This is a short story I whipped up too late for Christmas. It features my two favorite robed heroes, Arthur Dent and Ebenezer Scrooge. Enjoy!
A Christmas Paradox
The Xylophone rang out, loud, clear, and piercing on a gray Thursday morning. Arthur Dent gropingly reached for his phone, knocking a glass of water over in the process and waking up in a way he’d rather not. It was hard enough getting used to using a cellular phone as an alarm clock, waking up wet made it that much worse.
Damn Thursdays.
Arthur swore softly to himself and walked to the bathroom to grab a towel. He paused for a moment and smiled at the towel as a pleasant memory crossed his mind. It soon turned to a frown as his pleasant memory was replaced with the real memory; a vast, unending loneliness of traveling though space and time in a quest to find his since destroyed home planet. Earth. Destroyed, blown apart by Vogons. All for an interstellar space highway.
He had eventually returned to earth. Well, some sort of Earth. It was the year 2013 on this earth, thirty-four years since Arthur had fled the Vogon destroyer fleet, and the key difference from Arhutr’s home earth was that this was still here. That was a good sign, Arthur reasoned upon returning home, but that optimism was short lived as Arthur found much to adjust to; cell phones and the internet being the most startling. He understood that they were better for most, but Arthur found it all too complicated and dizzying. He just wanted a cup of tea and the newspaper. And an alarm clock that wasn’t a phone that sounded like a xylophone. A xylarmellphone? Arthur sighed.
Back from the bathroom, Arthur put on his blue pajamas and his green and blue-checkered robe.
“Tea.” He murmured, and made for the door.
He was stopped by the ghost.
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“Arthur.” Ford panted. “Arthur!” he called. Doors flew past him like a Hanna-Barbera cartoon. He reached Arthur’s door, which, granted, looked a bit different, but Ford had no time for technicalities such as changing doors. He pounded the door knocker.
“Arthur!”
The door opened. “What!?”
Ford barged in. “The Vogons are back. They were… I don’t know, delayed or something here but they’re back Arthur. Listen, we’ve got to leave again.” He turned to his friend and shrugged. Arthur frowned.
Wait. Arthur?
“Who are you!?” Not-Arthur demanded. Yes, this was definitely not Arthur Dent. Ford was sure of it. Arthur had less ear hair and a smaller nose. Arthur was also about forty years younger. This man wore a permanent scowl and exuded coldness. Ford shivered just looking at him.
“Sorry. Um. Sorry?” Ford offered. He didn’t know what else to say. “You’re not Arthur, right?”
“Who the bloody hell is Arthur? And get out of my house!” the old man said testily.
“Um.” Ford said again. “Excuse me.” He pulled out a square, electronic book. On the cover the words “Don’t Panic” were written in large, friendly letters.
He pushed a button. “Where am I?” he asked the book.
“Where am I?” the book repeated thoughtfully. “You are in the home of Mr. Ebeneezer Scrooge in London, England, Earth, in the Earth year 1843. Here are some local eateries and toilets you may enjoy.” A crisp animation brought up a map pointing out nearby toilets and food. A display in the corner showed Ford it was 11:23pm on December 24th. It was cloudy and 21⁰.
The man known as Ebenezer Scrooge scowled at Ford. He wore a rather fancy red dressing gown complete with nightcap. Ford smiled weakly.
“Wrong robed Englishman.” He managed. Scrooge looked at him quizzically and made to give Ford a good verbal thrashing when he spoke to the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy again.
“I’ve accidentally time traveled.” He said to it. “Won’t take a moment to resolve.” He said casually to Scrooge.
“Help is on the way, Mr. Prefect.” The Guide said to Ford. He smiled wide at Scrooge.
Scrooge scowled harder.
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“Are you quite sure?” The ghost asked again. Arthur sat wearily on his bed.
“I’m quite sure. I may not know much but I know that I am and always have been Arthur Phillip Dent!”
The ghost frowned and looked forlorn. He was rather thin with a cloth tied around his head in the way toothaches were treated many years ago. Arthur didn’t want to know what would happen if the cloth came undone.
“But Ebenezer, you’re wearing your robe like you always do.”
“I’m not Ebenezer. Arthur. A-r-t-h, well you get the point. Now if you don’t mind, please leave. I’d like to make a cup of tea.”
“It’s me!” The ghost urged, desperate that Arthur was this Ebenezer fellow and that he had somehow forgotten him. “Jacob Marley. Surely you remember me Scrooge!”
