Chapter 1- Hard Times at the Holidays

It was Christmas Eve in the Evergreen Forest and most the forest was adorned with Christmas decorations but there was one place that did not join in the festivities. Sneer Mansion stood alone and bare; no colorful Christmas lights hanging from the roof, not even a festive holiday wreath on the door. In fact, the only noteworthy thing about the place was the large, empty patch of soil beside it.

It didn't look much better inside either. The pigs were visiting their mother and an awful lot of commotion could be heard coming from the money room. Then finally, a flustered-looking Cedric Sneer found his father looking as grouchy as usual and asked "Cedric? What was that all about?"

"It's Christmas, Pop and I know but it's just that things have gotten a lot harder and--" Cedric started.

"Harder?" his father interrupted, a false and theatrical hurt expression on his face. "Cedric, do you think it's easy for me that we haven't seen a profit in over a month? Yes, times have changed but that's why I need you to be strong now!"

"Sorry, Pop Mr. Krabs, but I had no idea that running the mansion while you're away would be so…demanding," Cedric said sadly. "Things have sure gotten a lot tougher ever since Mom died years ago."

"I know," Cyril nodded feigning sympathy. "It was indeed a tragic loss and we surely can't let your mother's memory go in vain."

"Whatever you say, Pop." Cedric complied doubtfully.

"Good! Now, it looks like the rush has dies down a bit," Cyril observed handing Cedric a broom. "Why don't you sweep the floor, make yourself look economical?"

"Okay, Pop." Cedric said as he took the broom and started sweeping. But just as he did, the door burst open and Cedric's best friend Bert Raccoon entering the front door.

"Hey, Bert." Cedric greeted.

"Hey, Cedric old buddy, old pal," Bert smiled. "Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, Cyril." Bert said as he saw Cyril.

"All Christmas does is give lubbers an excuse to take a day off, stuff their faces with tasteless fruitcakes and puddings and butter up their friends and family with expensive gifts," Cyril scoffed. "It's a waste of time…and more importantly, a waste of money. And in my house, we'll have no part of it."

"Pop, you're so unfair," Cedric yelled at Cyril. "Why is everything always about money with you? Christmas is a time for giving, for bringing us all together and sharing joy."

"Cedric, when will you learn?" asked Cyril shaking his head. "Anyone who tells you that is trying to sell something and will you forget that ridiculous Christmas nonsense already?"

Defeated, Cedric walked over to Bert and said "I can;t beileve my pop's meaner than usual, Bert. As well as being my pop, he's the greatest boss there ever was.

"Oh, he'll get over it." Bert said as they both walked out of Sneer Mansion.

Chapter 2—Cruel Irony

The remaining afternoon passed rather uneventfully. Cyril sat alone in his office sat alone at the register keeping himself entertained by his meager profits. Then he walked away murmering about 'getting robbed every 25th of December.'

All the lights were off when he reached Cedric's bedroom. "Cedric? Cedric?" he called, receiving no answer. A few more steps into the house and he found a note from Cedric which read:

Dear Pop,
Gone to see the Raccoons for Christmas.
I'll be back on 26th December!
Your son,
Cedric.
P.S: Merry Christmas.

"Bah, humbug," Cyril snarled as he shook his head. "Oh, well. Time for a good hot bath." With that he proceeded to his bathroom dismissing all the fuss and bother that was the Christmas season. Little did he know he was in for a lesson about the Christmas spirit that he wouldn't soon forget.

In the bathroom, he retrieved his bathrobe and changed into it behind a frilly pink curtain. Then he walked over to his round Jacuzzi-style bathtub complete with candelabras all aglow. Cyril filled the tub with dollar bills and stepped in contentedly.

"Ahh…" he sighed. "Wait, where's my back scrubber?" He looked around and located his back scrubber—a stick with a melon ball on the end—and proceeded to scrub his back relaxing in the midst of his riches and candlelight. "Ahh, that's more like it."

Suddenly, a faint creaking and groaning sound came from downstairs.

"Cedric?" Cyril asked but was answered only by silence. He shrugged it off and continued to scrub himself.

The eerie groaning resumed accompanied by the rattling of chains.

