Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. Karl checked the burial register one last time. It was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, and the undertaker. It was signed by the chief mourner - one Ebenezer Scrooge, the deceased’s business partner. Karl watched Scrooge look over the body of his partner one last time. It was hard to say which of the men was colder - the one lying in the coffin, or the one removing the pocket watch and cufflinks from the body with a sneer and putting them into his own pocket. Satisfied that nothing of value would be put in the ground with the body, Scrooge waved his hand at the lid, giving his permission to close the coffin up.
With a mournful look, Karl lifted the heavy lid with the assistance of the apprentice boy, and hammered the nails into place. Most mourners left at this point, preferring not to see their loved ones closed up and put away. But the cross old man stood quietly to one side, checking the time on the pocket watch he had removed from Marley and making the occasional snarl of impatience. Karl made short work of the burial itself - the grave had been made ready previously. The coffin, a simple one and plain, the cheapest he would sell for a man of business, was lowered into place. Nothing was said over the grave; it would have cost extra to have the clergyman stay and speak a word, and no unnecessary expense had been allowed. As soon as the first clumps of dirt began to cover the lid of the coffin, Scrooge turned on a heel and left.
Karl shoveled silently for some minutes before the ‘prentice boy spoke. “D’you think he was that upset, that he said nothing?”
“I think he’s that quiet a man, that he had n-nothing to say,” answered Karl. “He was no different this morning, when I went to see him. There he sat in the counting-house, with a single candle on the d-desk, working away. We made the arrangements and he paid, and I told him when he should come by for the b-burial. He was p-punctual, I’ll give him that.”
Brushing the dirt off his hands, the boy added, “And on Christmas Day, too. I wonder if he has any family to go home to, after burying his partner.” He came from a large family that celebrated every occasion with gusto, and he had been talking about his plans for Christmas dinner all morning, filling all the space with talk and excitement. “Can you imagine waiting at home for him to come back from burying his partner, and then try to be merry, with him around? I’m glad I’m going home to my family, and we’ll have no trouble being merry, of that I am certain.”
Karl took the hint, and sent the boy about his way, cherishing the silence left behind in the undertaker’s shop. He would finish up the day alone, close up alone, and go home alone to his own empty rooms. From what he had seen of Ebenezer Scrooge, here and there, it appeared they had much in common. They were both somber men, who did their work and then went home, with as little interaction with others as they could manage. No effort would be expended on celebration of the holiday; the work continued regardless. Holiday or not, loans became due and needed collecting and recording. Holiday or no, men and women died and needed burying.
---
It was Christmas Eve, some three years after his first encounter with Ebenezer Scrooge, and little had changed for Karl. He had, in fact, buried another good man of business that morning. There had been several other men to observe the ceremony, and a few brief words were said. Once they had left, it was Karl that removed the pocket watch and cufflinks from the body before putting it into the ground. He would make some profit from these pieces later. It was, after all, business as usual.
It happened that he was travelling down the street when he heard a thin voice singing. “God rest ye, merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay.” A small boy had crept up to the door of some office and was singing out at the extent of his voice, “Remember Christ our saviour was born on Christmas Day, to save us all from Satan’s power…” Karl stopped to watch as the door began to open. The boy’s face lit up with anticipation as he peered within, but quickly changed to something akin to horror as he saw inside. The song broke off, and the boy backpedalled, falling prone into the snow. Karl recognized Ebenezer Scrooge’s form as it took shape in the doorway, raising a ruler threateningly over his head. The boy scrambled to his feet and pelted away as fast as he could run. Scrooge looked around at the people on the street, as if searching for an alternate target. He returned to his den with a “Humbug” and a slamming of the door. The sign above the door swung with the violence of it. He noted the sign was in need of repainting. Three years dead, and Marley’s name still hung there, cracked and faded.
