Claxion the Scrooge, ch 2

Finding that I wasn't quite yet sleepy, I instead went into the library to read a bit before retiring for the night.  In my library, the glass brick walls glowed with a soft blue aura as the moonlight shined in from outside.
I picked up a book (one of my own published books, coincidentally enough) and paged through it as the lights flickered.
"Wizard..."
A voice had sounded just then.  But nobody was there, right?
"Reveal!"
Again, nothing.  Nobody was there, yet....
"Wizard!"
Then, I saw him.  It was... Epoth?!?   Indeed it was the demon from my novel.  His face was missing an eye.  Blood stained marks from his eyes and his chest were everywhere, yet his face was warm and alive.  The sword of a thousand souls hung from his waist as his boots stamped outside the door.
If this was indeed a dream, it sure was getting weird quickly.
I rose to my feet, ready for a confrontation.  
"Stop!  Relax your magic... for it will do you no favors this eve," Epoth cautioned.
"Are you sure?  My magic is all powerful in my own dream world," I replied confidently.
He shook his head.  "Perhaps, but not when I am not in this world.  Mr. Claxion, you have displayed a poor sense of spirit."
"What?  I invited my friends over for a party- I gave them food- I donated five million dollars in charity...."
A fierce gust of wind knocked me back against the wall, disturbing much of the library's contents.  
"Silence!"
I climbed to my feet.  That blow against the back of my head sure felt real.
"You have not displayed a proper Christmas spirit, Mr. Claxion.  You claim that you have, but Christmas is neither about money nor about gifts.  A gaggle of gifts are under the tree in the great room, but gifts nor trinkets are great," Epoth explained.
"I know you hate wizards... get to the point," I began.  It was still bedtime.  "Unless you would rather play Jacob Marley some more."
"Silence!!!" The power of his voice shattered the glass brick windows.
I held my tongue.
"My quest for Rhydar is not what brings me here tonight."  Another wisp of wind grew in the room behind him, pushing me towards the wall again as he slowly walked towards me.  "Mr. Claxion, you will be visited by three spirits this eve.  One will arrive with each strike of the clock.  They will show you the error of your ways, and you would be wise to listen," Epoth explained.
"Or what?  You'll strike me with your sword of lost souls?" I asked.
He neither nodded nor shook his head.  "There are far greater fears in this world than simply life or death.  Perhaps a lost soul is something to be discovered along that road... but I will leave it to these three spirits to answer your question.  Remember... three spirits, one per hour.  Farewell."
He turned, and began to fade through the wall.
I fired a massive blast of lightning, a blast that did not touch him but bore a hole in the drywall beyond.
"Ugh... no good," I muttered.  A wave of my hand and the wall and glass brick windows reappeared, magically repairing themselves right at once.
The voice echoed again.  "Expect the first spirit at one.  Listen and you may yet succeed...."
I shrugged.  "Seeing my characters come to life?  That's what these dreams of mine can come up with?"  With a sigh, I left to room for bed."

