~ A Christmas Carry On, Part Three ~

For the previous chapter, do please click hither.

“ENCHANTED, I must say,” I said to the rather seductively-shaped spirit who had suddenly materialised in Mr. Scrooge’s bed-chamber. “And you are?…”

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” said the Ghost of Christmas Past, hovering in front of me at just the right height for me to be at eye-level with her glorious, ghostly globes. “I am here for Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge…”

“Him?” I scoffed, jerking a thumb behind me, to where the aforementioned miser was cowering behind a curtain, muttering prayers under his breath for his wretched life to be spared. “Why on earth would such a splendid-looking spectre travel all this way from the afterlife to seek out that cranky old coot?”

“It concerns Mr. Scrooge’s welfare,” the ghost replied. “His soul is in great peril, for he is a wicked man.”

“Ah, if it is a wicked man you desire, m’dear, then look no further – I can be very wicked indeed!”

“Please, sir, I have work to do,” the ghoul said dismissively, and then she glided right through me as if I were not even there.

“Egad!” I exclaimed excitedly. “I have not been so thoroughly penetrated by a woman since the time I attended that dominatrix party in Soho…”

I turned about to see the ghost approach Mr. Scrooge, who’s continued attempts to remain hidden behind his curtains had resulted in him becoming completely tangled up in them, leaving him to the mercy of the advancing apparition. As the spectre warned Scrooge about his impending spiritual reclamation, I decided to prepare a surprise for our ghoulish guest.

“And so, Ebenezer, that is why you must take my hand and come with me..”

“Ahem! Ms. Past?” I interjected. “I believe it is traditional at this time of year for people to share a kiss ‘neath the mistletoe, is it not?…”

Exasperated, the spirit turned around to face me. “Please, sir, I must tend to this…wait a moment…I do not see any mistletoe at all…”

“Cast your eyes lower, m’dear,” I beamed, arching an eyebrow suggestively. The ghost did so, until her eyes fell upon a sprig of mistletoe fastened to my belt, just above a spectacularly large protrusion in my trousers, caused by my ever-mighty Lord Palmerston.

“Oh!” gasped the ghoul. “OH!” she went on to exclaim, her eyes widening at the sight of my trousered tent-pole.

“‘Oh’ indeed, m’dear…so how about it, eh? You must surely miss a bit of rumpy-pumpy now and again, what? I’d wager that the last time you had something stiff in your box was when you were buried…”

“Heavens! I can resist you no more!” exclaimed the spirit, and then, using her supernatural powers, she lifted me clean off of my feet, and hurled me onto Mr. Scrooge’s bed, where she quickly joined me for a spot of paranormal hanky-panky.

“Wh-what is going on?” blurted Mr. Scrooge, disentangling himself form the curtains.

“It is probably for the best that you do not ask, sir,” replied Botter. “Things are about to get rather odd.”

*****

TWO o’clock came and went, and then three o’clock passed by. It was not until the clock heralded the arrival of four o’clock that the Ghost of Christmas Past and myself emerged from our sensual seance, to a small group of rather shocked onlookers. Now joining Mr. Scrooge and my man-servant were two more spectres: one, large and plump, with a big, red beard who was surrounded by food;  the other a rather more sinister figure in a dark cowl.

“PAST!” bellowed the fat phantom, tossing a half-eaten chicken leg over his shoulder. “There you are! Have you quite finished haunting this man, may I ask?”

“Haunting?” said the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“There appears to be ectoplasm all over my sheets,” Scrooge observed as he inspected his bed-covers.

“We heard plenty of wailing and moaning coming from within that bed, so we assumed that…” the Ghost of Christmas Present (for it was he) trailed off, as Past lowered her head. “Hold on a moment…you…you DIDN’T, did you?”

“Aye, sir,” replied the spirit, who would have undoubtedly blushed at this point, if she were indeed able to do so.

“HA!” roared the Ghost of Christmas Present, spraying crumbs from his mouth. “Good work, sirrah,” he exclaimed, turning to me. “I have been longing to do the same myself…”

“Listen, can we hurry up and get this job done?” whined the other ghoul, the Ghost of Christmas Future. “It’s bloody freezing here, it’s Christmas Day and I have a party to go to. And if you think I’m going in this dreary old robe then you are sorely mistaken.”

