The Ghoul of Christmas Past

been.
It appeared again, just a small portion of it, but closer now Michael was able to see it more clearly and his blood ran cold.
Unless the man was standing on a ladder it had to be the tallest person Michael had ever seen. Its face was deathly pale, and it had a broken top hat perched on its skull. The hat looked almost comical because it was far too small for the head on which it rested. Michael had been moving forward but his next step faltered as fear drove a spike through his heart and froze him to the spot.
He was looking right at the ghoul.
There was no question in Michael’s mind, but even though the face he saw terrified him, he told himself it was just a man. He even said it out loud, ‘It’s just a man, Michaels. Get a grip.’ With an annoyed growl at himself, when the face ducked back into the bushes, he broke into a run.
The greenery ahead rustled and swayed as it would if someone were forcing their way through it. The movement was going away from him, suggesting the ghoul had chosen to flee. Nevertheless, Michael was running toward potential danger and he was already questioning his sanity. He might have done it without thinking forty or even thirty years ago, but closing in fast on his seventieth birthday, he no longer possessed the physicality to deal with whatever he might find if it chose to put up a fight. That wasn’t going to deter him though. He’d watched Tempest and his giant friend, Big Ben, wade in against superior numbers and come out on top and he wasn’t going to let his own imagination beat him before he found out if there was even something to be scared of.
Fear of the unknown did slow his feet as he reached the bushes though. Plunging blindly into them was just a little too foolhardy since the ghoul could have easily doubled back and be waiting to ambush him.
Peering into the greenery, he found nothing and pushed through the tall shrubs and around small trees employing a degree of caution. Dampness on the foliage clung to his clothes, making his trousers wet. His coat, too, though it hardly mattered. The shrubs were thick, and not designed for people to pass between. However, they were not deep and clear space appeared beyond them no sooner than Michael lost the clear space behind. He emerged to find he was at the side of the house. Windows to his left were above his head, the building stretching on for a hundred feet or more where it met a wall with a door to lead into what he assumed was a garden beyond.
His breathing came in lumps, his body shocked by the sudden and unexpected burst of energy. Clouds of vapour formed above his head as he paused to look around. There was nothing Michael could see to indicate which way the ghoul might have gone, though when he looked, he spotted what appeared to be a fresh mark on the frost-covered ground.
To his right, the space ended at a low wall perhaps three feet high. Bordering it, and about four feet deep, was a herb garden that had all but died back to nothing. The rosemary, hardy beast that it is, still stood strong against the elements but leafier herbs were gone, leaving nothing but ornate labels to show where they had once been. At the corner of the herb garden, weeds and grass had taken hold and it was there in the thick coating of frost that he could see someone had left a footprint.
Feeling like a detective as he approached it, Michael’s eyes widened of their own accord: the footprint was massive. It wasn’t a full print, but the toes and front half of the sole. He mimed the motion of running, proving to himself that if he were sprinting, he would leave the same mark. Hovering his foot above the mark to get a sense of size, his could only snort at how small his own shoe was by comparison.
Sudden noises coming from the front of the house sounded like the electronic squelch sound one gets from radios. It was quickly followed by the sound of voices and then by the shrubs rustling as someone/something forced its way through.
Expecting it to be the police, and jolly glad too since he hadn’t had the presence of mind to call them himself, he smiled when two officers in uniform burst into sight. They were both young men in their twenties, and both producing clouds of vapour as they ran toward him.
‘C’mon, chaps,’ he shot them a wave. ‘I think he went this way!’ With the police here now, he felt reinvigorated and was running across the herb garden to get to the low wall.
‘Don’t move!’
The shout came from behind him, making him spin around to see who they were talking to. ‘Excuse me?’ Michael had enough time to raise his eyebrows and then he was tackled to the ground. ‘What the heck! I’m not the one you want! I was chasing …’ he almost said the word ghoul but held off as he remembered what had happened at the police station. His arms were yanked roughly behind his back and cold steel bit into his wrists as a pair of cuffs snapped home. He didn’t resist; there was no point, but he did continue to talk. ‘I’m telling you; you’ve just let the person you want get away. While you waste your time with me, he is making good his escape.
The officers helped Michael to his feet, one of them using his radio to talk to someone else, ‘Yes, we’ve got him. He tried to run. We’ll bring him back around to the front of the house.’
His partner turned Michael around so they were facing each other. ‘Are