I have endeavored, with a bit of help from Charles Dickens, in this ghostly little tale, to raise the ghost of an idea which shall neither put you out of humor with yourselves - nor with each other - nor hopefully with me - may it haunt your minds delightfully - "God bless you, merry gentlemen! - May nothing you dismay!"
Lamar Beefeater had grown into a begrudgingly, uncharitable young fellow, not to mention already being an accomplished thief, despite his parents Henry and Maude Beefeater's noble efforts to influence the boy to the contrary ... hence, Lamar reckoned that the age-old proverb - "better to give than to receive" - was meant for every living mortal other than he... having therefore settled on that mistaken notion, the egoistic lad eagerly and unabashedly presented his parents with his annual Christmas wish list, afterward intending on taking a trip to the mall for the purpose of completing his Christmas "shoplifting" ... Henry Beefeater quickly glanced at the large piece of paper, Lamar's demands and desires scribbled on both sides, then promptly squeezed it into a tight, crumpled ball before tossing it onto the glowing embers of the open hearth ... he then set about to explain to the bewildered nestling that greed and lack of concern for others had finally caught up with him, and that he was to proceed directly to his bedroom devoid of supper ... Lamar, hurt and humiliated by his father's terse reaction, ran up the stairs to his room slamming the door behind him, then he nosedived headlong onto his squeaky bed to pout ... it wasn't long 'till he began drifting off to sleep, but there were no visions of sugar-plums dancing in his head ... only angry thoughts ... and images of dread!
Lamar had barely commenced to snore when he heard the sound of what he thought was something fiercely struggling within his room, as mucky water splashed all over his favorite patchwork quilt ... he bolted upright just in time to see a tremendous creature, it being nearly six feet in length, with glowering red eyes and a rusty treble hook embedded in it's fat lip ... lying just inside the thing's jutted lower jaw was what appeared to be a huge wad of moldy, waterlogged tobacco ... ol' Lester DooLittle? ... how could that be? ... Lamar's pappy had warned his impressionable son on many an occasion about his hanging around with that mischievous DooLittle boy, mainly because of the habitual delinquent's natural inclination for attracting trouble and embarrassment ... then Lester went and robbed the general store and made off with all that tobacco ... consequently, the penalty for his unreflective transgression was unmediated transfiguration into a slimy sea monster - doomed to swim around out there in some murky lake or ocean - all by his lonesome - for the remainder of his miserable existence ... Lamar rounded up all the courage he could muster, then with quivering lips enquired ... "Lester? ... Lester DooLittle? ... is that you, Lester?" ... the scurfy, writhing figure paused for a moment, then impudently spat a nasty gob of thick, black juice right onto Lamar's handmade quilt and hoarsely replied ... "Yes Lamar Beefeater ... I am indeed Lester DooLittle - your old pal ... first but not last, sent from the briny depths to dissuade you from telling lies and pilfering folks' belongings - lest your end be of similar fate - hopelessly swimming alongside I as your mate!" ... Lamar attempted a meek answer, but mercifully the wretched menace suddenly vanished ... but not before warning of Spirits yet to follow upon the clock's midnight strike ... was it a dream or no? ... eventually Lamar sank into the nether throes of fitful sleep.
Off in the distance, as the peali
ng bell fell silent ... Lamar was awakened as the curtains on the window cautiously parted revealing a mysterious, transparent form creeping slowly over the sill and onto the floor ... "Are you a Spirit sir, whose coming was foretold me?" asked Lamar ... "I am," whispered a voice so soft and gentle, and singularly low ... "Who, and what are you?" demanded Lamar ... "I am the Ghost Of Christmas Past," it solemnly announced ... "Long past?" added Lamar ... "No, your past," was the reply ... as it spoke, it extended a strong hand clasping Lamar gently by the arm and hauling him from the bed so effortlessly and light - out into the hallway - then down the narrow stairwell to where those he foreknew sat looking much younger this night ... the walls and ceiling were arrayed with living green - where bright, gleaming berries glistened amidst crisp leaves of ivy, holly and mistletoe ... a mighty flame roared up the chimney and out into the chilly air - it's hotness threatening the stockings hung with great care ... in a corner stood a beautiful spruce trimmed with sparkling lamps and shiny ornaments of all sorts - heaped beneath it lay piles of gifts bound together with ribbons and bows ... in the kitchen awaited poultry and great joints of meat - mince-pies - plum-puddings - long wreaths of sausages - barrels of oysters - buckets of red-hot chestnuts - baskets overloaded with cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges and luscious pears - immense twelfth-cakes - and seething bowls of punch filling the bright room with delicious aromas and steam ... on the couch sat Lamar's mother and father gazing proudly at a tiny baby rocking in a cradle at their feet ... "Who's child is that," stammered Lamar ... "Why, that's you," declared the Ghost, as a dull rap irrupted at the door ... "My time has come and gone, and so for you," said the Ghost Of Christmas Past ... the Ghost Of Christmas Present would now like some time with you!"
