CHRISTMAS CAROL WITH A K
by
THOMAS J. MISURACA
Ebinezer Scridge was a well respected business man in Merry
Old England. He was known for his generosity: he donated money
to hundreds of charities and even began some himself. Every Christmas
morning he dressed up as Father Christmas and distributed toys
to all the orphans in the city. Later that day, he hosted a Christmas
Day feast for the town's elderly citizens.
The weeks before Christmas were filled with fun and festivities,
all sponsored by Scridge & Associates. Scridge attended all
the events, including the Christmas Eve Fiesta at the leper colony.
"I know wherever I go," Scridge said before he left,
"There will always be a little piece of you with me."
Scridge returned to his modest home in a modest section of
town. He drank a glass of warm milk and relaxed in front of the
fire. He thought of how nice it would be to see all the happy
drooling faces of the elderly townspeople tomorrow.
Suddenly, a chilling gust of air blew down his chimney, extinguishing
the fire. It seemed to whisper: "Scridge..."
Scridge shook his head and joked to himself: "Better cut
down on the drinking, Scridge old chap." Truth was, Scridge
never touched a drop of alcohol in his life.
He leaned forward to relight the fire. With an explosion of
flame, the log reignited themselves.
"How odd," Scridge rubbed his chin, then returned
to his warm milk and thoughts of tomorrow.
"Scridge!" an eerie voice echoed from the hallway
behind him.
Scridge turned to find a pale figure wrapped head to toe in
bandages. He hovered a few feet about the floor, dragging behind
him a sack of chains.
"Oh dear," Scridge said to him, "The dinner
for the elderly is not until tomorrow evening."
"Scridge!" the man bellowed, "In life I was
your partner, Jacob Marley."
"My partner's name is Wally Fizzlebottom... and he's still
alive."
"I wear the chain I forged in life."
"That's nice, but I don't see-"
"The chain you're forging now is twice as large and three
times as pendulous."
"Why's that?"
"Because of all the evil you have done."
"But I've never done any evil."
"Scridge!" the spirit's voice roared, "You will
be visited this night by three spirits. The first when the clock
strikes one, the second when the clock strikes two, and the third
with the clock strikes-"
"Three?"
"Don't interrupt!"
"Sorry."
With that, the specter vanished.
"What an odd chap," Scridge said, "Hope he gets
some help."
Scridge made a mental note to open a charity for those unfortunate
soul who thought they were dead people cursed to walk the earth.
Then he went to bed.
The clock struck one.
"Scridge," A woman's voice summoned.
Scridge leapt out of bed. He was a virtuous soul, so the sound
of a female in his room was quite alarming. At the end of his
bed stood a beautiful woman. She was literally glowing. She wore
a Victorian winter dress with the hands hidden in a fur muff.
"Can I help you, my dear lady?" Scridge asked.
"I am the ghost of Christmas past," she announced.
"Long past?"
"No... your past. Long before you became the bitter, evil
person you are today.
"Listen... I think you have the wrong person."
The ghost pulled a clipboard out of her muffler. "You are
Ebinezer Scridge, aren't you?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then I have the right person."
The spirit snapped her fingers and suddenly Scridge found himself
at his parents' house. All his family was gathered around the
tree, opening extravagant present after extravagant present.
"Do you recognize that young lad?" the spirit pointed
to a young boy opening presents.
"Of course," Scridge said, "That's me."
"You see, you once thought Christmas to be a happy time."
"I still think Christmas to be a happy time."
"But do you remember this year-"
With another snap of her fingers, the spirit transported Scridge
to his old University. It was the year Scridge had to stay at
school in order to finish an important thesis. As a surprise,
his family came to the University so Scridge wouldn't spend the
holidays alone.
Next they visited his first job where Scridge was the life of
the Christmas party. Then onto the more recent holidays where
he entertained the children and the elderly.
It brought a tear to Scridge's eye to be able to relive those
moments.
"This is a wonderful treat," he told the spirit as he
wiped his eyes.
She smiled at him, then snapped her fingers one last time.
Scridge found himself back in his bed.
The clock struck two.
"Scridge!" a man's voice bellowed.
Scridge found a very large man standing at the end of his bed.
