The Ghost of Christmas Future

(Inspired by Suzannah Marie Pillsbury)

It was approximately seven thirty when she received the message. Malena was in the middle of eating breakfast, today was a busy day. She had to get up at seven and go to work, on Christmas Eve and then come home to make tons of cookies to put out for Santa. Her little brother believed that Santa Claus existed, so Malena had to make sugar cookies every year and put them decoratively on a glass tray and set it on a wooden bar stool for the imaginary gift bringer to eat. And what’s funnier is the two story house has no chimney. Malena ignored the text. She finished her cereal, chugged down the rest of her orange juice grabbed the keys to her Chevy Chevelle, and ran out side into the bitter, frosty, Michigan air. The cold nipped at her ears and nose as she made her way to the second garage, in which her car was kept during snowy evenings. She opened the door to the garage and the snow blew in faster than she could shut the door. She got into her car, put the keys in the ignition and turned the car on. It grumbled for a second, but with another turn of the key, the engine turned over and the car started. She hit the automatic garage door opener and rolled onto the gravel driveway. When she got to the road, her phone dinged again. It was the all to familiar sound notifying her that an incoming text had just been sent. She ignored it again, trying to concentrate on the road. She was turning onto West Lake Road when the phone dinged again. She glanced down at it and stared at it for a second as if considering answering it. She looked up just in time to see the pickup truck driving straight at her.

Malena swerved in time to miss the on coming threat and the ditch she would have been forced into had she swerved the wrong direction. She got to work at Riverside Café at approximately eight o clock, and proceeded inside to punch in. She went to her boss to see what was to be done at such an early time of the day, when there were little to no customers. She was instructed to brew three fresh pots of coffee, clean the work surfaces and clean any dishes that had been left from last night. Since there were no dishes, she cleaned the counter tops and made three pots of coffee. Few costumers came in this early in the morning, but the coffee was ready when they did. At nine thirty she received another text message. She ignored it again, knowing that if her boss caught her texting while working, she would get written up. So Malena waited until twelve o clock, which was her lunch break, to look at the three texts that had come to her over the course of the last five or so hours. She unwrapped her sandwich, lifted it to her mouth and took a bite. It burst with juices of ham and turkey, and she had never tasted a sandwich so good. She set it down, grabbed her phone from her back pocket, entered the password and thumbed up to the first message. It read:

“It’s you Malena. It’s me, it’s me.”

Odd, though Malena, who is this? She then thumbed to the next one. It also read:

“Its me, its me. IT’S ME!”

Ok, thought Malena, this is getting annoying. I’ll just use star sixty nine and call them back. She hit star, then the numbers six, and nine. The phone made a dial tone. It went straight to an automated voicemail. She tried again, to no avail. She then thumbed up to the third text. This time it was different from the others that came before. This one read:

“You will die in a car crash on Christmas Eve at five o clock. I’m the ghost of Christmas future.”

Ok, now its just stupid, she thought. Its Probably just a prank call. Malena got texts like these every year and nothing bad ever occurred. She blew it off and deleted all the texts. She threw away the plastic wrap that her sandwich was wrapped in, stood up putting her phone in her purse, walked back into the kitchen. As she crossed the threshold from the break room to the work space, her phone dinged again. She knew it was technically still her break and she was returning early, so Malena grabbed the phone from her purse, and thumbed to the message.

“Your not listening, Malena, your not listening. Its me, its me, IT’S ME!”

Malena had to admit it was getting a little scary at this point. None of the other texts in the years previous had ever been so insistent nor as vicious. Malena turned her phone to the off position, and proceeded to work. She cooked food for an elderly couple, a lunch consisting of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. She was cleaning dishes, when her phone buzzed. She had been sure it was turned to the off position. She grabbed a nearby towel, dried her hands with it, and against her bosses’ wishes, grabbed her phone from her purse. Malena tapped the phone and brought up the message.

“You’ve been warned, Malena, you’ve been warned….”

Malena was afraid now. She knew she had turned the phone off previous to going back into the kitchen an hour and a half ago. She was sure of it being off, for it had hummed in her hand and the screen was black, and unresponsive. She was absolutely sure it had been off. She turned it off, thumbed the screen, adnit was unresponsive. Nothing turned on, no messages popped into the display, and no sounds emanated from it. She put it in her purse, and zipped the top as she put it under the counter. She buried it with a couple of towels, and went back to work. Three more customers came in over the course of the next four hours. Then eventually no one came through the doors at all. Four thirty rolled in faster than it normally did. She got out of the restaurant at four forty and went to her car. It was windy and blisteringly cold outside, and it made seeing difficult. She none the less climbed into her car and cranked the heat to defrost the iced over windows. She set her purse in the front seat. Her phone buzzed and hummed and rang all at the same time. This time she was determined to find out who it was, so she called the police. Her phone buzzed in her hand when she dialed the numbers. She slowly removed it from her face, and looked at the bright screen.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Malena.”

Malena threw down the telephone. She wasn’t stupid, but she wasn’t going to get herself killed by an anonymous threat. She put the car into reverse backed out of the space, then slammed it in drive. She was going straight home. Her phone sat on the seat it buzzed again, and again, and again. The messages said:

“Your gonna die, Malena, MALENA YOUR GONNA DIE!”

She kept going driving slightly over the limit of forty five, she turned hard onto North Avenue. She slammed it to fifty, as the speed limit changed. Her phone dinged and buzzed to the point where it was a droning noise that beat in her ears like a large bass drum. She grabbed the phone, opened the glove box, and threw it in the compartment to conceal the noise. She was distracted to long to see the oncoming semi truck rolling around the sharp curve. To late to hear the horn honk, the metal crunch, and the glass shatter to bits and pieces like ice dropped from a high rooftop. But above the drone of sound the phone still buzzed, but this time, came with the slightest voice. It whispered, but could still be heard by Malena, and only by Malena.

“I warned you Malena, you didn’t listen Malena, you should have listened to me. I am the ghost of Christmas Future. Welcome…”

Everything became a blur of white, hot intense light that shone everywhere around her. Then nothing. No light, but no dark either. Just empty space. Then she was over her car, her body, and the conscious truck driver, running over the scene, feelings of guilt running through his mind. The driver calls nine one one. The first ambulance arrives at exactly five o seven. The dash in the car flashes the green florescent numbers:

5:00pm. The numbers flashed on, then off. A never ending cycle of repetitive motion,

5:00pm.

Then, what seemed from nowhere, a shrouded being showed up next to her. It stood and said nothing, yet at the same time said everything Malena already knew. She watched as a paramedic ran to Malena body, put fingers to neck, and shook her head slowly, looking up at the truck driver, who was worried of the condition of the girl. He sat down on the cold pavement, and cried. The man in the shroud led Malena into the white light.

At the funeral, all friends and family gathered. Every one was there, offering comfort, financial help to the mother and father of the deceased, and any other compensation that could be offered, but never used. All were there, as well as the man in shroud. Looking prospecting. Picking a weak soul to feed upon and eventually claim as his trophy, his soul. He wandered aimlessly, but with a cause. He said nothing, but meant everything. He wasn’t seen, but he was known by many as The Ghost Of Christmas Future.

The End.