Bah Humbug

“Claudia,” John poked his head into the back-of-house office.  “There’s a bunny in the parking lot.”
Claudia did not turn from her computer.  
“I think you need to come investigate this.”
“John, if you can’t handle a bunny, I don’t think you’re GM material.” Claudia laughed.  She had taken John under her wing to show him the ropes of running a busy mall at the holidays. He might be able to hack it at a Pac Sun, but he would never fit into her shoes.  He never missed a beat on the coffee runs, though, so she kept him around.  
“I think we might need to call the police.”
“On a fucking rabbit?”
The mall would be open in a couple of hours, and Claudia knew various store managers would be slowly arriving.  Whatever was up John’s ass, she didn’t want it trickling down into the workday.  It was twelve days before Christmas: the final sprint to the holiday shopping season was upon them.

She followed John out of the small office that was tucked into the back of a pawnshop that bought gold.  No one really knew she was here, and that made her job easier.  When they reached the west-side entrance, John held back as she opened the door.
“Are you standing guard?” She did not try to hide the frustration in her voice.
“I’m a little freaked out.”
Claudia stepped onto the sidewalk and looked out toward the parking lot. Two cars lingered at various spots, and almost dead center in the middle of the pavement stood a man in an Easter Bunny costume.  Claudia knew it was a man because he wasn't wearing pants.  From the waist up, he wore the white, furry costume.  The bunny turned and met her gaze as she stood stock-still, unable to move, processing the ridiculousness of the scene before her.  
“John,” she said, turning her head, “call the police.”
She turned back.  The two cars remained in the parking lot.  She was alone. There was no bunny.

SEVEN DAYS TO CHRISTMAS

“I don’t want it.”  John had brought her a chocolate croissant to go with her latte.  
“But it’s Christmas, calories don’t count.”
“It’s not the calories, John; I have celiac.”
John knew this wasn’t true but didn’t correct her.  Claudia had a work-hard reputation fueled by proving everyone wrong, and she was going to look and act a certain way to get there.  He just wanted to see her let down her guard for a minute.
“Did you tell Santa what you want for Christmas?”
Claudia didn’t even dignify the comment with a response.
“Come on, surely there’s something.”
“A day off and some sleep.”
“You better tell him, or it won’t come true.”
“Have you met our mall Santa in real life?  Total skeeze.  We shouldn’t even let him around children.  He’s just cheaper than the other guy.”
“That’s pretty unsettling when you say it out loud.”
“It’s retail.  All of this is smoke and mirrors, and the only people profiting are on an island somewhere doing God-knows-what.  So I make some numbers add up on a spreadsheet, I answer e-mails that are so asinine I can’t believe I am wasting my college degree in this hellscape, and I let little kids sit on a pervy dude’s lap, none the wiser that Santa isn’t even real.”
“Bah, humbug.”
Claudia spent three hours past the mall’s closing on e-mails and tied on her scarf over her mouth as she bundled up to face the chill of the night’s air.  She went out a back door to a small hallway that opened onto a lot only accessible to higher-up mall staff.  Snow was falling, and she had to blink twice to bring her vision into focus.  Standing next to her car was the Easter Bunny.  He was fully suited this time; the roundness of his body eclipsed half of her vehicle.  It was just the two of them. No one else ever stayed quite as late as Claudia.

“Have you been a good little girl?”  A full-throated shout bridged the space between where she stood on the sidewalk and her car.  She always parked at the end of the lot to get in her steps.
Claudia did not answer, gauging if she could get back inside and lock the door quick enough.
“Have you been naughty or nice?”
Claudia shut her eyes. It wasn’t real. Just like last time.  It wasn’t real.
She opened her eyes.  The rabbit was in front of her.  It opened its mouth, and teeth like fangs glimmered inches from her face.  Before she could scream, the teeth dissolved into tinsel and fell to her feet like snow.

THREE DAYS TO CHRISTMAS

John had left to visit his parents in Peoria.  Claudia started and stopped multiple e-mails, all saying variations of the same thing:
I am experiencing supernatural terror, and I am really fucking annoyed by it.  
She didn't have time for whatever tricks her mind was playing on her, probably from holiday sleep deprivation.
Before he had left, John had given her a Christmas present: two bags of Cadbury mini eggs, her favorite guilty pleasure.  
“What the fuck,” she had exclaimed and thrown them across the room.  She never explained herself, and John had been crestfallen when he left that day. She searched for them on Amazon as soon as he left.  Sure enough, you could buy Cadbury eggs any time of year with one click, no Easter Bunny needed. That’s the problem with the world, she mused; nothing is special anymore.  

