The Ghoul of Christmas Past

cathedral and to North Gate where the city entrance once lay. Along Epaul Lane, opposite the Boley Hill car park entrance is an alleyway. If a person were to look on a map, it shows the alley as a dead end, but it isn’t, it just narrows to a choke point that a person can fit through, but only just. In the light coming through from the High Street on the other side, a silhouette stood out. It was only there for a second, but it was unmistakeable to Michael’s eyes because a second shadow standing far too close gave it perspective.
The second shadow was a normal height and size human being. The first one was not, and it had hold of the second one by the throat.
It was the ghoul again, made unmistakable not only by its enormous height but also by the broken top hat perched on its head.
Michael was seeing it in silhouette, the image like one of those Chinese theatre puppet shows done with pieces of card. His feet had automatically taken him forward a few steps, getting him a yard or so closer though he was still most of fifty yards away.
Witness to an attack that no one else appeared to have seen, his heart started beating at many times its usual speed. He started forward, then stopped. What was he proposing to do? The ghoul - he figured he might as well call it that even though he felt certain it was just a man - presented a threat he knew he could not overcome, so what did he do? Walk away? Get the wine and watch the show with Mary?
He started running, looking around for security or a cop, and yelling as he ran down Castle Hill. ‘Hey! Hey, everyone look! Someone is being attacked!’ Michael ran but no one came with him. He got a few strange looks, but nothing more.
There wasn’t a police officer in sight, but he spotted a pair of event security guards on their way back from a stand of portaloos. Diverting his route slightly, Michael yelled at them, ‘Guys, there’s someone being attacked in the alley. Come on.’
Both men looked at him but neither moved to follow. It forced him to turn around to look at them, running sideways as he shouted again. ‘You’re security! Move your butts!’ Reluctantly, they followed, arguing between themselves that this was not what they were employed for and asking where the police were.
Arriving in the mouth of the alley, Michael was just in time to see the huge, menacing ghoul lift a lifeless body from the cobbles. It made his blood run cold and caused his feet to stop. He had no weapon, and little chance of beating the enormous beast even if he did.
The security guards, still arguing that they needed to get back to managing the crowd, also came into the alley, at which point they turned tail and ran, yelling expletives as they beat a retreat.
Light coming from behind the ghoul meant Michael could not see its features. He couldn’t see much at all except for the silhouette it cast. The body hung from one enormous hand, inert and lifeless but clearly that of a man. No one was moving, Michael because he was all but petrified, and the ghoul just stood there facing him as if waiting for its next instruction.
Michael’s breath came in ragged gasps, the short run once again shocking his body and he felt weak from the adrenalin. How was it that no one was coming to his aid? He had shouted blue murder and surely the security guards were alerting people. But Michael knew the nature of people: they would ignore a situation if they could and make excuses to themselves afterward. Someone would come, the police probably, but Michael didn’t think they would get to him before he had to decide what to do about the ghoul and his victim.
Then, a third shadow appeared next to the ghoul, detaching itself from a wall where it had remained unnoticed until it chose to move. This one was the size and height of a normal man. He wore a dapper coat which hung to his knees and a top hat though his looked to be new, not old, battered, and broken like the ghoul’s. In his right hand, a walking cane could be seen, and Michael knew what he was looking at.
‘Hey, that’s the outfit that was stolen from the Dickens Museum,’ he blurted. Looking back, he decided it wasn’t the coolest line ever spoken to a master criminal upon first meeting, but he didn’t get to reflect on it at the time because the third shadow spoke.
‘Michael Michaels? Do I have that right?’ Michael had no idea who the man was or how he knew his name, and he didn’t get a chance to ask because the man decided he was right and said, ‘Get him too.’
The ghoul opened his hand, dropping his victim to the cobbles where it landed with a thud. Then, to Michael’s horror, it started coming his way. In the dark recesses of his brain, Michael knew this was precisely the right time to deploy the killer line. Unfortunately, the only neurons firing were the ones telling him he needed to develop the power of flight not think up cool retorts.
Behind the ghoul, the man in Charles Dickens clothes began to drag the body along the cobbles, but Michael couldn’t worry about that right now because the ghoul had broken into a run.
Lumbering might be a more accurate word, but however you describe it, he was now coming for Michael Michaels and that made him want to be somewhere else. He wasn’t one for screaming in terror. He could not remember having done so at any point in his life and felt fairly certain his son, Tempest, would do precisely the opposite