Greg Proops swirled the contents of his glass as he looked around the crowded room. He hated Christmas. Not just a simple dislike, a minor annoyance or a small irk - he really hated it. Greg made no effort to hide his displeasure and would tell anyone who asked that Christmas was just another mass media fabrication and a feeble excuse to waste money on a load of shit no one wanted. He didn't just hate Christmas as a date, day or celebration. No, he literally hated everything about it. From the monotonous duty of decorating the tree, the painstaking traipsing around the mall for gifts and of course, the parties.

          He lifted the glass to his lips and felt the liquid burn its way down his throat before he turned his attention back to the room. Drew was wolfing down a plate of Christmas goodies and about a gallon of eggnog while Ryan and Colin were half-tanked and red faced with laughter in a corner, Colin sporting a pair of reindeer horns and Ryan a tiara with a flashing "Merry Christmas" that made Greg want to hurl. Chip was nodding his head to the constantly repeating CD of "Christmas Favorites" while Brad in a fake Santa beard tried to tell him an over the top anecdote. Kathy and Jeff both in elf hats were crooning out karaoke, although both seemed to be singing a different song.

          Greg let out a heavy sigh and was pondering retrieving his coat and heading home when Wayne bounded over, in a terrible bright red jumper with a spring of mistletoe behind his ear.
          "Hey Greg, want to be my karaoke partner?" he smiled.
          Greg raised an eyebrow. "I'd rather remove my own entrails with that delightful array of toothpicks on the buffet table."
          "Oh come on, it'll be fun," Wayne enthused. "We can do a techno version of ‘Jingle Bells’ like we did last year."
          "No," Greg said bluntly as he poured himself another drink.
          "You're such a scrooge you know that?" Wayne huffed. "Everybody else is having fun, why can't you?"
          "Need I remind you that we only celebrate Christmas so we can receive yet another pair of gift wrapped socks from some god awful distant relative?"
          "Christmas is a time to spend with loved ones and family and to let loose for a while."
          "Don't make me gag," Greg snide.
          "Fine, be a grumpy bastard," Wayne huffed and descended, slightly less perky, back into the corner. Greg sculled his glass of liquid and started to get to his feet when Kathy appeared, her cheeks glowing with alcohol and happiness.
          "Hi Greg, having fun?" she perked, squeezing his arm affectionately.
          "Of yeah, haven't had this much fun since my prostate exam," Greg sarced.
          "What?" Kathy said confused.
          Greg rolled his eyes. "Pain in the ass."
          "Why are you so grumpy?" Kathy sighed, her hands on her hips.
          "Gee let's think about that for a second," Greg spat. "IT'S CHRISTMAS."
          "Exactly, a time to be happy and merry and all that."
          "What? Happy that my credit cards is maxed out? Merry that I had to spend countless hours with family I abhor?"
          Kathy looked at him disgusted as she finished pouring herself a drink. "God Greg, why don't you take your little black cloud somewhere else huh?" She walked away and Greg's eyes bore into the back of her head. "Best idea you've ever had," he muttered.

          Greg arrived home to find his wife already in bed. While he pondered joining her, the alcohol in his system was delaying tiredness. Instead he retreated to the living room where the Christmas tree glowed at him mockingly, presents piled beneath its branches. An array of Christmas cards covered every surface and cheap plastic decorations littered those not covered by cards. He fell onto the couch and switched on the television. Every lame ass Christmas movie ever made appeared to be on, along with every awful television special. Greg kicked off his shoes and lay back as he picked the only non-Christmas obsessed channel - Animal Planet.

