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If there was one thing for sure that the Grinch would be doing, while all those Whoville Who’s were celebrating Christmas each year, it was sleeping the day away.
However, it was never an easy sleep. He was tossing and turning, the music groaning on up the pipes into his lair, all the way up here in the Mountains.
His thoughts rushing, his memories haunting him.
Haunting him in and out of sleep.
No matter.
Once the New Year's celebrations wore off, the town would fall into the silent slumber of winter, and he’d have several months of quiet.
He was just about to doze off into another restless bout of sleep when a bell started ringing.
He first didn’t hear it or register it at all.
But it got even louder than the bells down in Whoville that were constantly ringing.
The bells of their voice while they were all singing.
And it got louder. Closer even.
As if it was right there in the room.
His eyes snapped open, expecting to see Max.
But when he sat up, the dog was asleep in his dog house, not making a snort.
The Grinch noticed something new, standing within his wide cavern room.
It looked something like him. Not a Who. But then what?
He slid off his mattress to confront them.
They didn’t flinch as he approached them, their form covered in fur. But they were not green, but white, like a ghost.
“Do you know where you are?” He asked them, intending to sound demanding, but coming out sounding more unsure of himself.
“I’m here to see the Grinch, this Christmas Eve. I’m one of three spirits that he shall receive.”
“Please don’t talk in rhyme, it causes me headaches. And once someone begins it, I can’t seem to avoid it myself,” he rubs his head, not quite yet grasping what has been said.
“I am the spirit of Christmas Past.”
“Well, you’re in luck. I’ve been ruminating over it all day, so you can be on your way.”
He waved the spirit on, referring to the door. The spirit didn’t move, but reached out towards Grinch, who was the one to flinch.
“I have stories to tell that you yourself could not know. If you’ll just take my hand, we can go.”
The spirit of Christmas past held out its long fingers.
The Grinch held his fist tight, curled up to his chest.
“I think I’d rather…”
The spirit grabbed hold of the Grinch’s arm, pulling him forward until off they were.
Flying down Mt. Crumpet without using the door. And the Village began to change as they got closer. It started to age. But not up, but instead it got younger.
Until the Grinch noticed his small self, climbing up the side of the mountain.
But here is not where the ghost had stopped.
They flew past even further away from its top.
Until soon they rest outside the home Grinch grew up in, for eight years of his life.
The two aunts who had raised him were inside. Sitting side by side, one hung up the phone and started to cry.
The spirit pulled him in further, so he was there too. Grinch yanked his arm back with annoyance.
“He ran away from school,” His aunt was explaining, tears in her eyes.
“Oh dear, no, he seemed so excited today,” the other aunt expressed, just as depressed by the news.
“It seems he was embarrassed, made fun of. Bullied, perhaps.”
“Should we go after him?”
“Where to begin? We’re in no shape to go after a young boy in the woods.”
“Do you think he’ll come home?”
“We can only hope and wait,” the two cuddled close, holding each other in their grief and worry.
“But you never did,” Spirit Past whispered for just Grinch to hear. “They waited, they searched, but you had all but disappeared.”
“All but? I had aimed precisely for disappearance, actually.”
“They worried, they feared the worst, until rumors began that you were safe.”
“He had such an adorable little face, didn’t he?” One aunt cried as the other pulled down a picture from the tableside. A small, young boy Grinch, looking unamused at the camera.
“He’s feisty, surely he’ll be fine in the wild?”
“I imagine part of him belongs there.”
“Clearly,” Grinch agreed with the aunts, though they seemed to be in a trance, his and the Spirit Past presence unknown to them both.
“He’s a cutie,” she doted on his picture clutched in her hands.
“He’s our cutie, always will be.”
“I am not cute,” Grinch groaned, glaring at the aunts before shifting the glare unto the Spirit Past, “Can we go?”
“We have another stop to make briefly, so yes,” Sprit Past once again offered its hand.
This time, to avoid being dragged, the Grinch begrudgingly took the offer.
