The door to Ed’s trailer slammed open, and music flooded in—a power ballad from the 1980s, all synthesizers and dramatic drums. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, backlit by stage lights that had no business existing in a trailer park.

“Right then, mate!” The figure struck a pose. “Time to get this show on the road!”

The ghost stepped inside, and Ed got his first clear look at the Ghost of Christmas Past.

He was magnificent. And ridiculous.

The ghost wore leather pants so tight they looked painted on, covered in rhinestones that spelled out words Ed couldn’t read in the strobing light. His shirt was open, revealing a pale, hairless chest and approximately 40 silver necklaces. His hair defied both gravity and reason—a platinum blonde pompadour that added six inches to his height. Eyeliner. Lipstick. Rings on every finger. And boots with heels that would’ve made a stripper jealous.

“You’re a rock star,” Ed said flatly.

“WAS a rock star, love. Past tense. Ironic, innit? Ghost of Christmas Past being a has-been?” The ghost laughed, a sharp, brittle sound. “Name’s—well, doesn’t matter now, does it? Died in ’97. Overdose in a Tampa motel room. Very rock and roll. Very stupid.” He crossed to Ed’s couch and sprawled across it with theatrical grace. “But I lived in this very park back in ’89, before I hit it big. Trailer twenty-three. Shared it with three other blokes and a python named Geoffrey. Good times.”

“I don’t remember you.”

“‘Course you don’t. You were too busy then, weren’t you? Had dreams, ambitions, plans. You were somebody.” The ghost stood abruptly, clapping his hands. “Which is precisely why I’m here! Come on, up you get. We’ve got a journey to take, and I’ve only got an hour. Union rules.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh, but you are, mate. You absolutely are.” The ghost grabbed Ed’s wrist, and suddenly the trailer was falling away, or they were rising, or the world was tilting—Ed couldn’t tell which. Lights streaked past, sound compressed and stretched, and then—

Stillness.

They stood in the same trailer park, but everything was different. The trailers looked newer, better maintained. Christmas lights hung from gutters—real decorations, not the broken-down mess that currently littered the park. Children played in a cleared area that Ed recognized as the current location of the dumpsters. A man knelt beside a trailer, installing a new door while a family watched gratefully.

The man was young, maybe thirty, with dark hair, callused hands, and a smile that actually reached his eyes.

“That’s me,” Ed whispered.

“That’s you twenty-five years ago, mate. Before everything went sideways. Look at you! Actually givin’ a damn about people!” The ghost walked a circle around the scene, gesturing grandly. “This was you on December 23rd, 1999. Remember this day?”

Ed remembered. Old Man Patterson’s door had rotted through, and winter was coming. Ed had spent his own money on a new door, installed it himself, and refused payment. The Patterson family had invited him to Christmas dinner. He’d gone.

“You were happy,” the ghost observed. “Weird concept for you now, innit?”

Young Ed finished the installation, shook Patterson’s hand, and headed toward his own trailer—a small single-wide, but well-maintained, with lights around the door and a wreath made of beer cans that someone had given him as a joke.

The scene shifted, blurred, reformed.

Now they stood in the same trailer, but it was evening. Young Ed sat at a small table covered with blueprints, sketches, and handwritten notes. A woman sat across from him, her dark hair pulled back, her face animated as she pointed to different parts of the plans.

“Darla,” Ed breathed.

“The one that got away,” the ghost said softly, dropping his theatrical persona for a moment. “Or rather, the one you let go.”

“We could expand the community center here,” Young Ed was saying, pointing to the blueprint. “Add a library, a computer room for the kids. And over here, we could put in a real playground. Not just the old swing set.”

“It’ll cost a fortune,” Darla said, but she was smiling.

“The residents are willing to chip in. Everyone’s excited about this. It’s not just a trailer park anymore, Darla. It’s becoming a real community.”

“I know.” Darla reached across the table and took his hand. “I’m proud of you, Eddie. You’re doing something important.”

“Once we get the funding secured, once this is all up and running…” Young Ed squeezed her hand. “I want to get that double-wide. The one we looked at. Make it a real home. For us.”

Darla’s smile faltered slightly. “Eddie, we’ve been together four years.”

“I know. And once I can afford—”

“I don’t care about the double-wide. I’d marry you in this single-wide. I’d marry you in a tent.”