          He woke with a start and nearly fell off the couch, the VCR glowed that it was 2am and although he didn't remember doing it, the television was turned off. Greg sat up and rested his head in his hands; he was starting to get a headache and he assumed it was the loud music and voracious laughter. He hadn't drunk enough to acquire a hangover. Greg got to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen where he hunted out a glass and poured himself some water.
          "Where's the bloody eggnog?" a voice declared.
          Greg jumped a mile and juggled with the glass as it toppled into the sink. "What the fuck…" he looked over to where a figure was hunched, peering into his fridge.
          "No cherries either," the figure exclaimed and slammed the door. "You own a very poor selection of nibbles you know?"
          "Tony," Greg gasped as Tony Slattery appeared before him in what could only be described as the most distasteful shirt with a pattern that consisted of holly, mince pies and candy canes. "How did you get into my house?"
          "How do most people get into your house?" Tony shrugged as he took to examining the contents of the pantry.
          "You do realise its 2am?"
          Tony looked inquisitive for a moment and then smiled. "You know, I think I did."
          "Then why are you here?" Greg hissed as quietly as he could.
          "Thought I'd catch up with an old friend, as you do," Tony perked. "Oh chocolate biccies," he added and ripped open the packet of biscuits as he wandered into the living room.
          "You have to leave, man," Greg breathed.
          "I'd love to," Tony nodded. "But not yet," he grinned as he paced the room, shoving biscuits in his mouth at various intervals. "Take a seat Greg."
          Greg looked at him disbelievingly but found himself sitting in a padded armchair.
          "Greg, we've known each other a while right?"
          "Right."
          "And it's fair to say, we're used to each other's moods right?"
          "Yeah, I guess."
          "Oh you've got a little singing Santa, can I play it?" Tony suddenly squealed, fingering the plastic and felt portly Santa.
          "Hell no, you'll wake my wife," Greg spat. "What are you doing here?"
          Tony slid onto the arm of the chair. "Darling, it’s come to the attention of your friends that you, over the festive months are…well…a complete and utter miserable bastard."
          "Gee thanks," Greg scowled.
          "So, in an attempt to show you the error of your ways you'll be visited by three others over the next three nights…"
          "Excuse me?"
          "The first will appear at 2am tomorrow."
          "Appear where?" Greg asked slightly panicked by the idea of people traipsing in and out of his house in the early hours of the morning.
          "I can tell you no more," Tony said whimsically. "I must go, I've still got to freak Steve out and catch Josie in the shower…That one’s not really on my schedule. I just want to," he added with an impish grin and dropped the packet of biscuits into Greg's lap before disappearing out of the front door.

          Greg sat stunned for a few moments, convinced he was (a) really pissed, (b) dreaming or (c) having some weird out of body experience. He made a mental note to watch Crossing Over more often. He hurried off to bed, hoping that when he woke up the insanity of the situation would be forgotten.

          He spent the next day being dragged through countless department stores by his wife. Greg had been barged into by old ladies, arms laden with gifts, excitable children who'd 'just seen Santa' and his wife's constant, "Do you think Aunt Jean would like this?" as she held up yet another basket of lavender foot oil. By the time he retired to bed Greg was exhausted, tense and slightly edgy. He'd not been able to wipe Tony's words from his mind, damn vivid dream – no, nightmare. He tossed and turned until eventually he switched the radio on to distract himself.

          As Greg drifted to a near sleep state, he noticed the music change from easily listening to a strange Spanish style beat.
          "Ah Os Quindins De Ya Ya, I remember it well. It was 1991 we were in a tiny wine bar in San Fran, drank tequila until we passed out. Do you remember Greg?"
          Greg sat bolt upright and felt a shiver run up his spine as Paul McDermott sat at the end of his bed, one leg dangling over the side. He wore a suit of dark green velvet, his shoes a shiny green patent. Paul swirled a glass of red wine an evil glint in his eye.
          "Paul," Greg gasped.
          "Good morning," Paul smiled as sipped his wine. "I see the wife is still a bit of all right."
          "Out of my bedroom," Greg ordered.
          "I do hope you're wearing underwear," Paul mused with a raised eyebrow.
          "What are you doing here?" Greg whispered.
          Paul bounced off the bed and walked to the window, which he blew on and drew a skull in the frosted breath on the glass. "Mate, I am the ghost of Christmas past," he announced.
          "But you're not dead," Greg said pointedly.
          "Hey, there's no need to get fucking picky ok?" Paul spat.
          "Shh!" Greg breathed. "You'll wake my wife."
          "More than you ever do," Paul chided. "Come on get up, we're going out."
          "No way," Greg hissed.
          "I'm sorry?"
          "I said no."
          Paul shook his head. "You shouldn't refuse a ghost you know," he tutted as he strolled over to Greg and lifted his glass above Greg's head. He let several droplets of wine drip onto his forehead.
          "You pour that on me and I swear I'll fucking take you out," Greg growled. Paul let a big drop splat on the bridge of Greg's nose. "Right, that's it," Greg declared as he threw back the covers and leapt out of bed.
          "How dare you come into my house and…" Greg stopped mid tirade as Paul doubled over laughing. "What?"
          "Nice reg grundies mate," Paul cackled as Greg suddenly remembered he'd been forced to wear the last pair he owned that day. They were purple.
          "Fuck you," Greg huffed looking for something to cover himself with.
          "Well, now you're up, let's go," Paul grinned. "Oh but get some pants on man, you're making me slightly nauseous."
          Greg looked back at the sleeping form of his wife and then grabbed his jeans. He might as well get it, whatever it was, over with.

