Marley’s form was translucent, flickering like a poorly tuned television. He wore the same cheap suit he’d been buried in, now hanging off his spectral frame in tatters. But it was what he carried that made Ed’s breath catch.

Chains. But not normal chains.

Wrapped around Marley’s torso, dragging behind him, attached to his wrists and ankles—a grotesque collection of trailer park detritus. Cinderblocks that scraped the floor with every movement. Old propane tanks that hissed and leaked phantom gas. RV tires that rolled and wobbled behind him. Rusty lawn chairs that screeched and groaned. Bent television antennas that sparked with static electricity. Mismatched hubcaps that clinked together like oversized coins. And threaded through it all, broken Christmas lights that flashed in chaotic, epileptic patterns.

“Jesus Christ,” Ed breathed.

“He ain’t here, buddy.” Marley’s voice was exactly as Ed remembered it—loud, brash, tinged with the accent of a man who’d spent his whole life convincing people to trust him. “Just me. Good old Marley. Your partner in crime. Your brother in greed.”

“You’re not real.”

“Yeah? Well, these chains feel pretty real to me.” Marley shuffled forward, the cinderblocks scraping gouges in Ed’s floor. “Been draggin’ ’em around for twelve years. You know how heavy a cinderblock is? Now imagine forty of ’em.”

Ed pressed himself against the wall. “What do you want?”

“Want? I don’t want nothin’. I’m past wantin’. I’m here to warn you, Ed. ‘Cause unlike you, I still got a shred of somethin’ resemblin’ a conscience.” Marley gestured at his chains, causing the propane tanks to rattle. “See this? This is what happens when you spend your whole life thinkin’ only about yourself. Every cheap repair, every skimped expense, every person you screwed over—it all adds up. Gets heavier and heavier until you’re draggin’ it around for eternity.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Marley’s ghost drifted closer. Ed could smell something like rust and ozone. “You remember when we had that plan? Gonna turn this dump into somethin’ special. Gonna help people. Then I brought in that businessman, the one with the fancy suit and the big promises. You remember him, Ed?”

Ed remembered. God, he remembered.

“He took everything,” Marley continued. “Every penny we’d saved, every dollar the residents had trusted us with. Gone. And I let it happen. I was too busy countin’ my cut to ask the right questions. Too greedy to see the con.”

“You’re the one who introduced him to us.”

“Yeah, I know. And you know what happened to me? Six months after we lost everything, I had a heart attack. Died face down in a Denny’s parking lot at three in the morning. Alone. And you know what my last thought was?” Marley’s ghost leaned in close. “I wondered if anyone would notice I was gone.”

Ed said nothing.

“Nobody came to my funeral, Ed. Not you. Not the residents. Nobody. They buried me in a county plot with a marker that just says ‘Marlon Jacobs’ and a date. No ‘beloved’ nothin’. No ‘sadly missed.’ Just a name and the proof I died.” The chains rattled as Marley gesticulated. “And now I gotta wander around, watchin’ all the pain my greed caused, and I can’t do nothin’ about it. Can’t make amends. Can’t apologize. Just… watch.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“‘Cause you’re headed for the same place, buddy! Look at you! You got exactly one person left who gives a damn about you, and you won’t even eat his tamales! You’re evictin’ a seventy-three-year-old woman with cancer! You’re payin’ Bobby poverty wages while his kid is dyin’!” Marley’s voice rose to a shout, and the Christmas lights on his chains flashed wildly. “You’re gonna die alone, Ed. And then you’re gonna spend forever regrettin’ it. And your chains? They’re gonna be heavier than mine.”

Ed’s hands were shaking. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to be betrayed. I didn’t ask to lose everything.”

“Neither did I. But we both made choices afterward, didn’t we? I chose to die bitter and alone. You chose to keep livin’ bitter and alone. And that’s worse, Ed. That’s so much worse.”

“Get out.”

“I’m already gone, buddy. Been gone twelve years. But you?” Marley pointed a translucent finger at Ed. “You still got time. Not much, but some.”

“Get out of my trailer!”

“Tonight,” Marley continued, ignoring him, “you’re gonna get three visitors. Three spirits. They’re gonna show you some things. Stuff you need to see. Stuff I wish someone had shown me before it was too late.”

“I don’t want visitors.”

“Tough. First one shows up at one in the morning. Second at two. Third at three.” Marley began backing toward the door, his chains clanking and scraping. “And Ed? Pay attention. ‘Cause this is your only shot. You ignore ’em, you wake up on December 26th same as you are now, and you keep marchin’ straight toward this.” He rattled his chains one final time. “Toward forever.”

“This is insane.”

“Yeah.” Marley’s ghost began to fade, the Christmas lights on his chains dimming. “Yeah, it is. Merry Christmas, Ed.”

The ghost vanished. The lights came back on, normal and steady. Ed stood alone in his trailer, breathing hard, his back pressed against the wall.

He looked at the floor. No gouges from the cinderblocks. No marks at all.

Hallucination. Had to be. Bad soup. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep. He pinched his arm hard enough to leave a mark. Didn’t feel like sleeping.

Ed checked his watch. 8:47 PM.

He sat down on his threadbare couch, suddenly exhausted. Just stress. Fiscal year ending, Christmas bringing out the worst in people, Bobby whining about his kid, Rocky pushing his tamales. Stress could do strange things to a mind.

He’d go to bed. Sleep it off. Wake up tomorrow, and everything will make sense again. Numbers would balance. Bills would get paid. Life would continue its logical, predictable course.

Ed brushed his teeth with cold water—he’d turned off the water heater to save money—and climbed into bed fully clothed. The trailer was too cold to undress.

He closed his eyes and waited for sleep.

At 12:59 AM, his eyes snapped open.

The trailer was filled with a sound like distant thunder mixed with electric guitar feedback. Blue light pulsed through his window. Ed sat up, his heart hammering.

1:00 AM.

The first ghost had arrived.