Chapter 1
The XFL was dead: to begin with. There was no doubt whatever about it. McMahon’s pet projects were as dead as a doornail. Though Dickens once proposed it was the coffin nail that was the deadest of ironworks, he, like I, decided not to shake the normal convention of the simile.
However, these ill-conceived ventures were hardly the only victims of Ebenezer McMahon’s hubris and miserly ways. Countless poor NXT call-ups lined the cold streets of Greenwich, CT as McMahon walked along home after a day of making millions off the sale of John Cena sweatbands. None dared ask him for a pittance or even a modicum of air-time in a throwaway Goldust segment. For Ebenezer was stingy when it came to pushing NXT call-ups or anyone who wasn’t a former UFC star for that matter.
That evening McMahon made himself a bountiful dinner of protein shakes then retired to his study to admire his own physique in the mirror. As he wiped away a thick protein mustache and flexed, McMahon began to hear the sounds of chains rattling down the hall. Subtle at first but steadily growing, the noise was getting louder, drawing nearer.
McMahon wondered what it could be as terror swelled inside of him. Maybe it was his son jumping off things in a vain attempt to impress him. Maybe it was the son he always wanted, HHH, there to show him some workouts for his delts. Before he could investigate the doors to the large, and not at all tacky, study blew wide open. There stood the translucent figure of a man in a football helmet and shoulder pads. The chains that draped around him clanked as he jerkily made his way forward. The name on the back of his jersey was visible (if not backward) through the entity: He Hate Me.
“I am the ghost of He Hate Me,” boomed the spirit.
“What?!” McMahon said incredulously, “Rob Smart isn’t dead. He’s a high school guidance counselor.”
“Those are the same thing. Name one counselor who isn’t dead inside. Besides my football career is deader than Caesar or the aforementioned door-nail,” the ghost retorted
“Who mentioned a doornail?”
“The narrator in the opening paragraph. Stole the whole bit directly from Dickens.”
“What a Dickens.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So what do you want?” Ebenezer asked. “An announcer position with the new XFL?”
“Oh God NO! No, I’ve come to tell you to change your ways, Ebenezer! Listen to your fans! Book stories that make sense and quit kissing the ass of every MMA fighter who signs a deal with you. If people wanted to watch UFC, they’d watch the UFC. Also, quit ruining Indy wrestlers and characters with your bland WWE versions of them.”
“Look, Casper, I’m Vin… I mean Ebenezer McMahon. Only I had the vision to destroy the territory system and turn wrestling into a global phenomenon! I know what I’m doin’ dammit!”
“You think so, huh?” mused the spirit “tonight, at the tolling of the hour, you’ll be visited by 3 ghosts who will show you the error of your ways…”
Chapter 2
With that, the ghost faded into the shadows leaving Ebenezer shaken, but still resolute in his booking decisions. McMahon shuffled off to bed all the while convincing himself what he had just seen was a delusion brought on by stress or something he ate, like those cases of 25-year-old ICOPRO protein powder he’d been steadily consuming since 1996. McMahon settled down to bed and eventually sleep found him. It wasn’t long, though, before he was jolted out of bed by a loud and raucous noise in the room.
*Snap* “Oh, yeeeeahhhh.” *snap* *snap* could be heard approaching his bedside.
Ebenezer was terrified. Was this the first ghost promised? Surely not, that whole tale was a humbug. Before he could react to the noise the curtains of his bed were jerked back. The Macho Man stood there resplendent in his Macho King attire. You know the robe than kind of makes him looks like a monarch butterfly? That one. He stood there glowing with the aura of the heavens, or maybe it was just the sweats from having eaten his own weight in Slim Jims.
“Oh, yeeeahhh. I‘m the ghost Christmas past, here to take you on a spiritual journey, yeah. You’re nothing but a grain of sand and I am the whole Sahara. I’ll consume you and swallow you up like the hundreds of pounds of processed ‘meat’ that undoubtedly contributed to my early demise, oh yeeeeahhhh.”
“I… I don’t believe this,” Vince stammered.
“Oh believe it, buddy boy. This freight train has left the station so either crap or get off the pot.”
“You’re, uh, kinda mixing your metaphors.”
“It doesn’t matter. If I say things slow enough it sounds like it has some gravitas. Besides most kids are too distracted by my clothes to hear a damn thing I say anyway.”
“But isn’t the ghost of Xmas past supposed to demur and quiet? I thought the ghost of Xmas present was the loud one.”