“It’s a new time, a new Christmas, a fresh snow,” Spirit Past quipped as they left the Aunts' house and went into the town, buzzing, busy with Who after Who passing by.
When he realized he could not trip them, he could have cried.
“Darn it,” he pulled back his foot as a Who stepped right through.
“This is a projection of things that have been,” Spirit Past explained, before continuing, “There’s one Who not so busy with Christmas, though it’s a season she favors. It’s now been five years since you left Whoville. The rumors you made yourself a home on the top of Mt Crumpet have circulated by now.”
“How did they find out where I was?” He wondered.
“Process of elimination, I suppose,” Spirit Past suggests, “After all, there weren’t any other caves, any other places you could have called home.”
“Well, where is she?” He already knew who this Who would be. Or at least there was only one Who he was hoping to see.
Spirit Past pointed, but not into the Village, instead towards its outskirts. Toward Mt. Crumpet.
They sped forward without having to move. Until they were floating alongside a young Martha May. She carried only a small letter, clutched in her gloved hands.
Her nose was only beginning to spike. Now it was red, snotty, and raw. Muscles seemed to be aching as she struggled to lift up her boots. The snow was deep, the mountain steep. And she was tired, but her expression was determined.
“She shouldn’t be alone,” Grinch growled.
“Nor should you have at only eight years,” Spirit Past hitched.
“No one cared about me.”
“Have you already forgotten your aunts?”
“NO one came after me.”
“What does this look like to you?”
Grinch furrowed as he watched Martha struggle against the Christmas Eve breeze he knew always blew down the mountain in late December. It was a struggle from his eight-year-old self that he would always remember.
The struggle continued, but she didn’t stop. Not until she stood at the top.
Just outside his door.
Her hands were shaking. Was it only because it was bitterly cold?
“I would have let her in had I known she was there.”
But she didn’t knock. She didn’t try the knob.
She stood there quietly. Perhaps pondering her next move.
Until she knelt down, sliding the letter beneath the door. But there wasn’t enough of a crack. The door was sealed so tightly, not a flea could get in.
So, when she turned to leave, the breeze blew it away.
Grinch tried to catch it, but sadly forgot. A moment from the past could not be caught.
Martha retreated down the mountain. And her letter flew upward, and just kept on going.
It peaked Mt Crumpet, caught a new wind, then twirled in some circles, before it disappeared, never to be read.
“It was just one of many,” Spirit Past told him, “She wrote you every Christmas.”
“I never received any letters.”
“She never sent them. This was her last attempt to really reach you.”
“But, but, I never received the letter! She never knocked! What sort of attempt is that?”
He growled to himself mostly, but the Past as well.
“I’ve had enough of this. If I can’t see what was in the letter, I’d rather go.”
“Then go on inside. The next Spirit is nearly due to arrive.”
“Whatever,” Grinch was glad to be home. And even better, in the present, once he was alone.
Max was still curled up asleep, but perked up an ear when he heard Grinch come in.
Max opened his eyes, looking surprised.
“How annoying,” noted the Grinch, “You didn’t even notice I’d been kidnapped.”
Another bell began to ring.
“Oh no,” Grinch groaned. He looked around, trying to locate the Spirit that would be behind the sound.
This one was so tiny, he nearly stepped on it from where it sat on the ground.
“Watch it!” Its tiny voice warned.
“What are you? A pixie?” Grinch knelt down to look.
“I’m Spirit of Christmas Present,” the tiny thing hissed, “Pick me up, and we can be on our journey.”
“And what if I don’t? What if I…just step on you?”
“I’m a spirit, you can’t harm me. But I prefer you don’t step on me, and instead let us get going. We have things to see, and one more spirit is forming.”
Grinch rolled his eyes, plucking the pesky thing up and into his palm, giving it a closer look.
It had no wings, so it wasn’t a pixie. It had no fur, and it wasn’t white. It was colorful instead, like a tiny Who child that was the size of an ant.
“How does this travel work?” He wondered.
But suddenly, he knew, as the cavern began reanimating into a Whoville house.
It was busy with a party in motion. Christmas themed. Music blaring.
