It was a wet, sodden day as Ebenezer Scrooge was buried. There was nobody around to mourn him, except for the cursory minister, the undertaker, and the reluctant pallbearers, who had only been appeased by the promise of a slight provision. Nobody mourned the wicked. Scrooge had kept to himself, had spurned those in need, had harshly turned down offers of friendship, abused his employees and cast his family aside. The minister gave a reading and spoke a few words about God's mercy. Scrooge was laid to rest, at least physically, and was soon buried, as cold in the grave as he had been in life.

The news spread quickly about the city. Scrooge's clients were relieved, sure that the new proprietor of Scrooge's business could not be as unmerciful as he. Even a request for one more day, just one more day to pay off a mortgage had been met with derision and they often found themselves homeless, courtesy of Scrooge. Even Bob Crachit, who tried to practice mercy, could not help feeling more hopeful. And indeed, all concerned parties found the new owner of the counting-house a more generous lender and a much more merciful employee. Not a winter day passed that a fire did not blaze merrily in the office, and Bob Crachit was given a salary he'd never dreamed of—there was no more living in fear.

Soon Scrooge was forgotten by all but one.

Every Sunday since the funeral, a lone figure could be scene at Scrooge's grave—a grave placed far away from the others, almost in the back, the cheapest plot available. Scrooge had failed to name an heir to his fortune and it had been pilfered, through a loophole, by an unscrupulous lawyer.

Scrooge's only visitor wished that he could have been there when he died and found the despised (by others) man a better place to be buried.

"I am sorry I couldn't have been with you, Uncle," he had said that first Sunday. "I was tied up in business and didn't know you died until I came back."

For only Scrooge's nephew, Fred, felt any sympathy for Ebenezer Scrooge.

"I wish I could have known you better," Fred often said as he knelt by his uncle's grave even on the coldest of days. "I am sure there was some good in you, and I know that the One who judges all is a fair Judge. I hope that He knew what was in your heart."

It was true that nobody mourned the wicked.

But Fred mourned the lost.


A/N: I love 'Carol' but often wonder what would have happened if the Ghost of Christmas Past's vision would have come true.