Chapter 6Tragedy twisted and turned as the cloak surrounded him. He screamed while he writhed.
“Please!” he called. “I’m sorry! I’M SORRY!”
He finally wriggled his head out through the material as he landed with a thump on solid ground. The cloak diminished in size and he found himself wrapped in his bedsheets on the floor of his apartment. Sunlight poured in through an open window. Quick as a flash, he jumped to his feet. He ran, almost dancing, through each of the rooms of the penthouse. Last night had been an experience he would never forget and now it was time to make things right. He got dressed and left the penthouse suite.
“Shelly!” Tragedy called as he knocked on the Australian’s door. She opened it warily, trying to remember if she had missed a rent payment.
“Can I help you?” she asked. Tragedy laughed and patted her on the head.
“I’m here to wish you a happy anniversary,” he said gleefully. “You can be sure that I’ll be attending your party tonight. Thank you for inviting me. It means a lot, honestly.”
“Um... you’re welcome,” Shelly said, unsure how to react. “Is that it? I didn’t do anything wrong?”
Tragedy shook his head and smiled at her. She invited him inside for coffee and they talked about the changes Tragedy had planned for 667 Dark Avenue.
Half an hour later, Tragedy began walking downstairs again to the lobby. He stopped as an idea struck him. He glanced around to make sure nobody was watching. Once the coast was clear, he shifted himself up to sit on the banister. With a slight push, he slid quickly down the spiral staircase laughing all the way. Tenants opened their doors to see what was causing the noise and rubbed their eyes in disbelief when Ebenezer Tragedy, of all people, shot past them.
Once he reached the lobby, Tragedy ran outside into the open. The sun beamed down though the winter air was crisp. He rushed over to a familiar figure stumbling towards the pub.
“BSam!” he shouted. BSam saw Tragedy chasing him and made a run for it. He wasn’t fast enough and was caught.
“BSam,” Tragedy panted. “I have something to give you.” He reached into his coat.
“Please don’t shoot me,” BSam screamed. “Christmas is a time of peace and goodwill.”
“It’s not Christmas, you drunken fool,” Tragedy said, grinning. He took out a bottle of rum and handed it over to BSam. He had hardly let go of the bottle before he found himself wrapped in an embrace. After a minute, Tragedy began to shuffle over to the pub, not quite sure whether BSam had fallen asleep on top of him.
Later that afternoon, Tragedy sat in his office.
“Cratchit!” he yelled. “Get in here!” Sixteen Cratchit appeared in the doorway, shivering from the cold.
“You called, sir?” he said, cautiously.
“I don’t employ you to lounge around out there in reception,” Tragedy replied. Sixteen was feeling a case of déjà vu.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said humbly.
“I employ you,” Tragedy said, “so that you can support your family. Now take the rest of the afternoon off and bring the children to Shelly’s anniversary party tonight.”
“Sir!” Sixteen exclaimed in shock. “That’s a kind gesture but I simply couldn’t afford to take the afternoon off.” Tragedy smiled.
“Yes you can,” he said. “I’m giving you a raise, above and beyond what we agreed.” Sixteen was dumbfounded. He thanked his boss and ran happily up to tell his kids the good news.
Shelly’s apartment was filled with 667ers. In one corner, a group was discussing the new and improved landlord.
“It’s weird,” Elle said. “He hasn’t made one pervy remark all night.”
“Maybe we were wrong about him,” Doorknobs added.
“I’ve never looked past his grumpy exterior,” Emma said, “but tonight it’s like I’m seeing him in a completely different light. I wonder if he’d like to dance with me...”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Katekor pointed out. Emma blushed.
“He hasn’t even complained about any of my longwinded stories,” Jemima said.
“Shut up, cat girl,” Charlotte retorted, between mouthfuls of cake.
Across the room, the Cratchit family were tucking into the refreshments. Sixteen held two cups; red in his right hand, blue in his left. Tiny Trikip and Tiny Triangle Eyes shared some buffalo wings. Little Libitina watched the people dancing in the centre of the room. She looked up at her father, standing beside her.
“What happened?” she asked. “Why is Mr. Tragedy acting so nice? It’s suspicious.”
“Oh, Libitina,” Sixteen sighed. “I know you don’t ever trust men, but this time I understand. It’s certainly strange but we shouldn’t complain. We’re finally able to afford everything we need and it’s thanks to the new Tragedy.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. Her siblings joined them and the family looked warmheartedly at one another. Tiny Trikip cleared his throat, preparing to speak words of wisdom. The others leaned in close to hear his message.
“God bless poop, every one.”
Tragedy mingled with all the 667ers, greeting them cheerily and having conversations with people he had hardly ever acknowledged before. After a couple of hours, he took a dessert and sat down for a break. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something appear. He turned to look and saw the last thing he expected. The ghosts of Jacob Malachi, Antenora, Mijahu and Yoda were gathered in the far corner of the room. They waved at Tragedy and smiled. He ate a spoonful of pudding and winked at them. Slowly the spirits vanished, leaving behind a changed man.
THE END
Merry Christmas, 667!
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