“But we should wait until—”

“Until what? Until it’s perfect? Eddie, life isn’t perfect. We don’t have to wait for some perfect moment.” She stood, frustrated. “Sometimes I think you’re more committed to these blueprints than to me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Darla grabbed her coat. “I’m going home. Merry Christmas, Eddie.”

She left. Young Ed stared at the closed door, then returned to his blueprints.

“You never did ask her, did you?” the ghost said. “Always waitin’ for the right moment. The right financial situation. The right everything.”

The scene shifted again.

Now they stood outside a nice double-wide on the east side of the park. Through the lit windows, Ed could see a Christmas party in full swing. Adults laughed, children ran around, someone played guitar. And there, in the middle of it all, was Darla—older now, gray threading through her hair, laugh lines around her eyes. She leaned against a man with a beer gut and a receding hairline, and they looked at each other with the easy comfort of decades together.

“That’s Randy Miller,” the ghost said. “Worked at the tire shop. Never had a grand plan, never waited for the perfect moment. Just asked her out, proposed six months later, married her in the community center. That was fifteen years ago. They’ve got three kids now. Four grandkids.”

Ed watched Darla laugh at something Randy said. She looked happy. Genuinely, deeply happy.

“She would’ve married you,” the ghost said quietly. “Would’ve stood by you through the betrayal, through everything. But you never asked. Too busy waitin’ for perfect.”

“I wanted to give her a good life.”

“She wanted YOU, you stupid git. The rest was just details.”

The scene shifted again, and Ed felt his stomach drop.

They stood in the community center. The date, he knew somehow, was April 3rd, 2003. The day everything ended.

The room was packed with residents, all talking at once, voices raised in confusion and anger. At the front, Young Ed stood with Marley and a man in an expensive suit—the businessman, Ed remembered, though he’d never learned his real name. Probably an alias.

“The money’s gone?” someone shouted.

“There’s been a misunderstanding—” Young Ed started.

“Misunderstanding? You collected our savings! Promised you’d invest it in park improvements!”

“And we did,” Marley jumped in, his voice smooth, persuasive. “The contractor needed the money up front—”

“What contractor? Nobody’s seen any contractors!”

The businessman had already slipped out the side door. Ed watched him go, watched his younger self fail to notice, too busy trying to calm the crowd.

“You stole from us!”

“I didn’t—we didn’t—it was supposed to—”

“You’re a con man, just like your buddy Marley!”

“Forty years I’ve lived here, and you robbed me blind!”

Young Ed’s face crumbled. Ed remembered this moment with perfect clarity—the moment he realized he’d failed everyone who’d trusted him, that his dreams had been used against them all, that belief and hope were weaknesses that got exploited.

The ghost watched Ed’s face. “And there it is. That’s the moment little Eddie died and bitter old Ed was born.”

The scene shifted one final time.

They stood in a hospital room. A woman lay in the bed, thin and pale, tubes and wires connecting her to machines. Denise. Ed’s sister.

A younger Rocky sat beside her, holding her hand. Denise’s voice was weak but clear.

“Promise me you’ll check on him.”

“Mom, he doesn’t want to be checked on. He won’t even return my calls.”

“Promise me, mijo. Ed’s got no sense of his own. Never did. He needs family, even if he doesn’t know it. Especially now.”

“I promise.”

“Don’t give up on him. No matter how hard he pushes you away. He’s drowning, Rocky. He’s been drowning since the park thing happened, and he’s too proud to grab the life preserver.”

Ed watched this version of himself—not present in the room, not even present at the hospital. He’d been at the park, fixing a gas leak with duct tape, too angry at the world to visit his dying sister.

“You didn’t come,” the ghost said unnecessarily. “Not once. She died three days after this conversation. Rocky called you. Left a message. You deleted it.”

“I couldn’t face her.”

“You couldn’t face yourself, mate. That’s the problem. Still can’t.” The ghost gestured around the hospital room. “She loved you. Your nephew loves you. Darla loved you. All those residents who trusted you—they loved the man you were. But you decided love was the problem, didn’t you? Decided caring was what got you hurt. So you stopped. Simple as that.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Innit though?” The ghost’s form began to flicker, like a flame in the wind. “One hour’s up, mate. Time for me to go. But think about this: you built walls to keep the pain out, but you locked yourself in with it. And now it’s all you’ve got left.”

The hospital room dissolved. Ed felt himself falling through light and sound and memory, and then he was back in his trailer, gasping, clutching his chest.

He checked his watch. 2:00 AM.

He had no time to process what he’d seen before the second ghost arrived.