Shortly thereafter, I headed to the bedroom and climbed into bed.  Sleep came quickly, and with it the memory of Epoth's visit dwindled towards the past.    
The clock in the great room sounded one AM.  Suddenly a bright light filled my bedroom.
Was I having a dream within a dream?  Or was this really real?  The decision to question reality within subconscious would have to wait, however... for now, a very real presence was here.
An angelic figure was sitting atop my dresser.  That is to say, a rather small angelic figure... or maybe it was a fairy?
"Well, it's about time!  We're late.  Come on, up ya get!"
I flipped on the lamp near my bed.  The fuzzy image of the angelic figure became clear once I found my glasses.
She was tiny, perhaps four inches in height.  Of her petite frame, however, she was proportionally beautiful.  Well defined hips, luscious lips and a buoyant, bouncy chest matched her bright, smiling eyes and youthful spirit.  Her hair was golden like ripe grains, and her blue dress was as pure as rain.
"Well now.  Shall we be off?"
"What?  I... um... it's one in the morning... I can't go out now.  That and it must be about five degrees outside...." I muttered.
"Yes, and we're behind schedule!  Just because I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past doesn't mean we got all night here!"
"Ghost of Christmas Past?" I asked.  "Are you sure you're not named Tarissa?"  
While I had indeed dreamed that I had addressed the incarnation of a character from my seventh book, the fairy made no acknowledgement of such a claim.   "Your past, Mr. Claxion.  I am your guide... and in all my years in this job, I have never had a client who missed a deadline!  You will not be the first," the fairy replied.
"How long have you done this?" I asked.
"I'm coming up on my sixth century," she replied.
I nodded with a smirk.  "Can't beat job security like that."
"But I'll beat you if we're late!  Let's go!"
She pulled me up to my feet- perhaps she had some kind of strength spell, there was no reason why someone that small could pull me up as easily as a full sized person did... in fact, to the contrary, her strength represented that of a giant's.
"Hey!  Take it easy... shouldn't I get dressed or something?" I asked.
"No time!  Take my hand... we've got a long way to go," she said.
I managed to grab the nearest flannel shirt as she took hold of me instead.  I was lucky to have gone to bed wearing sweatpants.  A wave of a tiny magic wand later, the window was torn asunder and the exterior cold of night blew in.  Yet, while I was in her hands, I wasn't all that cold.  
All the same, I held onto the flannel shirt like a parachute as we flew out into the night.
"Spirit?  Where are you taking me?" I asked.
"We're almost there.  You know this city, right?" she asked.
I looked down below.  We were no longer in Richfield- the lights of the downtown cores of the Twin Cities were long gone.  In a blink we had actually flown over countless miles... and I recognized a wide, flowing river.  Then the rail line... and the old DeSoto bridge....
"St. Cloud, Minnesota" I replied.
She nodded.  "And a small house at number 53 31st Avenue Northwest."

The fairy went into a dive as we approached the west side of St. Cloud.  Although our decent seemed less like a gentle stop than what some pilots would call plummeting, we landed quite softly.
The bleached pink trim and the stucco foundation was just as it was in my younger days.  The sun streamed through the cool cloudless skies above, and inside the house a Christmas tree was lit with bright, shining lights.  Candle strings and older C7 bulbs filled the living room inside with a warm, loving glow.
She had placed me at the front step.  "Go on in... unless you don't know this place?"
"But I'm not welcome... am I?" I asked.  "If I was a kid and saw my older self barge in...."
"Why not?  You have family here.   Why wouldn't you be welcome?" I asked.
"Aren't I not supposed to meet myself?  What about the space-time-continuum?"
She scowled.  "Life isn't like Star Trek!  Nobody will see or hear us.  Go in already."
I pulled open the door and headed inside.  

