Book Six: Chapter 134

Mike’s lungs burned with every ragged breath as he scrambled across the dead backyard, his feet crunching over frost-hardened soil and splintered wooden debris. The ghost of Christmas Future hovered close, a silent, relentless predator whose movements were precise, almost preternatural. Every time Mike thought he had a moment to catch his breath, the spirit appeared again, its skeletal hands ready to seize or shove him toward some unseen doom.

“Seriously, you need to chill,” Mike gasped, hopping over a toppled planter. “I get it—you’re creepy. Congratulations. Point made!”

The spirit tilted its head, tilde-like in its unnatural way, then shifted closer, nudging Mike toward the greenhouse at the far edge of the yard. Mike’s vision darted toward it, the once-bright glass panes now streaked with grime and frost. Inside, the shadows hinted at overturned pots and a collection of frost-bitten plan