A Modern Christmas Carol

Being a Ghost Story of Christmas

Based on the original book by Charles Dickens

Stave One

Part One-Christmas Eve

Dismal, dreary, DREICH! A typical Scottish Christmas Eve, with the suggestion of snow that never seemed to arrive. Cars crawled slowly along in the road in procession, their horns blaring and adding to the din as weary businessmen and frazzled last minute Christmas shoppers poured out of offices and shops and streamed onto the street. Classic Christmas music sounded from the speakers outside crowded shops with songs like Jingle Bells and Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer adding to the Christmas atmosphere. Fragrent smells of clove and cinnamon along with other holiday treats wafted from the bakers and enticed all who passed, tempting them with their rich, fruity scents. Brightly coloured tinsel was intertwined around the lamp-posts, in vibrant colours of red, green and gold, while Christmas lights winked from the rooftops, flickering on and off in time to the music.

Little children dashed around the stores, eagerly pressing their noses against the Toys R Us window, gazing longingly at Barbie dolls, The Broons and Oor Wullie annuals and Action Men.

Mothers pushed prams laden with Tesco shopping bags and hauled their whining wee bairns past the enticing entrance to the Disney Store. Party-goers teetered on ridiculously high heels on the icy pavements, occasionally sliding to a halt so that they might catch a glimpse of the gleaming jewels in HS Samuels's festive display.

A busker strummed with frozen fingers hoping passers-by would help him feed himself as well as 'Feed the World' as the popular Christmas Song encouraged. And feed him they did, those who passed by, they tossed their change into his tin so that it clanked merrily. The busker thanked them with a hearty cry of "Merry Christmas an' God bless ya!" before returning to his tune, with a wide grin appearing on his face.

However, not everyone was in the Christmas spirit…

Part Two- Mr. Richard Scrooge

"I said to schedule it for 3:30!" bawled the man inside the Audi, who was incidentally breaking the law by speaking into his mobile phone whilst driving. "And you take it into your tiny little head to schedule the meeting for 3:35! I didn't know you could get even stupider Cratchit!"

The nervous sounding man on the other end of the line was barely audible.

"I'm v-very sorry Mr. Scrooge s-sir!" he whispered in a shaking voice. "I'll reschedule it right away!"

"You'd better!" snarled Scrooge. "Or you'll be having a very merry Christmas…with no job!" He slammed the flip phone shut and tossed it angrily onto the passenger seat, fuming with rage. How stupid could that idiot get?

Mr. Richard Scrooge of Scrooge & Marley's Motors was a pale, thin man, with short, grey hair, cold calculating grey eyes and a thin mouth. He was a selfish, cold-hearted, evil old man; sharp as a needle and hard as stone. He ruled his empire with a rod of iron.

He always dressed the same no matter the weather or the season; a dark grey pinstripe suit, crisp white shirt and navy tie. He carried his laptop with him at all times, busily calculating his profits. You see, Scrooge was a car salesman who sold faulty cars at ridiculously high prices. He and his old partner, Charles Marley, had been running the business for many years, until; seven years ago this very night on Christmas Eve Marley had been in a fatal car crash with a drunk driver and Scrooge had hated Christmas more than ever, ever since then.

And, speaking of Marley…

Scrooge turned his attention to the satellite navigation system, checking to see what the traffic would be like on the way home, not that it wasn't bad enough already.

And then he saw it. Old Marley's face.

Despite paying five hundred pounds extra for a fully coloured SATNav, Marley's face appeared gaunt and grey; his beady black eyes bore into Scrooges own and his designer frames shone in the light from the streetlamps. His face was blank, without expression and he stared at Scrooge with no emotion on his eerie features.

"M-Marley?" stammered Scrooge, his earlier anger and strength of voice draining away. "Is it r-really you, Charles Marley?"

The apparition said nothing, but its expression changed into what seemed to be a glare before it faded from view.

Scrooge shook the incident off in his usual manner: "Those eejits at the factory can't even install a SATNav correctly? If I had my way I'd fire 'em all!" and he continued to distract himself by turning on the radio. Immediately 'I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday' blasted out of the speakers.