As Lamar fearfully opened the screeching door, there stood an immense - albeit jolly Giant - with genial face and sparkling eyes - clothed in a simple robe bordered with snowy-white fur - who with cheery voice proclaimed, "I am the Ghost Of Christmas Present sent here to remind you of those less fortunate than thee - and of those so desperately in need - come go with me - and in all take heed" ... suddenly, Lamar found himself surrounded by gifts, while others had none - his stomach bursting with food, as others begged for scraps - nestled in a warm house and dressed in the finest attire, while scores wandered homeless, naked and cold - folks barely surviving in squalor and need, as he went about spoiled and ungrateful - his heart rotten with greed ... then near the Spirit's side stood a gaunt-eyed boy and raggedly-clad girl ... "Who are they?" asked Lamar ... "Why they are you - meet Ignorance and Want," said the rotund Ghost ... "Beware them both!" ... Lamar could stand to see no more and insisted the Spirit return him back where he'd been before ... with a start he was instantly back in his bed ... had it been but a drea
m chock full of terror and dread, or no? ... or some poor, disturbed souls returned from the dead? ... on he slept again.Yet another Phantom silently slid 'neath Lamar's chamber door - slowly approaching the foot of his bed - an icy vapor spreading fright and doom - shrouded in darkness - its head and face concealed by misty blackness melding with the night - this frightful form rising to an imposing height ... the Spirit spake not a word as it tapped lightly with invisible fingers on the sleeping boy's bony knee ... the startled youngster bolted upright as if unexpectedly seared by an icicle then cried, "am I in the presence of the Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come?" ... the Spirit answered not a word, just motioned for the terrified lad to follow ... "are you about to show me shadows of things yet to happen, but will happen in time before us?" asked the frightened boy ... the Spectre seemed to so nod ... "then lead on," insisted Lamar ... "the night is rapidly fleeing" ... and at once they were strolling down a quiet lane - when passing before the window of a modest row house - Lamar noticed a group of sobbing children gathered round a sparsely-lit tree - sadly there were no gifts beneath, nary a one - right away Lamar realized that it was he that had stolen those dear babe's hopes and dreams ... then straightaway he and the Shadow were walking amid bustling throngs on a busy avenue - when sitting there precariously on the curb was an elderly and decrepit man - dressed in dirty, threadbare clothes - rags unbefitting the intemperately chilly air - clutched tightly in his cold, shaking hand a rusty tin can with words scrawled down its side which read - "a penny for my thoughts, a nickel for some coffee, a dime for a sli
ce of bread?" - somehow Lamar knew this unfortunate soul was he ... as they continued along the now dimly-lit street ... at their side beneath a tiny Coffee Shoppe's shattered windowpane lay a corpse draped with a bloodied white sheet ... "Who is that?" Lamar asked ... the Phantom was yet to speak, as Lamar watched a kneeling policeman pull back the shroud revealing a lifeless heap sprawled amongst scattered shards of broken glass - to his shock and dismay - that pathetic pile was he - shot dead by that officer as he had attempted to rob that little store - sickened to the core, Lamar now went forth at a quicker pace, only to find himself standing in a most solemn and dreadful place ... brisk wind blew swirls of dried leaves all about the listing, timeworn headstones which marked the final resting place for various and sundry souls ... the lonesome cemetery felt eerily familiar as the Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come led him to the furthest corner - where it pointed out a solitary, unmarked plot ... "and who lies within, sir?" ... but the Ghost had abruptly departed - and Lamar was certain that within that forgotten tomb rested the bones of none other than he ... Lamar began to weep uncontrollably until he thought his entire being would meltdown to nothing 
other than a lifeless pool of salty tears.
ce of bread?" - somehow Lamar knew this unfortunate soul was he ... as they continued along the now dimly-lit street ... at their side beneath a tiny Coffee Shoppe's shattered windowpane lay a corpse draped with a bloodied white sheet ... "Who is that?" Lamar asked ... the Phantom was yet to speak, as Lamar watched a kneeling policeman pull back the shroud revealing a lifeless heap sprawled amongst scattered shards of broken glass - to his shock and dismay - that pathetic pile was he - shot dead by that officer as he had attempted to rob that little store - sickened to the core, Lamar now went forth at a quicker pace, only to find himself standing in a most solemn and dreadful place ... brisk wind blew swirls of dried leaves all about the listing, timeworn headstones which marked the final resting place for various and sundry souls ... the lonesome cemetery felt eerily familiar as the Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come led him to the furthest corner - where it pointed out a solitary, unmarked plot ... "and who lies within, sir?" ... but the Ghost had abruptly departed - and Lamar was certain that within that forgotten tomb rested the bones of none other than he ... Lamar began to weep uncontrollably until he thought his entire being would meltdown to nothing 
other than a lifeless pool of salty tears.
you a few moments of enjoyment and laughter, may you have many more ... although written as a provocative parody of Charles Dicken's classic "A Christmas Carol" ... it is fraught with hidden truths relevant to all ...Above all else, my heart's desire is that all remember the true reason for the season ... "the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us" John 1:14 ... the celebration of the birth of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ ...
--sja
