Page 8 of The Ghost of Christmas Present

A Christmas Carolby Charles Dickens, one classic hardback copy and one children’s illustrated copy with watercolor illustrations greeted her.

Ghosts. You’ll be visited by three ghosts.

Am I being compared to Ebenezer Scrooge? I’m not going around saying Bah Humbug! I have a tree up! I have a honey ham waiting in my fridge!

“Um. I’m not...” Words dried up in her suddenly sandpapery throat.

Whap! Thump.

A third copy of the beloved Christmas tale hit the ground, and the book slapped open as she watched, trying not to faint as all the blood washed from her body to her feet.

A rustling sound slipped against her ear, too faint and indistinct to truly make out, but she thought it was urging her to look.

Louisa stood on tiptoe and craned her neck.

The gilt letters in the open children’s book read “The Ghost of Christmas Present.”

Her dream flooded back, the unseen lover who stood behind her, whispering in her ear and massaging her body with the perfect touch, as if it was her own hands at work, had said hewould be her ghost of Christmas Present. Christmas present. He didn’t mean in the moment, he meant her gift. Or maybe he meant both.

“No such thing as ghosts.” Her words were a whimper, even as she blushed at the throbbing between her legs.

Another thud. Another book. This one was farther away in the nonfiction section.

Love Poems Through the Agesread the cover of a pink book with age-yellowed pages.

A Red, Red Rose

Robert Burns.

O my Love is like a red, red rose

That’s newly sprung in June;

O my Love is like the melody

That’s sweetly played in tune.

So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,

So deep in love am I;

And I will love thee still, my dear,

Till a’ the seas gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;

I will love thee still, my dear,

While the sands o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only love!

And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my love,

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