Karl heard a hearty chuckle beside him. “I admire the boy’s spirit, if not his selection. He was never going to get any satisfaction at that door.” Following the voice to its owner, Karl found himself regarding a tall, thin fellow wearing a tall, thin top hat and a generous smile. He found his hand in the grasp of the other, being shaken heartily. “Merry Christmas, my friend. Topper’s the name, and I’m pleased to meet you.” He stammered out his own name, but his new friend was already going on without him. “I try my luck at that door every year, and every year I’m terrified he’ll take up that ruler in my direction as well. So far I’ve been lucky in that regard, but never a farthing has escaped him, and I’m sure it never shall.”
Karl tried to imagine this Topper fellow singing at the door of Scrooge’s counting house, and his confusion must have shown on his face. “Oh, not singing, but soliciting. Each holiday season, I travel the businesses of London with a friend or two, asking for donations to make some provision for the poor and the destitute. We buy them some meat and drink and means of warmth. Most folks will pledge a small amount to the fund, and a few will make larger gifts. But not Ebenezer Scrooge - he’s a tight-fisted man, and begrudges even the time to turn us down. Yet I’ll make the offer again this afternoon, if only to watch him turn all colors as he sends me away! Come with me, friend - we’ll surround him on either side.”
Karl declined the offer, shaking his head firmly. “No thank you, Mr. Topper. I’m not the soliciting k-kind of man. I wish you well on your endeavor.”
“Ah well, then. Do you sing? I actually do join with a group of carolers and sing for donations, but not on this street. We sing over by the poulterer’s shop, where we can see the people hurrying to and fro with their Christmas dinners. The baker donates all of his leftover goods at the end of the day to give to the poor, and several others follow suit.”
“You’re a man with a generous heart,” offered Karl. “I’m b-but a simple man, and not one for jollity. I’ll leave you to your charity if you’ll leave m-me to my solitude.” He tried to back away from the conversation, to exit gracefully, but Topper wouldn’t hear of it.
“Nonsense, my friend! Charity is for everyone - it benefits both the giver and the receiver.” Topper put his arm over Karl’s shoulder, pulling him along the street with him. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the choir…”
And just like that, Karl found himself singing along with a group of carolers. As it turned out, he did have a strong growling tenor voice, and it pleased him to be included. Occasionally, he even forgot himself enough to smile and tap his foot with the music.
He found himself in Topper’s company often over the next year, and the next, though he never remembered having sought it out. Before December had even arrived, Topper had him and his other ‘collected friends’ rehearsing Christmas songs, ready to sing as soon as the month had turned. The solicitations began at the same time of the year. After each rehearsal, some two or three of them would go along inviting businesses to contribute. Once in a while, he followed along with Topper; more often he counted the donations later and carefully recorded them in the donation ledger.
He met Topper’s good friend Fred, and on Christmas Day found himself at Fred’s annual Christmas party, eating and singing and playing games with the other guests, some of whom he suspected had been gathered up by Topper in the same manner as himself. Every time their hosts would turn their back, Topper would top off every drink around him from his flask. And when their hosts turned back around, everyone drank as if the punch were as harmless as water. Topper’s flask never seemed to run dry, and as the evening progressed, the guests became increasingly full of merriment. They played games, Karl participating with some reluctance at first, but eventually forgetting himself so much that a chuckle or even a full laugh might escape him.
“Be careful there, Karl,” warned Topper. “You’ll crack too large a smile, and you’ll let in some human emotion. Next thing, you’ll find yourself keeping house with someone and having a family. Your solitude will be lost forever, and we’ll have only Fred’s Uncle Scrooge to remind us how somber life can be.”
Karl composed himself to answer. “You say such things about Mr. Scrooge, b-but what is it to you? He bothers no one, he creates no d-drain on society, and he is a good man of b-business. His books are, I’m sure, always balanced. No one owes him, or is owed b-by him, without careful record. And the b-business he is about keeps our society moving along on its regular pace. I admire the man, I d-do.”
“Of course you do, for you aspire to be rich like him,” answered Fred’s wife.