"Ach, jings!" growled Scrooge, changing channels with an irritated flick of the switch.

Eventually Scrooge arrived at Donald's Chippie, the fish and chip shop. He parked the car and got out, scowling at the festive sights and sounds that greeted him. Everyone in Edinburgh knew Scrooge from the businessmen to the beggars and they all shrank back as he approached. Upon reaching Donald's Chippie, Scrooge pulled open the door and let it slam shut behind him as he entered. Donald Drysdale, the owner of the fast food joint, greeted Scrooge jovially as if he didn't realise the misers' grim mood.

"Merry Christmas, sir!" he said, smiling widely.

Scrooge, with extreme self control, managed not to say "Ach, jings!" back but merely asked for "A pensioner's supper ana bottle of Iron Bru!" as was his usual order at the chippie.

Once his dinner was packaged and in its plastic bag, Scrooge grumpily reached for his wallet. He slipped it out of his pocket and tugged a fiver from the wad of banknotes. While waiting impatiently for his change, he glanced around at the customers who weren't taking out. They all averted their eyes.

Donald handed the change back, which Scrooge put carefully into his wallet after having counted every penny. This done, Scrooge shoved his wallet back into his pocket, snatched up the steaming bag, and swept from the shop. As he was walking back to his Audi he was verbally waylaid by the busker, who was still strumming 'Feed The World'.

"Spare a penny sir?" he asked, looking up at Scrooge.

Not that Scrooge noticed or cared but a few people had stopped to watch, wondering what selfish old Scrooge would do.

What selfish old Scrooge did was more shocking than some had predicted. He glared down at the old busker for a fraction of a second and an evil glint flashed into his eyes. Then, with one swift motion, he upended the mans tin, scattering its contents far and wide. The busker and several onlookers gasped, and a shocked mother dragged her young boy away, shaking her head in horror. Scrooge gave a contemptuous sniff, turned on his heel and marched back to his Audi. He wrenched open the door, flung his dinner onto the passenger seat and got in, slamming the door so hard that the wing mirror cracked. Scrooge cursed.

Part Three- The Start of the Haunting

At long last, after much ado with traffic jams, Scrooge arrived at No.13, Leaf Walk, where he lived. It was a terraced house with a grand front door and a smart brass doorknob. He grinned with the satisfaction of knowing he had arrived home with no more injures to his beloved Audi and got out, locking the car behind him. He opened his front door, hung up his coat on its peeling gold coat hook and shut the door, double locking it as usual. He got out a plate, knife and fork from his kitchen cupboard and pulled out his still piping packet of fish and chips. He tipped the food onto his plate and shoved the newspaper it had been wrapped in into the bin.

He ate his dinner in silence whilst reading the Daily Mail, scorning the seasonal advertisements, but his mind kept wandering back to Charles Marley's face. Had it been a trick of those dratted Christmas lights? Or had Marley's face been real? As he thought this, Scrooge perceived that he could, yet again, see his old partners face on the patterned wallpaper. He shrugged it off with the usual "Ach, jings!" and drained his glass of Iron Bru. Perhaps it was his imagination, but had Marley's face just appeared on his empty plate? No, it can't have. Scrooge put his plate, knife and fork in the sink and filled up his glass with more Iron Bru. He strode into the living room and turned on his portable television. What was the point in wasting money on a gigantic, expensive hunk of metal anyway? The only good channel, as far as Scrooge was concerned, was the BBC News.

Once done with his television for one night, Scrooge climbed his battered old staircase to his bedroom. There, he sat down at his desk and started to type at his laptop, his fingers flitting across the keyboard in his anxiety to get his spreadsheet finished. Scrooge typed and typed, his computer clock read nine. When it turned fifteen minutes past Scrooge's head hit the desk and he fell into an uneasy sleep.

Part Four- Marley Approaches

Scrooge awoke to the sound of crashing. Startled, he heaved himself off his desk and looked around. His favourite painting entitled 'Man with an Abundance of Money' was in pieces on the floor. Before Scrooge could say anything furious as to why his picture was in its current state, another, this one concerning a bleak and barren landscape, fell from the wall too.

