can you take me to the pawnshop?”

  Charlotte and Eric arrived hand in hand, unnoticed, just as the Great Beyond Christmas party was getting under way. The herald angels were chanting in the distance, their job almost done.

  “It’s beautiful,” Charlotte said in awe at the joyful and brightly colored scene.

  Eric was amazed to see how quickly things had returned to normal and proud of his role in making that happen. Most of all, he was proud to have his girlfriend back and on his arm.

  “It’s Christmas,” she said.

  “Now it is,” Eric said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

  “Charlotte!” Virginia cheered.

  All her Dead Ed friends rushed in for a hug.

  “We missed you!” Mike roared.

  They had so many questions but one in particular, given how close they’d almost come to oblivion.

  “What was it like to die again?” Rita asked nervously.

  “Cool, I’m sure,” Deadhead Jerry slurred.

  “I bet it was scary,” Violet spoke up, shuddering.

  “So nice, she got to die twice,” DJ rhymed.

  “You know what they say,” Green Gary added, “the single greatest cause of death is life.”

  Charlotte gave the question some thought. The first time was an accident. This time it was choice.

  “It was”—Charlotte hesitated—“like starting over.”

  “Don’t ever go away again!” Kim cried, hanging on to Charlotte for dear life.

  “We were dyin’ here without you, spirit sista,” DJ rapped.

  Charlotte was ove
rwhelmed.

  “Hope it was worth it,” Prue said, punching Charlotte in the shoulder.

  “I think it was,” Charlotte confided. “They cried for me. Even Petula and The Wendys.”

  “Maybe you were right about them after all,” Prue said, hugging her. “But no more tears, okay? It’s Christmas!”

  Prue flew off to join the others to welcome the happy day. Pam was last but not least to greet her.

  “Things weren’t the same around here without you,” Pam whispered, holding her friend tight.

  “I’m sorry,” Charlotte whispered in return.

  A kindly voice, not Pam’s, replied.

  “Don’t be.”

  “Mr. Brain?”

  Brain walked slowly over to Charlotte and put his arm around her.

  “How was your trip?”

  “Happy to be back. Home.”

  Brain returned her knowing smile.

  “Sometimes we have to step away to appreciate what we already have. We need to relearn what we should already know. Sometimes we don’t know we love someone until we lose them.”

  Charlotte nodded.

  “What made you come back?” Pam asked.

  “Yeah, I was so sure we’d lost you,” Prue added. “And everything else.”

  “Who could resist this?” Eric boasted, running his hands all over his spectral self.

  “Eric!” Charlotte scolded, her ghostly cheeks taking on the slightest tinge of red.

  “All of you,” Charlotte replied. “I was so busy trying to relive the past that I was forgetting about now.”

  “Christmas present,” Virginia said with a smile.

  “The best gift you can give to anyone,” Brain said. “Yourself.”

  “To keep moving on,” Charlotte opined, “I guess you need to just keep moving on.”

  “Exactly,” Brain agreed.

  “I don’t need to talk about Hawthorne stuff anymore,” Charlotte said apologetically.

  “Fine with me.” Eric smiled.

  “You knew she’d make the right decision,” Pam said to Brain. “That’s why you didn’t intervene.”

  Brain smiled and wished them all a merry Christmas as he returned to his studies.

  “All is as it was before,” he said.

  “No,” Charlotte disagreed with a smile. “It’s better.”

  The choir of voices rose to a crescendo and a single star rose brightly in the heavens, obscuring all the rest and shining a golden beam of light on the compound.

  “Dance?” Eric asked.

  “I’d love to,” Charlotte said.

  They took each other’s hands and whirled around and around to the glorious sights and sounds above.

  “Gloria in Excelsis Deo,” the angel voices sang.

  “Funny how that winch broke down right then. Exactly when our eyes met,” Charlotte said to Eric as they had their Christmas waltz.

  “What winch?” Eric replied, the smile in his eyes almost as bright as the star shining down upon them.

  “You were bringing me back . . .” Charlotte began.

  “Even if it killed you.”

  “My man,” Charlotte cooed. “How sweet.”