          Greg followed Paul from the house into the street, which instantly sent another shiver down his spine as he noticed all the streetlights were out.
          "So, where are we going?" Greg asked, wrapping his arms around himself as the cold air hit him.
          "You'll see," Paul replied and started to walk down the footpath. Greg shrugged and hurried to keep up with Paul.
          "I never thought you were an advocate for Christmas?" Greg mused as Paul quickened his pace.
          "It's a paying gig," Paul replied as he turned sharply down a side street. The second they entered the street the scenery changed: the footpath turned to cobble stones, the air got colder and unbelievable as it was, it started to snow.
          "What the fuck…" Greg breathed as Paul stopped outside an old looking building. He pulled a hankie from his pocket and wiped the window.
          "Come look," he nodded and Greg sidled up next to Paul and looked through the glass. Inside was a bustling pub and one he knew well. It was one he visited frequently in Edinburgh and had spent countless hours drinking there with Paul. He could name most of the people in there and then his eyes set on something that made him grab Paul's arm for support. In the corner throwing back pints were himself and Paul.
          "So there's some moral in this? A message that will change my beliefs about Christmas?" Greg breathed.
          "Nah, it was a good night that though," Paul perked and pulled his arm away from Greg. "Come on."
          Greg stood stunned for a moment. "Oh, ok," he muttered. They walked through the snow-covered streets for what felt like ages, until Paul stopped at another building. Greg felt himself gasp for breath, this was his childhood home and how he'd got from LA to Edinburgh and then Arizona was beyond him. The upside was it was significantly warmer and he uncrossed his arms. Paul strolled up to the door and opened it.
          "Ladies first," he mused. Greg shot him daggers and then gingerly made his way inside. "This is a fucking bad trip."
          "You think it’s a bad trip, how do you think I feel," Paul huffed as they heard a cacophony of squeals, laughter and delight from the living room. The door burst open and Greg as a five-year-old flew into the hallway on a bright red bike.
          "Oh man, my first bike," Greg gasped.
          "You were an ugly kid," Paul chided as Greg shot him daggers.
          Suddenly Greg the five-year-old went crashing into a table and burst into tears. Paul cracked up. "You sissy."
          "Hey, I remember that, it really hurt," Greg sulked as they watched his mother take his young self in her arms. "Mom always made it better though, watch she'll give me candy." And sure enough Greg the five-year-old was presented with a handful of candy from his mother.
          "That's heartwarming, really," Paul sighed and grabbed Greg's arm. Greg followed reluctantly until Paul stopped outside his bedroom. "You better not be spanking the monkey," he chided as he opened the door. Greg was forced to let out another gasp of breath. There he was as a sixteen-year-old, sprawled on his bed and playing loud music.
          "Well this is fascinating," Greg sarced.
          "Nice literature," Paul teased, motioned to a smattering of porno magazines under a chair.
          "Oh and you never had any huh?"
          "I was a good catholic boy," Paul smiled.
          Both men jumped, as there was a knock on the door. Teen Greg couldn't hear because of the music as a second later his mother marched into the room and switched the music off.
          "Mom!" teen Greg whined.
          "Go and help your father with the tree," his mother commanded.
          "I told you, I refuse to partake in this blatantly corporate holiday. It's against my morals," teen Greg huffed.
          "You will go and help your father or you won't get any pocket money – ever," his mother countered before storming from the room.
          "Fascists," teen Greg huffed.
          Greg looked at Paul who was shaking his head. "Shame on you," he teased and headed for the door. Greg took one last look at his selfish, lazy teenage self and followed.

