Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of her burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Kirsten signed it. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.
Mind, I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. But Marley was as dead as a one anyway.
Kirsten never painted out Old Marley's name. There it stood, years afterwards, above the ware-house door: Scrooge and Marley.
Kirsten; a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous woman. Hard and sharp as flint, secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within her froze her old features, nipped her pointed nose, shrivelled her cheek, made her eyes red, her thin lips blue. Her body temperature was as low as the freezing point, and didn’t even change on a hot, summery day.
Once upon a time, of all the good days in the year, on Christmas Eve, Kirsten sat busy in her counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather; foggy withal, and she could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only just gone three, but it was quite dark already, it hadn’t been light all day. The door of Kirsten's counting-house was open so that she could keep her eye upon her clerk, who in a dismal little cell beyond, a sort of tank, was copying letters.
“A merry Christmas, Auntie! God save you!” cried a cheerful voice. It was the voice of Kirsten's niece, who came upon her so quickly that this was the first intimation she had of her approach.
“Bah!” said Kirsten, “Humbug!”
She had so heated herself with rapid walking in the fog and frost, this niece of Kirsten's, that she was all in a glow; her face was pretty; her big, blue eyes sparkled, and her breath smoked again.
“Christmas a humbug, Auntie!” said Kirsten's niece. “You don't mean that, I am sure.”
“I do,” said Kirsten. “Merry Christmas! What right have you to be merry? What reason have you to be merry? You're poor enough.”
“Come, then,” returned the niece gaily. “What right have you to be dismal? What reason have you to be morose? You're rich enough.”
Kirsten having no better answer ready on the spur of the moment, said, “Bah!” again, and followed it up with “Humbug.”
“Don't be cross, Auntie,'' said the niece.
“What else can I be, every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart. He should!”
“Auntie!” pleaded the niece.
“Nephew!” returned the uncle, sternly, “Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.”
“Keep it!” repeated Kirsten's niece. “But you don't keep it.”
“Let me leave it alone, then,” said Kirsten.
“Why did you get married?” continued Kirsten.
“Because I fell in love.” Replied her niece with a blush on her cheeks.
“Because you fell in love!” Kirsten said under her breath, as if that was the only one thing in the world more ridiculous than a merry Christmas. “Good afternoon!”
Her niece left the room without an angry word. She stopped at the outer door to be greeted by the clerk, she greeted him back. The clerk, in letting Kirsten's niece out, had let two other people in. They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold, and now stood, with their hats off, in Kirsten's office. They had books and papers in their hands, and bowed to her.
“Scrooge and Marley's, I believe,” said one of the gentlemen, referring to his list. “Have I the pleasure of addressing Ms Scrooge, or Ms Marley?”
“Ms Marley has been dead for seven years,” Kirsten replied sharply. “She died seven years ago, this very night.”
“At this festive season of the year, Ms Scrooge,” said the gentleman, taking up a pen, “it is more than usually desirable that we should make some slight provision for the Poor and destitute, who suffer greatly at the present time. Many thousands are in want of common necessaries; hundreds of thousands are in want of common comforts, Miss.''
“Are there no prisons?” asked Kirsten.
“Plenty of prisons,” said the gentleman, laying down the pen again.
“And the Union workhouses?” demanded Kirsten. “Are they still in operation?”
“They are. Still,” returned the gentleman, “I wish I could say they were not.”
“The Treadmill and the Poor Law are in full vigour, then?” said Kirsten.
“Both very busy, Miss.”
“Oh! I was afraid, from what you said at first, that something had occurred to stop them in their useful course,” said Kirsten. “I'm very glad to hear it.”
“A few of us are endeavouring to raise a fund to buy the Poor some meat and drink, and means of warmth. We choose this time, because it is a time, of all others, when Want is keenly felt, and Abundance rejoices. What shall I put you down for?”
“Nothing!” Kirsten replied.
“You wish to be anonymous?”
“I wish to be left alone,” said Kirsten. “Since you ask me what I wish, gentlemen, that is my answer. I don't make merry myself at Christmas and I can't afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned, they cost enough, and those who are badly off must go there.”
“Many can't go there, and many would rather die.”
“If they’d rather die,” said Kirsten, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”
Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew. Kirsten resumed her labours with an improved opinion of herself, and in a more facetious temper than was usual with her.
Closing time of the counting-house arrived. With a bad mooded Kirsten standing up from her stool, and actually expecting the Clerk in her office before she left, she put on her long dark coat. The Clerk who instantly snuffed his candle out, and put on his hat.