  “But it didn’t kill you. You did that.”

  “I know. Poor Damen,” she mused. “I hope no one gets in trouble.”

  “They won’t.”

  “How do you know?” Charlotte asked hopefully.

  “Because it never happened.”

  Eric twirled her around again to laughs, cheers, and best wishes from the Dead Ed kids. As the midnight bells rang out announcing Christmas, Eric leaned in for a kiss and Charlotte suddenly tensed up.

  “Oh no!” Charlotte cried. “I didn’t have a chance to get presents for everyone.”

  “Yes, you did,” Eric said.

  Eric got his kiss, and the happy couple split up to wish glad tidings to all their friends.

  “Seriously,” Pam asked confidentially. “Why did you come back?”

  “Love. Simple as that,” Charlotte explained. “I guess I needed to leave to realize that it really is a wonderful afterlife.”

  “Did you get what you wanted this year?” Eric asked.

  Charlotte held him close to her, kissed him under the supernatural mistletoe, and whispered in his ear, “Yes. I have all that I’ll ever want.”

  Epilogue

  Yulogy

  Wrapture

  Few things are more depressing than the aftermath of Christmas. Gifts opened, leftovers eaten, and return receipts organized. Shredded paper, ribbons, boxes, and bows, delicate keepers of yearlong secrets, litter our floors and carpets, discarded like yesterday’s newspapers—collateral damage from the explosion of yuletide joy. Christmas is a time when we exchange tokens of love, but the only gift that lasts forever, that truly makes our spirits eternally bright, is the one that comes without the need for wrapping: love itself.

  Scarlet and Damen had nodded off in front of the fireplace at the Kensington house, waiting for the clock to strike midnight on Christmas Eve.

  “I just had the craziest dream,” Scarlet said groggily.

  “That Saint Nicholas soon would be here?” he said, and grunted, still half asleep himself.

  “Funny, but no.”

  “Well then, about what?”

  “Just this thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “Something I’ve always wanted for Christmas,” Scarlet explained, walking over to the Christmas tree. “I go and visit it at the pawnshop every year, in fact.”

  “It’s still there?” Damen asked. “Like an orphan?”

  “I guess no one else wants it,” Scarlet said. “But I love it.”

  “So why didn’t you ever get it?”

  “It’s just not the kind of thing you buy for yourself.”

  “So that was the dream? You were looking through the window like Tiny Tim?”

  “No. The dream was that I got what I wanted, but so did everyone else in town. All the people who felt different. Outsiders. Invisible. Everyone who never got what they wanted because no one knew them well enough to find the perfect gifts.”

  “Like a dark wave Santa?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Damen pointed over at the clock on the wall and noticed the big and little hands pointing vertically upward, about to meet on the twelve.

  “Look,” she said. “It’s snowing!”

  “Perfect timing,” he said.

  Damen reached for the remote and pressed PLAY. The warm and wistful strains of “The Christmas Song” filled the room as he bent beneath the branches of the Fraser fir and picked up a box, a tag with Scarlet’s name on it hanging from the bow. He handed it to her.

  “This is from you?”

  “I guess it is,” Damen said.

  “Oh Damen, no,” she said nervously. “I haven’t even wrapped your gift yet. We fell asleep and . . .”

  “Merry Christmas,” he said.

  Scarlet took the box and held it for a while before tugging gently at the ribbon. It loosened and fell away to the floor as the music swelled and the fireplace crackled. The scent of balsam wafted through the room.

  She lifted the lid slowly, teasing herself, peeking under it tentatively. There it was, the Christmas gift of her lifelong dreams. The black cat that Petula had taken away from her, returned.

  “How did you know?” Scarlet whispered, throwing her arms around him in love and appreciation.

  “I guess you could say,” Damen said coyly, “it was the Christmas spirit.”

  THE END?

  Also by Tonya Hurley

  ghostgirl

  ghostgirl: Homecoming

  ghostgirl: Lovesick

  The Blessed

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places a
re used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2012 by Tonya Hurley

  Silhouette interior illustrations copyright © 2012 by Craig Phillips All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

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  ISBN 978-1-4424-7655-4 (eBook)