This is a great story written by we3suckhrd@aol.com. It's, of course, based on Dickens' famous A Christmas Carol, but using members of NiN and Marilyn Manson as the characters. Enjoy...
A NINmas Carol
by We3SuckHrd
Cast of Characters:
Ebenezer Reznor - Trent Reznor
Bod Crotchit - Robin Finck
Mrs. Crotchit - Twiggy Ramirez
Tiny Chris - Chris Vrenna
Fezziwig - Charlie Clouser
J. Gottlieb Marley - Steve Gottlieb
Nephew - Danny Lohner
Ghost of Christmas Dead and Gone - Teryn Ripp
Ghost of Christmas Contemporaneous - The Pastry
Ghost of Christmas Manana - Babylon Ho
Turkey boy - Sean Beavan
...and a cast of several!
*******
Old Ebenezer Reznor was as hard-hearted, tight-fisted, and
evil-tempered a man as had ever walked the earth. Perhaps even
*the* most hard-hearted, tight-fisted, and evil-tempered now
that his once boss, and later partner, J. Gottlieb Marley was
dead.
Late in the afternoon on December 24th, Bod Crotchit,
Reznor's faithful assistant, shivered in his threadbare brown
pinstripe jacket as the front door of the offices of TVT Records
(a division of Marley/Reznor Worldwide Enterprises, Inc.)
opened, admitting both a gust of cold air and a young man with a
scruffy beard.
"Hullo, Bod! Merry Christmas! Is my uncle in?" the young
man inquired, rubbing his hands together briskly.
Bod smiled, "Hello, sir! Merry Christmas to you, too. Yes,
he's in. Just back from fleecing the latest act." He looked
suddenly nervous and added, "But please don't tell him I said
that!"
"Don't you worry, Bod, it will be our little secret." He
knocked on the inner door and opened it, saying, "Merry
Christmas, Uncle Ebenezer!"
"What's so fucking merry about it?" growled Reznor, looking
up from the papers on his desk. "You're awfully poor, Daniel, to
be so happy."
"And you're awfully rich to be so fucking miserable. You
know, Uncle Ebenezer, they say money isn't everything."
"It's only fools who don't have money who say that. Now
what the fuck brings you to darken my door today?"
"I've come to invite you to dinner at my place tomorrow.
You know, celebrate the season and all," he smiled his most
persuasive smile.
"Celebrate the season? Humfuck! Just leave me alone."
"It's free...."
Ebenezer looked for a moment as if he might relent and then
straightened up. "No. If I have to spend time with a bunch of
giggling idiots the price is too high, even if there's no money
involved. Now, get out!"
Daniel backed from the room, saying, "And Sandy was so much
looking forward to seeing you...well, the offer still stands if
you change your mind." Closing the office door and bidding Bod
farewell, he left.
Reznor waved his hand dismissively. "Sandy. Hmph. Always
was a fucking nut if you ask me." He looked back down at his
papers.
Bod tapped on the door to Reznor's office and cleared his
throat. "Please, sir, may I have another lump of coal for the
fire?" he asked timidly.
"What did you do with the one I gave you last month?"
scowled Ebenezer.
"Well, sir, it's been below zero out. My nail polish froze
up again."
Reznor growled, "Very well. But just *one*. And I suppose
you'll be wanting the whole day off tomorrow, as usual? *And*
you'll expect to be paid for it?"
Bod smiled meekly, "Yes, sir. If it's not too much trouble.
It means so much to the children."
"It *is* very troublesome. I don't take the day off and I
don't understand why *you* people feel it's so necessary. Why do
I always have to do everything myself?" He sighed. "Be back
here at the studio that much earlier the next day."
"Yes, sir! I will! I promise. And a Merry Christmas to you,
sir!"
"Christmas is a humfuck! Bah!" he grumbled.
Later that evening, Ebenezer sat in a musty, overstuffed
chair, slurping ramen soup. He pulled his robe closer against
the chill of the room and rested his feet on the small electric
space heater before him. The alarm clock on his nightstand went
off. The doorbell shrilled and the timer in the kitchen began to
ring. He clapped his hands to his ears, staring wildly around
him. The noise stopped abruptly. He cautiously lowered his hands
and, in the new quiet, heard footsteps on the stairs. Slow,
heavy footsteps
accompanied by the sound of dragging chains. Reznor pressed
himself into the corner of the chair, cringing away from the
sound.
The door of the room flew open and slammed into the wall. A
terrible figure stood in the doorway, emitting a ghastly grey
light. Ebenezer peeked from between his fingers and saw that it
was his old partner, J. Gottlieb Marley!
"Marley! You're dead!"
"I never could put one past *you*, Ebenezer." The
apparition let loose a horrible shriek. Reznor cowered. Marley,
taking a small bit of pleasure from Ebenezer's fear, moved into
the room shaking the heavy chain about his waist. On closer
inspection, the chain proved to be made of hundreds demo tapes,
CDs, numbered Swiss bank account books, and recording contracts.