          Back out in the street Greg lit a cigarette and then hurried to catch up with Paul who was walking again.
          "What changed in you huh?" Paul asked snatching Greg's cigarette and taking a drag. "Where'd the happy kid go?"
          "Into a table," Greg replied as he took his cigarette back.
          "You should lighten up more man," Paul declared. "Sure it’s a marketing ploy, the media thrive on it and we're forced to kiss bearded aunts…but we get presents."
          "And most of them are shi…" Greg stopped when he realised he was alone and did several circles to see if Paul was hiding. "I have got to get therapy," he sighed and headed back inside to go to bed.

          Greg woke the next day and sat bolt upright, he looked instantly at the end of his bed and was relieved to see that it was empty. He glanced around the room in case the little Aussie leprechaun reappeared but there was nothing. Greg let out a sigh of relief and grabbed his glasses before he checked the time on his bedside clock. His eyes went wide when he noticed a half-empty glass of red wine sitting beside it. There was no way Paul could have been sitting on the end of his bed or taken him anywhere, it wasn't possible. Then again, neither was the glass of red wine, they hadn't had red wine in the house in weeks. Greg tried to block all the memories from the previous night as he staggered into the kitchen where there was a stack of Christmas cards and a note from his wife.

          Darling,
          I'm rushed off my feet, could you write out the cards and send them off for me?
          And darling, be nice!

          Greg scowled as he looked over the array of cards, jolly Santas, fat angels, bright Christmas trees and about a million nativity scenes. He would happily have dumped the wretched things in the nearest bin but didn't feel like enduring the wrath of his wife. So, Greg spent the day hunched over the kitchen table writing untrue sentiments and licking envelopes for a bunch of people whom he barely knew.

          As night drew in and covered his part of the world in a blanket of blackness, Greg poured himself a drink and watched the television flicker. He'd lost interest in the mindless Christmas programme that was spewing out how to make an angel for your tree out of a toilet roll. Instead his mind was focused on the previous two nights events. Tony Slattery raiding his pantry and Paul McDermott, showing him his demise into cynicism. Greg sighed and decided that perhaps he had just been under two much pressure recently and it had taken to manifesting itself as the most surreal dreams he'd ever experienced. The desire for sleep soon took over and Greg shuffled off to bed, pushing the bizarre events to the back of his mind.

          Greg woke with a start and his eyes looked instantly at the clock, it was 2am. Then he felt the heaviness of another body beside him, one that was considerably heavier than his wife was. Gingerly, he peered over his shoulder and was greeted by the beaming smile of Brad Sherwood.
          "Hey Greg!" he perked and took a mouthful of eggnog from the carton in his hand.
          "Brad, what the fuck are you doing here?" Greg breathed, grabbing his glasses and looking over Brad's appalling reindeer jumper.
          "I'm the ghost of Christmas present," Brad nodded as he took another mouthful of eggnog.
          "You're not dead?"
          "Your point being?"
          "You're a ghost but you're not dead?"
          "Do you always have to be so technical," Brad huffed.
          "Yes, now get out of my apartment before you wake my wife," Greg retorted.
          "Ah, she won't wake," Brad perked and patted where Greg's wife's bottom would be beneath the covers.
          Greg looked at Brad furious. "Out."
          "I'm not going anywhere until you go with me," Brad mused.
          "Fine," Greg sighed. "Anything for a quiet life."

          They were soon out in the street and heading in a different direction to the previous night. Greg noticed that like the previous night all the streetlights were out. Brad led the way to another deserted looking back street, where there appeared to be a series of matching houses.
          "Should I be worried?" Greg asked.
          "Only if we see something we shouldn't," Brad replied. "Like a naked old person," he added as he sidled up to a window on the first house and motioned for Greg to join him. Greg looked reluctantly at the window before him, worried at what he might see, then carefully he edged over and peered through. His eyes first set on Ryan who was being instructed by his family where to hand decorations. They pointed wildly, the kids giggling as he proudly hung a paper lantern and then copped it full in the face. Then while he was preoccupied with several shiny stars, his daughter tied tinsel around his knees.
          "Why are you showing me this?" Greg asked.
          "Because this is what families do at Christmas, Proops," Brad replied.
          "Right, and I care because?"
          "Because it's heartwarming, like puppies and orphans."
          "Orphans aren’t heartwarming."
          "Just shut up and watch," Brad huffed. Greg rolled his eyes as he watched Ryan slip his arm around his wife as they looked giddily at the tree as the kids bounced around excitedly.
          "This is thoroughly nauseating," Greg declared.
          Brad shot him daggers. "Fine, we'll move on," he huffed, giving Ryan and his family one last glance and heading off down the street. Greg plodded miserably along behind him.
          "You know he's supposed to be happy, that's what families with kids do," Greg grumbled. "They put on this fake cheer while they're actually having nervous breakdowns trying to make things perfect."
          "You really are a miserable bastard," Brad spat. "Oh carol singers!"
          "No, I am not listening to some pre-pubescent psycho Christian singing about a fucking reindeer," Greg hissed.
          "Shut up," Brad groaned as he grabbed Greg's wrist and dragged him across the street to where three young men had begun to sing.