“Well, unfortunately, we’re at a shortage of quiet and somber wrestling ghosts. Now, stop complaining and let’s get on with this thing. I’ve gotta get back to Heaven. I’m teaming with André against Bruiser Brody and Owen Hart.”
And with that, the Macho Man waved a Slim Jim and doorway bathed in white light appeared. Randy ushered Ebenezer through and when McMahon was on the other side he found himself at the General Motors Place in Vancouver. He could see the large display outside of the arena that read “In Your House: Rock Bottom.”
“What are we doing here, Randy?”
“This way Ebenezer, oh yeeeeahh,” the Savage specter called as he headed toward the arena.
They made their way to ringside so that the Spirit of the Macho Man could show Vince the action. They watched Trips defeat Droz, the New Age Outlaws take on the Acolytes, the Brood vs the J.O.B. Squad, the New Age Outlaws again… Then came the WWE championship between Mankind and the champ the Rock where, though winning the match, Mankind was screwed out of the title by McMahon.
“You see, Ebenezer, what joy you used to bring the fans during Christmas time? Look at this well-developed storyline between Mankind and the Rock. Watch their relationship ebb and flow over the years, the story of the oppressed fighting every arrogant bastard that tried to put them down, oh yeeeahhhh. It was a slow burn that culminated in Mankind winning the belt only weeks later and ended up being a powerful blow in the Monday Night War.”
“Yeah, pal, I’m a genius what’s your point?” McMahon asked with a smug self-satisfied smile.
“My point?! What the hell happened? These days you’re more worried about subverting expectations than producing a coherent storyline. Salvador Dali has fever dreams that make more sense.”
“You’re right. The fans are cheering without us piping in noise. And they’re actually cheering the face! My God, I’m entertained and don’t have the desire to rage quit,” Ebenezer admitted. “Take me from here specter I can stand no more.”
He screamed this last line while covering his face with his hands. Being confronted with the glory years of the Attitude Era made McMahon sad that those years were gone and every blatant attempt at using that era’s good name for some nostalgia points had failed harder than a Danny DeVito / Rhea Pearlman sex tape.
Chapter 3
When he looked up he was back in his bed. Maybe it had all been a dream he thought and tried to drift off to sleep, determined not to let this nightmare steal another moment of it. He had almost reached slumber when the salsa music came blaring down the hallway. What was this now?! Bad dreams and an intruder! Or was this the 2nd ghost? Either way, he determined to deal with the problem and grabbed the folding chair he kept by his bedside. The music persisted as he walked through the house toward the intruder.
As he rounded the corner there, stood before Ebenezer, was a wondrous sight. Eddie Guerrero sat amongst a hoard of stolen jewelry and Latin food.
“Entra! Entra, and know me better, vato!” Guerrero exclaimed. Eddie then went back to rummaging through McMahon’s belongings as Ebenezer approached.
“Who are you?” McMahon asked.
“I’m the ghost of Xmas present. And PRESENTLY I’m taking all your stuff as a PRESENT for myself.”
“Shouldn’t you be showing me some vision of this Xmas and what I’m missing out on?”
Eddie let out an exasperated sigh, “Fine, let’s go, but I’m drivin’, cabrón.”
“Driving?!” Vince said with incredulity as he followed Eddie to the driveway. “You’re not gonna make a magic portal?”
“What the hell you talkin’ about? This is the portal,” Eddie said while pointing to the blue 1975 Cadillac Eldorado parked on the street. “A portal to all the senoritas, güey. How you think I got a girl as fine a Vickie, eh?!”
Vince opted to avoid the question as he got in the passenger’s side. The engine roared to life and they headed out with the music blaring. The wind whipped past Ebenezer at a snail’s pace. It was a lowrider after all. However, despite going low and slow, they stopped moments later outside of a small hovel. Eddie got out and motioned for McMahon to follow him. They crept up to the window of the small home and peered inside.
There sat on the dingy floor of a small room was Killian Dain, Eric Young, and Alexander Wolfe. Young shivered as the small fire before them began to gutter out. Killian wrapped his arm around the smaller man to warm him while Alexander threw another stack of letters from corporate telling them to stay home on the fire. At least they had plenty of those to feed the fire.