Fred taking up the mantle, continued, “He bothers no one, but neither does he benefit anyone. He makes no drain on society, but is simply a cog in the machine, and contributes nothing to the emotional welfare of the whole. Is this, then, virtue? You, my friend, contribute some little. You sing with us, and that brings joy to the hearts of those that hear us, at little cost to yourself. You are here, and you are smiling, despite yourself. You bring joy to my heart for your company, and take only benefit for yourself in return. Your presence at this party, on the balance, adds to it, and we all leave the party the richer, emotionally, for having been together. There is no monetary gain for anyone here, but it has cost only a bit for myself, and the happiness I feel for having had this grand company will warm me all the year in ways no money could ever do. So cheer up, my friend - you have added to the richness of life in a way that my Uncle Scrooge has never done. May you one day be an inspiration to him, instead.”
“Here, here,” said Topper. “A toast. To Karl, the Undertaker’s Man, whose undertaking profession should never be his sole undertaking in life. May he become a jolly man, despite himself.” The company toasted Karl and drank to him. Karl, as well, allowed a wry chuckle, and thanked Topper for his wishes, or at least for the kind intent behind them.
---
The next year proceeded in a similar manner, Karl working steadily at the undertaker’s profession, and allowing himself to be included in many of Topper’s social efforts. As Christmas Day arrived, Karl went to Mass, and it came to him that he recognized a man sitting not far in front of him. The man was not well-dressed, but he sat earnestly in the pew, listening to the sermon. Beside him sat a tiny thin boy with iron braces on his legs. Karl watched them, wondering just where he knew them from. At last it struck him. This was Cratchit, Scrooge’s clerk. It was the scarf which gave him away - a voluminous thing, knitted with an excess of love, long and heavy enough to keep both man and boy warm in the drafty church.
When Mass ended, Karl saw the boy take up a small crutch from the seat beside him. But he didn’t need it; the father swung the boy up and over to settle on his shoulders as if he did it a hundred times a day. The boy bounced on his mount and let out a weak ‘hurrah’ for his steed. Karl followed the pair out the door. As they exited, he heard the boy say to his father, “Papa, do you think the people in the church saw me, and saw that I am a cripple?” The father agreed they all must have done so. “I am glad. For perhaps it might be pleasant for them to see me, and see that I am a cripple, and to remember upon Christmas Day who is it that made lame beggars walk and blind men see. Do you think that might be pleasant to them, Papa?”
The father’s response was lost in the noise of the street. Karl watched the boy and his mount as they separated from him in the crowd. It occurred to him that the boy looked very fragile, indeed. And he remembered that he had a coffin that would be just the right size for the child. Something told him to keep that small coffin ready at hand, for the child was frail, and his poor color made Karl think he might see him sooner rather than later.
---
Upon the eve of Christmas again, and Karl had found no excuse to prevent Topper from leading him around London, soliciting promises of funds from businesses small and large. Sometimes it was a small amount, carefully promised and recorded. But it was the large donations, delivered with cheers and laughing, that astonished Karl the most. For it was not the well-to-do establishments that made the larger promises, but the smaller family businesses, that surely needed every penny themselves.
The baker, in particular, stuck out in his memory. For the baker’s family were all there. His children wore hand-me-down clothes under their aprons, and all were pressed into working - this one sweeping the floor, that one cleaning shelves, and another mixing the batter for the next batch of wares. One could see that it took all the efforts of the family to keep the business healthy, and yet there was a large rack to one side for yesterday’s wares to be sold at a discount. When some person came in to buy a loaf or a batch of cookies, they sold them over the counter with many a ‘Merry Christmas’ and hopes for the health of the customer’s family. But when another came in, obviously struggling, and looked over the discount wares carefully, clutching a few coins tightly in her hand, Karl watched as the baker’s wife deliberately dropped a fresh loaf coming out of the oven onto the floor. “Oh dear,” she exclaimed. “I canna’ sell that at full price.” Taking the poor customer by the arm, she continued, “Won’t you please buy this fresh loaf at a discount? I can’t sell it for full price now, and it will take up too much space.” Placing the fresh loaf in their basket, she tucked a bag of cookies and some other treats in around the loaf. “Christmas, you know, and I don’t want these to go to waste. Take them home to your children as a present from us.” She bustled about with the woman, asking after the children and tucking treats in the basket, and Karl realized as the customer exited that not a penny had changed hands.
