The Ghost of Christmas Future's Arc

Chapter 6 of 9

The Ghost opened his leather book beneath a streetlamp and stared at the pages. Half the names he'd written last week were crossed out. The baker had recovered. The child's fever had broken. The old woman was walking again. He had been wrong. His bone fingers trembled as he turned each page. More mistakes appeared. A man whose heart was supposed to fail had returned to work. A woman's wounds had healed. The Ghost closed the book and pressed it against his ribs. His collection meant nothing if the names were false. Death did not reveal itself as clearly as he'd thought. The living were unpredictable, and his purpose felt suddenly impossible. He drifted beyond the town's edge, searching for certainty. In the wilderness, he found a collapsed wooden tower, its timbers scattered across the frozen ground. The structure had once stood tall enough to survey the land beyond the ravine. Now it blocked the only path forward. The Ghost tried to float across, but something pushed him back. The names he needed were on the other side, in villages he couldn't reach. His robes caught on broken beams as he searched for another way through. There wasn't one. Near the ruins, a stone statue of a child angel stood half-crumbled in the snow. Part of its face had broken away, leaving only one serene eye and half a smile. The Ghost stopped before it. Even stone didn't last. Even careful work fell apart. He opened his book again and looked at the crossed-out names. Perhaps his collection would always be incomplete. Perhaps death changed its mind. The statue watched him with its remaining eye as he turned back toward town, his purpose heavier than before.