“Sorry, no. Wait. Scrooge?” Arthur stopped. A thought struck him. “You’re having me on, aren’t you?” He demanded of the ghost. “Ford, is that you? Come on, who are you. Scrooge!? Come on, like the character in the Dickens novel?” The ghost stared blankly at him. He wasn’t a ghost, surely. But he had come through the walls…
“My friend, I am no character from a novel.” The ghost said.
Arthur brandished his phone like a weapon. “Here!” He said, pulling up the internet app on his phone. He searched ‘Ebenezer Scrooge’ in the browser and waited. He smiled at the ghost and waited.
“See!” He said, showing the ghost his phone. The ghost frowned at the device and looked at Arthur blankly. Arthur looked at the screen and his heart sank.
0 results. Did you mean Tweezed and Rouge?
“That’s… that’s impossible.” He murmured. He searched again, this time adding ‘Dickens’ in the search. Nothing.
“Well, at any rate, the ghosts are coming.” Marley said gloomily. Arthur felt for the ghost and was beginning to feel bad that he was not, in fact, Ebenezer Scrooge which, he reflected, was not all that unfamiliar. He had often felt bad he was not someone other than himself.
“Dickens must not exist on this particular Earth. I wonder what that did to literature?” He said out loud. “Wait, sorry, excuse me, more Ghosts?”
“Yes. They’re on their way.”
“Here!?” Arthur asked.
Marley nodded.
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Ford sat awkwardly in Scrooge’s bedchamber. The old man was an expert at staring angrily, Ford decided. He deserved a medal. Or a trophy.
“I’m sure help will be here any moment.” Ford said again. Scrooge simply scowled.
“Good.” The old man said finally. “I want you out of my house.”
A bright light filled the windows. The light crammed Scrooge’s dark bedchamber beyond its capacity for light. It surged forth like an ocean wave, filling Ford like a breath of air.
“This must be it!” He called to Scrooge. The old man was shielding his eyes and muttering angrily to himself.
A white figure floated through the walls and the light dimmed to surround it. Ford saw it was a small child…wait no, an old man, now a child again? Its head resembled the flame of a candle and Ford watched in stunned silence as the face cycled through a myriad of ages.
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past.” The ghost announced. Ford frowned. Scrooge frowned harder.
“Past!?” Ford screamed.
“What!?” bellowed Scrooge.
“Er.” Said the ghost.
“I need to go to the future.” Ford demanded.
“Ghost? Nonsense!” Scrooge said.
“Let’s see….” The ghost said to itself. “Robe… uncooperative disposition. Yes, this must be the one. I have come, Arthur Dent, to show you your past. I have come to-”
“Did you say Arthur Dent!?” For said, cutting the ghost off.
“For the last bloody time, I am not this Arthur chap!” Scrooge yelled, dismayed that so many people were mistaking him.
The ghost said. “Wonder why I was sent here?”
“To help me!” Ford cried. “But a ghost of the past can’t take me to the future. Right?”
“I must find this Arthur Dent.” The ghost said and began to fade.
“Wait, wait! I need to get to Arthur! But he’s in the future -oh bloody hell.” The ghost had faded.
“Why must you find this Arthur fellow so badly?” Scrooge asked.
“Because, we don’t have much time before the earth is destroyed. Well, I mean, I have lots of time now, sure, but….” He trailed off. Could Ford just stay here? He’d be long dead before the Vogons came. But what about Arthur? They would kill him. Yes, but he was going to die anyway, right? Wasn’t he already dead? Ford had been in 1843 for over an hour, surely the Vogons had come by now in 2013. Or did time work like that? Ford sighed and kneaded his forehead.
“Do you have anything to drink?” he asked.
“Brandy.” Scrooge replied.
“That’s fine.” Ford Prefect said.
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“Does this seem familiar, Arthur Dent?” The Ghost of Christmas Past asked, gesturing to the brick building.
Arthur shook his head. “No.”
“Come.” Said the spirit.
Arthur felt a distinct lack of crunching under his slippers as he walked across the snow and into the building. He felt as much a ghost as the ghost before him. The second one today.
“Here. This boy. He is you, no?” The spirit said, floating above a small boy with thin, brown hair.
“No.”
“This is where you went to school.”
Arthur frowned and looked around. “Um. No it isn’t. What year is this?”