And it was the baker who made a generous promise of donation, then made them promise to send someone ‘round at the close of business to collect all the unsold bread and sweets. “I won’t throw away good bread that can do someone good,” he said, even as he loaded more into the oven to bake, as though he intended to feed all of London.
Topper took Karl along with him to have tea with Fred, and then they all went together to Scrooge & Marley’s. Fred bade them wait outside while he went in to ‘soften up the old miser’. “I shall offer the old man our good company, which could do him very well, and invite him to our party tomorrow afternoon. And I’ll ‘Merry Christmas’ him as much as he can hold, and one or two more besides!” They watched from across the street as he gleefully entered his uncle’s business and strutted around, being cheerful. Now and then they could make out a growled ‘Bah’ and ‘Good afternoon!’ as Scrooge fended off Fred’s good cheer. Upon his exit, they heard him wish the season’s greetings to Bob Cratchit as he sat working, and then Fred waved them in to take his place as he exited.
Scrooge’s face was red with the exertion of suffering his nephew’s visit. They got straight to it, asking Scrooge to contribute to their fund. “At this festive season of the year, Mr. Scrooge,” said Topper, “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, sir.”
Scrooge asked after the prisons, and the workhouses. He continued to confirm that the Treadmill and the Poor Law were still working to assist those with no resources.
“Under the impression that they scarcely furnish Christian cheer of mind or body to the multitude, 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?”
And with Scrooge’s answer of “Nothing!”, their attempt was ended. There would be no donation.
But it came upon Karl to continue the game a bit longer. “P-perhaps you wish to remain anonymous?” he asked, knowing Scrooge meant no such thing, but trying to draw it out as far as possible.
“I wish to be left alone,” said Scrooge. Karl understood the feeling. “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.”
But Topper wasn’t willing to give up without a fight. “Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.”
“If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population. It’s enough for a man to understand his own business, and not to interfere with other people’s. Mine occupies me constantly. Good afternoon, gentlemen!”
And with that, Scrooge pushed them out of his establishment under the sheer force of his distaste for them, their purpose, and for those it would benefit. Fred was waiting for them on the corner, and congratulated them on hounding the old man for so long.
But Karl couldn’t digest the excessive cheer of Fred and Topper together for long, and took his leave of the two merrier men to manage some business of his own. Karl saw much of himself in Scrooge. Only reluctantly did he make merry at Christmas, and then only at the insistence of Topper. His taxes went, as Scrooge’s did, to pay for the prisons and workhouses. He went about his own business, and was content to be occupied with such. The difference between them was primarily that Scrooge had been about his own business for longer than Karl, and had known better success with it so far. Also that he was more resolute in his disdain for charity, mercy, forbearance and benevolence than Karl had the fortitude to manage. The thought weighed upon him as he walked. What was Scrooge in comparison to himself, and how did he feel about that?
He turned his steps toward the dirtier, dingier part of town. The people here were wretched, and the buildings as well. Alleys and archways spilled out the smells and noises of life going on within or without. Karl picked his way through the streets to a rag-pickers shop. He turned to look over his shoulder before ducking his way under a curtain and into the dingy space. As his eyes adjusted, he found the proprietor sitting on a stool by the fire, smoking his pipe and regarding him genially.
“Don’t stand staring then; come into the parlour. Let me turn up the lamp and see what it is you’ve brought me.” The gray-haired old rascal stirred himself up to reach for a lamp nearby, and trimmed it up to get better light. There was another stool beside him, but Karl declined its offer, preferring to stand. “You’ve been made free to sit or stand as you wish, here, long ago, undertaker’s man. Nothing about you makes you any better than the rest that come here, save that the owners of the baubles you bring me never come back after them.” His laugh trailed off into a damp cough.
Karl pulled a selection of items from various pockets, handing each one over solemnly, waiting for the picker to examine it before handing over the next. “A writing seal, pencil-case, three mother-of-pearl buttons, brooch, pocket-watch, one cufflink - what’s the use of a single cufflink, I ask you?” he murmured. “Onie Shanks was in here today - you’ll have missed her, then, but I suppose you’ve seen her already. Said her Arthur was to be buried today or tomorrow. Of course, I’m certain none of this lot belonged to ‘im, does it? He had little enough, and I ended up with what he had already,” he said, nodding his head at a pair of coal-stained boots on the top of one pile.
