Christmas Spirits

I woke up with my head busted, my mouth tasting like a junkies carpet. The weak winter sun shone in through the curtains. I shaded my watery eyes with a shaking hand. With a grimace I got up slowly and stumbled towards the fridge. There was half a bottle of Buckfast on the bottom shelf. With shaking hands I unscrewed the cap and downed the viscous liquid of life. I held out my hand. The shaking had stopped "Magic" I said to myself and smiled.

I sat down with the bottle cradled in my lap and tried to piece together the night before. In truth it had been a good few days maybe even a week I'd been on the beer. Time, people and places, all had been drownded in a confused and muddled sea of drink. I could remember the first pint, that was easy. The trouble was I couldn't remember on what day it was I'd had the first and I'd no idea how I'd made it home. Yet home I was. I looked around the room for clues. I saw an empty box of Benson. Cian smoked Benson. A flash of recollection replayed Cian waltzing around the room with a bottle of whiskey. I scanned the room again but it was no use. My mind was blank. A blessing really, it can be a dangerous game trying to remember. Sometimes your safer not knowing.

Soon the the bottle of Buckfast was drank dry.Without it I knew I'd have a long day ahead of me. I shuddered to think of it. Nothing motivated me more than the thought of a drink, so up I got and out I went pulling on my coat along the way. There'd been snow the night before and the ground was dressed in white. Christmas lights hung on most houses or were wrapped around trees in their gardens. The sprinkle of lights and dusting of snow gave the streets the look of a big festive frosted cake. For a fleeting moment I had a kind of Christmasy feeling. Like what you'd have when you were a wee boy. It was gone as fast as it had arrived and my hangover was all I was left with. I was shaking again. I put the head down and with cold hands driven deep into coat pockets I made the final push for the off licence. I rounded the corner and like an oasis in the desert, there it was "Sheelan's Off Sales". The lights were off and where there should have been a sign saying "Open" instead hung a hateful sign saying "Closed". "Your fucking joking me" I said to meself and hoped it was a sign malfunction, a miscommunication of sorts. I stuck my face up against the window and squinted. I knocked at the glass and all I all I got for my trouble was a sickening pain in my cold bones. There was no one there. 

I was starting to panic. I thought about Sheila Sheelan and where the fuck she could be. She was never closed not ever. When her brother had died she'd opened the shop before and after his funeral only allowing herself an hour to pay her respects at the funeral. Maybe she'd been hit by a bus I thought. I looked up and down the road. There were no buses and no sign of a squished Sheila. In fact there wasn't much sign of anything. It was eerily quiet. There were no cars on the road. No buses, no people. There weren't any footprints on the path other than my own. "What the fuck is goin on here?" I thought to meself. "Where is everyone?" 

As I said id been on the drink heavy for a few days prior and now I was dangerously sober. So sober I could barely see or think straight. What with the the sudden disappearance of Sheila Sheelan and every other ejit in town I was starting to think irrationally. Maybe there was an attack by the Russians or the Brits and everyone was dead in their beds? Or maybe, maybe they were all away hiding on me. Maybe they'd all left and I was here alone and it was one big joke. I tired to push the paranoia away and I'd a sudden jolt of inspiration. I'd check the Brown Bull. No matter what happened. Whether we were attacked by the Russians or the Martians it made no difference. There'd surely be someone sat at the pub. A nice pint for company safely waiting for it all to blow over. I slipped and slided in the snow as I raced down deserted streets. I rounded the final corner and there it was, the Bull . The red and green festive bulbs which adorned the locked door were the only sign of life. The pub was deserted. "Fuck it anyways" 