"What the-?" Scrooge cried, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white. "What's goin' on?" He could hear more crashing from across the landing, telling him that yet more pictures were falling to their deaths.

As soon as it had started, the noise stopped. No more pictures fell; and the whole house was as silent as a morgue.

And then, Scrooge heard the wailing. A monstrous, melancholy moaning, followed by a clanking sound, not like the jingle of coins that Scrooge was used to but a sound that was both ominous and terrifying. He had by no means relaxed when the pictures and paintings ceased to fall, but now he was rigid with shock and fear, hardly daring to breathe.

"W-who's there?" he managed to choke out. "Show yerself!"

The howling and clanking drew nearer and nearer and, as it did so, Scrooge became more and more afraid, practically paralysed with fear. He tried to shake this new, awful emotion off, but found he could not!

Like a bolt of lightning, a terrible thought formed in his brain, fogging every inch of his mind. Could it be?

Part Five- Mr. Charles Marley

An iridescent mist crept under the door and into Scrooge's bedroom; a biting cold cloud that chilled Scrooge to the bone. The wisps of ghostly cloud were soon billowing towers of smoke that grew colder and colder still…and felt like ice when the spectre appeared. A ghost none other than Old Charles Marley!

He emerged from the plumes of freezing fog and walked steadily towards where Scrooge sat frozen with fear. He wore a suit similar to Scrooge's own, his glasses shone eerily in the ghostly light that radiated from him and his mean black eyes were slits of fury in his gaunt face. Around his middle was a long chain, which wound about him and was threaded with credit cards, car keys, certificates, account books, cheque books, wallets and even the occasional business card. In addition the ghost wore shackles on his feet, these too bearing items of profit and business.

Scrooge opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

"Scrooge," began the ghost, its voice wavering. It was Marley's voice all right, there was no denying it. A cheerless, droning voice, which seemed to echo around the room and bounce off the walls.

"Who a-are you?" Scrooge stuttered, although he knew perfectly well what his ghostly visitor's response would be.

"When I was alive I was your business partner, Mr. Charles Marley! But now I am dead I am nothing but another phantom, forced into an eternity of regret and suffering!" Marley's eyes narrowed further, and Scrooge thought he knew why.

"Killed!" the apparition cried. "Killed by some idiot who'd drunk too much, coming home from the pub! Killed by a fool who thought drink driving was clever! He smashed my Ford to bits so he did! It was two hours later when the ambulance arrived, but by then it was too late! I had bled to death at the wheel! I saw the whole scene, as a ghost. Saw those stupid paramedics draggin' my mangled body out of the ruined car! Saw the policeman arresting the man who killed me with a smug grin on his face…he was glad I was dead, so he wis!"

Charles Marley's ghost wrung his hands and sent up a fearful cry, clanking his chain menacingly and Scrooge, now more afraid than ever, shrunk back against his chair, a look of pure horror mingled with disbelief on his withered, old face.

"W-Why are you here, Marley?" Scrooge asked. "And how do I know that you are not just a hallucination brought about by a bad day at the office?" His confidence was growing, bit by bit. Scrooge did not believe in ghosts and spirits and he never had, he was not a superstitious person, so why should he believe in them now? Satisfied with his explanation, he gave the ghost a smug grin, not unlike the one the policeman had given to the ghost's own killer.

The ghost stopped it's wailing and it was his turn to stare at Scrooge incredulously.

"You don't believe in me, eh?" he enquired, as his ghostly brow furrowed.
"Stop trying to scare me, Marley!" Scrooge said through gritted teeth. "If you really are him!" He refused to believe the ghost was real, he didn't believe in ghosts and phantoms…

"Ah," the spectre said gravely, jerking Scrooge out of his thoughts. "You are even more cold-hearted now than you were when I was alive!"

"What do you mean?" snapped Scrooge.

"There!" spat the spirit angrily. "Underneath that floorboard!"