“This isn’t you?” The ghost asked. Arthur shook his head. The scene faded around him into a large, candlelit room. People in Victorian clothing milled around. A band was tuning in the corner.
“And does this seem familiar to you? Look, there is Mr. Fezziwig.” The ghost said, indicating a rotund man with rosy cheeks.
“Listen, as I told the ghost before, you have the wrong person. You are looking for… well apparently the person you’re looking isn’t a character in a novel but a real person and I don’t know where to find him. But still!”
The scene faded around them and a young girl sat crying on a bench.
“You’re one true love?” Said the ghost hopefully. Arthur felt his temper rise.
“No!” he shouted.
“Oh.” The ghost said despondently.
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A jolly bought of laugher rang from the other room. Ford put down his Brandy and looked quizzically at Scrooge.
“I believe that is for you.” The old man said.
Ford stood and walked cautiously into the other room. The light seemed to grow around him as he walked though the doorway, encompassing him in a warm glow. The smell of pine and pies filled his nostrils and Ford stopped and smiled.
“Welcome!” came a booming voice. Ford looked up and saw what he perceived to be Christmas in human form laughing raucously. The Spirit was a large man with long hair and a flowing beard. He wore a green robe trimmed with gold and silver. Scrooge wandered in behind him, amazement plastered on his face.
“Come! And know me better man.” The spirit cried. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Present!”
“Damnit!” Fred cursed. The spirit and Scrooge furrowed their brows. “Present? I need to get back to the future!”
“The future? No, I am the Ghost of Christmas Present!” the spirit cried.
“Oh this is a great bloody mess.” Ford moaned.
“It is Christmas Morning! Come, let us see!” said the spirit. The room faded and Ford found himself in the middle of Victorian London. People bustled about, merriment on their faces and a Christmas glow in their hearts.
“Observe!” said the Spirit. He gestured to a group of cold, haggard men and women standing above a pitiful fire.
“I see spirit. And what of these poor souls?” Scrooge inquired.
“They have nothing, and yet they cherish Christmas.”
“Can nothing be done to help them?” Scrooge asked, tugging the Spirit’s robe.
The sprit’s face grew dark. “Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses!?”
Silence hung in the air as Scrooge recoiled from the Spirit. The people still moved about them, completely unaware.
Ford waved his arms. “Okay, I feel I may have missed something and that’s fine. Seriously, that is fine. Clearly you two know each other but I would just like to ask if I could please, please get some goddamn help traveling through time!!? Is that SO MUCH TO ASK!?”
Ford breathed heavily and tried to count to ten. He looked up and saw the Spirit had left Scrooge’s side. The old man stared at Ford.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. Oh there’s no need to look so aghast, I only lost my temper.” Ford shook his head, annoyed with Scrooge; annoyed with the accidental time travel, annoyed with ghosts and with Vogons and with traveling too much. He just wanted a drink. A big drink.
Ford looked to Scrooge, ready to say something else to him when he noticed that Scrooge was not looking at him but behind him. Ford turned.
The shadow grew.
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Arthur found himself back in his room, sitting on the bed. The strange spirit was gone.
“Good.” He muttered to himself. “Now, for tea.” He opened the door and ran into The Ghost of Christmas Present.
“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present. You seem to have run into me!” The spirit said jovially.
“Not another one.”
“It is Christmas morning!”
“It’s April!”
“Let us take stock of this wonderful day!”
“It hasn’t been so wonderful for me. Please leave me alone, I’d just like tea.”
“Currently,” the Spirit said, placing his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, “within a four mile radius there are fourteen birds chirping happily outside, eleven people making love, one bubble bath, one hundred cups of coffee, sixteen beers, and one thousand Vogon ships ready to destroy the earth.”
“Eleven? Listen, spirit, as I have told your fellow-wait, Vogons? The Vogons are here?”
“Let us see Bob Cratchit on this fine morning.”
“No no no, wait! Spirit. Did you say Vogons?” Arthur rushed out of his bedroom and through the front door. As he stood on his lawn he saw the all too familiar large, blocky shadows that moved across the ground. Through the clouds, Arthur could see the Vogon fleet poised and ready to destroy.
“Shit.” Arthur said. “Shit shit shit shit shit.” Fourteen birds chirped happily around him.
“Did I mention I am the Ghost of Christmas Present?” the spirit said, appearing in Arthur’s front door.
“Ford.” Arthur breathed.