"What's that?" Cyril started to get alarmed. The noises gradually got louder…closer… "Who's there!" he called. At last, the bathroom door flew open extinguishing the candles and a strange murky mist began to seep into the room. In a frenzy, Cyril sat straight up and struggled into the bathrobe left at the foot of the tub. He got it on but didn't tie it up and yelled "Don't come any closer! Whoever you are! I'm…I'm armed!" he whimpered wielding his back scrubber.

In the doorway, an undistinguishable shadowy figure surrounded by an ambient grey haze appeared. "Cyril…" the shadowy figure moaned.

"Please don't hurt me, Spirit from Beyond the Grave! I'll give you anything you want," Cyril wined as he looked around with uncertainty amidst all the money in his tub. "You like my back scrubber?"

"I'm not going to hurt you, Cyril," said the ghost of Cyril's uncle Sammy. If you were having a fruit-induced hallucination, believe me…it would be infinitely much easier on the both of us now cover yourself up and I came to warn you that you're a miserly shell of an aardvark, a skinflinted old cheapskate and there's nothing more selfish than that."

"Why's everyone always saying that?" Cyril asked covering his shame. "There's nothing wrong with knowing the value of a dollar!"

"Look at yourself. You're in a tub of dollars," Uncle Sammy replied. "But there's nothing I can do for you, Cyril but fortunately for you, there are three other ghosts who can."

"Three other ghosts?" asked Cyril.

"They'll be coming to see you before the night is through," said Uncle Sammy. "I suggest you take their advice unless you want to share my fate."

Cyril just made weepy noises.

"I thought not," said Uncle Sammy. "Well, it's been nice talking to you again but I must going now. I have to be back to my eternity in limbo by midnight. Just one more thing, the first ghost will be arriving at 1:00am sharp so you might consider making yourself decent."

As the ghost of Uncle Sammy vanished from sight, Cyril groaned "Oh, I must be working too hard. Guess I just need a good night's sleep."

Chapter 3- Lost Touch

Having totally dismissed the appearance of Uncle Sammy's ghost and his warning as a hallucination, Cyril silently proceeded getting ready to retire for the night. Once in bed, he was asleep in no time because the mattress that the Pigs had bought for him was a lot more comfortable than the lumpy money-filled one that was now locked safely away in his closet. Plus, he could rest easy that the new mattress was a gift and therefore free.

Cyril was sleeping, suspecting that the worst of his 'hallucinations' were over. The clock beside his bed showed the time to be 12:59am. Then, just as it struck 1AM, the room filled with a blinding bright light and Cyril snapped awake to the sound of a familiar female voice.

"Wakw up, Cyril. We've got your whole history to see and just a few hours to see it in!" the chipper voice exclaimed.

Cyril sat up in bed and narrowed his eyes at the speaker of those words. It looked very much like Melissa Raccoon but it was clad in a pink knee length dress with black knee high boots and was radiated with a brilliant blue haze.

"Let me guess," said Cyril. "You're the first ghost that I was warned would be coming?"

"I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past. Right pleased to make your acquaintance!" the visitor replied.

"The Ghost of Christmas Past?" Cyril asked seeming confused. "But you look just like that female photographer of the Evergreen Standard."

"You can call me Melissa if you want to," said Melissa. "We spirits can assume the forms of the living to come to Earth and help out fellers in need. And this form seemed just the one to assume while I'm here to help you, Mr Sneer."

"In need?" Cyril repeated shaking his head. "Sorry, Sp -I mean Melissa but you must have the wrong aardvark. I don't need your help."

"That's just what I thought you might say," Melissa replied. "But somewhere along the line, you got so caught up in things like money and business that you just plain lost touch with yerself. My job is to figure out just where in yer past you took that turn!" At that, Melissa clapped both hands and swirling vortex appeared in the room.

Cyril was hesitant to even get out of bed but Melissa grabbed him by the hand and dragging him up. His gaze was still fixed on the vortex in the center of his room.

"What is this thing? Some kind of black hole?" Cyril asked sticking his hand in the vortex apprehensively.

"No," said Melissa. "It's a time portal; we're riding it to visit your past." She clapped her hands again and a pink bicycle materialized beside her. She hopped onto it pulling Cyril on behind her.

"Wiat, Melissa! Are you sure that—" Cyril started to protest.

