A Christmas Carol (2021)

In Prose. Being a Ghost Story of Christmas, Rebooted for Modern Times

“Goodness gracious,” said Scrooge. “So you’re saying that as a young man I had a warm heart and generous spirit?”

“Correct,” said the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“But as I grew older my heart became hard and I began to focus on business and financial matters, to the detriment of my relationships with others?

“That’s right.”

“And thus, I became rich and successful by cutting myself free from those who loved me?”

“Yes.”

“So lucky I did that, isn’t it?”

“Certainly is!” said the Ghost, smiling. “Now, there’ll be some other ghosts along shortly to show you some more things. Good luck, you marvellous millionaire!”

With that, Scrooge was back in his bed, smiling warmly at the memory of how he had so wisely left Belle behind in order to further his career, and of the day he forced Fezziwig out of the company and took it over himself. What wonderful days they had been, and how proud he was of his endeavours!

His reminiscences were interrupted by the arrival of the Ghost of Christmas Present, an enormous hairy man in a green dressing-gown who laughed often and carried a turkey leg wherever he went.

“Come in, and know me better, man!” the Ghost boomed.

“What?” said Scrooge.

“It’s just a thing I say. Come on, let me show you the mysterious wonders of the PRESENT!”

Scrooge, amazed by the power of the spirit to travel sideways in time, went along with the Ghost, who took him to Christmas morning, which was technically in the future, so his name was pretty inaccurate. There, Scrooge beheld the glorious sight of people shovelling snow in the street.

“Wow,” he said, politely. “Isn’t that something.”

“Do you see all the people in the snow?” asked the Ghost.

“Uh…yes.”

“And do you see the grocers, selling their figs and so forth?”

“Oh yes, there they are.” Scrooge was struggling to see the point.

“Working hard on Christmas day. Do you know why?”

"Scrooge thought hard. “Because they’re poor?”

The Ghost laughed. “Exactly!” he cried. “Never let yourself become like these awful people. Look at those horrid little urchins running about in the snow, runny noses and dirty trousers. Thank your lucky stars YOU never had children, Scrooge. They cost a bloody fortune.”

The Ghost then took him to the house of Bob Cratchit, Scrooge’s clerk, who never stopped bitching about the fire. It was a small house, old and ramshackle, and smelled of cabbage. Inside it were Mrs Cratchit and a ridiculous number of children, running and shouting and being generally annoying. Mrs Cratchit stood by the oven, drenched in sweat and grease, her hollw eyes staring vacantly into the middle distance as she contemplated the way her life had turned out.

As Scrooge and the ghost watched, Bob himself came home, accompanied by his youngest son, whom they had named Tiny Tim to ensure he had low self-esteem. Tiny Tim was crippled and used a crutch.

“He must be a terrible burden on them,” said Scrooge.

“He is,” said the Ghost. “See what I mean about not having children?”

“Good morning,” said Bob to his wife.

“Good morning, Bob,” Mrs Cratchit sighed.

“So…Christmas,” said Bob, wearily.

“Yes,” replied his wife, voice dead with hopelessness. “Christmas.”

And with that the Cratchits sat down to eat the scabbiest looking turkey you’ve ever seen. Halfway through the meal one of the children started crying softly to itself, causing Bob to swiftly cuff it over the head.

“This has given me a lot to think about,” said Scrooge.

“I thought it might,” said the Ghost.

“I mean, it really brings home how good it is to be rich.”

“Sure does. Now look at THIS!”

Suddenly, they were in the home of Scrooge’s nephew. He and all his friends were gathered in the sitting room, laughing their heads off.

“He said Christmas was a humbug!” the nephew cried, and all about him laughed along with him.

“Goodness,” said the nephew’s young wife. “Your uncle is a right cunt, isn’t he?”

“Well fuck you too!” Scrooge snarled, as the Ghost held him back from striking the girl.

All the guests were still laughing, and still drinking, and gradually they began to fall over and take their clothes off.

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, “These people are awful.”

“Yep,” said the Spirit, with feeling. “They are the worst people in the world. You are a very smart man, to never have anything to do with your nephew. He is a nasty little shit.”

With that, they were back in Scrooge’s bedroom, the Ghost sensually massaging his neck.

“I’d love to stay,” the Spirit whispered huskily in his ear. “But I’m about to turn into a skeleton or something weird. The last ghost will be along shortly.”

And with that he was gone, and in his place was a spooky Grim Reaper-type dude. This Ghost didn’t talk at all, he just pointed at stuff, and he was the Ghost of Christmas Future, obviously. Therefore, he took him to the future, where some people were talking in the street.

“Ah, he died very rich,” said one of them.

“Oh yes, very rich indeed,” said the second.

“In fact he was the richest man in town,” said the third.

“Amazing. He did very well. What a man!”

“He was a real titan of the business world, wasn’t he?”

“He sure was. His success is a great example to us all. When I think of him, I think, if only I can work hard like he did, I too can become rich.”

“Yes, no doubt about that.”

“Will you be going to the funeral?”

“Of course! It’s terribly sad that he is dead, but it’s a great opportunity to pay tribute to such a great fellow.”

The others murmured in assent, and went on their way. The Ghost now took Scrooge to a darkened room, in which stood a bed, with the body of a man lying on it. The bed was surrounded by weeping mourners.

“O so sad to see him like this!” cried one woman.

“And yet he had a good life,” sniffed a young man.

“Oh yes, a good life indeed,” said an older chap standing next to him. “His business empire was massive, and is his magnificent legacy.”

“We are all the better for him having lived,” said a plump, middle-aged lady, through her tears. “The jobs he created, the economic stimulus that his genius provided that benefited all of society!”

“Amen!” said the young man. “I’ve never known a man who so benefited the world through his industry and financial savvy.”

Scrooge gazed in wonder at the scene, but then suddenly he was in a snowy churchyard, in front of a tombstone. The Ghost gestured towards it.

“Well obviously it’s me, isn’t it,” said Scrooge. The Ghost nodded. Scrooge looked closer at the inscription on the stone.

EBENEZER SCROOGE, it read. CAPTAIN OF INDUSTRY, BENEFACTOR OF THE NATION. MUCH MISSED BY ALL WHO LOVE AND ADMIRE ECONOMIC GROWTH

“Spirit,” said Scrooge, “This has cheered me enormously. I always thought I was friendless and unappreciated, but it turns out that people DO love me, and know just how hard I work and how much I contribute to society through my generation of wealth.”

“Yep, you done good, kid,” said the Ghost, who it turned out could talk after all.

And with that the Ghost was gone, and the sun was streaming through the window. Scrooge leapt from his bed, with the energy of a man forty years younger. He rushed to the window and called to a young lad in the street.

“You, boy! What day is this?”

“Today, sir? Why, it’s Christmas Day!”

“Then why the fuck aren’t you at home you little creep?” Scrooge slammed the window shut and went back to bed with a smile. He would have a lie-in today. After a whole year of hard work, earning the money that his work and business sense merited, and contributing huge amounts of tax revenue to the government which used it to provide social services to the populace, he had earned a rest.