The Ghoul of Christmas Past

not to so Michael ended the call and tried the next name: Jason Pendergrass.
His phone just rang until it went to voicemail. At which point Michael left a message.
What Michael didn’t know was that his voice message was heard, not by Jason Pendergrass but by the man who now had his phone and who was about to send a message to Mason Sabre.

More Guests to the Party. Saturday, December 24th 1647hrs
‘Who is Michael Michaels?’
Jason Pendergrass swallowed hard. His mouth was parched from being without water all day. He was also freezing cold and still tied up with his hands behind his back. That the man in the Dickens outfit with the awful mask planned him harm was for certain and the thought of dying in this musty, dark room made him want to wet himself in terror.
‘I don’t know,’ Jason managed to stammer. ‘I’ve never heard of him.’
Mr Dickens eyed Jason carefully, looking for a lie. The voicemail message had sounded like the man was introducing himself. Whoever he was, he claimed to be a private investigator which meant he wasn’t a police officer and thus probably nothing to worry about. Was that right though? Shouldn’t he worry? Michael Michaels had pieced enough parts together to know to call Jason Pendergrass and he said he’d spoken to some of the other shareholders. “Call me back as a matter of urgency, please.” That was how the message ended. It was clear he didn’t know much; he hadn’t worked out how the pieces should fit together, but he might if given enough time.
A random thought occurred to him as he remembered the old man at Glaagard’s house. Could that have been Michael Michaels? Whether it was or wasn’t, he was going to have to deal with him. He had an easy way to do that, but it would have to wait because he was too close to finishing his grand work now.
Jason watched as the man dressed as Charles Dickens came out of his crouch, standing up again and taking a step back. To his great horror, the man who refused to give his name, said, ‘Ghoul.’ The giant, lumbering menace came into view, clumping around the corner in his enormous boots to stand at his master’s shoulder. ‘I think it’s time we moved Mr Pendergrass into position. Take him to the boat.’
Overwhelmed with terror, Jason still managed to buck and shout as the huge creature came for him. His cries for help echoed off the walls and ceiling in the confined space but no one answered or gave any indication they might have heard.
‘You shouldn’t waste your breath, dear fellow,’ the ghoul’s master chuckled. ‘There isn’t a live soul that can hear you.’
The ghoul grabbed Jason with two giant hands, hauling him from the floor like he weighed nothing and threw him over one shoulder like a sack of flour. They were leaving the room, which pleased Jason, and he was getting some transferred warmth from the ghoul’s body, which was a relief because it meant the creature wasn’t dead even though he looked it. However, as they came out of the room, he saw where he was.
‘Hey, we’re at the theme park,’ he blurted. He recognised the place because he’d been given a tour when the opportunity to invest arose. A couple of the other investors, Glaagard and that chap that looked like a rat, Mason Sabre, had both insisted they wanted to see everything. They wanted to be certain about what they were buying into. It hadn’t stopped them from losing a pile of money before they pulled the plug though. It was a small mercy the idiot running the place had bought land with their investment because they were about to get their money back. That was blind luck though.
Jason was about to ask why they were in the basement beneath the theme park when his breath caught in his throat. Lying on the ground against the side of the wall were two young men in construction worker gear. They looked like they were both very dead. One’s head was facing the wrong way so the back of his skull was in line with the vee of his fluorescent vest. Jason almost vomited down the ghoul’s back when the sight made him heave.
He couldn’t take his eyes from it, but mercifully they left it behind as the ghoul followed his master. Unfortunately, they then passed a third man lying on the floor, this one tall and thin and wearing a suit. His head was on sideways so that his left ear was touching his left shoulder and this time Jason saw that he knew who it was: Professor Loughborough the museum curator.
There was no question the man was dead, but who would want to hurt a museum curator?
Stairs brought them to the next floor which again Jason recognised. They were passing the interactive feature where an animatronic Charles Dickens told extracts from his greatest novels. Coming up on the right would be the flume ride if Jason’s memory held true.
He was correct but hadn’t expected them to go into it. When the ghoul’s master said they were going to the boat, he figured there would be an actual boat. He’d been able to smell the river even in his dungeon.
The man dressed as Dickens started talking again. ‘I’m afraid there will be a hiatus before the ride can get started. I need to collect another couple of guests yet. Not to worry though, you’ll have company now. Not that you’ll be able to talk, of course. I can’t have you cooking up some hair-brained escape plan, now can I?’
The ghoul stopped, and with a shrug of his shoulder, bounced Jason from it to catch him just as his feet hit the floor. They were inside the ride at the point where visitors would climb aboard the boats to