"Even though I never liked you, I have come to save you,
Ebenezer, from your horrid fate."
"What the fuck are you talking about? My fate? Get out of
here, Marley! You always *were* an idiot. Now I know that you're
too stupid even to realize that you're worm food."
"Look at this chain, Ebenezer. Do you have any idea how
heavy it is? I forged this mutha in life. Now I have to drag it
around for all eternity." Reznor rolled his eyes. "Go ahead,
roll your eyes. *Your* chain was this long when I died years ago
and you've been working on it ever since!"
"Yeah, yeah. Chains schmains. Stop fucking yanking mine and
get the hell out of here!"
"Okay. I'll leave. But know this: You will be visited by
three Spirits, and trust me, it won't be pretty. The first on
the stroke of one, the second at two and the third at three
o'clock."
"Can't I just have them all at once and get it over with?"
"You always were a slut. No." He faded from sight.
Ebenezer cautiously crawled from the depths of the chair.
"Bah! Humfuck! Spirits, my ass. Must be a bad batch of soup. I
have to remember not to get the shrimp next time." He prepared
for bed, donning his nightshirt and tasselled cap. He turned the
space heater off, climbed into bed, and promptly fell asleep.
His window-rattling snores nearly obscured the sound of the
clock striking one. Ebenezer was startled awake by a tickling of
his foot. He sat upright, wiped the drool from his chin, and
stared at apparition at the foot of his bed: radiant white
robes, burgundy hair, a mischievous grin, all topped with a
crown that glowed with a strange light.
"Are you the Spirit whose coming was foretold?"
"Uh huh-huh huh, you said 'coming!'" she laughed. "That's
me, in the flesh...or would be, if I had any. Spooky, isn't it?"
"Can't you come back in the morning? I need my rest."
"Sorry, no can do. I'm an insomniac Spirit. Besides, you
deserve it for being such a mean shit. Deal with it, ya big
baby!"
"Who are you?"
"I'm the Ghost of Christmas Dead and Gone, moron." She
glanced at his lap and said, "Rise...and walk with me." She
walked toward the window, which opened at her approach.
"Are you fucking *nuts*?!? I'd break my fucking neck!!!"
"Bear but a touch of my hand...there...and you shall be
upheld in more than this," she smirked, "*if* you know what I
mean."
They flew over the city and came to rest in front of a
small, nondescript building.
"Hey, I remember this place! I used to work here before my
first recording contract."
Inside, they came upon a thin, dark-haired young man,
diligently mopping the floor, whistling "Jingle Bells"...badly.
The patch on his blue jumpsuit read "Ebbie."
Ebenezer's eyes widened. "That's me! Damn, I was cute back
then," he said, rubbing at the crotch of his nightshirt. The
Ghost rolled her eyes in disgust and snorted.
A tall, bearded young man in a suit poked his head out a
doorway down the hall. "Hey, Ebbie, give it a rest, it's
Christmas Eve! Come and have some eggnog."
"In a minute, sir. The floor's not quite done yet."
"You and your floors!" he laughed. "Well, join us when
you're done."
"Yes, sir," said Ebbie, getting on hands and knees to
tackle a particularly stubborn spot.
A hand wielding a sprig of mistletoe appeared over
Fezziwig's head, as another grabbed his collar and pulled him
back into the room.
Ebenezer turned to the Ghost and said, "That Fezziwig was
the nicest boss I ever had. He would let me use the studio after
hours to record my demos, and always told me what a good job I
did on those floors." He smiled reminiscently.
"Letting you use the studio for free doesn't make very good
business sense. Perhaps that's why he could never compete with
the big boys."
"Uh...er...."
The Spirit led him down the hall and through a wall. They
entered the room where the party was being held. Ebenezer looked
around, remembering this party fondly. Just then he spied
Ebbie...himself, drink in hand, laughing and cavorting in a
conga line. He began to smile a small smile but quickly caught
himself. "Can we go now? I can't believe how fucking stupid I
was!"
"Oh, but 'Ebbie,'" said Dead and Gone, "you were just
having fun! Look at yourself. Poor, a job that would be
considered dull by most, yet you seemed to be very happy. And
you weren't a bad dancer, either! But, yes, we will leave. We
have places to go, things to see."
She showed him more of his past, each scene showing his
decline into his current state. Reznor was getting quite upset,
until he finally had tears in his cold, cruel eyes.
"No more! I don't wanna see anymore, you cruel bitch! Take
me home."
"Oh, but I have *so* much more to show you...." she said,
wiggling her eyebrows.
"NO! Take me home *now*!"