Old Joe scratched a few marks on the wall with a piece of chalk, then totalled it up at the bottom. Pulling a dirty flannel bag from the folds of his coat, he liberated a few coins from it and passed them over to Karl. “There’s your account. I’ll be seeing you again next week ‘round the same time, then?” Karl agreed that he would, given that the business of burying people continued apace, as it always did. He and the rag-picker had a long-standing relationship. Karl came into possession of small items that the dead wouldn’t miss, and Joe gave him his best rates for the items. No one was harmed by their arrangement, and both men profited by it.
Returning to a better part of town, Karl made his way toward his rooms. He had a small set of chambers in a house not far from his place of employment, with a tavern on the corner where he took his nightly meal. The fog was thicker than was usual, and heavy. A man more given to fancy might have felt it pressing upon him, almost pushing him along. But Karl plodded apace, allowing no such thoughts to take root.
As he neared his destination, he heard what seemed to be a piteous moaning, somewhere nearby. He looked up, and recognized that he stood across from Ebenezer Scrooge’s residence - a dirty, dark house that hunkered down on itself. He was startled to recognize that the window on the second story of the house was slowly opening wide; perhaps it was the creaking of the window’s hinges that had drawn his attention.
But look! It seemed to him that there was a bit of fog coming out of Scrooge’s window, and joining in the fogbank outside. Karl could make out arms and legs in the shape, and were those chains hanging from every limb? He fell back against the wall nearest him, looking around in horror. Karl could make out many shapes in the fog and mist, each a person with what appeared to be chains attached to it. Covering his mouth and trembling violently, he watched as the shapes swirled and stirred about him. There were terrible sounds, wailing and moaning in the air. He heard the sounds coming from his own throat as well, and was powerless to stop them.
As he tried to avert his eyes and pretend himself safely away from this horror, he recognized one shape in particular to be the man he had buried that morning - the very same man whose belongings he had just sold to Old Joe. It had the same face, the same white waistcoat, and there was a monstrous iron safe attached to its ankle. Karl watched as it floated over to a door across the way. Huddled there was a wretched woman with an infant. The specter cried piteously over her, as if he wanted to help her in some manner. And then it turned, and speared Karl with its gaze. Darting across the street to where Karl stood, the spectre looked at him pleadingly, gesturing at the poor woman.
Almost too terrified to move, yet more fearful to remain, Karl stumbled across the cobblestones, his legs trembling beneath him. He had to lean against the doorway himself to keep from falling, but when the woman looked up at him, he reached out his hand to her. As she placed her cold hand in his, the sounds of the spirits in the fog were dampened. He looked over his shoulder, and the shapes faded back into the fog, heavy around them. It was as if he had imagined it all, but he knew, somehow, that should he release her hand, they would return to torment him.
“L-let m-me help you,” he stammered out. “There’s an inn nearby…” Karl helped the woman stand, and walked with her, arm around her thin shoulders, to the inn. He huddled protectively over her, keeping an eye out for further phantoms in the mist, but they arrived with no further molestation.
Holding the door open and ushering the woman inside, he found a table close by the fire, and sat her down. He ordered a fine full meal for her, a mug of ale and a small meal for himself, and some milk for the babe. “Please, madam, eat your f-fill, and warm yourself. Allow me to c-cover the expense, and to see you warm and safe for the n-night.” She thanked him heartily, and when the food came, ate heartily. As the babe warmed, it awoke and began crying. The mother showed Karl how to feed the child, and he dandled it on his knee, made faces with it, and kept it entertained while its mother filled herself. When there was nothing more to consume, he paid for a room for the woman for the night, and saw her to the door of the room as she thanked him with tears in her eyes.
When he left, Karl had to pass back by Scrooge’s house to reach his own place. He paused when he reached the doorway where the woman had sat. He eyed the fog suspiciously, but it was just fog, moving only with the bitter wind rolling down the street. The window across was closed, and there was no evidence of the horrors he had seen earlier.