“Check out what has become of one of the most promising stables from NXT. You called them up and had nothing for them. Why even call them up? It’s been the biggest waste of time since Emmalina. You took Asuka and Shinsuke and all but destroyed their mystique. Both lost championship matches they should have won and derailed the momentum they’d been building since they premiered in NXT. Now Asuka’s streak is over and Shinsuke is holding on to a title you’ve repeatedly told the fans does not matter.”
“Look it’s a different crowd in NXT. More die hard. I have to appeal to a broader audience. Roman Reigns and Brock out-sell everyone in merch. The fans are voting with their wallets what they wanna see,” McMahon retorted.
“Oh yeah… how those ratings doin? Or for that matter, how’s the career of Cody Rhodes doin, pendejo, huh? You live on big moments and you’ve missed the chance to give the fans so many more. If you’d relent in pushing the same men and the same matches every damn week, you might win some of those fans back.”
“Well, I’ve done great things for other wrestlers, even if some NXT stars haven’t received their due. What about John Cena? That man ‘s a national treasure! The awards and the charity work, my God the man is an ambassador for the company and all the good we do!”
Eddie looked at him slyly, “you mean the guy who is sitting alone in his home after you exploited the messy breakup of his relationship for a reality show. Has to go out and consume himself with work so he doesn’t have to face the hollow void inside.”
“Dear God…” Ebenezer said with a shocked look of horror, “What the hell is wrong with the guy writing this.”
“Pretty bitter stuff, huh?” Eddie asked. “And what’s with letting UFC fighters squash your whole roster. You’re just telling every fan out there that MMA fighters are superior to wrestlers and that the UFC has a superior product.”
“I never realized what I was doing… No more spirit; please, relent in your torment!”
They got back in the car and Eddie hit the hydraulics. The car began to bounce, higher and higher until Ebenezer was himself being bounced out of his seat. One inch, then two, then three, until Ebenezer was lifter a full foot out of his seat by the force of the bounce. He shut his eyes bracing for the impact of the seat as he fell back to Earth but was surprised to be met with his memory foam mattress instead.
Ebenezer McMahon breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in his own bed, or maybe he’d never left. Maybe it was all a dream. He checked the time on his phone: 1:45 A.M. Only 15 minutes until the next spirit would arrive. Ebenezer was determined to solve this mystery once and for all. Thus, he decided to stay awake until 2 o’clock to see if this apparition would actually appear or if it was only a dream after all. But it had felt so real he thought. No, he pushed that thought away and made his way to his study to occupy himself until the hour.
Chapter 4
Ebenezer was busying himself with by rereading his worn copy of Muscle & Fitness magazine with himself on the cover. “My God, I’m stunning,” he said to no one in particular. As he read the hour crept closer, as did the darkness. The shadows seemed to loom large in the corners of the room casting an ominous tone on the scene.
A storm had begun outside, and the sleet came down heavily accompanied by brilliant flashes of lightning. McMahon looked up during one of these flashes and that’s when he happened to notice the time: 2 A.M. No specter. It had all been a dream he thought, and almost let out a sigh of relief. But no sooner than joy had taken him did it thoroughly depart again. For, in the corner of the room, one of the shadows began to stretch out along the wall and floor toward Ebenezer. The shadows, then, seemed to lift and gain dimension. Roiling up from the surface it clung to like smoke. It curled and drifted toward him. Terror filled his heart as it never had before as the Undertaker appeared in the smoke and darkness.
McMahon tried in vain to flee from the room, but low voice of the Undertaker spoke out and paralyzed him with fear.
“Ebenezer…” rattled ‘Taker.
McMahon fell to his knees and looked back on the figure as ‘Taker seemed to glide toward him. He attempted to regain his composure and some modicum of control over the situation.
“Wh-what the hell, Mark! Now I know damn well you’re not dead,” McMahon shouted in a cracked voice. “You nearly scared the piss out of me, and though I think that’s the height of comedy, I don’t wanna have to throw out the clothes I’m wearing.”
“Who else was gonna play the allegory for death? Bray Wyatt? You kinda pissed away any mystery and credibility he had years ago. Now come. There’s much to show you of what’s to come.”
AS he spoke those words the smoke began to envelop Ebenezer, cutting of his senses until he could no longer tell where he was. The whole world faded away into oblivion before a small light began to grow in the distance. The light grew larger and larger until McMahon realized he and the ‘Taker were walking down a cold and dirty alley toward a dingy gym and single light glowing in the office window.