I turned around and followed my footprints back towards the house. Sometimes I'd look up hopefully but it was no use there wasn't a sinner about. I felt like the last person on earth and it wasn't a nice feeling. It wasn't like them films where the character some American ejit, you know the type. Well he'd wake up and everybody would have disappeared and he'd have a great time for himself, doing whatever he liked. My eyes lit up "Whatever I likes." I don't know a lot but I know what I like. I made the next left and found meself outside the offy again. With a great big kick I booted down the door. I didn't feel one bit bad about it either. Sure if Sheila had been zapped or abducted by Martians she wouldn't miss her drink would she? Better I get it than one of the aliens. I filled up a trolley with whiskey and stout and about 72 packets of crisps and out I went. I took a good healthy gulp outa the whiskey bottle and it helped clear me head. Sure, I wasn't happy about being the last survivor of whatever it was I was surviving but crying about it certainly wouldn't do me no good. I took another swig and thought "I've always been a pragmatist a survivor.Just the right kind of person to keep humanity going after a crisis such as this." I hoped there were at least one or two women left who I could help keep the human race afloat with. That was an exciting idea indeed. Sure if I was the only fella left I'd be bating them off me with a big stick. "Get in line ladies get in line."

I got back into the house and parked the trolley with the drinks and crisps in the kitchen. I opened a can of stout and picked up the house phone which was dangling from the receiver, its curly cord stretched down towards the ground. I held the phone to my ear and there was a dial tone. So the lines of communication hadn't been completely severed. That was promising. I punched in Cian's number. It must have rang for a minute before I dropped the phone to the floor again. Poor Cian must have copped it. I thought about ringing my mother, but said I'd have a few more drinks first just in case she answered. The apocalypse clearly hadn't affected my rational thinking.

Its a funny thing being the sole survivor, the last man standing. In a way I was used to it. At parties or whatever I was still always up drinking when everyone else had passed out or had gone home to bed. In that way I suppose I was the ideal candidate. That's probably why God or fate or Buddha or whoever ya fancy yourself chose me in the first place. It was a bit lonely though I must admit. Suddenly the TV just turned on all by itself. I nearly shite meself with fright. "Here we go" I thought. Here comes the news bulletin telling us to stay indoors and keep the pets inside so you can eat them later.I reached under me arse and there was the remote I was after sitting on it. There was no news at all just some old black and white film about some old man at Christmas. I thought it was strange that the TV channels should still be working but I soon forgot all about that as I watched and drank. The old man was visited by three spirits and ... Well I don't remember much else. I fell asleep and had some mad post apocalyptic dreams. I was visited by three spirits; whiskey, vodka and gin. "Your a bowsie" Whiskey told me "Your families worried for ya." I don't remember much else but I do remember thinking it was a bit rich for Whiskey to be giving it the big one about me being a drunkard. What with the messing and trouble he's caused over the years. 

When I woke up the film was still on. The old man with a head on him like Sheila Sheelan's was hanging out of his window like a gobshite. He was asking some wee street urchin what day it was. I remember thinking this fella may get himself checked into somewhere, doesn't even know what day it is. Then the boy said "Wot day?" in his Cockney accent "Why it's Christmas." The can I was raising to my lips froze mid air. "Christmas!?" me and old Scrooge said together "Oh fuck" I said meself. I grabbed a few bottles from the trolley and sprinted out the door. Down the lane I ran towards me mother's. Again I tried to remember how long I'd been on the sauce. Surely I couldn't have drank my way right through Christmas Eve and into Christmas day without realizing? I knocked on me mam's door half hoping she'd been killed by the Russians. The door opened and there she was. "Hi mam" I said "Come in son" she opened the door and gave me a look that was knowing, patronizing and concerning all at once. My dad was watching the telly and my sister was in finishing setting the table. I could smell the ham and the turkey and my mouth watered. I wasn't even that disappointed that I wasn't earth's last lone survivor. "Hello son" my dad said "Lorna get your brother a drink" Lorna rolled her eyes and went to the fridge coming back with a cold can. I opened it up and took a little sip. The kind of sip that told my audience I could take it or leave it. My mother was looking at me knowingly. "So did you forget?" "Forget what?" says I "That we were having Christmas dinner?" "Don't be daft" I scoffed and took a bigger drink out the can "Hmmmm" my mother noised skeptically. "Maybe you should give up the drink for the new year?" she said as she returned to the sitting room. I looked at the can and thought of Sheila Sheelan's off licence. "Maybe I should"I thought to meself and downed the rest of the can "Maybe I should."