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The shadow grew into a tall, hooded figure. It wore a long black robe and floated slightly above the ground. Skeletal hands hung from long, drawn sleeves. Ford noticed the bony hands had sheen to them; he was reminded of pearls.
“The Ghost of Christmas Yet to come….” Scrooge said under his breath.
“Looks more like Death to me, mate and sorry to say but as the oldest one here, my guess is that he is here for you.”
“No, I know. Spirit, are you here to show us the things that have yet to happen?”
“Wait, yet to happen? Is that like the future? Can you take us to the future!?” Ford asked.
The ghost pointed at Ford and all went black.
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Arthur ran inside and grabbed his cell phone, holding down the button on the front panel.
“Call Ford Prefect.” He said.
“Here are some used For Prefects for sale in the area.”
“No. Call. Ford.”
“Here are some local malls with swords for sale.”
“Bloody hell.” Arthur said, typing his password in the phone and dialing Ford’s phone manually. It rang for what felt like an eternity. No answer. Arthur cursed and tightened his robe. He ran outside and looked plaintively at the sky.
The crackle of a loudspeaker filled the air. “Attention Earthlings. Your planet will now be destroyed in order to make room for an interstellar space highway.”
“Noooooooooooooooooooo!” Arthur yelled at the sky. He felt a presence behind him and turned to see a large, hooded figure with skeletal hands. Arthur closed his eyes and opened them again, wishing the apparition before him was merely a hallucination brought on by stress. It was not.
“Well. That’s it then. The Vogons are here. You’re here. I can put two and two together. I’m dead.”
The figure pointed at Arthur then turned and pointed at the house.
“Arthur!” Ford cried, emerging from the house and rushing past the Ghost of Christmas Yet to come.
“Ford?”
“Arthur The Vogons are here!!” He stopped and glanced up at the sky.
“I know Ford.”
“Oh.” Ford breathed heavily like he had just finished a marathon. Or, more appropriately for Ford, a marathon of drinks followed by galactic women.
“Where am I?” Ebenezer Scrooge said, wandering out of Arthur’s house. “Spirit, is this my future?”
Arthur gave Ford a confused glance.
“Arthur, this is Ebenezer Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.” Arthur exchanged pleasantries with Scrooge, who didn’t notice, and tried not to eye the Spirit.
“What are those things in the sky? Are these the clouds of the future?” Scrooge asked.
“Ford. Can we still escape?”
The Loudspeaker crackled again. “You have ten seconds until destruction ,earth creatures.”
“Nope.” Ford rounded on the ghost. “This is your fault! I you had just come in the first place instead of creepy candle ghost and its bearded friend, I could’ve come back and we wouldn’t be dead!”
Arthur tapped Ford on the shoulder. “Wait you saw those ghosts too? Of course, Ebenezer Scrooge! You know Ford on this Earth, there was no Charles Dickens.”
“That’s’ so uninteresting, Arthur.”
The ghost pointed at Scrooge and pointed at the sky menacingly.
“No! Spirit No!” Scrooge yelled. “I can change Spirit. Please, let not this be our future! Let mankind live for eternity! I will honor and cherish Christmas in my heart! Please, spirit!”
“What the hell is he talking about?” Ford asked. Arthur shrugged.
“I can change! I can chaaaaaaaaaaaaange.” Scrooge moaned. Arthur and Ford braced themselves as the world went black for a moment. It flickered a few times then silence rang in Arthur’s ears. The menacing black shapes in the sky were gone, along with Scrooge.
“What happened?” Arthur said to no one in particular. Ford looked up from his position in ball form on the grass.
“We’re alive? We’re alive! Arthur! Arthur they’re gone! Fuck you Vogons!” Ford ran down the path that lead from Arthur’s house to town, yelling to Arthur to meet him at the pub for a large, well earned pint. Arthur turned to the spirit.
“So, because Scrooge learned the meaning of Christmas, the Vogons left?”
The spirit shrugged and watched the sky as if to say, ‘Bollocks if I know mate, I don’t make the rules.’ He reached into his robe and produced a large, steaming mug of tea.
“Oh, tea!” Arthur said. He took a long sip. “Oh come on that’s good.” He muttered. The Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come gave Arthur a small nod and disappeared, leaving Arthur alone on his lawn.
“Merry Christmas.” He said.
He licked his lips and finished his tea in one gulp. A large pint sounded damn good.