His aunts were there, huddled together, arm in arm.
“Another year without our boy here beside us.”
“It’s been so empty each holiday without him.”
“Especially Halloween. He always loved that one.”
They sigh in unison and head on to a large buffet table of treats.
“They have gained a lot of weight, haven’t they?” Grinch says to his palm.
“Some eat through their emotions,” Spirit Present told him, “Would you like to linger on with them? Or move on elsewhere in the party?”
“Ah,” Grinch tried to seem nonchalant about who to spy on next, but his eyes scanned the room.
“Oh, Loath,” he groaned as he spotted Mayor Maywho sipping a brandy and socializing with some others whom Grinch didn’t know by name, “He hasn’t changed a bit. Still round and rotten.”
He saw the Mayor perk up at someone’s entrance. Grinch felt his chest bubble as he followed the gaze, right over to Martha, who was entering fashionably late.
She wore a red and gold gown inspired by some holiday Hollywood film, no doubt, that flared out around her, singed at the waist. The bustle was pillowed just right at her bosom. Her blonde hair was piled on the top of her head, with red and green jewels strung throughout.
Grinch was close enough to the Mayor to hear someone say, “Well, are you going to ask her? No day like today!”
“Ask her what?” Grinch demanded, but no one reacted.
“You can’t interact with an inactive present,” Spirit Present told him.
“What does that even me?” Grinch fussed, “If it’s present, it’s happening, I should be able to interact! These rules are stupid.”
“They aren’t rules, just merely realities.”
Maywho grunted in late response, approaching Martha at the other men’s insistence.
She waited where she stood, looking expectant.
Grinch followed him with a close hustle, looking between them with discomfort, “Must I really be here to see this?”
“We can see if there’s anything else going on you don’t want to miss.”
But the Grinch stayed put, taking Martha’s side.
“Merry Christmas, Martha,” Maywho kissed her hand. The Grinch made a face, sticking out his tongue in distaste.
“Merry Christmas, Mayor Maywho,” she slyly took back her hand.
“Please, please, I keep telling you, call me Augustus,” he glanced back at the room before returning to her, “I was curious to know, have you given my proposal any thought?”
“Proposal?” Grinch hissed.
“Proposal?” Martha echoed with hesitation.
“Allowing me to take you out for Christmas Eve festivities? Dinner? A film? Perhaps a moonlit stroll in the lights?”
“They haven’t been on a date yet?” Grinch pretended to check a watch that wasn’t there, “It’s only been fifteen years!”
“Oh, Augustus, I don’t know…”
“You know no woman in her right mind would turn down the Mayor so many times.”
His interruption caused a stern look from both Martha and the Grinch that made the Mayor cower back a step.
“Of course, I don’t mean to…”
“I suppose a stroll couldn’t hurt,” Martha decided rather hastily, perhaps just to interrupt him in turn.
“Wonderful,” the Mayor looked so proud, the Grinch wanted to slug him. “After the party, I will escort you through a light display sure to delight you.”
“I look forward to it,” Martha gave him a tight-lipped smile, “Do you mind fetching me a drink?”
“Surely, stay right here,” he was off in a brush, pushing past other guests to do so, “Don’t go away,” he said even as he was nearly out of earshot.
Martha let up a breath in his absence, which seemed to Grinch a relief.
“She hates him,” he laughed, chuckled, and sneered, “No wonder he’s not made it to the first date.”
“She can’t resist forever,” Spirit Present told him from his hand, “Because of the Mayor’s advances, no other Who man will approach her. If she keeps avoiding him, she'll end up alone.”
“What’s wrong with being alone?”
“It’s not Martha’s true style,” Spirit Present assured, "She wants what Betty Lou-Who has. She wants companionship, and true love."
“MayWho? True love? Ha! She's better off alone.”
Spirit Present merely nodded, and Martha retreated to a window seat, seemingly uninterested in mingling with the other guests.
Grinch sat down beside her.
“Martha May?” A woman approached them.
“Betty Lou,” Martha greeted her, somewhat tense, “How do you do?”