I could hear activity in the kitchen and the living room.  A young Asian child, perhaps  twelve years old, was in the living room.  He was poking around the base of the tree searching for gifts with his name.
"Liam... my older brother Liam, at the age of twelve.  Looked just about the same as he does now, but smaller," I said.
I watched as a plump young boy, perhaps five years old, bounded down the stairs and into the living room next to Liam.  He was tackled right away, and both boys laughed around before looking back at the tree.
"Vincent... my middle brother.  I don't think I really appreciated him much at that age," I began.
"Where are you?" the fairy asked.
I passed through the dining room into the kitchen, where two women were making pancakes on the stove.  Sitting atop a stool, a young boy of two years with bright shiny eyes and light, silky hair was watching quietly as the older of the two women poured a pancake onto the griddle.
"Grandma... she was such a great cook.  I should've given her more credit... and Mom... I haven't visited her in a long time," I said.
"You were a cute kid in those days," the fairy said as she flittered around my younger counterpart.
I shrugged.  "Guess so.  My brothers don't understand what happened."
"Time has a way of rearranging things in ways we might not always like," the fairy said.
I nodded as I looked closely towards Grandma Kasselman and Mom.  "They both died within a year of each other... Grandma first from brain cancer, Mom from multiple myeloma about eight months later."
The scene faded away as the lights in the kitchen went dark.  The activity shifted into the dining room, where a crowd was gathered around the table.  
"Let's focus on better times.  What's happening in here?" the fairy asked.
I turned around and walked up to the table.  There were about eleven of us- my ten-year old self, a thirteen year old James, a seventeen year old Liam... a grey-bearded Dad, a healthy happy Mom, Grandma Kassleman at the head of the table with a pad of paper- Aunt Carissa, Uncle Martin and friend Lousie... cousin Andrea, and cousin Richard... and finally, Great Grandma Andrina.  Everyone had a handful of cards before them.
"What we have here is a fine time.  Gathering around the table playing cards... I don't think it really mattered what the game was, or who won... although it was usually Grandma Brockway.  She always kept score, but even when we got older and we didn't let her keep score any longer, she still won most of the time.   I didn't win all that often- but I didn't care.  Just playing the game was more fun than anything," I explained.
"But the games stopped after a few years.  The family grew older and it became harder to get everyone together," the fairy said.
"Not just that.  The illnesses began.  After Grandma passed away- she preceded Great Grandma Andrina, in fact... the family never was whole after that.  They began splitting up her possessions before the funeral was even over... and my uncle from Nevada came into his house to see it torn up like a free-for-all yard sale.  Words were exchanged... and Mom couldn't handle it, much less her own worsening health."
"The family has not gathered together much since, have they?" the fairy asked.
I shook my head.  "I rarely get a chance to talk about it anymore these days.  We try to get together on New Year's, but times are much different now.  We still play card games, or dice, or whatever... but things are certainly different."
"What about your father's side of the family?  What about Aunt Patricia?" the fairy asked.
"Of course we get together- we've got a tradition of 27 years that is to be broken this year...."
"Hold that thought.  Come, we have more to see," the fairy said as she offered her hand.  I took it and held on.

We flew across Minnesota and the downtown business centers of the Twin Cities again, crossing the St. Croix River and into Wisconsin.  We then descended as suddenly as before, coming into a landing near Albert Farms.
The house looked very much like it does today, only the 100-year old farmhouse had the unstable deck above the side staircase intact and there was no bay window in the kitchen.  The living room was in the front of the house and the dining room addition in the rear.  The old shed by the back steps which had fallen down in 2001 was fully erect and stable.
However, there was no shortage of Christmas spirit here.  Strings of lights trailed the drive from the house to a two-lane Highway 35, and a glowing Christmas Tree near the old upright piano left a trail of glittering blues, reds, greens and yellow lights on the fresh fallen snow.
Inside, the kitchen was in a bustle as Mom, Dad and some other people I did not immediately recognize were preparing the traditional meal- oyster stew.  Uncle Don was pulling a loaf of bread out of the oven.
"I can still smell fresh bread on Christmas.  Although I never much cared for oyster stew, her chili or beef stew is almost always welcome on a cold winter night.  But there's one thing that I'll never see... a Christmas at the farm in North Dakota.  We never went, perhaps because we always spent time with Grandma's in St. Cloud... or perhaps because of the drive," I explained.
The fairy followed me into the dining room.  I was a younger Greg again, perhaps six or seven.  Phyllis and I were discussing something as I stood outside of Wade's bedroom.
"What about Grandma in North Dakota?  In Garrison?  Do you know them, Patricia?"
She laughed.  "Of course I do!  Your Grandma Claxion is my mother, silly!"
"You know them, and Harold and Jim, and Edward?  You know all of them too?"
"Of course I do.  You've looked at the photos in Grandpa's living room, right?  I'm on that wall, up near the second row on the right," Patricia replied.
"Wow... I have a huge, great family," young Gregory said.
"You sure do.  And you're surrounded by love, Gregory.  That's what matters," Patricia said.
I left the heartwarming scene and walked through the kitchen back outside into the snow.  It was all wonderful to see my happiest times, but nothing I could do... even magic, no matter what kind of magic I used, would make it all happen for real ever again.
The fairy followed me.  "Your family has many great times, Mr. Claxion.  Indeed, there is love in this season, no matter where your family members happen to be."
I nodded.  "Yes... but even though I can see it all again, there weren't always good times.  But thinking about them... now, I can really only remember the good times."
"Even though, as we have discovered, terrible times followed," the fairy replied.
I nodded.
"What about this?  How is it possible to feel sad... if one has not felt happy?" the fairy asked.
"Explain," I said.
"How does someone know what it means to be sad, what it means to be going through a rough patch... unless they know what it means to be happy?  How can someone, even a child who is naive to the world, simply learn that all parts of his family know one another, even though he himself has not seen them all in one place together?  Isn't that what growing up is about?" the fairy asked.
I nodded.  "I was a dumb kid for not connecting the dots."
"But you learned who to love.  And why."  The fairy crossed her arms.  "And that is why you remember these moments."
"So where are the bad times?  Or are you only supposed to show me the good times?"
She took my hand.  "We've got one more place to visit.  And we're running out of time... let's go."