          I'm lighting a candle as I'm looking through my window
          The snow-covered streets are lonely and bare, yeah
          The town Christmas tree winks mockingly at me
          Cos I should be spending Christmas with you
          I wrap my last gifts and put the cello tape away
          Check the answering machine
          And in the distance a choir sings
          About the joy that Christmas brings
          But it's making me feel blue
          Cos I should be spending Christmas with you
          But it breaks my heart cos that's place I just can't be
          Cos I hate your family

          Greg let out a laugh and Brad glared at him. "You even make the people in your psyche induced metaphors miserable."

          The day I met you, I knew you could get me through
          When we're alone, my world is complete you're all that I need
          But when your family call
          They shit me up the wall
          Spending time with them just makes my brain bleed
          And it's making me feel blue
          Cos I should be spending Christmas with you
          But I'd rather string my nuts up to a Christmas tree
          Cos I hate your family

          "We're leaving," Brad announced and led Greg down another small street to a quiet looking house. "Now you said only families with kids are happy at Christmas."
          "Sure did," Greg nodded.
          Brad turned and unlocked the door behind him and then stood aside to let Greg in. Greg looked slightly reluctant but walked inside and was instantly greeted by the sound of a CD of Christmas tunes.
          "Where are we?" Greg asked.
          "Go look," Brad nodded and pointed to a door off to the side. Greg stepped forward and turned the knob. His eyes fell on Drew who was sporting a Santa hat, reindeer boxers and a "Merry Christmas" t-shirt. He was surrounded by thousands of presents, wrapping paper, tape and tags.

          "Oh man," Drew perked, "I love Christmas."
          Brad looked poignantly at Greg. "Unmarried, no children that we know of…"
          "Yes thankyou," Greg scorned as turned back to Drew who was humming Jingle Bells.

          "Now, whose present should I wrap…Greg's."

          Without looking, Brad snatched Greg's glasses.
          "Hey!"
          "It would be wrong for me to let you see your gift," Brad shrugged.
          "Is it a good gift?"
          "I'm not saying."
          "Is it expensive?"
          "Greg."
          "Oh come on, I hadn't planned on getting him anything, it'll give me a chance to send the wife out to…" Greg's sentence was lost as he was pulled from the room.
          "You are starting to really piss me off," Brad hissed.
          "That's no way to talk to the dude you're trying to convince Christmas is fabulous," Greg mused.
          "Come on," Brad huffed thrusting Greg's glasses at him as they made their way back into the street.
          "So, where now, big man," Greg asked nonchalantly.
          "There," Brad replied coolly as he pointed across the road. "Have a look."
          Greg looked curiously at Brad, but obeyed and hurried across the road and crept up the window to look. What he saw made his heart sink, it was his own place and he was sprawled in the couch watching television as his wife rushed around getting everything ready. She tried to coax him to help but he brushed her off and offered her a long excuse that he was glad he could hear.
          "Not pretty is it," Brad remarked as he leaned against the wall near Greg.
          "I never thought I was that bad," Greg sighed.
          "You should see the bit where you ignore the kids and take a bottle of rum into the bathroom and get blind," Brad breathed.
          "No thanks," Greg said instantly. "Can we go now?" he asked.
          Brad nodded and they walked in silence back to Greg's apartment block. The streetlights had flickered back on sending a warm glow over the dark street.
          "You want a drink or…" Greg began as he turned to look at Brad, but like Paul, Brad had vanished. Greg looked miserably at his feet and then hurried back to his apartment.