“What are you doing over here all alone? I thought you’d be dancing with the Mayor by now.”
Martha chuckled, the Grinch snorted, Betty Lou grinned.
“If he should ask,” Martha admitted, “I’d be delighted to have a dance. I’m just taking a moment of peace before everyone gathers around for the big feast.”
Betty Lou nodded, moving away, but the Grinch saw her lean into to her husband to say, “Sometimes I feel such sadness coming off of her. It’s strange, don’t you think? How could someone be sad when they’re dressed so elegantly, and have so many fine things?”
“Maybe she’s lonely,” Mr. Lou Who guessed.
The Grinch looked back at Martha and saw a familiar look on her face that he often wore himself.
“You are lonely,” he knew. “But how? You’re surrounded by Who’s. They’re so noisy, so chatty, so busy, so THERE.”
“You left her behind,” Spirit Present reminded, “Why should you care?”
“Oh, Martha?” Mayor Maywho’s voice carried as he searched for her in the crowded room.
“Oh god,” she sighed, mumbling close to Grinch’s ear.
“Just leave, Martha,” the Grinch insisted, but she could not hear.
Instead, she forced a smile, “Over here, Augustus.”
She stood to greet him, “Your drink, my lady.”
“I can’t bear to watch this facade anymore,” Grinch grumbled into his hand, “Let me go home.”
As if he had never been there at all, the Grinch was back in his bed. But his heart still felt heavy, and the scents of the Christmas party still stung his nose.
A bell pealed through the room.
“All right, final ghost, please make this quick. I’m exhausted and worn out, and I don’t care one bit about what the future may be. I suppose I can guess, and it’s nothing I want to see.”
He pulled the cover over his head. A hand pulled it back. It felt cold and dead.
A chill ran up The Grinch’s spine. Even Max barked.
“Geeze, about time,” The Grinch huffed at his mut.
The Spirit Future stood before them, grey, transparent. It seemed to have no face at all. It was very thin, very tall, and blew around like a flag in a breeze that wasn’t even there.
It spoke not a word, but just waited.
“I’m not sure I want to do this one,” Grinch sputtered out after a moment of silence.
Knowing that he had no choice, he crawled meekly out of his bed.
He looked up at the spirit and sputtered out a small huff.
“Um, I’m not sure if it’s the height or the silence that’s more intimidating. You want to show me something, right?”
Spirit Future didn’t move. The room, however, did. It fell from beneath him, and into the future he slid.
Max was long gone, now just a stone. The Grinch sat wallowing, alone.
His cavern hadn’t changed much at all. The pile of trash from Whoville was only that much more tall.
Despite the shallow, dim sound of Christmas music coming from town, the room was still, damp, and dark. Max’s thing sat vacant, growing dust in a pile.
The Grinch himself no longer knew how to smile.
“He looks,” Grinch leaned in to get a look at himself, “Wider,” he noted, stepping back.
“Spirit, show me elsewhere. I knew this would come. I wish not yet to wallow within it. I’ll have plenty of time for that when it’s done.”
The room fell again, the future sped fast, his "aunts" no longer living, they'd missed ever having a reunion, then he slid into a living room.
Martha May’s living room.
She was decorating a tree. Carefully placing each bobble.
Her face was void of expression. Her finger held a heavy-looking ring.
“Martha, no, you didn’t,” the Grinch examined her, “Did you?”
“Honey, I’m home!” Mayor Maywho came in the front door, tearing off his cape.
Martha quickly abandoned her project to pour him a drink at a tiny bar near the tree, “In here, Augustus.”
He came in to claim his drink and give her a peck on the cheek as he took it.
“How was your day, dear?” she asked him, as he plopped into a recliner. Grinch hoovered over him with distaste, watching the scene.
Maywho kicked off his shoes, and Martha was already kneeling to knead his toes.
The Grinch grimaced wider than he’d already been grimacing.
“You know how it is as a Mayor. We want, give us, you give them what they want and it’s not good enough, they want more still.”
Mayor Maywho sips his drink. Martha works at massaging his feet without looking at him.
