Page 50 of The Scrooge Effect

“Uh-huh. That way, I don’t fly any planes. They complained to HR that I was vomiting all over the place.”

“But you’re the head of HR!”

“I know, right?” he snorted. “But I consulted with myself, and we agreed it would be best if I stayed on the beach.”

“If you consulted with yourself, then you must have some ability to get me the hell out of this dream!”

Tsking, he shook his head. “See, I wish I could, but then I would have to make a decision, and then they would make me actually work.”

“So, do your fucking job and get me out of here!”

“No can do, mi amigo,” he grinned, taking a puff of his cigar. “I’m afraid that’s all the time I have for you.”

He leaned forward, about to press a large, red button.

“Wait! I’ll get you more cigars! Whiskey!”

“I’ve got plenty, but thanks for visiting.”

His hand slammed down on the button just as I yelled at him to stop. The whole room shifted drastically to the left, and vomit rose in my throat as a dizzying sensation rushed over me. When I came to a stop, I was standing once again and nearly fell over as everything settled back into place.

“Fuck, I really need to get back home.”

“Well, the fastest way to do that is to follow your next ghost,” Lock said, staring at himself in the mirror, adjusting his tie.

“Whatever. Just get me out of here,” I muttered, still feeling my stomach churning.

“Hang on to your nuts. This is gonna be a fun ride,” he winked at me.

There was nothing to hold onto as the bottom dropped out from beneath me, and landed me smack dab on a cobblestone street.

“Good morning, guv’nor!”

A man strode past, tipping his top hat at me. I tipped my own hat, not realizing what I was doing until I replaced it on my head.

“What the⁠—”

“Man, do you look sharp,” FNG chuckled, appearing beside me in a charcoal tailcoat, a linen shirt with a high collar, a silk necktie with swirls all over it, and the tightest white pants I had ever seen.

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“It’s the fashion,” he grinned.

“Of when? Where the hell are we?”

“Where else?” He motioned around the village. “London!”

“Why are we in London?” I asked, adjusting my waistcoat, only to stop and glare down at my own attire. “And why am I wearing this?”

“Well, you had to look the part,” he chuckled. “Technically, the white pants aren’t historically accurate for the time, but I always wondered how they would fit.”

“I thought this was supposed to be Christmas present?”

“Right, but Zoe thought a British twist would be fun, and I quite agree. I always wanted to visit London during the Victorian era. You know, this reminds me of this one time when I traveled to Cardiff Castle. Did I ever tell you about it?”

“FNG, if this is going to be one of your elaborate stories without an ending, I’m really not in the mood.”

“You know, I’m hurt. I came all the way to your dream to help you through this time, and you don’t even have time to hear one of my tales. And it’s a good one, too. See, I was trying to find the cell in which Robert Curthose stayed in during his imprisonment⁠—”