Just as he began walking again, the clock in a neighboring church tower struck the hour of one o’clock. As the single peal of the bell faded, a bright light erupted from Scrooge’s window, settling over Karl as if aimed at him alone. He recoiled, throwing his hands up to protect himself, and slipped on the icy street. As he fell, the last sight he had was of Scrooge’s bedroom window, lit up from within, and a shadowy figure outlined on the glass.
---
He dreamed. Or at least he hoped he dreamed. For he stood in Scrooge’s bedroom, seeing, but unseen. A small figure spoke to the old man. Karl couldn’t determine if it was man or woman, old or young. It glowed with a white light, springing from the crown of its head, and carried a cap very like the extinguisher for a candle. It spoke to Scrooge, but Karl could hear nothing. The figure reached out for Scrooge, and touched him lightly upon the chest. Scrooge, the Spirit, and Karl quickly passed through the wall, insubstantial, and down a seeming corridor of light, careening wildly through confusing images.
When they stopped, they stood in a schoolhouse. Karl could see boys running and playing, inside and out, with no discipline or order. Scrooge fastened his gaze upon one in particular, who looked so like Scrooge that it could only be his younger self. But Karl could see another schoolhouse as well, the walls of the two buildings overlapping, and recognized it as the place where he spent his own childhood. Boys from one image ran through those from the other, and yet there was a harmony in the two scenes. Karl could see his own younger self, huddled in a corner, reading a book. Other boys surrounded him, taunting him. He watched the torment, understanding there was nothing he could do to stop it. After a while, the boys tired of their game and left. Or perhaps they simply faded away. A small girl ran up to the younger Scrooge, babbling excitedly, then led him away. The younger Karl gathered up his belongings and ran out the door alone.
The world spun around them, and when it stopped, they stood instead in a warehouse. The Spirit and Scrooge appeared to converse, still silent to Karl. Scrooge delighted in the warehouse, showing more emotion than Karl had ever seen in him. Looking around, there was again a doubling effect, with another building superimposed on the warehouse. It was the undertaker’s shop where Karl worked now. He saw the ‘prentice boy come in and start sweeping the place, dancing with the broom to music unheard. Karl moved closer to the boy, and watched his face as he danced around, cleaning up. A jolly rotund man entered the warehouse, just as Karl’s master entered the shop. They stood in the same place together, one talking to the younger Scrooge and his fellow apprentice, the other to Karl and the ‘prentice boy. All four young men began cleaning up in their respective workplaces, putting things away and sweeping the floor. A few minutes later, a great crowd of people entered the warehouse and soon began dancing. The boy in the undertaker’s shop danced through and around them with his broom. Scrooge, too, danced among them in his nightclothes.
It darkened, and the scene shifted again. Karl saw the younger Scrooge talking to a fair young girl full of remorse and tears. He looked around for himself in this scene - there he sat, on a bench nearby, alone, oblivious to the emotional conversation happening nearby. The girl sobbed, and the younger Scrooge seemed angry at her, and dismissive of her tears. The girl turned away, and was suddenly at her own home, surrounded by children and a man who obviously loved her. Karl, Scrooge, and the Spirit watched through the window. Karl’s image self stood in the street nearby. But this shift brought on a great deal of emotion and action from Scrooge, who began to struggle with the Spirit. Karl watched as Scrooge seized the Spirit’s cap and pressed it down on its head, extinguishing the bright light which had shone out of it all this time.
The world spun ‘round and ‘round, and Karl found himself back in Scrooge’s chambers; Scrooge was there, too. The room had undergone a surprising transformation. It was full of greenery, and a mighty blaze was roaring in the fireplace. Heaped on the floor was food of every kind, and amid it all stood a jolly Giant carrying a glowing torch. The giant was speaking to Scrooge, and it was again inaudible to Karl’s ear, but when Scrooge reached out to touch the Spirit’s robe, Karl was again whisked along with the pair out into the world.