"Fine. Whatever. Besides, it *is* colder than a Wiccan
practitioner's mammary gland out here, even for a Spirit. But
remember: two more Spirits will visit tonight. And boy, are you
gonna get it. You thought *I* was bad? Honey, you ain't seen
nothin' yet." With a wink, she was gone, and he was lying in his
bed, hugging his pillow.
At the stroke of two, the room was filled with a ruddy
light and the almost-overpowering scent of baked goods. A
feminine voice called, "Yoo-hoo! Ebenezer! Yoo-hoo!" Ebenezer
crawled from his bed and crept toward the door. It swung open
to reveal a room filled to bursting with goodies and savories of
all kinds. Reclining on the main table amid the tarts, eclairs,
and napoleons, and drinking from a gem-studded gold cup was a
woman with holly-and-mistletoe-wreathed golden curls. "Come in,
Ebenezer! Come in and know me better, man!" she giggled as she
sat up, brushing crumbs from the green velvet of her robe. "Hey,
this punch is *good*! I got the recipe from Mrs. Crotchit. Where
was I? Oh, yeah. I am the Ghost of Christmas
Contemporaneous." She wrinkled her nose, "They made me change it
from 'Ghost of Christmas Present' when I made too many jokes
about being unwrapped. Oh, well."
"Are you here to teach me some kind of lesson, or what?"
asked Ebenezer, irritably.
"As a matter of fact, I am, Mr. Smarty Pants. If you will
just touch my robe, we'll be off. Ooops! Hee hee! Guess it
slipped. Whooee! Your hands are *cold*! Let's go!"
In the blink of an eye they were standing on a busy,
snow-covered street. People hurried by laden with bundles and
packages. Light streamed from the shop windows. They turned at
the sound of childish laughter. Bod Crotchit galloped through
the throngs bearing his son, Tiny Chris, on his shoulders.
"Giddyap, father!" squealed Tiny Chris. Bod laughed delightedly
and whinnied.
As they passed, Ebenezer asked, "What's the matter with the
kid? Why does he have that bandage around his head?"
"They don't really know *what* his problem is. He just
seems to be prone to head injuries." The Ghost tapped her
temple. "He's not quite right anymore, if you know what I mean.
Sad."
"You don't seem to take this very seriously. Head injuries
are no laughing matter. He should see a specialist."
"On the salary you pay his father?! Don't make me laugh!
They can barely afford a free clinic, fer cryin' out loud."
Suddenly, they were peering through the steamy window of a
small, run-down hovel. The room was filled with shrieking,
giggling children. A frowzy dark-haired woman sat at the table
sipping from a chipped cup. One child, peering out the window,
shouted, "Father's home! Father's home with Tiny Chris!" and ran
to open the door. Crotchit bounded through the door and,
forgetting his height, thwapped poor Tiny Chris's head into the
doorframe at full force. The reverberation could be felt
throughout the entire structure.
"Oh! My poor boy! My poor Tiny Chris! I'm so sorry!" Bod
wept abjectly as he carefully set the boy on a stool near the
hearth.
"Thss alrigh fathrrr," Tiny Chris slurred, slumping on his
stool. "Ilurv you."
The woman stumbled to her feet and walked carefully to his
side. "Here. Drink some of this. It'll clear yer head." She
handed Tiny Chris the cup. "Or at least make ya ferget all about
it!"
He took it in a shaky hand and said, "Thaaan yyyyou,
Mothuur."
Bod poked at the gory bandage and said, "Twiggina, my dear,
the wound seems to have reopened. Would you please get some more
bandages?" He carefully peeled the old one from his son's head.
He grimaced at the exposed injury and said, "You know, that
looks like a...."
"Yeah. I know. Not in front of the children."
When Tiny Chris's head had been rebandaged, the entire
family gathered for dinner. Screams of delight greeted the
arrival of the bird. And though it was barely more than a game
hen, they all feasted happily. After they had eaten, Twiggina
passed glasses of punch all around. Bod stood at the head of the
table and, holding his glass high, said, "A Merry Christmas to
us all, my dears. And a Merry Christmas to Mr. Reznor, as well."
The children screamed and shrank in terror at the dreaded name.
"I'm not gonna drink to that shit!" declared Twiggina.
"Cheap, mean old fuck! If he was here right now, I'd fucking...."
"Now, now, my angel. If it weren't for him, I'd have no job
at all. And we would have no food at all. My dear, you really
shouldn't continue to hold the eyebrow incident against him
forever. They may grow back someday," he said stroking his
hairless brow.
"Wellllll...all right. But I'm only toasting him because
you want it. And for the booze." She held her glass high. "Merry
Christmas Mr. R."
"God bless us, every one!" chimed Tiny Chris, a large,
beatific smile on his face.
Ebenezer turned to the Ghost. "He's really kinda cute. Like
one of those Precious Moments figurines." He glanced back
through the window and asked, "Spirit, what's going to happen to
Tiny Chris? Can you tell me if he'll be all right?"