“You want all day tomorrow, I suppose?” Kirsten said.
“If quite convenient, Miss.”
“It's not convenient,” said Kirsten, “and it's not fair.”
The clerk smiled faintly. He observed that it was only once a year.
“A poor excuse for picking a woman’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December!'' said Kirsten, buttoning her coat to the chin. “But I suppose you must have the whole day. Be here all the earlier next morning!” She snapped.
The clerk promised that he would; and Kirsten walked out with a growl.
Kirsten ate her dinner in same restaurant as always, read all the newspapers and went off home to bed. She lived in chambers which had once belonged to her deceased partner. It was old enough now, and dreary enough, for nobody lived in it but Kirsten, the other rooms being all let out as offices. Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing at all particular about the knocker on the door, except that it was very large. It is also a fact, that Kirsten had seen it, night and morning, during her whole residence in that place, seeing it every time she opened and closed the door. Let it also be borne in mind that Kirsten hadn’t thought once of Marley, since her last mention of her seven-year's dead partner that afternoon. Then the weirdest thing happened to Kirsten, having her key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker, not a knocker, but Marley's face. She quickly backed away in fear, shook her head and thought she must’ve been losing her mind. She walked up to the door again, seeing not Marley’s face anymore, but the ordinary, large knocker. “Humbug.” She mumbled to herself and closed the door behind her. Now you must know Kirsten had always hated wasting money, and especially on something useless like light. But with the knocker in the back of her head, she lit a lamp in the hallway, on her guard against whatever could be in there. With a candle in her hand, she climbed the stairs, checking every room on misplaced features. Nothing, there was nothing, not room seemed to be different. She let out a sigh of relief and walked in her own bedroom, attacking her bathrobe, thinking it was a person standing in the room. “Oh no, my best bathrobe. Thank goodness, no harm done.” She stroked the thing lovingly, before putting on her long, white sleeping gown, pulling the bathrobe over it and sitting down in the armchair in the middle of the room, opposite of a fire. Christmas thoughts were haunting her, when the bell in the corner of the room rang. She looked up. It rang three times in a row this time, and the fire getting smaller and ending with a small tuft of white smoke. She heard chains rattling, a high voice softly laughing evilly. When she stood up from the armchair, pushing herself against the wall, dark smoke was coming from out of the staircase. Something shoot up the staircase, followed by rattling chains. Kirsten could make out a face, a familiar face. A woman’s face, Marley’s face.
“Well hello there!” The ghost said with a piercing voice.
“Marley? Jacqueline Marley? Is that really you?” Kirsten brought out gob smacked. The ghost drew closer, hauling the chains with it.
“Yes. Well, not exactly, seeing as I am dead.” The ghost squeaked. Kirsten thought for a moment, thinking of what to say.
“How are you?” She regretted her question as soon as the words had left her mouth.
“Well, I’m dead as I said five seconds before.” She rattled the chains around her.
“You look absolutely horrible!” Kirsten brought out.
“Well of course, I died and came to a place where I will be haunted with all the bad things I did in my life forever.” She rattled her chains again. “See these things? You get them too, if you continue being your bitchy self.” Kirsten was afraid, very afraid. “That’s what I am here for, well, I was here before, I’ve been on your side for years after my death, but anyway. I need to tell you that you have to change. You have to change or else you will end up just like me, Kirsten. Do it for your own sake! But seeing as you’re as stubborn as always, you’ll get help. Three ghosts will come and visit you tonight; the ghost of the past, the ghost of the present, and the ghost of the future. Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell rings one.”
“Can’t I take them all at once, and have it over, Jacqueline?” Kirsten said with a trembling voice.
“Expect the second on the next night at two o’clock precise. The third when the last stroke of three has ceased to vibrate.” The ghost replied, totally ignoring Kirsten’s question. The ghost hovered back to the staircase, whispering the words “The first will come when the bells ring one.” and disappearing in the same way as she had come. Kirsten jumped into her bed, hiding under the sheets, waiting for what would come.
The first spirit
She woke up with the bells ringing one o’clock. A white light filled the room, blinding Kirsten. The light got sucked into a small ball of light, turning into a floating something. Kirsten rubbed her eyes.
“Are you- Are you the ghost of the past?” The blobs of light disappeared from in front of her eyes, and she could make out the figure floating about in the air; a man, or at least a grown boy, with blonde hair and striking blue eyes was staring at her.
“Yes Miss. I am the ghost of the past, also known as James by the way.” He said and pulled out a card from out of his inside pocket. ‘James Bourne, for all your festive parties and entertainment’.
