Before The Visits

The ghosts sat around a table, sipping whiskey. Each whiskey a different vintage: one well aged and full bodied, one freshly bottled and harsh, and one somehow not yet even made but still filling a glass tasting of nothing at all.

They each sat back, nestled comfortably in plush armchairs, and considered the upcoming date.

“Do we have to?” asked the ghost with the empty tasting whiskey. “I know the answer, don’t start, but even so. Do we have to?”

“Yes, of course we do,” said the ghost with the well-aged, full glass. “And if you know, then why are you even asking?”

“It’s just,” the ghost thought a moment before continuing, “…I’m sort of sick of it, to be honest.”

“We work a single day of the year,” the third ghost said, “and somehow it’s just too much work for you, is that it?”

“You can shut the fuck up,” the original asker replied, “you have it easiest.”

“Oh really? And how do you figure that?”

“You take them around, right here in their current time. Not exactly a heavy lift, is it?”

“Sure, sure, oh so easy, right? I have to try and make them realize that what they know isn’t correct. I have to make them see what dipshits they’re actually being. You think that’s easy, do you? ‘Oh, excuse me, all of this crap you’re pulling is some fuckshit’ and I’m just done, push them off on you?”

“I mean,” the ghost with the well-aged whiskey said, “isn’t that what you do, though? If it worked that would be all we’d need.”

“Oh, and you, you get them first, so obviously whatever you do doesn’t work in the slightest since they need two more visitations!”

“Hey! I lay important groundwork. Without me neither of you could get the job done.”

“Sure, but even you, what, you drag them back to sunnier times, right? Just point out how trauma is a thing and they didn’t notice the effect starting to stack?” Asked the ghost who had started the questioning.

“You really are being a reductive ass tonight, aren’t you?” shot back the ghost, after taking a sip of well-aged whiskey, “I suppose you have it oh so hard, hmm?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I have to take them to their future. Do you know how annoying that is? The future is unwritten, so I have to figure out what possibilities will end the worst for them, I have to sort through it all before we even start, and decide which probable future will drive the point home the hardest. You both just have to go to places that exist. Well, him,” the ghost said, nodding toward the ghost with the freshly decanted whiskey, “more than you, of course. I recognize you need to find the perfect moment of trauma and review it all before hand.”

“Don’t try and minimize my prep work, jerk. I have to sort through their current bullshit and guess at what could align with what Past-Boy here does, that will also best segue into whatever future you decide on, and it isn’t as if either of you prepares me in advance. Oh no, you’re artists, of course, you have to decide last minute or change your minds, and who has to pick up the pieces? Me!”

“We could change jobs,” said the ghost with his hated glass of non-existent whiskey. “Just for this year. We could try it. I’m just sick of the future. Sick of it. I could do the present bit though. I’m really sure of it.”

“No,” The Ghost of Christmas Present said quickly. “I don’t want to do the future bit, first of all, but regardless, no. Do your own job and stop trying to take mine.”

“And don’t you even think of asking if you can do the past,” The Ghost of Christmas Past said. “I’m with him, do your own job.”

“I will, I mean of course I will, I just…the future is always so bleak. At least the past can be a rosy place—”

“Full of trauma!”

“And the present is—”

“An undeniable shithole, which is why we’re doing this at all, in the first place. The future isn’t worse than the past or the present. You’re just being a baby.”

“I guess,” said the Ghost of Christmas Future, “I guess. But we could still try it, huh?”

“For fuck’s sake, no. Just take the target asshole to a grave and show them someone taking a shit on it.”

“I only did that once! Worked, though.”

“See, you have it easy, just find a future where IBS runs rampant and you’ll be all set,” said the Ghost of Christmas Past, laughing despite no one else finding it funny.

“It’s almost time,” Christmas Future said, setting down his glass. “Is the dead friend all set for tonight?”

“Yeah, they’re practicing their chain rattles,” Christmas Past said.

“I hate that noise,” Future said, scowling.

“Right?” Past agreed. “It grates.”

“It’s supposed to be annoying,” Present said.

“Yeah but does it have to annoy us?” Past asked.

“Oh, good, you’re both in foul moods. This’ll be a fun year,” Present said, standing. “Now can we go and do our one day of work this year?”

“Yeah,” the other two said simultaneously.

“Thank you, and remember, first one to get a confirmed emotional break from the target gets…I’m kidding, we don’t get shit. Let’s just do our fucking jobs.”

“Oh so only two of us are in foul moods, huh?” Future asked, as they left the room to go find the friend they would use to kick off the hauntings.

They glided down the hallway, bickering as they went. As they always did. As they always would.