“Oh, put a cork in it, you bony berk,” snapped Present.

“Hmph! Why don’t YOU just shove another cake into that over-stuffed cake-hole of yours, hmmm?” Future shot back.

“Are you saying I am FAT, you cad?” asked Present.

“No, not at all,” said Future. “I’m saying that you are FATTEST.”

“RIGHT!” boomed Present. “That does it! Have at thee, sir! I shall snap you like a bloody cocktail stick…”

“Sirs, please!” implored the ever-lovely Ghost of Christmas Past. “Let us not fight. ‘Tis Christmas Day, after all, and we still have a man’s soul to save…”

“Hmmm,” I mused, stroking my magnificent moustache in contemplation. “Deceased ladies and gentlemen, I think I have a solution to all our problems…”

*****

AND so we all adjourned back to Likely Towers, whereupon I threw a most magnificent festive shindig, which was naturally very well attended. I got blind, roaring drunk, while Botter just got blind and roaring (he temporarily lost his sight after a cork shot into his eyes, leading him to subsequently topple into the fireplace). Meanwhile, the spirits quaffed spirits which served to raise their spirits, resulting in much raucous laughter and shenanigans.

I took it upon myself to raise Mr. Scrooge’s mood, plying him with plenty of booze. Soon enough, Mr. Scrooge went from hum-bugging to bum-hugging, as he chased many a delectable damsel about my estate,  a sloppy grin spread about his previously gloomy countenance. Truly, ’twas a Christmas miracle.

And all it took was a visit from the Host of Christmas Party. HUZZAH!

A very MERRY CHRISTMAS to you all, dear readers! Lord Likely bless you, ev’ry one!

– Lord Likely.

~ A Christmas Carry On, Part Two ~

For the previous chapter, do please click hither.

WE HOT-FOOTED it to Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge’s house, or rather we would have, had it not been so ruddy freezing. Thus, we actually cold-footed it to Mr. Scrooge’s house, to investigate the paranormal activity of which he had spoken.

Mr. Scrooge’s abode was well suited to its inhabitant; tall, angular, gloomy, rather spooky-looking and covered in no small amount of grime and muck. If houses could talk, I was in no doubt that this one would spend all of its time moaning to the other houses, complaining about the happy new houses down the road.

“This is where the trouble started,” Scrooge said, as he walked nervously up to the large, imposing door of his home. “It was here, on this very knocker, that I beheld what appeared to be the face of my deceased business partner, Mr. Jacob Marley!”

“Hmm,” I pondered, scrutinising the door in question. “I would not be overly concerned about that, Mr. Scrooge. Why, there have been frequent occasions where I have found my face upon many a knocker.”

Scrooge scowled at me, and unlocked the door, motioning for Botter and I to enter. We exchanged slightly concerned glances, and then duly advanced inside the building.

The inside of Mr. Scrooge’s house was even more depressing and dreary than the exterior, dressed as it was in nothing more than darkness and dismay. And simply cock-awful wallpaper.

“Well then, gentlemen, don’t stand there gawking! If you will accompany to my bedroom, I shall attempt to reveal all…” said Scrooge, heading to the staircase.

“Hold on!” I exclaimed, putting a hand out to halt my man-servant. “I think  I see what is going on here! Is this all some kind of sordid ruse to get my noble form into your bed-chamber, whereupon you will leap upon me and bugger me six ways to Sodom?”

Scrooge looked at me in disgust. “Good heavens no! You are here purely to see off these spirits, of that I can assure you! The moment you have done so, you’ll be slung out on your ear so that I may finally have some peace to-night!”

“Well,” I said, straightening my tie. “I am glad that is cleared up, then. But at the first sign of you getting inclined toward my behind, I shall bash your nose into an even more ridiculous shape, sir.”

“Enough of this blithering nonsense! We have business to attend to, you silly little man. Now then, I know not of what horrors await us, so we had best prepare ourselves…” Scrooge picked up a nearby candle-holder, and lit the candle within. “A little bit of light shall help, hmmm?”

“Whatever you think, Mr. Scrooge,” I replied, reaching into my inside-coat pocket and pulling out my trusty pistol. “Personally, I favour blasting the fluid effluence out of whate’er demons lie in wait.”