“And, Martha, when is it you’ll be giving me what I want?”
“What’s that, dear?”
“A son. I want a son, Martha,” his tone was demanding, and tired, “It’s been three years.”
“We have six daughters.”
“What!?” Grinch shouted, looking at Martha with exaggerated surprise.
“If the Maywho name is going to keep this town, we need a son. No more daughters.”
He kicked his feet down, causing Martha to jar before she got her bearings and stood on her feet to face him.
Martha was not smiling, not amused in the least. She seemed rather fed up, to be honest.
“A daughter could be a Mayor.”
He laughed at her as he pushed up out of his chair, “No, no, Martha. A son. Have you made dinner? Or must I call for pizza again?”
He left the room, leaving Grinch and Martha alone.
Martha was trying so hard not to cry. He could see her jaw buckle. Her eyes glaze.
She wasn’t depressed, not even destressed.
What she was, it seemed to Grinch, was building up the same anger he had long ago.
The kind that makes you retreat into yourself and let everyone and everything else go.
She returned to the tree, unconcerned with dinner. Or perhaps, she was too desensitized to follow him into the kitchen and hear him fuss.
“I hope you have a nanny for all those babies,” Grinch considered as he followed her, “But I guess, of course, a Mayor would have a nanny. He could have at least gotten you a chef, too. In addition to you know, the fancy rings, cars, houses…”
Martha couldn’t hold it in anymore. She started to cry.
She slipped down onto her knees, bearing the sound of her grief in the tree.
Grinch shook his head, “This isn’t yet true. There’s still something you can do. Martha just answer ‘no’ when he asks. That’s it. That’s your task!”
There came a knock on the door, and Martha was so quick, as if a switch was flipped, she was answering with a smile. Tears all dried.
Betty Lou again, with six carriages with her.
“Betty! I can’t thank you enough,” Martha let her in, sorting each child in a row as Betty helped, “I’m so sorry to leave them with you so often during the season.”
“You’re a mayor’s wife, you have a lot to host to keep up with,” Betty knew, breathing in the room, “I envy you your life, Martha May. You have everything now. Rich, a mother and wife.”
“It’s not as glamorous as you may assume.”
“Are you kidding? Look at the size of this room!”
Grinch took a look around, taking his eyes from Martha for the first time. It was extravagant for sure.
But it felt so stuffy for such a large space.
There were fancy, cluttered things all over the place.
Two of the six children started to cry. Grinch leaned in to see them squirming inside the carriages.
“Do you need help?” Betty offered.
“No, Betty, go home.”
“Augustus is here, I’m sure he’ll help you. I’m certain.” Betty bid her farewell.
“Yes, of course he will,” Martha kicked the door shut as she lifted one child, two more started to cry.
“If there’s a knock at the door, it’s the delivery boy! I'm taking a shower,” Maywho shouted from the stairs.
Grinch frowned, turning to Spirit Future, who seemed to just ‘hang around’.
“Spirit, I get the point. Now send me back to the present to set things right.”
To his surprise, Spirit Future did just that, and the next thing he knew, he was back in his bed, the sheet still tightly pulled over his head.
He sat up, slamming the sheet down.
Max sat at the end of the bed with his head at a curious tilt.
“Max!! My best friend,” Grinch crawled across the bed, lay on his stomach, and rubbed Max’s belly till the dog started kicking.
“I love you, Max,” Grinch joyfully told him, “I’m so glad you’re here, old pal.”
Grinch then rolled off the bed and grabbed one of Max’s old toys, and they played fetch, tug of war, and an assortment of games before Max was worn out and lay down to rest with a chew toy in his dog house.
“And now to make sure the holiday’s still young,” the Grinch told him, marching out the front door to where his telescope sat.
He peered inside just in time to spot Martha step out of her own door, dressed for a party and on her way out.
“I know that dress. I know just where she’ll be. But I have to disguise myself if I care to make an appearance,” he shuffled inside again to set up a disguise.