They stood in the city streets on Christmas morning. People bustled all about, visiting the poulterer’s shop, and the fruiterer’s, and the grocer’s. Scrooge and the Spirit examined people as they rushed by with their dinners, and Karl saw the Spirit sprinkle something from his torch on them from time to time. Each time, it seemed that the person sprinkled upon suddenly became cheerful, and would turn to another nearby with a smile and what could only be a ‘Merry Christmas’ for the other. Karl recognized the baker’s where he had found himself before, and saw the man and his wife carrying a great bundle of treats out the door, handing them over to one of Topper’s friends, come to collect for the poor.
They sped dizzily through the street, landing on the doorstep of Bob Cratchit, Scrooge’s clerk. Karl recognized the small boy that had ridden his father’s shoulder out of the church at Christmas Mass last year, and there were several more children besides. They never stood still long enough for Karl to count, but the girls wore ribbons and the oldest boy wore what appeared to be his father’s shirt collar. The pot on the fire bubbled quite as merrily as the children, and they tucked into their sparse Christmas dinner as if it were a grand feast. The inn where Karl had supped with the woman the night before faded into existence, her Christmas feast overlaying that of the Cratchit’s. The woman from the street sat in the same chair as Cratchit’s wife, and the baby on his own self’s knee was in the same spot as Tiny Tim.
The scene faded, and Karl trailed behind Scrooge and the Spirit as they travelled through several other places. Though Karl heard nothing but the wind, in each, the cheer of Christmas was evident. People sang together, ate together, told one another stories. There was an air of comfort and delight everywhere they went.
At last they stopped in a house that Karl recognized well - that of Fred and his wife. Karl watched as his own image followed in behind Topper, taking up his usual position in the corner where he could see everything, but avoid the center of the action. He watched Topper and Fred and Fred’s wife and her sisters bustle around, playing games and enjoying one another’s company. He couldn’t help but notice that, while he himself was there, and answered when spoken too, he didn’t seem to be fully a part of the scene. Like Scrooge and the Spirit, his own image was an observer, not fully a member of the party. After a final toast, this party, too, faded. And with it faded Karl’s own awareness.
---
Karl woke slowly, finding himself laid flat on the icy cobblestones. He sat up, blinking his eyes and rubbing at the knot on the back of his head. Fuzzy-headed and full of questions, the things he had seen were quickly fading in his memory; he tried to grasp at them, but came back with only a feeling of loneliness and a disquiet foreign to him. He struggled to his feet in the shadows of the street, looking suspiciously up at Scrooge’s bedroom window. But it was closed, and there was no light within.
Confused by his experiences, Karl decided that the best recourse was a sound retreat to his rooms. He brushed himself off as a clock in a neighboring church tower began to strike. Karl counted off three quarters before the clock stopped. He heaved himself in the direction he had been heading, eager to go to sleep and put this all behind him.
Along his way stood the undertaker’s business where he worked, and adjacent, a large graveyard. Karl had just turned the corner to put the graveyard in sight when the clock began to strike again. To his great astonishment the heavy bell went on from six to seven, and from seven to eight, and regularly up to twelve; then stopped. Twelve? It had been one o’clock when he had struck his head; how could it be twelve now? The idea being an alarming one, he quickened his pace, desperate to put this all behind him.
Just as he drew alongside the iron gate that opened into the graveyard, Karl heard a wailing cry. He thought that someone cried out the name ‘Ebenezer Scrooge’... or was that his imagination? He heard the voice again, a man’s voice… more softly now, and he was sure that it came from within the graveyard. He couldn’t make out the babbling words, only the terrible sobbing that accompanied them. Karl pushed open the gate and charged into the graveyard, looking around for the person so afflicted, but as he reached the center of the place, there was nothing and no one there. He was alone.
---
Karl made it to his bed, somehow, but could not have said how or when. He slept fitfully, images of spirits and graves and children and Christmas dinners mixing around. When he woke, he quickly dressed and went out to walk in the street, if only to reassure himself that everything was normal and the world had not come to an end during the confusing night. People were bustling about as he had seen them in his visions. The fruiterer’s and the grocer’s were as he had seen them, and the baker and his wife were bundling a great pile of bread together for collection. Everything was the same, save for the inaudible image of Scrooge and the Spirit.