Scrooge shrugged and ascended the staircase, with Botter and I following on behind. As we climbed, each step gave rise to a loud, ominous creaking sound.

“Is that the stairs, or your aged knee-joints?” I asked of our host, but Scrooge seemed in no mood to join me in a spot of banter, and waved his hand furiously to convey his desire to hear no more.

“Look! We are here! My bed-chamber!” hissed Scrooge, advancing cautiously into his room. We followed on, surveying the unsurprisingly dismal surroundings, which were dominated by a large, four-poster bed, covered at all sides by white sheets. It seemed to me  that until the earlier appearance of Mr. Jacob Marley’s ghost, this was a bedroom that had seen precisely no action at all.

“So! What do you think, Mr. Likely?” Scrooge asked, waving the candle near my face.

“I think…” I began, taking in the stale air. “I think that if you knocked down this entire building, and built a morgue in its place, the atmosphere would be lightened considerably.”

“Bah! Piffle! What do you think about this ghost business, sir?”

“I am sure I do not know, Mr. Scrooge. It sounds all so fantastical to me, that I am not sure – ” Suddenly, an unseen grandfather clock chimed in the hour of one in the morning, the time at which the first of Mr. Scrooge’s spectral visitors was due to appear.

We waited. Nothing happened.

“Well,” I said, snapping shut the lid of my pocket-watch. “I think we can safely say that you are a gibbering nut-bag, Mr. Scrooge, and that this entire evening has been rather wasted. Now, if you shall excuse me…”

I brushed past Mr. Scrooge, and then paused. A frown crossed my handsome face, and I stepped back. Mr. Scrooge seemed to be frozen solid, a single, bony hand pointing to something behind me. I turned to Botter, who was similarly affected; his mouth was agape, his eyes filled with horror, fixed upon an unseen terror.

“Well, well, well,” I sighed, retrieving my pocket-watch from my pocket and flipping it open. “You are three minutes late, you realise? Awfully bad form, even for a ghoul.”

And with that, I snapped my watch shut, spun around and faced the apparition now in front of me.

“Good day, madam,” I smiled, tipping my hat.

– Lord Likely.

A Scintillating Seasonal Special Starts To-Day!

‘TWAS THE night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse…

Which isn’t quite true to say in this instance. There was plenty of stirring going on beneath my bed-covers, as Lady Chuffbury and I were engaging in a bout of festive fornication in my luxurious bed-chamber. Like some kind of randy Father Christmas, I was readying myself to empty my bulging sacks, when all of a sudden there was a knock upon my chamber door.

“Um…milord?” came my man-servant’s feeble tones through the woodwork. “Are you awake?”

“Gah! Go away, Botter! I’m busy…stuffing a bird!” I shouted in reply.

“But…there’s a gentleman here to see you, my lord…”

“What a kinky devil,” I replied.

“Pardon?”

“Nothing, Botter! Tell him to go away!”

“Um…but…but he says he has a case for you, milord!”

“‘Tis Christmas, you poltroon! I am on holiday!” I snapped, eager to return to the intercourse in progress.

“He…he says it is rather urgent…”

“Bah!” I moaned, reluctantly disentangling myself from Lady Chuffbury’s inviting form. “I can see I shall have to remove this uninvited guest myself! You stay there, m’dear,” I said to her ladyship. “I have something to give to you, provided you have been good, of course!”

“I fear I have been terribly, deliciously bad, your lordship…” Lady Chuffbury replied, biting her lower lip.

“Oh, you minx!” I beamed, throwing a robe over my handsome body. “You shall get it anyway!”

Lady Chuffbury giggled excitedly, as I swept out of the room in a naturally glorious fashion.

*****

I FOLLOWED my miserable man-servant down the stairs, making it quite clear along the way at how displeased I was to have been called away from my pressing business; to whit, the business of pressing myself upon Lady Chuffbury. Botter apologised a dozen times, but I decided to clout him about the head anyway, just for good measure.

We walked into the drawing-room, where an older man dressed in a rather tatty suit was pacing up and down, muttering to himself. Shocks of grey hair extended from underneath his topper, and his half-moon shaped face bore a ferocious scowl, making him look somewhat like a grumpy comma.