“You do parties? But you’re- you’re a ghost!” The ghost clopped his jacket and searched for something.
“Darn, wrong card. But yes indeed, I do parties. I can do an impressive moonwalk you know.” He gave up searching through his pockets. “But we need to go now, we don’t have all the time in the world.” He continued, and made the window fly open.
“But ghost, I cannot fly!” Kirsten yelped and closed her bathrobe seeing the ghost looking at her from top to toe and back up again.
“One touch of my hand, and you will fly, Kirsten.” Against her will, she took the ghost’s hand and felt her feet going up in the air. “Oh dear Lord, oh dear Lord.” She muttered, as the ghost led her out of the window and into a twirling multi-coloured light.
The city was underneath them, only twenty years younger. The ghost put Kirsten down in front of a small building, kids were running out of it.
“That’s- that’s my old school!” Kirsten said and looked around excitedly. “And that’s- that’s Daisy, my best friend! Hello, Daisy, hello!” The ghost shook his head.
“They can’t see you, Kirsten. They’re the shadows of the past. Now, let’s see if you can remember this…” The ghost led Kirsten into the building, into an empty classroom. It was old, cobwebs could be found in the corners of the room, little black spiders protecting their children.
“My old classroom. I choose my profession here. My head master was just the best teacher.” Kirsten said, looking around the room and sniffing up all the familiar smells.
“Do you remember her?” The ghost pointed to a table where a little girl was sat on. “That’s- that’s me!” Kirsten exclaimed. “God, do you have a speaking problem or something? It’s driving me mad.” The ghost muttered under his breath. The girl on the table grew older, just a few years, every time on Christmas Eve.
“I’d stay in longer as soon as my classmates had left. Peace and quiet at last. Christmas holidays were perfect for me; I could do some extra work then.” The girl grew older once again, and the headmaster came in to congratulate her with her finals.
“It’s time to go now, Kirsten.” The ghost placed his hand on Kirsten’s shoulder and brought her to a different place in a dark alley.
“Oh, here’s where I worked on my first job!” The ghost nodded and led her inside. “Wigget’s Christmas party. I can remember this one very good. It was when-” The ghost shushed her and signalled Kirsten to look at what was happening. The old Wigget gave his speech, pulled Kirsten out of the office and told her to have some fun. Kirsten bumped into a young lad.
“Oh, Kirsten. This is my nephew Nicolas.” Old Wigget introduced them two to each other. A tear came to Kirsten’s eye as she relived the moment.
“There is one more Christmas I want to show you.”
“If it’s the Christmas I think you mean, I don’t wanna see it. Please spirit, not that Christmas.” Kirsten begged, but the spirit took her hand and brought her to the Christmas she most feared.
They were at a park, Kirsten was sitting on a bench and man standing next to her, waving his arms about furiously.
“But Kirsten, we were going to get married this year!” The man yelled. “I know, but we don’t even have the money to buy a nice little house, Nicolas. Business are going bad, you know.” The man rolled his eyes. “Kirsten, this is the third time you cancel it. I don’t think I can wait any longer. Goodbye Kirsten.” The man turned around and walked away, not even looking over his shoulder to see the girl cry.
“Okay, this was it. Show’s over, gotta go. Have a party in an hour.” The sprit said, and gave Kirsten a pat on her back.
Spirit number two
Kirsten woke up in her own bed by the bells ringing two o’clock. A tall man was sitting in the room, food surrounded him. He had dark eyes, dark blonde hair and amazingly large eyebrows. Kirsten looked at him for a minute, basically just checking him out.
“Are you the spirit of the present?” She asked, and climbed out of bed. The man nodded.
“Yes, I am, also known as Charlie. I have one thing to show you, only one thing.” He took her by the shoulders and walked through the wall, knocking four bottles of whine and a basket of bread over on his way, bringing them to a dark and empty alley, old houses in a row.
“Where are we?” Kirsten asked, “We are at your Clerk’s, Cratchit’s, house. He is having a Christmas with his family.” The spirit pushed her towards the window, but Kirsten only saw a woman cooking and three kids running around in the room. “Where is Cratchit?” Kirsten asked, but at that same second Cratchit and a boy sitting on his shoulder came round the corner. He put the boy down and let him walk with his crutches. “Is he-” But before Kirsten could finish her sentence, the spirit had already nodded. “Tiny Tim is very ill, he will probably die soon.” The little boy hopped into the house, greeting his mother with a kiss on her cheek. “How was church, darling?” The woman asked her husband, giving him a kiss. “It was good, Tiny Tim had a wonderful time.” He smiled to the woman. “Now, let’s eat, children.” He collected the kids together and put Tiny Tim in his chair. He lifted his glass, “To Scrooge’s health!” He said, the woman shook her head. “Scrooge is the worst person I’ve ever met. You’re working your ass off there and all you get is a snap.”
