A Grim Christmas Carol

Grim Christmas Carol

This is not Oliver Clean. This is someone else… Something else. Hard to explain. You’ll know in a minute.



In your darkest hours, on your most devious paths, has there been a voice in the back of your head? A gentle whisper between your thoughts that tried to pull you back into the light again, back onto the “right path”?

That voice was me.

Some have called me Inspiration. Some have called me Conscience. Mr. Scrooge knew me as the Ghosts of Christmases Past, Present and Yet to Come. And for some of the last 500 years on that Island, Oliver knew me as That Morgan Freeman Voice.

But Oliver has grown deaf to my voice. Overburdened with the amount of bullshit and suffering his newly gained super-power has enabled him to perceive, his innocent spirit was about to short-circuit. So he did the only thing he could to survive: He pulled the plug. He took his superhero costume off, locked it in an oak chest, buried it in the desert, and resorted to a dull life without complications.

But his story is far from being over. He doesn’t know it, nor would he believe it at this moment if he did, but his life is yet to unfold, his fate yet to be fulfilled. A great adventure is just about to hit him, but he’s not there to take notice and put it on record, as he’s meant to be.

So today I decided to do what none of my kind had done for millennia: I’m going to overstep my competences, and become more than a whisper in his head. I’m going to materially manifest, and continue his story for him, until he is ready to return.

So stay tuned, the best part of this story is yet to come.

I am the voice in Oliver Clean’s head. And he will be The Grim Arrow again.

With these news, I wish you all a merry, merry Christmas.
And Good Will toward all men and women.

Don't be shellfish...
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