He had a wreath of holly wrapped around his head and wore a large
fur coat. In one hand he held a book with the year written across
it. In the other, he held a turkey leg.
"I am the ghost of Christmas present," the spirit announced
and offered Scridge a bite of his turkey leg.
"No thanks," Scridge declined, "I'm a vegetarian."
He wondered how many poor animals had to be slaughtered for this
guy's fashion statement.
The spirit shrugged, "Come! This year is fleeting and I must
show you what horrors you've brought to it."
He grabbed Scridge's hand and pulled him out the window. Before
Scridge could even be scared, he and the spirit were flying above
the city. They landed before a large house in a very nice section
of town.
"Do you know who lives in this wretched place?" the
spirit asked.
"Yes, my secretary, Janis, and her husband, Frank,"
Scridge informed the spirit, "I co-signed the loan on this
place. And it's not wretched."
"But do you know how they live?"
"She should live pretty well on the salary I pay her. And
he's a pretty decent business man himself."
"You may think they live well." the spirit said, "But
go to the window and see the truth."
"I'm not going to peek into their house, that's rude!"
"They cannot see you, which I'm sure is good news for them."
"That's not a very nice thing to say," Scridge scolded
the spirit as he approached the window. It was dark inside.
"They're probably at my Christmas Eve party," Scridge
said, "I hope they drink responsibly."
"And their crippled child?"
"They don't have any children."
"Yes, Ebinezer Scridge, God Bless Us Every One."
"What the hell are you talking about? I don't know who you
think I am, but I'm tired and want to get some sleep. I have to
be up early to play Father Christmas for the orphans."
"It's always about you, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Just remember, Ebinezer Scridge, life is short, and soon
you're not here any more!"
Scridge was back in his room.
"Now maybe I can get some sleep," he said as his head
hit the pillow.
The clock struck three.
A shadow loomed over Scridge's bed. He sat up and came face to
hood with a shrouded figure.
"Are you the third spirit whose coming was foretold to me?"
Scridge asked.
The spirit nodded.
"The Ghost of Christmas yet to come?"
The spirit nodded.
"Will you show me the future?"
The spirit nodded.
"My future?"
The spirit nodded.
"You don't say much, do ya?"
The spirit shook his head.
"I have to admit," Scridge admitted, "You kinda
scare me. But lead on spirit, lead on!"
Scridge found himself on a busy London street in the middle of
the afternoon. He overheard four men standing on a corner.
"What a saint, leaving all his money to the poor, elderly
and disabled."
"Oh come on! His generosity was always just an act to appease
his giant ego."
"He was a snob, but he did some good things for this town."
"Did you guys catch the cricket match last night?"
Scridge turned to the spirit and asked: "Are they talking
about me?"
The spirit pointed toward the distance. Scridge turned and found
himself in a cemetery.
"What are we doing here?" Scridge asked, "This
is the nicest cemetery in town. I have a plot here myself."
Scridge followed the spirits' finger to a tombstone. It read:
Ebinezer Scridge.
"So?" Scridge asked nonchalantly, "What's your
point? I know I'm going to die. Everybody dies."
The spirit continued to point.
"So basically you're telling me it's all pointless,"
Scridge concluded, "No matter what we do, good or evil, we
all end up dead."
The spirit continued to point.
"So being kind and generous all my life didn't matter,"
Scridge continued, "People still say nasty things about me
behind my back."
The spirit continued to point.
"Is this some kind of 'pull my finger' game?" Scridge
asked, "I have no time for that! I have seen the error of
my ways, spirit, take me from this place."
Scridge was enveloped in darkness.
The sun shone through the window of Scridge's bedroom. He shot
up and looked at the clock- he was twenty minutes late for the
orphanage. The poor orphans were anxiously awaiting Father Christmas
and the gifts he would be bringing. How sad.
Scridge turned over and went back to sleep.
At noon, the vans filled with elderly people rolled into his driveway,
only to find big signs reading" "Trespassers Will Be
Shot on Sight! This Goes for You, Too, Geriatric Moochers!"
He stayed home that day and made a list of people to fire. On
the top of the list was his secretary, Janis.
That afternoon, he went into town to get some lunch.
"Merry Christmas," a little boy greeted him.
"Bah humbug!" Ebinezer Scridge replied, "Bah humbug!"
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