Ghosts of a City Christmas by Olivia Salter | Supernatural | Short Story

  

Ghosts of a City Christmas

By Olivia Salter

Word Count: 2,478

Darnell Price liked to be the last one out of the office. In his world, that was how you showed who was winning—who stayed the latest, who gave the most of themselves, who understood that rest was something for people who didn’t matter. And as CEO of Price Consulting, Darnell knew he mattered more than anyone else.

It was Christmas Eve, but to him, it was just another night. He checked his watch as he shut down his laptop, the lights of New York City glittering far beneath the high-rise window. Eleven forty-five. He pulled on his coat, savoring the thick wool and polished leather, and walked out into the freezing December air. The wind bit at his cheeks, but he barely noticed. Christmas was a distraction—a week of pretending to care, in his eyes, and a good excuse to tighten the company’s budget before year’s end.

As he cut through the empty streets, his phone buzzed with a message from Tanya, his assistant. Holiday donations pending, it read. Darnell barely managed not to roll his eyes. She was softhearted like that—always organizing toy drives and sending cards around. Charity felt irresponsible to him. He’d clawed his way out of a poor neighborhood without handouts. Why shouldn’t everyone else?

He quickened his pace, already thinking about the glass of scotch waiting in his penthouse. But then he was interrupted—a loud voice called out from across the street, the sound cutting through the quiet.

“Fresh chestnuts! Half price for the holidays!”

A street vendor was packing up his cart, his face worn from a long day’s work. The smell of warm chestnuts drifted toward Darnell, mingling with the crisp winter air, and he caught a flash of children tugging their mother toward the cart, eyes wide with excitement. As they leaned in to see the chestnuts roasting, their laughter rang out, bright and carefree.

Darnell shook his head, annoyed. Time wasted, he thought. What kind of example was that mother setting for her kids?

The revolving door to his building hissed open, and he stepped into the empty lobby. His penthouse apartment was pristine, cold—no decorations, no lights, just dark leather furniture and polished chrome. A bottle of twelve-year-old scotch stood on the marble countertop, and he poured himself a glass, feeling the warmth burn down his throat as he sank into his leather armchair. He closed his eyes, letting the quiet settle around him.

But then, a faint ticking echoed through the room. Darnell frowned, opening his eyes. The sound was distant but steady, like the tick of a clock he hadn’t heard in years. And then he saw it—an old, familiar kitchen around him, with dim yellow lighting and peeling wallpaper. He was back in his childhood home.

He was seated at the kitchen table, watching a younger version of himself—eleven or twelve, hunched over a small tin box, counting coins with a determined frown.

“You saved every dollar you could,” said a voice behind him. Darnell whirled, and found himself face-to-face with a man wrapped in mist, his face both familiar and unplaceable.

“What is this?” Darnell asked sharply, his pulse quickening.

The man, wreathed in fog, smiled gently. “I am the Ghost of Christmas Past,” he said. “Your past, Darnell. Do you remember this kitchen? You and your mother?”

Darnell nodded stiffly. “We didn’t have much. I did what I had to do to get out of here,” he replied, defensive.

The spirit shook his head and pointed to young Darnell, who was smiling up at his mother as she ruffled his hair. Her face was weary but lit with joy, a warmth that seemed to fill the tiny kitchen as they counted his earnings together.

“What did you really want back then?” the spirit asked. “Do you remember?”

“I wanted to be successful,” Darnell answered, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. “I wanted to give her a better life.”

The spirit gave him a long, searching look. “And what did success look like to you?”

Darnell’s gaze softened as he watched his younger self beam up at his mother. “I wanted...to take care of her, I guess. To make her proud. To get us out of here.”

The spirit’s expression softened, almost sad. “You wanted to be loved, Darnell,” he murmured. “But you forgot that along the way.”

The spirit’s words lingered in the air, and Darnell felt his stomach twist as he watched his younger self and his mother, their laughter filling the cramped kitchen. And then, just as suddenly, the room dissolved, fading into darkness.