          The next day was Christmas Eve and although he tried to be enthusiastic, Greg eventually fell back into his cynical, angry ways and spent most of the day switching off the television to avoid Christmas and ignoring a smattering of unopened cards addressed to him. By the time bedtime came Greg was reluctant to go and made an excuse about wanting to watch a documentary on the history of the sleigh, while his wife disappeared into the bedroom. Greg tried his hardest to stay awake, but the calming glow from the tree and the warmth in the room soon had him dozing. He woke with a start and fell off the couch when his sleep was interrupted by the sound of cursing. Greg looked up from the floor to see Ryan standing over him rubbing his head.
          "Ryan."
          "Greg," Ryan perked holding out his hand and helping Greg to his feet.
          "Let me guess, you're the ghost of Christmas future," Greg sighed, adjusting his glasses and looking worriedly at Ryan's snowman t-shirt and matching hat.
          "Yes, thankyou for ruining my dramatic entrance," Ryan huffed. "Oh and your fairy back there lost a leg."
          "She deserved it," Greg shrugged.
          "Right, well enough of the pleasantries, lets go," Ryan ordered and once again Greg found himself back in the street and being led on the same direction as the previous night.
          "I'm surprised you're not at home," Greg piped up, trying to make conversation. "I mean, from what Brad showed me last night…"
          "Don't know what you're talking about," Ryan said blankly as they approached a familiar house, one Greg knew from experience, it was his house.
          "Look," Ryan ordered.
          "Maybe I don't want to."
          "LOOK," Ryan snapped.
          "Oh…ok," Greg peeped and approached the window. He looked in and saw himself, sprawled on the couch in his underwear, too fat to move. He had a beer in one hand while his other sat in a bowl of chips.
          "And?" Greg shrugged.
          "Look at the calendar," Ryan scorned.
          Greg strained his eyes to read a nearby calendar, the date was the 25th of December. It was Christmas and he was alone, fat and unhappy. He turned back to see his fat, blubbering self produce a small handgun from beneath the couch.
          "You don't want to see this bit," Ryan announced and led Greg away. They heard the gunshot and Greg started to whimper.
          "Why did I have a gun?"
          "Not important buddy," Ryan sighed.
          "Ryan, did I…am I going to…" Greg spluttered. "Fucking hell."
          "Look in there," Ryan ordered, shoving Greg toward another window. Greg managed to stop shaking enough to look through. "It’s Jen," he perked before his face fell. She was greeted by a tall, good-looking man who looked considerably younger than she was. They hugged and kissed and swapped presents as three small children bounded into the room.
          "That's my Jen," Greg peeped.
          "Was your Jen, his name's Keith…big in real estate…seven years younger than her…" Ryan mused.
          "No!" Greg wailed.
          "Yes, she deserves happiness and you, you became a bit of a brick…She left you five years ago in June, married Keith in September."
          "She re-married three months after she left me," Greg gasped.
          "Well, they had been seeing each other for a few years before then. You signed the divorce when you were pissed."
          Greg wanted the ground to open up and swallow him; the future was not looking good. He was expecting death and what he got was a lot worse. He didn't just get fat, he got Keith and that was a million times worse.

          Ryan led a stunned Greg back to the street where his apartment block was situated and they stopped under one of the lights that flickered back on.
          "I hope you've learnt something Greg, I really do," Ryan nodded.
          Greg nodded and looked up, Ryan was gone. "Why do they always fuck off so quickly," he huffed. He was about to head inside when a voice piped up.