“Ahem!” I coughed politely. “Good evening, sir.”

“Good?” spat the stranger. “And what pray tell is so good about it? No, sir – ’tis a most decidedly awful evening! A most awful evening indeed!”

“Well, my own evening was progressing most favourably, until a few minutes ago.” I said, stepping forward and offering my hand to the sour-countenanced gentleman. “Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action…and you are?…”

“Most unhappy! Most unhappy indeed!” gabbled the old fool, dismissing my hand in a rather rude manner.

“Yes, I’d rather gathered that, sir,” I replied, my patience wearing thinner by the second. “But your name? What is your name, man?”

“Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge,” Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge answered, resuming his frantic pacing.

“Well then, Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge, perhaps you would be so kind as to inform me as to what is so damnably important that you felt the need to come knocking on my door at some ungodly hour on Christmas Eve? CHRISTMAS EVE, no less!”

“Bah! And what is so special about Christmas Eve, hmmm? ‘Tis just another day on the calendar, yet for some reason people feel the need to go about the place with foolish grins upon their faces and ‘Merry Christmases’ tumbling out of their mouths. If I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with – “

“Yes, yes. That is all frightfully interesting, I’m sure,” I said, my desire to listen to this old coot moaning far outstripped by my desire to return upstairs and give Lady Chuffbury a damned good rogering. “But pray, what do you actually WANT,  Mr. Scrooge? You seem awfully agitated, if I may say so…you look rather like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ha! ‘Tis funny you should say so, Mr. Likely,” Ebenezer began, looking around him furtively, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “For you see, I was visited by my former business partner tonight.”

“And I hope you had a delightful evening, Mr. Scrooge, but I hardly think that warrants rousing me from my leisure…”

“No! You do not understand! My business partner – Mr. Jacob Marley – has been DEAD for SEVEN YEARS!”

“Well,” I mused. “That must certainly have made conversation rather tricky…”

“He appeared to me in the form of an apparition, sir! Oh! It was horrible! He was wailing and howling, and covered in chains and money-boxes! ‘Twas an awful sight, awful!” Scrooge relayed, his cruel expression softening with fear. “And then…and then he told me that I would be visited by three spirits to-night!”

“By the sounds of it, I would wager you have already been visited by three spirits; most probably whisky, gin and vodka, I shouldn’t wonder!”

“No, no, not a drop has passed my lips, I swear!” Scrooge cried. “I understand your doubt, however. I was sceptical too, at first – I wondered whether this spectre was not the result of some undigested bit of beef, or the by-product of an underdone potato. I said to the ghoul, ‘There is more of gravy than of grave about you!'”

I chuckled inwardly. That was actually rather witty, I had to admit. But not aloud, of course.

“But yet…the whole episode has troubled me greatly…what if these other spirits do appear? What horrors could befall me? What if a similar fate to Jacob’s awaits me?” Scrooge gulped and turned to me, his face as white as a sheet. “And so, driven wild with panic, I now find myself here, seeking your aid…as I understand it, you are considerably skilled at combating dark forces and terrible foes.”

“Indeed I am, Mr. Scrooge, indeed I am! However, it is Christmas, and I have some stockings that need filling as ’twere, so if you shall just excuse me…” I said, turning to make my way back upstairs.

Ebenezer let out an audible sigh. “Need I really mention that my business, Marley & Scrooge, are the firm dealing with your accounting, Mr. Likely? And need I also state that in dealing with your finances I have noted several curious irregularities that might make for interesting reading for the relevant authorities?…”

The barely-concealed threat hung in the air like a particularly foul stench. I cursed silently under my breath, and then spun round to face Mr. Scrooge, a fake grin plastered across my face.

“After careful consideration, I have decided that I’d be DELIGHTED to assist you with your dilemma, Mr. Scrooge!”

“I thought you might,” Scrooge replied, a wry smile creeping across his wretched fizzog like a snake slithering across a slab.

“Well, it is Christmas, after all!” I chirped.

“Humbug!” snapped the miser.

“No thank you,” I nodded, leaving to make my preparations. “I have just eaten.”

– Lord Likely.

Dedicated to Mr. Stuart Munro – Happy Birthday, you hum-bugger!

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