***

Darnell blinked, finding himself back in his chair, the whiskey glass cold in his hand. He shook his head, telling himself it was just a dream. But the clock struck midnight, and the room dimmed once more. A woman stood by the window, her silhouette framed in soft, shimmering light. She was dressed in a coat dusted with snow, bright red mittens covering her hands.

“I am the Ghost of Christmas Present,” she said, smiling as she held out her hand. “Come with me, Darnell.”

Before he could react, she swept him into a warm, bustling room. He recognized it—it was Tanya’s apartment, modest and well-kept, with a little plastic tree in the corner. Tanya was kneeling on the floor, carefully wrapping presents, while her two kids watched, their eyes wide with excitement.

Darnell felt a pang of irritation, wondering why she hadn’t used the time to wrap up a few more reports. But the spirit nudged him, drawing his attention to the little details he hadn’t noticed before—the patched-up windows, the thin coats the kids wore, the half-empty refrigerator in the corner. Tanya’s smile was bright, but there were shadows under her eyes, the kind that came from too many sleepless nights worrying about money.

“She barely makes enough for rent,” the ghost murmured, her voice soft but clear.

Darnell looked away, uncomfortable. “She has a job,” he muttered. “I give her work.”

The ghost’s eyes bore into him, sharp and unyielding. “And what kind of work are you giving her, Darnell? You demand long hours, keep wages low, and cut benefits whenever it suits you. Have you ever thought about what that costs her?”

The scene shifted, and they were standing in Ronnie’s cramped apartment, where his intern was hastily gathering cans for recycling, his hands shaking as he counted out the coins. Darnell saw the weariness in the young man’s eyes, the thin, tense line of his mouth as he glanced at the clock, worry etched into his face.

“He’s your intern,” the ghost said quietly. “Barely scraping by, juggling two jobs to cover rent and college. And you keep him there, telling yourself it builds character.”

Darnell’s jaw tightened, feeling a faint unease prickling at him. “I was tough on him because he’s got potential. Just like I did.”

The ghost’s expression softened, but her eyes were sad. “Potential? Or is he just convenient? You were given a chance to lift him up, Darnell. Instead, you kept him under your thumb.”

Darnell clenched his fists, wanting to look away from the tired lines in Ronnie’s face. But the scene around him swirled, blurring, until he was back in his empty apartment, and the ghost was gone.

***

A bone-deep chill settled over him, and before he could catch his breath, he sensed a presence in the room—darker, heavier. The final spirit had arrived. Cloaked in black, the figure’s face was obscured, only its hand visible, thin and bony as it pointed toward the window.

Darnell followed the gesture, feeling a strange sense of dread as the room shifted once more. He was in his office, but everything was cold and dim, as if life had drained from it. At his desk sat an old man, hunched and hollow, his face lean and haggard, skin like stiff, flat, thin paper. Darnell’s breath caught as he realized he was looking at himself.

“Is this... my future?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

The figure nodded slowly, gesturing toward the empty office around him. The walls were bare, and the building felt abandoned, as if forgotten by time itself. Dust coated the furniture, and the air was thick with silence.

“No one comes,” the spirit whispered. “No family. No friends. Not a single soul to mourn you.”

Darnell stumbled back, his heart pounding. “But... I did this to succeed. To be respected.”

The spirit’s voice echoed, cold and unfeeling. “You wanted success at any cost. And this is the price.”

Darnell’s gaze fell to his future self, alone, a broken man whose wealth had bought him nothing but emptiness. And for the first time in years, a deep, aching loneliness welled up inside him.

***

He gasped, waking with a start to the sharp light of dawn streaming through his windows. His heart was still racing, his breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. He was alive—here, now. And for the first time in years, he felt something he hadn’t let himself feel: hope.

He picked up his glass of scotch, but paused, staring into its amber depths as the morning sun caught on its surface. He set it down and reached instead for his phone, his fingers hovering over the screen, then finally tapping out a message to Tanya: Take the day off. Family first. Also, expect a little bonus in your paycheck. Happy holidays. He hesitated, then added, Thank you for everything you do.