"Why should *you* care what happens to him?"
"I don't know why...but I do care." He touched his chest.
"Or I have indigestion."
"Indigestion? You schmuck. You want to know what's going to
happen to that precious little boy? I'll tell you. If things
don't start changing *real* soon, that stool will be empty this
time next year."
He grabbed her robe and began shaking her, "Tell me that's
not true!" Without warning, he was clutching empty air and a
tall, black-clad, hooded figure was slinking toward him. A bell
tolled three o'clock.
"Whh-h-h-h-o are y-y-y-you?" Ebenezer stammered.
"I am the Ghost of Christmas Manana...but my friends just
call me 'Yet to Cum.'"
Regaining a bit of his composure, Ebenezer spat, "Oh, yeah?
Where's your crown?"
The Ghost threw off her hood and shook out her hair.
"Crown? I don't need no stinkin' crown! This hair's already
*way* big enough. Shaddup and follow me." She pointed one bony
finger to the horizon.
"But the little boy...surely you'll show me...." Ebenezer's
pleading voice faded as they soared above the city and came to
rest in the small chapel of a funeral parlor. A badly bleached
blonde figure sat next to the closed casket, weeping and
clutching it as she sobbed, rivers of mascara staining the
carpet beneath her. "Oh, Eb, Eb, how could you *do* this to me?"
She looked at her watch. "Fuck! I've got a date with Billy
Corgan in 30 minutes. Can't they get this fucking funeral on the
road?"
Ebenezer turned to look at the visitor's book. One lone set
of initials was scrawled, blotted and trailing off the
page--CMLCR. "Oh NO! It CAN'T be...not me! Not HER! This is too
much, I tell you, too much." He buried his face in his hands and
began to moan.
"Psych!" exclaimed the Ghost, slapping her knee and
grinning. "Nah, don't worry. You die alone. They don't find your
body for days. Say, did you know your building has rats?" She
giggled as Ebenezer glanced up and looked around the chapel.
"But wait--the people. Where are all the people?" he whined
plaintively.
"There *are* no people. Who did you expect to show up?
Anyone who ever gave a flip about you is long dead. You worked
them all to death. And your old fans? They gave up on you
*years* ago, after waiting so long for that video to come out.
So much talent, so little output."
"But the little boy, Tiny Chris--he's still around,
somewhere?"
"Nopey, dopey. He bit the big one, too. Bod didn't have any
health insurance after you put him out on the streets, so Tiny
Chris couldn't get that steel plate put in his head to help him.
Bod's performance art just couldn't rake in enough when you put
him in competition with that mime down in Jackson Square." The
Ghost leered evilly at Ebenezer. "But I can take you down to the
Paupers' Cemetery to see him if you'd like."
Ebenezer began to weep openly. "No!" he shrieked. "Don't
make me look at that! Please, please take me home. I can't stand
this anymore," he sobbed. He took out a handkerchief and blew
his nose unceremoniously.
"Wow, you really *can* wake the dead with that honker,"
said the Ghost of Christmas Manana. "But that's a different
story. So, you've had enough, have you? Whatever. Hold on tight,
right...about...there. Home again, home again, jiggety jog!"
And off they flew.
Suddenly, Ebenezer found himself back in his old, familiar
room, tucked safely in his bed. He blinked and looked around as
the space heater sputtered to life and began to hum merrily.
Somewhere, people were gaily singing carols. He jumped out of
bed and ran across the room to the window.
Ebenezer threw open the shutters and leaned out. A young
boy was racing down the sidewalk on his rollerblades. "You
there! What day is it?" shouted Reznor.
The boy stopped beneath the window, shook back his mop of
brown hair and looked up. "Today? What are you, crazy? It's
Christmas!" His face crinkled in a puckish grin.
"What a clever thing you are! Say, is that prize pig still
hanging down at the butcher's shop?"
"You mean the one near as big as me? But with not *quite*
as cute an ass? It sure is!"
Ebenezer laughed aloud. "Skate your behind on over there
and buy that sucker for me. Have it delivered to Bod Crotchit's
home at this address," he tossed a piece of paper to the boy. It
was wrapped around a gold Krugerrand. The boy gawked. "And keep
the change." The kid moved like greased lightning.
Yes, indeed, Ebenezer Reznor was a changed man. He became
the most generous employer as had ever walked the earth. He
opened his heart to all of humanity. Through his benevolence,
Tiny Chris grew strong. Not tall, but strong. And he loved
Reznor almost like his father.
He had no further intercourse with Spirits (much to their
dismay), but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle ever
afterward; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to
keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.
May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny
Chris observed, God bless Us, Every One!
With apologies to Charles Dickens and anyone parodied herein
(except Trent).
Be sure to send your words of praise to We3suckhrd@aol.com
