Author's Note: After this chapter, the story will begin moving from comedy to more dark content.

December 24, 1989

Dear Diary,

It couldn't be a better holiday. Both sides of the family are here to celebrate with us. Although Neville's sister may bring more drama than I would like, I remain rather optimistic. Maybe, just maybe, the presence of the entire family will distract Neville from dwelling on his first Christmas without his father.

L.C.

"Get away from me you mongrel!" yelled a man from the backyard. Mr. Luggs was in the kitchen, no doubt sneaking an early dinner. He opened the door to find the gardener, Mr. Bones, trying to climb over the fence away from the bulldog. The dog had torn off a small portion of the gardener's pants.

"You need to learn how to control that dog!" he yelled after he was on the other side of the fence. Mr. Luggs let out a deep laugh.

"You think that's funny? I have to deal with this every time I come by. Anyway, since I'll be taking time off for the holidays, and you won't need me to come by as much during the winter, I might as well leave you this serum I've been using to feed the plants."

Although it was winter time, the plants had still been thriving in the backyard. Mr. Bones had an interest in chemistry. He had been working on a special new growth serum. By accident, he had stumbled upon a way to keep plants alive during the winter time. The only drawback was that the serum was extremely toxic to anything that wasn't a plant.

"Right, just leave it out in the shed," said Mr. Luggs.

"Remember to put it in a bottle if you give it to a piranha plant. They get angrier than that mutt of yours and can tear you to shreds. They're picky ones, they are," warned the gardener as he ran off to the shed. Mr. Luggs turned his attention to Spooky, the dog.

"Don't think I'm not above putting you down, boy. If you're out of line just one more time, you're gone. Got it?" The dog dropped the torn pants, whimpered, and retreated to his doghouse.

"Put 'em down?" said Weston, who had been watching from the upstairs balcony. "I love that dog more than anything. I will not sit down and watch you kill 'em. It's just cruel."

"Funny hearing that from a hunter," said Mr. Luggs. "He's my dog now, remember? Your daddy gave him to me. I can do with him what I please." Mr. Luggs waddled back into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.

Weston began to run though the mansion to find Mr. Luggs, but along the way he found his brother in the parlor. Weston told him about what he had just heard.

"I'm sure Spooky will be alright. I really doubt the man would actually do anything to him, but just in case, I'll keep a close eye on him," said Neville.

"You're right. He would have to walk all the way up to the safari room just to get one of dad's old shotguns anyway. Oh! One more thing, I meant to tell you this the other day, and I haven't had much time to chat with you because you're so busy with Chauncey. There are these strange medal—" Weston was cut off by a loud knock at the front door.

"So sorry, brother. It seems we have company."

Shivers greeted the guest at the door. She was an old woman with her face half-hidden by one of her many scarves. She had fancy bangles hanging off of her wrists. She was also carrying a large bag as if she had the intent of staying for the night.

"Madame Clairvoya?" said Weston, with astonishment. "How on earth do you know where we live?"

"I saw you leave on the plane after your trip, my dear. But what matters most is why I'm here."

"Oh lord, the gypsy isn't going to speak in rhyme, is she?" grumbled Shivers.

"I saw doom in my crystal ball, quite the worst I've seen at all. The artifact that you found, was it shiny? White? And round? I saw another, round and blue. I feel this means you found two?"

"Madame, come with me. We need to talk alone," said Weston, trying not to have his secret adventures revealed by the gypsy.

Neville stood dumbfound by the door as he watched Weston and the gypsy walk into another room together. What the hell was that about?

"Dinner is served!" said Mr. Luggs in delight. The family was crowded at the dining room. Weston and Madame Clairvoya were still chatting away somewhere else in the mansion. Naturally, gossip about the uninvited guest was the main topic at the dinner table.

"I don't know who she is. She had this bag with her as if she were planning to stay," said Neville worriedly. "She started to say something about seeing doom in her crystal ball!"

"Everything was going perfect. She better not ruin Christmas for everyone. I'll watch her like a hawk if I have to," said Lydia. Lydia had seemed to become more emotionally distant ever since Madame Clairvoya's arrival. Everyone thought the seasonal stress was getting to her.

"If I were you, I would be watching Chauncey more instead. Never trust a damn gypsy around children. You know what will happen," warned Petunia.

"Prostitutes don't steal babies, dear," said Nana. Everyone just stared at her. It was clear she was making everyone uncomfortable. "If Weston wanted to hire a lady of the night, then I say let him! He needs to cut loose. It's been a hard time lately, or so I hear."

"Mom, she's not a—" Neville stopped himself from correcting his mother. He thought it to be no use.

"I don't care who she is; she will not ruin this Christmas. She'll have to answer to me if even just one thing goes wrong," scowled Lydia.

Later that night, just before the family had gone to bed, Vincent found Biff, Neville, Ronen, and Weston in the hallway, no doubt asking about Madame Clairvoya.

"Could you 'elp me wit something?" asked Vincent in his painfully obvious fake accent. "I need you to 'elp me carry something to ze backyard. I need all ze 'elp I can get."

The boys followed Vincent to his car. The large object covered with a cloth covering it was still on the top of the car. The five men struggled to carry it around the mansion to the backyard.

"Just what exactly is this thing?" asked Ronen.

"Eet iz my Christmas present to my boy Slim. I spent so much time on eet, but eet waz worth it!" said Vincent. "You'll see eet tomorrow, boys, but for now eet iz still a secret."

"Someone plays favorites," whispered Ronen to the rest of the group. "He's never done anything like this for Lydia or my darling Carmen. Just wait till I tell them."

After everyone had gone to sleep, the candelabras in the parlor had once again emitted purple flames. Jarvis popped out of the urn again, as he had been doing for the past couple of months.

Aye. I still cannot get used to that.

Jarvis made another trip around the mansion, floating over everyone while they slept.

There are so many people here now. I jus' cant keep track of 'em anymore.

Jarvis had gotten to the last spot on his tour around the mansion, his wife's room. He would float just by her head and remember the times he had with her while he was alive. Though the times with her were rare due to his trips around the world, memories of her stuck out the most. Jarvis glanced outside the window looking down at the backyard. He could see someone running toward the cloth-covered present to Slim. They, too, were covered. They were wearing some sort of shawl.

Someone is still awake? At this hour?

Jarvis tried to get a closer look, but once again he was being dragged back into his urn. Just before the last moments of his haunting, he had realized that the medallion that was hidden inside was now missing.