We flew west again, this time to a house in Richfield.  It was the reality of the area- there was no WHRT, no mega-Claxion mansion, just the house on 11th Avenue and the family cars in the driveway.  The same house I grew up in in my real life.
Inside, the house was elaborately decorated.  There was a tree lit in the living room upstairs, a tree lit downstairs, and a tree bedecked in white lights in the chilly porch.  
A younger but still teenage Gregory was sitting at the piano in a darkly lit room.  The lights of the tree and the lamp atop the piano were the only lights.
He had a beard now, and was playing a somber melody in the key of D.  Sitting atop the stairs was Dad... Vincent and Liam must've been downstairs or outside at the time.
A photograph of Mom was sitting atop the entertainment center.
I walked into the living room as my younger self played a song I had just finished at about that time.  I had called it "Through the Years", a song I had written specifically for Mom.
"I never knew how much that song meant so much to Dad," I said as I sat on the couch behind my younger self.
The fairy flew over to me and sat on the armrest.  "Beautiful music from a young musician, albeit a shy one.  You never play piano for your family, do you?  Why is that?"
"Embarrassed, mostly.  I consider the music part of me... like something that I can express myself without words or explanation.  Just playing the music allowed me to open up... to really get the feelings out into the world without being judged," I replied.
"A trait that still haunts you today.  But why set up all the extra decorations?  Three trees, lots of lights out front.  This particular Christmas was a tough time for you."
I nodded.  "Distractions, I suppose.  Why three trees?  I guess they had a representation somewhere."
"Perhaps like the three legs of your family?  The family in North Dakota, the family in St. Cloud which had recently fallen apart... the family in Wisconsin.  Yes?" the fairy asked.
I nodded again.  "I'm not really sure... although, I think I might've done that the second or third year we moved in.  I don't think I set up very many trees in the Christmas of 1997... by that time, I was still getting used to being around Dad all the time, and losing my...."
The fairy nodded.  "Losing what you thought was a big part of yourself.  Your mother was very important to you."
"I'm the youngest of three boys... I was the spoiled one.  I spent the most time with her... and when I had a problem, I ran to her.  That year... I discovered that I couldn't run away from things.  I had to learn to start dealing with them myself... and...."
"And that might've been the year when things like Easter decorations, Halloween candy and other childhood festivals were no longer important to you.  They became days on the calendar... reasons to remember why you were hurt that your family collapsed."
I sighed, and headed for the door.
"I can't witness these events any longer.  Take me home, spirit."
She nodded.  "Our time is almost up.  Come."

We flew into the sky again.  However, she took me high into the air- so high that I lost sight of the ground beneath me.  Then, she looked me in the eye.
"Memories are but what we choose them to be, Gregory.  How we interpret our past is how we determine our future.  Without a history, we do not exist.  Remember that."
Then, she let go of my hand.  Suddenly, I began to fall.... fall so fast that I couldn't see the sky around me.
What felt like a thud to end all thuds followed next, and I woke up in my bed.  Amazingly, there were no holes in the ceiling and the bed frame was intact.  Even stranger, I was uninjured.
But what seemed the most odd of all, I was in my dream bedroom at 6505 11th Ave, despite the house having been built on the even side of the street... a true sign that my reality was still false.
A string quartet began to play in the great room.
I adjusted my flannel shirt as I checked the clock on the bed stand.  
Two o'clock.