To the editors: The story below contains italic and bold formatting - sometimes both together - which should be preserved within the completed story. I have highlighted the affected words, phrases and symbols in red to make them easier to find. A series of five centered asterisks seperates the story into "sections", and this division should also be preserved. There is also one "sentence" where five bolded and italicized periods are used to indicate silence. This is not an error.
This story is part of a series,; therefore, all the episodes should remain in the same category - "Erotic Couplings".
Thank you.
A Christmas Carol Revisited - Stave Three
The Last of the Three Spirits
I awoke, shivering beneath the comforter. What the hell? Had the heat gone off? I could see my
breath
, for God's sake! I wrapped the comforter around myself in a vain attempt to retain some heat and moved to where the nightlight cast its firefly light on the thermostat. It said 72 - hardly a hothouse, but not numbingly cold, either. I thumped it carefully, but the needle remained obstinately pointed at 72.
Still shivering, I groped my way to the laundry basket, pawing through to find the cleanest of my sweats. Absorbed in this task, I failed to see a piece of the darkness deliberately rise until I heard the sound of my name.
"Nicholas." It was a sepulchral, cold, whisper-of-the-grave voice, and I whirled.
It stood less than three feet away, robed and hooded. The garments that enveloped it were black, but the vacancy where the face should have been was blacker still, as if it possessed the power to absorb all light. The shrouded form seemed to radiate fear as a palpable emanation, and I could sense that
this
was the source of the terrible cold.
Fortunately, I was pissed.
"Only my mother calls me Nicholas." I said, my voice a fair approximation of the Spirit's own icy tones, but with an edge of anger behind it.
The thing stood impassively. With no visible face, it didn't have a whole lot in the way of options.
I tried another tack. "Look it's been a rough night. I've been put through an emotional wringer - twice - and screwed into the ground by two horny ghosts with unlimited stamina."
. . . . .
No response. Tough crowd.
I sighed. "All right, let's get this over with."
The apparition spoke. "I am the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come."
That was it. We went back to the staring game.
Guess who cracked first.
"Let me guess. You're going to show me scenes from my future?"
"That is so."
"Then if you don't mind, let's get on with it."
The Spirit lifted an arm. There was enough material in the sleeve of its robe to make a fair-sized dress.
It also made a rather effective movie screen.
Item: My graduation. I walked the last mile, received my diploma, went back to my seat.
Fast-forward to the end of the ceremony. With a graduating class of over a thousand, not one person stopped to congratulate me or wish me well.
Item: I boarded a bus to the town where I'd be beginning a new job. No one was there to see me off.
Item: A succession of messy breakups, each more gut-wrenching than the last. The last girl tells me as she tearfully returns my ring, "I love you more than I can say, but I can't compete with a ghost."
Item: A dingy apartment, lonely, unrelieved by companionship. The furnishings change like an old-fashioned nickolodeon show, becoming more expensive, more tailored to my own tastes - but the wealth is hollow and the luxuries provide no comfort.
Item: A townhouse. A dark something dangles from a stair railing.
We froze on that scene for a long minute.
Item: A funeral with a decided lack of mourners - perhaps a dozen, all told. As the last four file out, a woman speaks.
"He never seemed to have any interest in people. I used to try to get him to go out with the rest of the office, but he always refused."
A man: "I don't think anyone knew him, not really
