On a frozen, joyless December 22, Shaw Moore — a man carved entirely from thrift, vinegar, and aggressively unloved joy — sits hunched in his fire-suppression office like a gargoyle guarding a locked cash drawer. The air is dead. The lights are cruel. His poor clerk slowly dissolves into boredom because Moore, in his infinite miserly wisdom, has outlawed barleywine and Christmas music, two things invented specifically to keep winter from eating our souls. Enter Scruggs, the nephew, glowing with holiday optimism and a dangerous invitation: “A Barleywine Carol” at Peaks & Pints. Moore recoils as if offered warmth, pleasure, or basic humanity. “Bah, barleywine and Christmas carols!” he snaps, weaponizing bitterness against Scruggs’ reckless “Merry Christmas!”

That night, in Moore’s bleak apartment — a place where cheer goes to die quietly — the temperature drops further and the past kicks down the door. The ghost of his late partner, Chuck Cranston, appears, rattling chains forged from regret and missed pours. What follows is a barleywine-soaked reckoning: spectral tours with the Ghosts of Christmas Barleywines Past, Present, and Future, each one richer, darker, more alarming than the last. Visions of lost joy, unshared bottles, and unlived nights hit hard. Tears fall. Pride cracks. The final ghost deposits Moore back into his bed like a man who has been spiritually pressure-washed.

Morning detonates with possibility. Thursday, Dec. 22, Moore wakes reborn, vibrating with redemption, grateful for time, forgiveness, and the miraculous fact that eight barleywines are on tap at Peaks & Pints. He flings open the windows of his soul, sends country ham and corn pudding to his stunned clerk, and barrels toward the 5 p.m. “A Barleywine Carol” party, shocking guests who did not expect this much personal growth before happy hour. Beer and cider folks sing. Glasses clink. Winter loosens its grip.

And so it goes. Year after year, Shaw Moore keeps his promise, honoring barleywine and Christmas music with all his heart — proof that even the coldest spirits can thaw when properly haunted and generously poured.