          "You're a mean one Mr Proops." It was Paul, in his suit and sitting on a wall. He jumped to his feet. "You really are not nice." He walked along the wall a little and then looked back sharply to Greg. "You're as cuddly as a leper, you're as charming as head lice, Mr Proops." Paul leapt off the fence and landed in front of Greg "You're so bad I'd rather my head was in a vice."
          "Gee thanks." Greg sarced.
          "You're a monster, Mr Proops," Brad announced, peering over Greg's shoulder and causing him to jump a mile. "Your heart’s a vacant lot. Your brain's been ruined by the drugs, you've smoked too much pot, Mr Proops." Brad teased as he swung around the lamp post and nearly kicked Paul over. "I would never fuck you, you're really not that hot."
          "Get fucked," Greg huffed.
          "What did I just say huh?" Brad huffed.
          "You're a vile one Mr Proops," Ryan snide. "You have a sneer not a smile."
          "You have all the tender sweetness of the Snowtown murder trial," Paul cut in with a cheeky grin.
          "Given the choice between the two, I'd rather the Snowtown murder trial than you," Ryan smirked.
          "Me too," Paul nodded.
          "You're a foul one, Mr Proops, you're a nasty little shit," Brad piped up. "Your heart's as black as tar, you're so full of it, Mr Proops."
          Then Brad, Paul and Ryan stepped forward together causing Greg to step back and trip on the gutter. "The three words that best describe you are as follows and we quote 'MISERABLE OLD GIT."
          "You're a rotter, Mr Proops, you're the king of the turds," Paul hissed.
          "Your heart's full of cynical words," Ryan spat.
          "With things we've never heard, Mr Proops," Brad snarled.
          "Your soul is a cesspool overflowing with the most putrid wastes all going to the sea," the three growled together.
          "You nauseate me, Mr Proops," Brad snapped. "With your unique meanness."
          "You're a miserly old fuck," Paul sneered
          "And you don't deserve your luck," Ryan added as the three of them moved forward again, backing Greg into a wall. He crouched into the foetal position.
          "You're a miserable, un-festive bastard and YOU SUCK!"
          "I'm sorry, I'll change, I'll change. Just stop it ok," Greg pleaded and gingerly moved his fingers from over his glasses. Ryan, Brad and Paul were gone and he was alone in the street. Greg let out several shocked gasps and then hurried across the street to his apartment.

          Greg woke early and pulled his glasses on to check the time it was 7am. He clambered out of bed and into the bathroom where he showered and then hunted out the brightest green jumper he could find in his closet, and put a Christmas hat over his hair. Greg woke his wife, gave her a tender kiss and warned her not to run off with anyone called Keith, before he hurried from the apartment to his car and drove to Ryan's. He was greeted by Ryan's kids, who excitedly showed off their brand new toys as their father appeared looking worn out.
          "Merry Christmas Ry," Greg perked
          "Yeah, right," Ryan said with a sardonic smile as one child started demanding batteries. "Anything else."
          "Love to the wife and family yeah," Greg perked and then hurried off. Ryan looked bewildered and closed the door. Greg arrived next at Brad's and knocked loudly. Brad opened the door, half asleep and in his underwear.
          "Have you not noticed it’s night time still?" Brad yawned.
          "It’s half past eight," Greg huffed. "Merry Christmas Brad."
          "Do I look like I care?" Brad asked.
          "You should care, it’s the time to hang with family and remember friends."
          "Well, you've remembered me, go and stuff the turkey or something," Brad huffed and closed the door.
          "MERRY CHRISTMAS!" Greg yelled as he headed back to his car. Once behind the wheel, Greg grabbed his phone and dialed Paul's number.
          "Fuck off."
          "Merry Christmas Paul."
          "What? Who the…Proops?"
          "That's right, peace and goodwill."
          "It’s 4am and Boxing Day you fuckhead."
          "Never mind, god bless," Greg perked and hung up. His last stop was Drew's. He waited patiently smiling giddily, before Drew appeared.
          "Greg? What on earth are you doing here man?"
          "Merry Christmas Drew," Greg smiled and wrapped him up in a hug. "I'm insisting you come to dinner at my place."
          "Are you serious?"
          "Of course I'm serious."
          "Well that's really nice, I'll be round later," Drew smiled. "Thanks," he added.

          Christmas dinner went spectacularly at the Proops's with Greg apologising to his parents for being so terrible and Drew having everyone in tears of laughter. From that day forward Greg became the most annoyingly festive person, he took over arranging the "Whose Line" Christmas party and insisted on doing a rap version of Jingle Bells with Wayne to climax the occasion. He wore cheesy "I Love Xmas" t-shirts and started his shopping in July. He took over the job of erecting the tree and decorations and bought countless new ones every season (the large singing Santa almost ended his marriage). He never encountered the hired "ghosts" in that fashion again. He found it strange working with Brad and Ryan who seemed to look at him like they knew something he didn’t. He ran into Paul in Edinburgh where he found Paul performing in a green velvet suit and Tony just thought Greg had gone mental when he mentioned something about it. Although none of his friends confessed he believed it had been an odd conspiracy toward him but he loved them all the more for it as he proved when he brought them all together for his annual Christmas movie marathon and ribs night.