"Sure I am! I've done this before," said Melissa as she pedalled away. "Hang on tight 'cause here we go!" With that, the bicycle took off by itself into the time portal.

The inside of the vortex was a surreal tunnel much like the one Cyril once went through in an attempt to go back in time. Now Cyril and Melissa sped through on the bicycle at break-neck speed.

The other end of the time portal appeared right outside Sneer Mansion in the middle of a sunny day. Cyril and Melissa emerged and Cyril stumbled off clutching his heart and gasping for breath.

"I'm too old for this sort of thing," said Cyril and after he composed himself, it dawned on him where they were. "Hey, wait a minute! We're right outside my house! Why can't we have just used the front door?"

"This isn't Sneer Mansion on just any old day, Cyril," Melissa replied as the bicycle and time portal disappeared. "We've gone back in time!"

Just at that moment, a younger and very dejected-looking past version of Cyril walked down the street and approached the front door.

Cyril looked at himself in shock and said "Holy moly…that's me!"

The past Cyril went in the front door followed by Melissa and Cyril. Past Cyril sat in a chair looking so disheartened and isolated and Melissa and Cyril continued to watch him.

"Oh, poor guy. You look so lonely." Melissa said.

Cyril looked straight at the past version of himself like a split-screen mirror image and said "I remember this like it was yesterday. I was so glad!"

"That's pretty sad for the rest of us but something was fixing to happen in the next 2 years that would change all that, remember?" Melissa looked to the front door and right at that instant there was a knock on it.

Cyril, watching the whole thing, started to smile with nostalgia and said "I know…the day Cedric was born. Ah, it was a proud moment. And to think I almost wanted to give him up."

"Well, you always had an eye for a bargain, sure enough. But there was a time you knew some things were more important," Melissa materialized another vortex and bicycle. "But speaking of Cedric, I think it's time we saw a day in his teenage years!" She grabbed onto Cyril as they took off into the vortex…again.

"Oh no." Cyril whimpered followed by a scream for his life as they shot through the vortex.

The time portal reappeared in Sneer Mansion and once again, Melissa and Cyril emerged from it.

"Ho about this, Cyril?" asked Melissa. "Is this ringing a bell?"

"Not really," Cyril answered looking around. "Looks like any here." He watched as another past version of himself ran to the phone.

Past Cyril was surprised to see Past Cedric entering the room dressed like how any teenage boy back then looked like and said "Hey, Pop."

"He's the helpful one, that Cedric. Too bad I had to yell at him." Cyril said to himself.

"He later grew up and you became mean to him," said Melissa. "You tossed your relationship with Cedric aside like old money and you're still mean."

Melissa materialized a time portal and her bicycle one last time but this time, she hopped on by herself and said "Just bear in mind: when all is said and done, you can't take nothing with you but those memories." She rode the bicycle into the vortex and disappeared.

Cyril watched her go and then looked back to his surroundings… which had become his bedroom.

Chapter 4-Right Now

Mr. Krabs had been returned to his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, haunted by the memories of what he’s just seen. He sighed. “Maybe Sandy’s right. Lookin’ back, I ain’t so proud of some things I’ve done.” He started to stare off into space. “…I wonder if maybe…Nah!” he concluded, seemingly coming back to his senses.

Just then, the clock chimed 3 AM, and a light went on outside the bedroom door…accompanied by deep, jolly laughter.

Mr. Krabs stood up. “Argh…that’ll be me next engagement.” He walked to the bedroom door and opened it…only to be confronted by a big, scary pink belly button. “GASP! IT’S A GIANT, FUZZY NAVEL FROM THE AFTERLIFE!” he shrieked.

It turns out that this ghost was standing behind a big mirror to amplify his belly button. He moved the mirror aside to reveal a normal-sized likeness of Patrick Star, sporting festive candy cane shorts and illuminated in a yellow haze.

“SURPRISE! Merry Christmas, Mr. Krabs!” the ghost exclaimed with a typical, cute-stupid Patrick face. He threw the mirror off to the side, and it shattered.

Mr. Krabs didn’t seem amused. “Arr. Who are you?”

“I’m the Ghost of the Present! You know…right now?” Patrick answered, sticking a candy cane in his mouth and sucking on it.

