There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his flounce was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it.
Old Cameron was dead as a doornail.
No oil could feed this stiff and unyielding bot.
“Windows should be outlawed” she thought. “They let too much light in and give peasants ideas above their station”
The clerk promised that he would, and Treeza Scrooge left the office with a growl, almost tripping on the carpet in her leopard shoes.
First softly, and then it rang out loudly.
She snorted and flailed in her chair, spilling scalding hot Sovrin Tea over herself but too overcome to feel a thing. Bloke’s ghost took the cowbell, placing it with the chain that held her car keys and a slice of cake.
Bloke Marley let out a bellowing cry and rattled her chains and car keys, custard cream crumbs flying everywhere.
Suddenly a blinding light burst forth and a sense of Victorian doom with the faint whiff of workhouses filled the air.
Treeza stared into the gaunt, haunted face of the mysterious figure. “Wh-who are you?!” she said, in a hoarse whisper.
“Wh-what do you want?!” stuttered Treeza.
The figure yawned lazily, “I’m here to show you the spirit of Brexmas past.”
“Where are we going?” Teeza screamed over the sound of the wind.
”You’ll see” the figure smirked. They landed with a thump on a foggy London street.
“This is the glorious Brexmas past” the figure said with a broad smile.
Treeza looked around. There was human excrement on the pavement, rats scurried in the gutter, a gaggle of homeless people lay in a pile at her feet.
“Charitable home for peasants, plebs and proles” it said.
“Errm it’s a bit smelly. What’s so great about it?” asked Treeza.
“The people know their place,” he replied. Everything is in order here. Praise be!”. Treeza wrinkled her nose in confusion.
Treeza stared at his rabid face with the spittle flicking out of his mouth.
“I think I’ve seen enough” said Treeza with a rictus grin.
“Oh no,” she thought, “would this nightmare ever end?”
“LOOK BEFORE ME!!” it giggled.
“I lay before you three Gifts, Scrooge.” replied the unicorn with a smile.
“Yes indeedy!! Each one is a Deal. You already have your Deal that you so covet, but these deals are here for your consideration. My gift to you, food for thought perhaps?” The unicorn giggled again.
“JOBS FIRST!! NOT ONE JOB LOST!! THE MAGIC GRANDPA WILL SAVE THE MANY BY ROBBING THE FEW!!”
She gingerly reached over to the middle box, pushing royal blue wrapping and a yellow ribbon to one side. This time she made no noise, just puzzled over the contents.
“Norway Deal, could be wonderful, but not for losers like you Scrooge. You’re not invited.”
“One more box, creature. None of these Deals matches up to my masterpiece,” she muttered under her breath.
The unicorn chuckled and shook its wings.
“Liam here, we’ll see if I don’t sell you my plus plus plus plus plus plus plus plus deal, it’ll knox your sox off how easy it is!”
She turned on the unicorn with blazing eyes. “What is the meaning of this, creature? None of these deals even made sense!”
“Treeza Scrooge,” chortled the unicorn. “You never look beyond your own nose. But it could be a lot worse. My gifts were the knowledge you need to see this.”
All faded to grey.
“Phew” she thought. Perhaps it was a dream.
“PEEKABOO!” yelped a second voice and a face appeared on the other side.
“Aw DAAAAVE you completely ruined the err…. The EFFECT… ermm of the er… PRESENTATION” said the first face in a posh annoying voice as he ruffled his hair
Suddenly the bed curtains were thrown back and three little elf-like figures were revealed. Treeza stared, her mouth open in shock. The little figures skipped around. The one called Dave tried to do a roly-poly but failed and managed to get stuck.
Treeza shouted “STOOOOOOP” at the top of her lungs, the elves turned to look at her and collided violently, collapsing and falling over each other in a pile on the floor.
The elves got to their feet and helped Dave off the floor.
“Hello” they said in unison. “We’re the ghosts of Brexmas Future”.
“I’m Dave”, said Dave.
“I’m Bojo-jojo” said the straw head.
“And I’m Govey-wovey” said the third.
“Fine” sighed Treeza. “Let’s get this over and done with”.
The three jumped up on Treeza’s bed and Govey-wovey turned the knob on Treeza’s bed.
“Keep your hands and arms and feet in at all times,” said Dave. Off they whooshed, crashing through Treeza’s ceiling.
“Whoops” said Bojo-jojo. "I forgot to cast the spell to get the bed through the keyhole."
Bojo-jojo and Dave growled at him. “We'll see who earns it!” they chanted in unison.
The other two nodded. This they actually agreed on. A pox on experts of any fashion.
It began to rain and there was a rumble of thunder in the distance.
“STOP THIS INSTANT AND TELL ME WHAT I'M LOOKING AT!!”
“Hmm, yes, right,” began Bojo-jojo. He pulled a small script out of his bum-pocket. “We have brought you here, as the ‘collective’ Ghost of Brexmas Future, to present you with the following…
Treeza looked closer. One was a pauper’s pit, the urn with cremated ashes held a sign that said “RIP UK” and finally there was a gravestone that said “Here lies the UK. Taking back control. RIP.”
The deal the Ghost of Brexmas Past offered was looking better by the minute. ”Do you mean to say that whichever way we choose it ends up with... casualties?"
“ENOUGH!” shouted Treeza. “IS THIS WHAT BREXMAS REALLY IS?” Her voice cracked and she slumped her shoulders. “The death of... Britannia?”
“You know…” said Bloke, “...we don’t have to do ANY of this. There is another way."
“Yeah!” cried Dave, “PUTINMAGICKS”. He quickly covered his mouth, and the other elves looked aghast.
“That was a secret!!” hissed Govey-wovey.
Nobody noticed that Scrooge was gawping beyond the gravestones. She had spotted two shadows, one big and one small. She squinted through the darkness, and the shapes looked oddly familiar...
They seemed to be sad, tired, judging.
They were always so close, so happy together come what may.
There is time ahead for Treeza Scrooge to make amends. But will she?
Bloke Marley smiled and handed him a cup of tea. “We can only hope for the best. Cratchit, Tim, all the Common Folk need it to end well.”
“Merry Christmas,” they murmured. “Maybe next year there will be a Final Say For All.”