Page 51 of The Scrooge Effect

“Who’s Robert Curthose?” I snapped.

“The eldest son of William the Conqueror. Don’t you read your history?”

“Sorry, I never was very interested in British castles!” I shouted.

“That’s a shame,” he said, swinging his cane around, much like he did with his umbrella. “It’s actually a very interesting tale. See, Robert Curthose felt his dignity was wounded after his brothers dumped a chamber pot over his head,” FNG laughed. “A chamber pot is⁠—”

“I know what a chamber pot is!”

“Geez, alright. Well, anyway, his father exiled him after he tried to seize Rouen Castle. A dastardly plan, if there ever was one. Anyway⁠—”

“FNG, what does this have to do with Cardiff Castle?”

“Well, I’m getting to it, if you’d give me the chance to finish my story.”

“No time for that!” Zoe shoved between us, wearing a long, red dress and feathers in her hair. “We’ve got a schedule to keep and no time for stories.”

“See!” I snapped at FNG. “I told you this would happen.”

“Well, she’s got a schedule to keep. Can you imagine how much it cost her to get all this equipment to London?”

I spun around, searching for the so-called equipment, but found nothing. “There’s nothing here. No equipment. No cost. Because it’s a dream!”

“Hey, there’s no need to get lippy. We’re all doing this to help you out. The least you could do is show some appreciation.”

“Appreciation for what? You have me dressed like a pansy!”

His eyes widened in horror. “I will have you know that this was once the height of fashion in Victorian London.”

“And that would be great if I ever lived during the Victorian era!”

“Time’s ticking!” Zoe called out. “Can we please move this along?”

She snapped her fingers, and my body shifted into a walking movement with no effort on my part. I strolled through the streets, tipping my hat and saying good morning to fellow walkers, but it wasn’t me doing it.

“Here we are,” Zoe beamed, hurrying over to straighten my tie. “You’ll do great. Just get in there and find out what’s really going on in your life.”

“I thought they couldn’t see me.”

“Right, but we still want you to look good for the camera. Just remember to give us that same emotion you did during the last scene. If you were to shed a tear or two, the audience would love it.”

I looked around at the people milling the streets, but saw no audience.

“I feel like a broken record, but what are you talking about?”

“Oh, not the audience here. These are all extras. We had to pay them to come out for tonight’s haunting. But the audience back home will love this!”

“And who is the audience back home?” I asked, gritting my teeth.

“Well… Okay, technically, we don’t have an audience. I pitched it to producers, but they didn’t think your story was good enough.”

“Not— Why the hell not?”

“They said something about you not being interesting enough. Look, I tried, okay? But once it’s done, maybe we can pull in some interest. That’s why it’s so important for you to cry. Now—” She spun me around and pushed me forward. “Get in there and make me proud.”

I held my head high and strode toward the door, but as soon as my hand touched the handle, I remembered that this was all a dream.

“What are you doing?” Shaking my head, I pulled the door open and walked into the next scene.