“I was afraid of that. But…why of all forms to take did you choose that one?” Mr. Krabs asked.

Patrick scratched his head with the half-eaten candy cane. “Uh…there was a reason, but I…uh…can’t remember…”

“Okay then, what you want from me?”

“Uh…that’s the problem with living in the present. You always forget things, and you never plan ahead.” Patrick beamed. “But that’s okay, because right now it’s Christmas! And what more could a guy ask for?” He tossed the remainder of the candy cane into his mouth.

“Bah,” Mr. Krabs scoffed, “more like ‘What more could a guy be burdened with?’ Christmas is a wasteful and pointless holiday.”

“Aw, come on! You don’t really believe that, do you?” Patrick asked jokingly.

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Well then, that settles it! We’re just gonna have to go out and find someone who can show you all the good that Christmas is bringing to the world right now, as we speak!”

“But, eh, aren’t you the Ghost of the Present? I thought that was your job.”

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick remembered. “…Well, alright; that takes care of that! Let’s go!”

“Aw, no. Not another death-defying shellboard through a vortex of peril.” Mr. Krabs shivered.
“Nope, even better!”

Moments later, a Goofy Goober ice cream truck traveled down the road. Inside the truck Goofy Goober himself sat behind the wheel. Patrick sat happily in the passenger seat, and Mr. Krabs stewed between them.

“Goofy, Goofy, Goober, Goober, yeah!” Patrick sang at the top of his voice.

Mr. Krabs’s left eye twitched. “Grr...”

Finally, the truck stopped in front of an unfamiliar house in the early daylight hours. Its two passengers disembarked and Patrick, holding an ice cream in one hand, waved after the departing truck with the other. “Thanks again, G.G.! Catch ya later, my good man!”

“Where are we, Patrick?” Mr. Krabs asked. “I don’t recognize this house.”

“Are you sure? I could have sworn this was where your daughter Pearl’s best friend lived. Why don’t we just pop in and take a look? Maybe they’ll have fruitcake and pudding!” He walked through the wall into the house, and Mr. Krabs reluctantly followed.

Inside the house, Mr. Krabs and Patrick spotted Pearl and four of her friends—Jenny, Kali, Lauren, and Amy—sitting around in the living room, giggling and hanging out. There were presents and wrapping paper everywhere. Pearl’s friends were all wearing the Anemone Boots from the magazine…while Pearl still wore her normal shoes.

Jenny handed a present to Pearl. “Go on, Pearl; it’s your turn to open one! I picked this one out just for you!”

Pearl took the gift. “Thanks, Jenny.”

Mr. Krabs smiled slightly from the warmth of this scene. “Heh, so that’s what me Pearl is doing for Christmas. It sure looks like those youngsters are having a good time.”

Patrick was busy helping himself to a nearby tiding of fruitcake and pudding. “That’s what the holidays are all about, after all.”

There was a squeal for joy as Pearl found the present she just opened to be a Prada bag. “Whee! A real Prada bag! Oh, thank you, Jenny! These are totally in this season!” She slung it on her shoulder.

“Hmm, that bag sure looks expensive,” Mr. Krabs said skeptically.

“Oh, Pearl, that bag is so you!” cried Kali.

“Way coral!” added Lauren.

“Thanks, guys,” said Pearl. “I hope Daddy will let me keep it, though. He says that Christmas is a waste of money.”

Amy scoffed. “Pshaw, that sounds like your dad alright. But it’s his loss, really; just look at all the fun he’s missing out on!”

“Yeah!” the other girls said in unison.

Mr. Krabs had a humbled expression from hearing this. Patrick looked at him matter-of-factly, the remnants of fruitcake and pudding on his face. “They’re right, you know.”

“But if he knew I came here to open presents, he’d probably be mad. Can you guys keep a secret, and not let him know where I was?” Pearl asked.

“Sure, Pearl. After all, they say ‘silence is golden.’ Knowing your Dad, he’d probably want us to stay silent forever!” Jenny joked. The other girls all laughed, and Mr. Krabs looked mildly offended by this joke at his expense.

“Well, silence may be golden, but at least talk is cheap!” Lauren continued.

