CHRISTMAS CAROL

By

Ellen Fisher

© copyright December 2005, Ellen Fisher

Cover art by Amber Moon, © copyright December 2005

ISBN 1-58608-774-6

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter 1

Swift Creek, Virginia

White icicle lights dripped from the eaves of the small houses lining the road as Jackson Parker drove slowly through the blue-collar neighborhood. Christmas trees draped in multi-colored, twinkling lights stood proudly in the front windows, and bushes bowed beneath the weight of thousands of small light bulbs. He passed three lighted Nativity scenes, four roofs adorned with Santa and his reindeer, and two giant glowing snowmen. Only one house on the street stood dark and undecorated.

He turned into the dark house’s driveway.

How typical of Dad to not bother decorating for Christmas, he thought resentfully. His father had been a Scrooge of the worst sort who hadn’t bothered with Christmas decorations during most of Jackson’s childhood. And it figured he’d manage to go and drop dead less than a week before Christmas. Really, it was just like the old man to screw up a perfectly good holiday.

He shook his head at himself. It was stupid to resent his father because his heart had chosen this week to stop beating. He was reasonably certain Dad hadn’t meant to ruin Christmas for him.

Dad had done his best to wreck his life, but even he wasn’t capable of making his heart stop at the worst possible time. Not that he wouldn’t be grimly amused by the irony of it all, dragging Jackson away from his condo, his IT job, and his routine during a time of year he already found excruciatingly painful.

Ho, ho, ho.

Jackson got out of his Lexus, slammed the door, and stalked toward the house.

Merry fucking Christmas, he thought to himself.

* * * *

The house was quiet and still when he entered, in the eerie way of houses that have lost their inhabitant. Jackson felt a chill go down his back that had nothing to do with the cold nighttime air.

Great. Now he was getting imaginative. He knew Dad’s ghost wasn’t haunting the house. In the first place, everyone knew ghosts didn’t haunt little brick ranches in the suburbs, only creepy-looking gothic mansions. Brick ranches just weren’t a popular ghost hangout. Anyone who’d seen Beetlejuice knew that.

In the second place, he was pretty damn sure Dad’s spirit wouldn’t be lurking around anyway, because it would have headed straight for hell like it had an anvil weighing it down.

Even so, the creepy sensation that he wasn’t alone didn’t go away. He shoved the house key, which he hadn’t used since college, into his jeans pocket. Leaving the door open behind him, he reached out, groping for the light switch next to the door.

The lights went on, flooding the room in light and making him squint against the sudden brightness. Something zoomed toward him and between his feet.

Startled, and admittedly a little creeped out, Jackson let out a bloodcurdling yell. He stumbled backward, hit the raised doorsill, and fell backward, all the way down the four concrete porch steps. He slammed onto the ground, all the breath leaving his lungs in a grunt of pain.

For a long moment he lay there, eyes closed, mentally assessing the damage. At last, deciding nothing was bruised except his dignity, he opened his eyes.

Only to find himself looking right up a woman’s skirt.