He exhaled, feeling a strange sense of relief settle over him. It was small—maybe a start. Darnell checked the time. It was barely seven in the morning, and New York was just waking up, the streets below beginning to fill with movement. Impulsively, he threw on his coat and headed out, drawn to the city in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

As he walked, he took in the city with new eyes, noticing the details he’d long ignored—the shopkeepers arranging holiday displays, a couple huddling close in the cold, children running down the sidewalk with mittened hands stretched toward snowflakes. He felt a faint smile tugging at his lips, a sensation unfamiliar yet welcome.

He passed a small community center and paused, drawn by a handmade banner reading, Holiday Feast for All. Inside, volunteers were bustling about, setting up tables and hanging garlands. The aroma of roasting turkey and fresh bread whirled from the kitchen. He felt a twinge, recalling how he and his mother had often depended on such meals when he was young.

One of the volunteers, a woman with a welcoming smile and flour dusting her apron, waved him over. “Need a hand, sir?”

He blinked, almost saying no, but something stopped him. “Sure. I... guess I could help with whatever you need.”

The woman handed him a stack of tablecloths. “Can you help set the tables? We’ve got a big crowd coming in, and we can use all the hands we can get.”

As he unfolded the tablecloths, carefully smoothing them over the tables, Darnell felt a quiet sense of purpose in the simple act. Around him, other volunteers were laughing, sharing stories as they worked. A man beside him—a retired teacher named Carl—told him about his years in the classroom, the students who’d stayed in touch. Another volunteer, a teenager named Jake, was helping out to earn service hours for school, but he talked with such energy about the impact the event had on the neighborhood.

Darnell found himself listening, laughing, even sharing a few stories of his own. When he mentioned his business, Carl looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, it’s good to make a living. But it’s better to live a life worth remembering.”

Darnell nodded slowly, the words resonating deeply. He thought of his future self, alone in that empty office, and a shiver ran down his spine.

The hours slipped by as he worked alongside the volunteers, serving hot meals, pouring coffee, and handing out plates. He caught glimpses of families enjoying the warmth and food, kids’ faces lighting up as they received small gifts handed out by the volunteers. The center was filled with laughter, chatter, the kind of warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

As the event wound down, Darnell helped clean up, feeling a strange sense of peace settling over him. Outside, dusk had fallen, the city lights twinkling against the darkening sky. The woman who’d greeted him at the start approached him, handing him a small, wrapped package.

“It’s just a thank-you,” she said, smiling warmly. “For helping out today. You’re welcome here anytime.”

Darnell accepted the gift, nodding. As he walked back through the city, the weight of the package in his hands felt almost like a promise—a small reminder of the warmth he’d found here, of the people he’d met, of the connection he’d been missing.

When he reached his penthouse, the place didn’t feel as cold or empty. He unwrapped the package carefully, finding a small, handmade ornament—a simple glass star with flecks of gold, shimmering faintly in the dim light. He held it for a long moment, the warmth of the community center still lingering in his memory.

The next morning, he returned to his office, but something was different. He called Tanya into his office, her eyes widening with surprise as he handed her a new contract, one that included a raise and a more flexible schedule. “You’ve been putting up with a lot,” he said, a touch of sincerity in his voice. “It’s time we recognized that.”

Tanya blinked, her eyes welling up. “Thank you, Mr. Price. This... it means a lot.”

A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders as she left the office, and he realized he wanted to keep going. He reached out to Ronnie, offering him a paid position with a path for advancement. And for the first time, Darnell looked around his company, wondering how he could make it a place people were proud to work at—a place that made a difference.

Christmas came and went, and with it, the harshness of winter began to thaw. But Darnell’s life had shifted. He kept volunteering, often at the community center where he’d spent that Christmas Eve. He built connections, began funding programs for people trying to make their way out of poverty, like he once had.

And as the years went on, Darnell was no longer alone. He became a familiar face in the community, a friend to many, and someone who was remembered not for his wealth but for the kindness he’d shared.

In the end, Darnell Price found that he had given himself the gift he’d forgotten he wanted: a life that truly mattered, one he could finally be proud of.