Vasilia Koutsivitis '25
The moon was somewhat yellow that Christmas Eve, an unnatural sheen making it glow brighter than usual. The winds tore off leaves from trees that were already almost bare, shaking with the cold. The gusts did not stop their destructive paths, taking time to tap on the bedroom window of old Maude Merriweather, the richest person in town. While her window glass was clear and unmarred, the other crumbling houses around hers seemed to sway with each knock of the wind on their cracked panes.
…
A sound from outside awoke Maude, tearing her from her nightmare. It felt so real, she could still smell the crisp air and feel the touch of…
No. She shuddered, thinking about the terrors she faced, a memory of a distorted figure telling her, “You must undo all you have done; mend the broken, heal the injured. Or your life as you know it, may end.”
Maude silently tried to reason with herself. I must be going crazy, she thought. Perhaps I had too much to eat before bed… she reasoned once more. But she could not deny what she had dreamt - or possibly experienced. It was a sign she could not ignore, an omen of great importance.
She decided to recount her journey, making sense of it all:
The first figure looked at her with happiness, hope, and the innocence of a child. It called itself the ghost of Christmas past. It showed Maude all of her childhood memories, ones that hurt more than the piercing gazes of the ungrateful and judgmental townsfolk.
Next, the ghost of a Christmas present came, and outlined her crimes. “You do not give back, you torment others, and your greed is a detriment to your workers.”
Finally, the ghost of Christmas past came. The figure was shrouded in black, its face and body obscured by a long, billowing cloak. It reached out to Maude with skeletal fingers, taking time to lightly trace an “X” shape over her heart. The slight contact sent shivers throughout her body, and Maude’s breath caught in her throat while her heart struggled out a pathetic beat. The ghost stared at Maude as she clutched her chest in horror, and its message went without saying - her life would be lost unless she lost her greed.
This was what Maude had remembered last before she woke up, renewed with purpose. She paced around her bedroom, the cold seeping into her bones as she stared dejectedly at the fireplace that never held coal. Maude determined that she did not want to live this way anymore - once the morning came, she would celebrate Christmas by helping her town.
…
Outside, the winds slowed their furious pace, taking their time to greet the rising sun. They were even there to greet old Maude Merriwether as she exited her house and inhaled deeply, her hair blowing in a new direction.
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