A CHRISTMAS TALE IN 25 PARTS: PART EIGHT

Are we getting bored yet…? After all, there’s still a long way to go in our little Chrimbletide tale. We’ve not even reached the half-way point and we might already be running out of story, and you may have already come to the conclusion that you already know how this is going to unfold and so there’s little point in you sticking with it.

You might actually have a point there. Right back, even before the beginning, I think that I mentioned that I didn’t have an ending or even a middle yet, and, to a certain extent, that remains as true today as it’s always been, if you don’t mind a brief diversion into “advertising speak…”

So there is a chance that you’re absolutely right and the same old predictable and familiar tropes and clichés are exactly what you are going to get because I don’t have the vast imagination to come up with anything else that is unpredictable, innovative or unusual. Instead our mildly unfamiliar spin upon a seasonal redemption tale will unfold almost exactly as you might expect it might.

In fact, in many ways, we might as well slam on the brakes right now, as we all already know that a bad man will be given the opportunity to see the error of his ways and will hopefully be transformed by the experience. The only mildly “interesting” aspect of our tale is quite how this comes about, and, in the hands of a better or more skilful mind, that might have surprised and astonished you, instead of merely walking the well-trodden garden path which I am currently leading you up.

Why, I ask myself, do I do this to myself every year? I’m not really a “Christmassy” person, but yet, whenever that familiar period called advent steams into view, I always feel drawn enough to it to try and attempt something “special” in the sure-fire knowledge that it will drive my loyal readers away in their dozens when they discover that they’re expected to commit to one theme for three or more weeks instead of getting the usual smorgasbord of unpredictable nonsense.

But then, at the moment, there is nothing else I can do but run with it, and so I am rather committed to this journey whether I, or indeed you, like it or not. Whether you choose to stick with it is, of course, down to you and whether you are engaged with our characters yet, but apart from doing my level best to amuse or entertain you, there’s nothing much else I can do about that.

So here we find ourselves once again, and we need to slip back into the “present day” (whenever that might be) in order to get the story moving again, just after Olive Scrimp has been bundled out of a lavish party to which she hoped and, perhaps, dreamed that she was deemed worthy enough to attend, with nothing to look forward to but having to look after her employer’s dog for the night, and, whilst Mitsy might well have an awful lot of affection to give to Olive, Olive does not even have the money to buy Mitsy a tin of the cheapest, most horrible dog food the next morning.

The question remains. Do you care enough yet about little Olive? Has her plight drawn you in to her story enough that you want to hear any more of it, or would you prefer to just skip to Part Twenty-Five and read the “happily ever after” bit…?

After Olive and Mitsy were bundled into the express elevator back down to the lobby, the security guards were waiting for them as the doors opened and they were very quickly “ushered” (in their terms) or “thrown” (in Olive’s) out into the cold night air, which was thickening around the building in what might have appeared to be a quite “ghostly” way as Old Marley brought his own sense of outrage to bear, although Olive never noticed as she sat weeping to herself as she sat upon the front steps of the mighty edifice dedicated to the great successes of SnatchCon and hugged Mitsy for some affection and warmth.

She knew that she had a long cold night ahead of her. The simple hostel in which her long-suffering family was currently living did not allow pets and she couldn’t risk trying to smuggle Mitsy in past the warden, even at this time of night when he might have sipped one too many of his cups of “special coffee” (which those of the people in his care who were of the ex-alcoholic persuasion took particular exception to the presence of), and dozed off in front of the portable TV set in his office.

Ah well, at least the kids would be alright. They had already been safely delivered to her very best friend and trusted baby-sitter long before she had headed off in the direction of her “Big Night” and the cheery “We won’t wait up!” at least implied that she wasn’t expected to collect them before the morning.

She shivered and once more regretted having checked her coat as she arrived at the party, as well have having lost her little clutch bag in all of the confusion and embarrassment that had followed. She was also more than a little annoyed with herself for not having realised all along that there had to have been some kind of mistake and that she really wouldn’t have been wanted there, no matter how much she’d persuaded herself that she had been.

She sighed again and stood up. At least if she walked she might be able to keep warm, and it wasn’t that many hours until she was scheduled to be back at the tower anyway to do her early morning cleaning shift. She already knew that it would be a tough one as she’d have to clear up after the dreadful mess which she knew was already being created by the party that she was no longer welcome at.

“C’mon Mitsy, let’s go…” she said, sadly, and they walked off into the darkness beyond the bright glow of the lights burning in the shining tower, leaving nothing but the echoing click of her shoes to remind anyone that she had ever been there.

Meanwhile, behind her, the fog surrounding the building got thicker and thicker and thicker.