Karl went to Christmas Mass, and prayed a bit more sincerely than he had ever before. After, he let his feet lead him along, until he was startled to see someone had stopped in front of him. Slowly looking up, he was astonished to find Ebenezer Scrooge regarding him genially, with a smile so wide it seemed to hurt him.
“My dear sir,” said Scrooge, taking Karl by both his hands. “How do you do? I hope you succeeded yesterday. It was very kind of you. A merry Christmas to you!”
This is the last person Karl had expected to exchange Christmas greetings with. It seemed somehow impersonal, after the intimacy of sharing each other’s past visions. But he stammered out, “M-Mr. S-Scrooge?”
“Yes,” said Scrooge. “That is my name, and I fear it may not be pleasant to you. Allow me to ask your pardon. And will you have the goodness…” Here Scrooge whispered in his ear, suggesting a donation amount that was more than half of Karl’s yearly salary.
“Lord bless me!” cried Karl, in shock at both the amount and the identity of the donor. “My d-dear Mr. Scrooge, are you serious?”
“If you please,” said Scrooge. “Not a farthing less. A great many back-payments are included in it, I assure you. Will you do me that favour?”
“My dear sir,” said Karl “I d-don’t know what to say to such munifi—”
“Don’t say anything, please,” retorted Scrooge. “Come and see me. Will you come and see me?”
“I will!” he cried. It was evident that Scrooge didn’t know of Karl’s tagging along the night before. If indeed, the thing had happened at all.
“Thank’ee,” said Scrooge. “I am much obliged to you. I thank you fifty times. Bless you!”
And Scrooge was off again, leaving Karl standing befuddled in the street. It really seemed as if Scrooge were serious about Karl visiting, as though he meant them to be friends. Could such a thing be possible?
In the afternoon, Karl found himself at Fred’s house for their annual Christmas Party. Imagine his surprise when he found Scrooge already there. He made straightaway to greet Karl, shaking both his hands and asking after his health. The smile on his face looked uncomfortable there, but was so genuine and hearty that it soon charmed an answering smile from Karl.
When the party retired to the drawing-room, Karl deliberately avoided the corner where he had seen himself the night before. He forced himself to stand nearer the others, and to play the games more actively. It was a wonderful party, the most genial he had ever attended. He was startled at one point to find himself speaking with one of his host’s sisters - not the one Topper was so enamored of, but the other - and finding himself invited to visit her and her family one afternoon next month.
The next week, a card was delivered to Karl through Topper, inviting him ‘round to lunch with Scrooge and several other men of business. When he arrived at the address, he had to check the card twice. It was Scrooge’s house, but how different it looked! Before it had been dark, and dingy, and somewhat threatening. But now there were workmen there, painting where it needed it, and replacing the shutters. And the gate had been repaired. He noted that the window to the bedroom above, where he had seen the ghosts in the fog, had its shutters open, and who did he see leaning out of it to oil the shutter-hinges, but Mistress Onie Shanks! She looked right smart in a fresh uniform, and waved at him cheerily when she saw him below. As he entered, his gaze was caught by the large knocker on the door. It had been shined within an inch of its life, and as Karl passed, the light must have caught it, for it appeared to wink at him!
The next day, he received an invitation to another social, where there were several young men and women who wanted to begin a charitable organization, and he was invited to serve on the board of it. Karl’s calendar soon filled with good deeds and acts of friendship. He dined regularly with Ebenezer Scrooge, whose fortune became a source of many good works, and Onie Shanks, who urged her employer on to further good deeds. Fred and Topper were often there, and when Bob Cratchit’s family moved in to the downstairs, there were dinners and feasts frequently. Topper attended many of them, and became involved in the lives of the others there. He became as good a friend, and as good a man, as the good old city knew. And together with all his friends and associates, including Ebenezer Scrooge, he always kept Christmas, and kept it well.
---
If you enjoyed this story, find more Christmas Carol stories in the book
God Bless Us, Every One, available on Amazon.
No comments:
Post a Comment