Christmas Carol Fan Fiction

I do not own the copyrights to Christmas Carol

Two Worlds Collide Chapter One

Note: I confess I haven't actually read the book, I hope you won't hold that against me. I have, however, seen various versions of the movie based on the book. I am writing this with the main character looking like George C. Scott; as I preferred the version he was in.

(Tiny Tim, and Bob Crachit are in here, but I could not find Fred or Janet, so they must have just been in the movie version).

Also Post, Oregon does exit and is a non-in cooperated community.

Ch. 1

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive…that was actually said by Sir Walter Scott, just don't ask me what year. I've never bothered looking it up. And, for the record, I'd not ever purposely deceived anyone; well, not out spite or trying to get money out of them and such. Nonetheless, how on earth could I tell these English people of the eighteen hundreds who I really was? If you suggest I tell them who I really am, you're crazier than I ever thought of being.

Who am I? My parents named me Carmelotta J. McDougall, I have dark dusty hair, and stand about five-feet six inches tall, but if you think I was going to say that last name to the townsfolk walking around me; well, darling, it's not going to happen. First, I can't stand that legal name, sounds like someone asking for too much candy. Second, that last name and this time period of England…no way. If I was back in my own time frame I might, but I don't know for sure; it's not like I've ever been to England or any of those countries. Third, seeing as I was actually born in nineteen sixty-; well, let's just say I have a healthy aversion to any mental institution…especially the ones I've read about in the eighteen hundreds.

"Excuse me, I didn't see you." I spoke to a tall thin gentleman with horrible looking blonde hair, wearing a black top hat and black coat; you know the ones with the split in the back cause of riding horses so much. "My mind was elsewhere." The gentleman nodded his head, was polite enough to accept my apology and walked off.

I had no reason to hate him; he'd done nothing wrong, nor was I aware of his name. Nonetheless, the man gave me the creeps. It was that fact which compelled me to walk fast in any direction he wasn't going.

Looking at myself I didn't know whether to sigh, cry, or scream. The dress I wore managed to blend into the scenery around me, but that's only because I'd been in too much of a hurry to change after the play rehearsal with a local theatre group. And the shoes I had been wearing? Someone really needed to make them out of sturdier material. They had been walked to shreds.

How I got to London, I suspect, will never be known. All I do know for sure is I walked out the old community building just as lightning bolt shot across the sky and, wham, I'm walking the streets of nineteenth century England. The sound of my stomach growling and grinding remind me I haven't eaten in ages, but with no money and no real skills; none these people would hire me for, the thought occurs to me I very well may starve. That thought depresses me and my throat constricts as an image of me lying destitute on some lonely alley jumps front and center into the stage of my mind.

"Poor gal…" A hand reaches out and takes a hold of my arm as I start to fall from lack of strength. "…Let me buy you some food." A deep voice gets my head lifted up. I know that face; however, my mind is not working right and I cannot place a name to it.

"But, I have no way of paying you back." My protest falls on deaf ears as he guides me into a small shop, sits me down at the only table the establishment has and pays for two muffins and two glasses of milk. I manage to thank him as the urge to eat like some crazed mad woman hits my stomach. I manage to eat with a small degree of manners, though I am unsuccessful at hiding the fact it's been far too long between meals for me as the food is shoveled in faster than what would be considered proper.

"Where are you from? Do you have any family that needs to know your whereabouts?" His voice is gentle and caring, and I respond without thinking.

"I'm from Post, Oregon and no need to worry about family. They're not even…" It's at that point I catch myself "…claiming me as a relative". I'd about to say 'born yet', and the Post bit? Great, like this man would have even heard of Post, Oregon and a nowhere near him. Heck, Oregon won't become a state for another sixteen years. And Post? It's an unincorporated community with no sign of a hospital in sight. Last time I checked it only had one store and I'm pretty sure the post office is in the same building as the store. Also, I'd only been there once in my life, so what made me claim it as my place of birth is beyond me.

"Not claim relations, why?" The man's eyes widen as he leans against his chair.

"I turned down a marriage proposal from some creepy rich guy who thought he was better than anyone else." If I'd been paying attention to something other than the food in front of me, and the eye-rolling tone in my voice, I'd have seen the fellow swallow a chuckle.

"Then I can't say I blame you for turning him down." He placed a napkin on his lap and asked, "Where is Post Oregon?" The man spoke the names as if they were one; I did not correct him. "I have never heard of such a place. Where is it?"

"A long way away," I find my manners and tell him my name is Janie Smith; it's my middle name. As far the last name Smith goes, if that name doesn't fit into this man's world, I don't know what would.

"Do you need a place to stay the night?" My eyes must have flown wide open because the man hurried to assure me he wasn't referring to his place. "I was thinking along the lines of my nephew, Fred and his wife. I'm sure they'd love to have the company." With no other real option, I accept the man's offer forgetting to ask him his own name.

We'd have walked to his nephew's house, but he could tell my feet were in no condition to do anymore traveling and he paid a carriage to take us there. The roads were typical stone roads, or at least they were according to any books, or movies, I'd seen. The buildings we drove by were business ones, markets, doctors' offices and such. We came to a row of houses which looked more like fancy condominiums to me came into sight. It was only after the carriage had left did the man knock on the door.

A red-headed gentleman opened the door, smiling wide as he did so, "Why Uncle Ebenezer, I hadn't expected you today. And who is this lady with you?" His voice was light and cherry, but his words, mixed with the fact I hadn't had a decent night sleep in what felt like forever, put me into shock. Ebenezer? London? England? It was too much; I blacked out.

NOTE: Sir Walter Scott really did live and made that quote: no, there was not a year on the site where I found it.