They made there way inside, the tall figure of the Undertaker silently leading the way. They passed an old ring and when they reached the office they saw a large man hunched over a stack of bills and paperwork. The man looked up at the clock on the wall and Ebenezer recognized the distinctive schnoz of his son-in-law, HHH.
“What’s he doing in this dirty building at night? Corporate espionage?” Ebenezer asked.
“No, this is all that remains of your once glorious empire. Like Rome you overreached and, in your arrogance, came crashing down like Skynyrd’s plane,” the Undertaker answered.
“Seriously, why is everyone mixing metaphors tonight?”
‘Taker snapped, “Focus, you old jackass! I didn’t remain loyal my entire career and continue to break my body well into my 50s just for you to piss it away. Because you put out a crappy product the fans eventually left. There are too many options now and they can watch almost any wrestling promotion as easily as they watch yours.
Oh, it was fine for a while. All your former stars were killing it in the indies like Cody Rhodes, making money hand over fist. The hardcores loved it, but there was nothing for the casual or even average fan. No federation was able to come in and fill the gap you left when the WWE fell, and without a national stage, no new stars were born. Now you have promotions fighting for there lives against every other promotion and no one can produce a bonafide genre-crossing star to put wrestling back on the map.”
McMahon was stunned by the state of things. “How could this happen?! I… I mean they should have plenty of money to forge ahead and restart things. Surely, I didn’t leave my family destitute.”
“But you did,” the Dead Man replied, “by blowing all your money on the XFL and terrible strait to Netflix action movies. What was left in your saving, Linda took and ran off to the Caribbean with her boy toy Xavier Woods… and Big E. She was really curious about how he got the name.”
Ebenezer just stood there mortified staring at the wall and trying to take it all in. Could things really get this bad? Would the fans leave entirely? As he was lost in thought, the Undertaker began to lead him from the building. They stepped into the night and back into the all-consuming fog. None of this registered with Ebenezer as he followed behind like a somnambulist trying to wrap his head around the dire situation his family had found themselves in. It wasn’t over for the poor miser, however, as the smoke and fog began to clear, and he found himself among the headstones of an old cemetery.
“Why are we here? The shocking revelation that we’re checking out my grave has kinda been spoiled already,” Ebenezer said.
’Taker replied, “It’s not your grave we’re here for.”
As he spoke, he pointed to 2 headstones. His own, as predicted, which was left in a somewhat shaggy state, and that of his son Shane-O Mac. Seeing this was too much for McMahon and he broke down in tears.
“Wh… what happened?” Ebenezer said between sobs.
“He jumped off a cage onto some cheap padding while trying to get Steph and HHH’s new promotion over. As the greatest wrestler in the world, he was still a huge drawing power. Unfortunately, the crash-pad he landed on was cheap, thin, and made in Croatia using crushed beer bottles and sadness. One errant piece of glass was enough to sever a vein.”
“Holy hell that’s dark, I thought this was a comedy piece?!” McMahon blurted out through his tears.
“This scene is dark in every version, even the Muppets,” ‘Taker replied.
“I can’t let this happen! I won’t! Please, spirit, please! Give me another chance!”
Ebenezer fell to his knees, grasped the ‘Taker’s duster, and clenched his eyes as he continued his entreaties for mercy and another chance. He sat there for about five minutes, crying and pleading with the Deadman, before he opened his eyes and found himself at the foot of his own bed, grasping his bed curtains.
Chapter 5
The sun had come up and was pouring through the window onto Ebenezer’s face. He rushed toward the window and threw it open. There was no sign of the sleet storm only fresh snow and fresh air which permeated his lungs down to his very being. No breath of air had ever been so sweet. He spotted Tiny Karl Anderson and his hot Asian wife trudging through the snow.
“You there!” Called Ebenezer, “What day is today?”
“Monday, ya nerd!” Anderson called back.
“Then it’s not too late, the spirits did it all in one night!” McMahon said to himself. Turing his attention back to Anderson. “Grab your gear. You’re working TV this week!”
The tears began to well up in Karl’s eyes. “Are you serious, Mr. McMahon?”
“Of course, pal.”
“It’s… it’s a Christmas miracle.” Karl said overflowing with joy. As he hugged his wife he exclaimed, “God Bless us. Everyone.”
Karl and his wife scurried down the road, probably to give Luke Gallows the good news. It mattered little to Ebenezer, he was elated to be given the chance to right his many wrongs. He knew what he had to do. He had to call his family and take charge again. Tonight, was RAW and they needed to make an announcement…
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