“Just like Pearl’s dad!” Kali finished. The girls laughed some more.

Mr. Krabs looked at Patrick despondently. “Argh. Can we go now, Patrick? I don’t want to hear any more of this.”

“Huh? Oh. Well…okay. There was one more thing I was supposed to show you, though.” He disappeared through the wall again, and Mr. Krabs followed.

They reappeared right outside the ChumBucket. “Huh, that was weird,” Patrick commented.

Mr. Krabs recognized their surroundings right away. The ChumBucket was seemingly abandoned, all boarded up and a “CLOSED” sign in the window. “Hold on, why did you bring me here?” he asked. “This was me arch-rival Plankton’s restaurant, but he was sent to the Institute for the Criminally Tiny months ago.”

“Just look inside,” Patrick instructed. “I think you’ll be surprised.”

They both peered through the window. Sure enough, there was Plankton sitting on one of the dusty, deserted tables. His color was a sick, pale green and his eye was redder than usual. He just sat there, antennae down in a defeated sort of way, absorbed in his own thoughts.

“Karen, any chance of something to eat today?” he asked his computer-wife stoically.

Karen wheeled up to him. “You’re in luck. It just so happens I was going through the old storage, and I found this pack of mayonnaise.” She extended the mayo to Plankton with her claw-hand.

His antennae perked up. “An entire pack of mayonnaise?”

“And some decaf coffee grounds,” she added, giving him an instant coffee bag.

Plankton affectionately held his wife’s “hand” with both his little hands. “Oh Karen, my sweet…you’re a blessing.” He hugged her hand and choked up. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you…”

“I don’t know what I did, either,” she said with a digital eye-roll.

Plankton sobbed. “Is this the fate of all creatures who dare to dream? It’s not fair! I—” He was cut off in mid-sentence by violent coughing.

“Easy, Plankton,” Karen cautioned. “Don’t get too upset; you’ll just make yourself more sick.”

“Right.” Plankton tried to compose himself.

“Mr. Krabs pried away from the window and looked at Patrick. “I don’t get it. How did he get out of the institute?”

“Uh, I don’t know. Maybe you should have asked the Ghost of the Past,” Patrick shrugged.

“Well…do you at least know what’s the matter with him?”

Patrick crossed his arms and nodded smartly. “Of course I do; I’m not stupid. He caught some kind of ultra-microscopic spore in the institute, and he has no money to live on since his restaurant was closed down after the bucket helmet incident.”

“Ha! The little twerp had it coming to him!” Mr. Krabs scoffed.

“But even he hasn’t been forgotten this Christmas.” Patrick pointed off to the left.

“Whoa, Gary!” said a familiar, chipper voice.

Mr. Krabs looked in the direction of the voice. “SpongeBob?”

SpongeBob approached, apparently unaware of Mr. Krabs’s presence. He wore a festive Santa Claus hat, and beside him his pet snail Gary wore fake reindeer antlers and pulled a sled stacked with gifts.

“Meow?” went Gary.

“I’m not sure, pal. Let me check the list,” SpongeBob responded, checking over a long list of people to give presents to. “Ok, so we’ve delivered Sandy’s gift, and Patrick’s. What about those flowers to bring to the cemetery for Squidward?”

Gary went inside his shell, reemerging with some shriveled-looking poinsettias.

“Good! Then I guess that just leaves Plankton. You can wait outside if you want to, Gary.”

“Meow.”

Mr. Krabs narrowed his eyes. “What’s he doing, Patrick?”

“Well, what’s it look like? He’s giving gifts…to spread the Christmas spirit!” Patrick exclaimed.

“Yeah, but…to Plankton! I don’t know whether or not he’s forgotten, but Plankton is the bane of the Krusty Krab’s very existence!”

“So? I dunno whether or not you’ve forgotten, but SpongeBob doesn’t work for you anymore. You fired him, remember?”

“Well…yeah, but I don’t—” Mr. Krabs looked uncomfortably at SpongeBob standing at the ChumBucket door. “Okay, maybe I was a bit too hard on him, but he still wouldn’t—”

SpongeBob knocked on the door, ignoring the fact that it was boarded up. Mr. Krabs and Patrick came through the wall into the dilapidated restaurant to see Plankton’s reaction.