Claudia got home from work and microwaved a Lean Cuisine.  She poured a glass of wine and threw on a bathrobe.  She lay on her couch, listening to the microwave announce that dinner was ready, when the fireplace emitted a dust of pink and purple.  She knew she was going to die.
Clutching her robe against her chest, she screamed as the same bunny materialized.
“You rang?”
The bunny’s voice was deep, tinged with a faint accent.  
“Who are you?”
“I’m the ghost of Christmas future.”
“You’re the fucking Easter Bunny!”
“The other guy got me-too’d lady; I’m just showing up where they tell me to be.”
“You weren’t wearing pants.”
“It was a last-minute call.  I had to improvise, and this suit is really hot.”
“You had fangs.”
“I think you might just be overworked.”
“Wait, are you a person?”
“Kind of?”
“Am I going to die?”
“Kind of.”
“What does that mean?”
“I may have lost the file with that whole tinsel explosion bit, my holiday mechanisms are all messed up.”
“What kind of ghost of Christmas future are you?”
“Yours.”
“Why didn’t I get a past or a present?”
“This isn’t the movies.  Not everyone gets a happy ending.”
“So I just kind of die, is that it?”
“Yes, you kind of die on Christmas Day.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Maybe.”
“I die in three days.”
“Yes, I think that is correct.  Honestly, I might have you confused with the other person I’m haunting.”
“You should have given me more notice.”
“I tried. The first time, you were with a guy.  I can’t make this a two-for-one; we have a budget.  And the second time, you freaked me out.  I don’t like loud noises.”
“Wow.  I freaked you out.  That’s rich.  What did you mean when you said you rang?”
“I like the Addams Family.”
“Are you going to show me the ways I went wrong to prevent my death, or do I just die?”
“I hate to lead you on, but you have to wait until Christmas Day to find out.  I just wanted to introduce myself.  My name is Harold.”

CHRISTMAS DAY

For the first time in Claudia Sheffield's life, she did not go to work.  She did not even call to let them know she wasn’t coming.  Rather, she lay in bed watching reality TV and eating Cadbury mini eggs.  She DoorDashed soda from the gas station: the real kind, not the diet, and she read the last line of every book she had been planning to read for the past five years.  She wrote e-mails to her parents, scheduled to send on December 26, and took a bath instead of a shower, but did not shave her legs.  It was the first real day off she had experienced since she was 16.  She had spent the past two days googling myths and trying to find anyone she could trust to ask about an Easter Bunny Ghost of Christmas Future named Harold.  She scrolled through her phone, trying to think of people to call.  She wanted to make light of the situation and laugh at her own expense, but she had no friends.  There was no one to tell.  She had drunkenly texted John on Christmas Eve: So that bunny we saw is the Ghost of Christmas Future, and I don’t have a future, so I think he’s coming to kill me tomorrow, and also his name is Harold.  You can have the ficus in my office.

Claudia woke up at noon, mouth dry, a smashed mini egg coating her robe.  
Harold called to her from the living room.  
“You stopped snoring; does that mean you are awake?”
She stayed still.  If she didn’t move, maybe it wasn’t real.
“I know you are awake. They literally teach us this tactic in school.”
“You went to school to learn how to kill me?  That’s comforting.”
Harold approached the door.  
“About that.  Technically, I don’t kill anyone.  I show them their mistakes, and they decide whether they want to change.  The whole thing is orchestrated by the man above.  I’m just an employee.  I thought I could get a promotion, but it didn’t really work out for me.”
“I’m going to be murdered by an entry-level Easter Bunny.”
“I told you, you had to wait to find out, but it seems you’re rather impatient.  I don’t mean to be nonchalant about this, but you aren’t the one I’m looking for.”
Claudia sat up in the bed.
“What do you mean I’m not the one you’re looking for?”
“Well, I told you, I got the file mixed up.  It’s actually a guy named John.
Turns out you know him, and I was kind of hoping you could point me to him. I know you were with him that night.  Do you maybe have his number?”
“You are here for John?  John is going to die on Christmas Day?!”
“Looks like it.  So, I finally read my e-mails, and it turns out John’s a really good dude.  Kind, patient, loyal.  Works hard.  He was going to be murdered at a mall on Christmas Eve next year, some big GM gig or something, working late hours.  Anyway, sometimes the Ghost of Christmas Future just sees futures and then helps direct people to better or worse fates.  I got the job description confused.  I’m supposed to help him pass in his sleep tonight, sugar plum fairies and all.  It will redirect the murderer's life too; he’s going to find himself volunteering next Christmas at the food pantry now.  Pretty cool, huh?”
“Pretty cool?!  You’re telling me John is going to die tonight and that’s pretty cool?”
“Yes, redirecting lives. John’s death will alter the course of multiple people for the better. And this is my first time playing God.  I’m kind of hoping he notices and then maybe puts a word in for me at the office.”
“Wait, you said John is going to be murdered next year because he is at the mall on Christmas Eve working my GM job?”
“Yes, I distinctly remember the GM part.”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Well, if John dies, am I still GM?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes, I mean, no, not if John has to die.”
Confetti and balloons dropped from the ceiling.  Applause rang from above.  A white light shone down on Claudia, still sitting up in bed, surrounded by Cadbury mini eggs.  
The voice of an announcer rang out, “Congratulations, Claudia Sheffield.  You have passed the Ghost of Christmas Future test!”
Harold took off his bunny head, and John stood before her.
“What in the actual fuck?  How are you here?”
Harold the Bunny, who was actually John, stepped forward, plucking a mini egg off the bed and plopping it into his mouth.
“It’s Christmas magic.”