“But honey, Scrooge provides food for us, I’m sure she’s a good woman at heart.” The woman sighed and lifted her glass. “To Scrooge,” She smiled, “May she rot in hell.” She added under her breath and quickly took a sip from her whine. “God bless everyone!” Tiny Tim squealed, coughed his lungs out and took a sip from his juice.
“Do they all think of me in that way?” Kirsten asked worriedly. “Yes, they do. Basically, you’re known as the bitch in town.” The spirit shrugged and leant against a tree, but he missed the tree itself and fell on the ground flat face. He crawled up again, and took her hand.
“I’ve got to bring you somewhere now, the last spirit is waiting for you there.”
The last spirit
A black gate surrounded the graveyard, the darkened sky made it even look scarier than it already was.
“I have got to go now.” He let go of Kirsten, turned around, tripped over a brick and disappeared into nothing. The wind blew hard, Kirsten shivered and put her arms around herself, trying to keep herself warm. White mist surrounded her, and she could hear footsteps coming closer. The mist lifted, a cloaked person could be seen.
“I take it you are the spirit of the future?” The person nodded and took off his hood. “Well, of course I am. Who else could it be? Santa Claus?” He sighed and stuck out his hand. “Friends call me Matt. Matt, not Mattie, M-A-T-T. Okay?” Kirsten nodded and shook his hand. “Good, now let’s go, I had other plans on Christmas Eve, thank you very much.” They walked into the graveyard, passing gravestones of all kinds.
“What are we doing here anyway?” Kirsten asked, watching the gravestones as they passed. The spirit said nothing, only pointed towards a lonely gravestone standing in the fresh earth. “What? Who lies there?” The spirit didn’t reply, instead he pointed again. With trembling hands she walked up the gravestone, slowly brushing off the snow and dirt off the gravestone. She backed away and fell, as soon as she saw who it was.
“I-I-I am d-dead?” The spirit put his hands on his waist. “James warned me for this. Just talk normal, woman! And who else could it be? There’s only one Scrooge left in this whole damned town!”
“Being a bit more subtle would be nice.” Kirsten muttered, tears trickling down her cheeks. “But please spirit, I don’t want to die! Not like this! I promise, I can change! I’ve learnt so much from all three of you! Please don’t let me die!” Kirsten screamed, kneeling down the spirit, nearly pulling his trousers down. “Watch it, watch it! Watch the shoes! They’re new dammit.” The spirit pulled Kirsten up, “Do what you gotta do.” The spirit turned around, ready to walk away. “Oh, by he way. James asked me if I could give you his number.” He gave Kirsten a little card with a phone number on it. “He’s a busy guy, but he’s a good man as well. Watch the shoes next time, okay?”
The Final Chapter
The last spirit had disappeared into nothing, and Kirsten woke up on Christmas morning.
“I’m still alive, I’m still alive!” She shouted and jumped out of bed, dressed herself and tied her hair up in a ponytail. She ran outside, ordered a poor boy who lived on the streets to get a the biggest turkey in town with the money she gave him.
Minutes later the boy came running after her, the big turkey on his shoulder. Kirsten knew exactly what to and where to go. On her way, she greeted everyone she saw and yelled “Merry Christmas!” into the crowded streets.
Kirsten halted when she saw a small stage and a bunch of people around it. A couple of pretty girls, with long blonde hair and wearing tiny skirts were cheering.
“Go James, go James, go James!” They cheered, waving pompoms in the air. The cheerleaders continued their cheering and a lad came up the stage. With Christmas music in the background, he did a moonwalk, before shouting.
“Now what are we here for?” The crowd kept still, the lad shuffled back and forth uncomfortably. “We’re here to PAR-TAY!” He concluded, the crowd went wild and they all danced onto the music.
Kirsten in the meanwhile, had brought her turkey to one of the barbeques outside. The lad from up the stage tapped her on her shoulder. When Kirsten had turned around, she recognised him as the first spirit, as James. He smiled politely and took her hand.
“Merry Christmas Kirsten Scrooge.” Only then, snowflakes came falling from the sky. James lend in and kissed Kirsten on her soft lips.
“Merry Christmas to you too, James.”