Plankton coughed as he heard the door knock. “Who could that be?”

“I don’t know, Plankton. Maybe…a visitor?” suggested Karen.

“Well, what could they possibly want? And why couldn’t they have shown up when we were still in business!”

There was another knock on the door. “IT’S OPEN!” Plankton shouted.

SpongeBob opened the door…boards, nails and all.

Plankton looked dumbfounded. “SpongeBob?”

“Hi, Plankton!” SpongeBob greeted, entering the room. He held Karen’s claw-hand. “And Mrs. Plankton, you’re looking lovely as usual,” he complimented, kissing her hand.

Her screen blushed an embarrassed red shade. “Oh! Um…well, gosh I…uh…”

Plankton jumped to his feet angrily. “What do you think you’re doing here, you great yellow oaf!”

“I just wanted to stop by to wish you a Merry Christmas…and give you this gift.” The yellow sponge held up a wrapped parcel. “It’s that booster seat you’ve always wanted!”

“SpongeBob, how ignorant are you!” Plankton demanded. “I don’t know whether or not you’ve forgotten, but I’ve been aspiring to put your tightwad boss out of business for years! I’ve manipulated you, taken advantage of you for my own personal gain, even tried to have you eliminated!”

“That’s right!” Mr. Krabs concurred in the background.

SpongeBob looked down solemnly. “I know, Plankton. But this is Christmas. Sure, we’ve had our differences in the past. Some of them were bad, some were really bad, some were not so bad, some were kind of in between bad and not so bad…and even some were really bad with an ironic twist of not so bad. But Christmas means more than just Santa Claus, or expensive gifts…or fruitcakes and pudding. Christmas is when we’re supposed to forget about all the bad things, and remember the good things. But more importantly, it’s a time of forgiving.”

All the spectators appeared to be humbled by SpongeBob’s earnest soliloquy. …Except Plankton, who scoffed. “Anyone who tells you that is selling something. But I have always wanted that booster seat, so I guess I should say…thanks,” he conceded.

“You’re welcome!” SpongeBob grinned.

Mr. Krabs watched this whole scene, somewhat touched. “Ahh. I don’t know what to say, Patrick. I’m not sure if I’ll ever understand this Christmas forgiveness stuff. But I had no idea it was like this.”

“Y’see?” said Patrick. “I told you we’d show you all the good Christmas is bringing to the world!”

At that moment, Plankton broke into a coughing fit again. Karen patted him on the back. “Um, I think Plankton needs some time to rest now. But thanks for stopping by, SpongeBob,” she said.

“You bet. Hope you get to feeling better, Plankton. And Merry Christmas!” With that, he was gone.

Mr. Krabs looked on with some semblance of sympathy at Plankton and Karen. “Um…Patrick? Is, eh, Plankton gonna be okay?” he asked uneasily.

Patrick shrugged. “I dunno. It’s like I said, that’s the problem with living in the present; you never know what’s gonna happen next. But he doesn’t look so good now, does he?”

Mr. Krabs looked one last time at Plankton as the little invertebrate got on the booster seat SpongeBob gave him.

Patrick pulled him away from his thoughts. “C’mon. I gotta be going soon.” They both proceeded out of the ChumBucket through the wall.

“What do you mean? Going where?” Mr. Krabs asked.

“My time in this world is almost up,” Patrick responded with an unusually somber tone.

“Already? But you’ve taught me so much. Because of you, I’m starting to understand things like never before.”

“Glad I could help! I am the Ghost of the Present, after all!”

The Goofy Goober Ice Cream Truck that they rode in earlier now came around the corner and stopped in front of the ChumBucket. “Oh, boy! My ride’s here!” grinned Patrick. He started to sing the Goofy Goober theme song to himself as he boarded the truck.

“Wait, Patrick! Are you just gonna leave me here, to walk all the way back to my house in me nightgown?” Mr. Krabs asked in dismay.

Patrick looked out from the passenger window. “Don’t worry; the Ghost of the Future will come and meet you here!”

Mr. Krabs seemed a bit afraid. “The future? But Patrick, you—”

He was cut off by the sound of the ice cream truck driving away…and of the Goofy Goober theme song. There he was, left standing on the vacant street.