“Lucky for me, it’s still Christmas Eve,” he mumbled to Max as he readied himself, “I still have time to secure a better fate.”
He wore his best cloak, though it wasn’t anything as fine as what any Who would be wearing tonight. He covered his face with his goofy Who mask.
“Okay, Max, I’ll be back!” He promised as he headed out the door, “Wish me luck!”
Max barked as the door shut after the Grinch, but Grinch peered back in for a quick, “Thank you,” before he popped right back outside again.
The Grinch traveled down the garbage shoot. He was in a hurry.
He got down to Whoville, brushed himself off, before heading to the Who house where he grew up.
Through the window of warm light, he saw Martha sitting, waiting.
Without much time, he hurried to the back door to head inside through the kitchen, as he did in his youth.
The Aunts were pouring drinks for their guests, and Mayor Maywho stood in line.
Grinch skillfully cut, taking the mayor’s intended beverage, claiming, “That’s mine," he leaned into to the two women, "Thanks moms. Catch you later." As he sped off the two mothers exchanged a quick glance.
Mayor Maywho hardly noticed; it happened so fast.
Grinch then made a beeline for where Martha sat.
She was so lost in thought she hadn’t heard him approach, so he cleared his throat, “Your drink, my lady.”
Martha looked startled at the sound of his voice. She looked up at him with wide eyes, standing to accept the drink.
“How did you know I was waiting for a drink?” she asked casually, giving it a light sip.
“I’m observant,” he said.
“Oh, Martha?” the mayor’s voice carried over the room in his search.
Martha gave a glance in his direction, but her eyes were quick to return, “Let’s step outside? For fresh air.”
Grinch followed her out on the front lawn, “Avoiding someone?”
“No,” she denied quickly, “I just prefer to be alone for a moment.”
“Oh, well I can go…” he trailed off with his voice, but she touched his arm to keep him beside her.
“Not alone, by myself.”
“Oh, I see,” he grinned beneath the grin on his ridiculous mask, “Alone with me?”
“So, you are observant after all,” she teased.
He chuckled a bit, not sure what else to say.
“I’m Martha, by the way,” she offered.
“I know,” he admitted, “I’m…”
He thought for a moment pause. She arched a brow in anticipation.
“I’m the Grinch,” he said it flatly, expecting a reaction.
She reacted with a wide smile, “I know.”
He let out a breath, “That’s a relief.”
“I expected you to give me an alias.”
“I considered it.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t want to insult your intelligence.”
Her brows rose again, and she sipped her drink behind an ever-lasting grin, “Oh, thank you.”
“Martha?” Maywho found them, rounding the corner from the front door, a drink in hand, “Martha, what are you doing out here?” Without giving her a chance to answer he set his attention on the Grinch’s get-up, “Who’s this?”
“Larry,” Grinch told him, offering a gloved hand for a shake, “Larry Aliasness.”
“That’s a strange name,” The Mayor wondered, “You’re not from here? Not a Who?”
“No,” Grinch stated sharply while dropping his hand, which Maywho never shook.
“Martha, come inside,” Maywho then demanded, “It’s cold out here, and everyone’s asking about you.”
“I’ll be right in, Mayor Maywho,” Martha promised, sending him off with a frown on his face.
She turned back to the Grinch with a laugh, “Aliasness?”
“Well, it is an alias! On short notice, at that. And it isn’t as though Augustus has any intelligence to insult.”
They both laughed at that.
“I’m glad you came down,” she offered.
Grinch slid off his mask, “Martha, would you care to take a stroll with me? To admire the Christmas lights?”
She narrowed her eyes at him with a slight suspicion, “Have you been spying on me tonight?”
“No. It’s been more on and off for the last fifteen or so years.”
“Oh my,” she took his arm as he offered it, “Sorry I missed you.”
“You missed me?”
“I meant,” she laughed to herself, and corrected, “I really did miss you.”
They started walking arm in arm into the streams of lights that hung all over Whoville, in trees, on houses.
“So, tell me,” Grinch tried to sound nonchalant, “have you ever written me any letters? I’d be curious to know what they might have said?”