It pointed a thin, grey finger at one of the wooden panels in front of Scrooge's chair. Scrooge too gazed down at it, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"I never would have noticed THAT as a mortal, Scrooge. But, now I am dead, I have gained insight into many matters, if you'll pardon the pun. You'll see," he continued as Scrooge looked perplexedly up at him, "Under that floorboard I can see a safe! And," here Marley's ghost squinted at the floorboard in question, his glasses askew, "It contains some neatly stacked bank notes!" The ghost laughed then; a chilling, evil laugh that made his chain rattle and added to the terrifying sound. "Thought you could hide that from me, eh? Hiding a secret stash of cash just for you, hmm? Tut tut!" The ghost wagged an eerie finger at Scrooge, who hung his head in shame and fear.

"This ghost really is Charles Marley and, to make things worse, he's discovered my secret safe!" he thought.

In terror at the realisation that the ghost was real, Scrooge lost all self restraint and flung himself at its feet.

"Please Marley, my old friend Charles Marley; please tell me why you are here! I can't stand you scaring me any longer! I believe that you really are Marley, I must! Please stop!"

The apparition smirked. "That's more like it!" he sneered. "And now, to business!"

Part Six- Marley's Warning

Marley's ghost drew itself up to it's full height, seeming to expand and fill the room with his presence. Scrooge watched him; trembling at his feet. Noticing that Marley still hadn't spoken, Scrooge could not help but speak himself.

"Marley, for pity's sake! Say what you must and soon!"

The ghost's expression softened so little it was barely noticeable. But his voice was now strung with sadness and he replied: "It is for pity's sake I came here tonight…pity for you!" The ghost paused, regaining his former, powerful composure, and then he continued, his voice loud and seeming to ring in Scrooge's ears.

"You, Richard Scrooge, live a life filled with avarice and greed, causing pain and suffering, do you not?"

Scrooge nodded gravely, although he inwardly smirked. He was proud of his achievements in life, unlike Marley's ghost.

"If you continue along this road of gain and profit it will cost you dearly in the afterlife; in fact, you will share my fate. Each night condemned to wander the streets unable to meddle in human matters as you once did, having lost that power for good. Bound by a chain you forged in life, a prisoner for eternity in its links. Trust me Richard; this is not an experience you'd wish to endure. Trust me."

Scrooge nodded again, his heart pounding and his hands clammy.

"In life I was wrong…WE were wrong. My evil deeds put me in shackles and yours shall do the same! Look at this chain! Yours was as long as this, seven years ago! Imagine how long it is now, this ponderous chain of yours!"

"What should I do?" cried Scrooge, aghast. "I hear you're warning, but do I have a chance? Help me Charles! Save me from this frightful end, I beg of you!"

The spectre, staring solemnly down at the terrified miser, replied:

"You do have a hope, my old friend. You shall be haunted by three spirits of the past, present and future! Their lessons are your only chance!"

What little colour there had been left in Scrooge's face vanished instantly.

"I-I don't think I, well, I don't want to be!" he retorted. "What I do want is a good night's sleep!"

"What you want no longer matters, Richard. Without these ghosts' visits you have no hope of avoiding the path I, and so many others like yourself, follow."

Scrooge tried to think of an angry retort, but could think of none. He merely bowed his head and waited for his deceased visitor to continue. And continue the ghost did.

"You either repent, see the error of your ways and clean up your act," he proclaimed, hitching his glasses up his nose a fraction "Or else!" He rattled his chain, the credit cards clacking and the certificates fluttering. "Remember what I've told you; take heed of what has occurred here tonight! Make amends, do right where you once did wrong…CHANGE!!!" Marley's ghost screamed its last word; there was a flash of blinding white light, and he was gone. His parting words still echoed around the room; "CHANGE!!!" especially was prominent, an ear-splitting wail of grief and pain.

Scrooge, still reeling from the shock, got shakily to his feet, having to grab onto the chair for support. Had it been real? The words "It wis a dream" were halfway to his lips, when he stopped. No matter how un-superstitious he was, he was sure nothing but a ghost could have shaken him so badly.

Eyes still burning from Marley's departing blaze of light, Scrooge groped his way over to bed and scrambled, still in his business suit, under the duvet.

His mind teemed with thoughts of the phantom, what it had told him and of the three spirits, whoever they may be, before he at last drifted off to sleep; in a house now as silent as the grave.