He’d been unaware of falling asleep, as most generally are. Nor, as is often the case, was he aware of whether or not he had dreamed while sleeping. But he did feel upon the occasion of his waking, no longer despondent and depressed. As if his rest had done him much good.
He could not say for certain how he knew, but that he did know, that the hour was once again upon one. And he was glad he had awoken when he did, for the idea of actually being rudely awakened by an otherworldly visitor chilled him. Not being one who enjoys surprise, he pulled back every one of his bed curtains, the better to keep lookout, and not be made nervous by the second spirit.
Scrooge could not have honestly told anyone, if anyone were to ask, just what it was he’d been expecting. He knew for a certainty however, that he was not expecting…nothing. The bell tolled one, and no shape. No apparition, flash of light, choir of angels, nothing. He felt himself begin to tremble at this, as if this silence was more terrible than the host of hell itself.
“In here!” a deep voice bellowed from the next room.
With a surprised blink, and start, Ebenezer looked towards the source of the sound, and found to his astonishment, ruddy light emanating from beneath the door. Tentatively, Scrooge approached the door, and reached out to knock.
“It’s your house.” The voice boomed good naturedly.
True enough, and Scrooge opened the door with a confidence he did not feel at present, and beheld his visitor.
The man was nearly a giant. Scrooge, no dwarf himself when drawn to his full height, never the less found this being towering over him like he was a child. His beard was longish but well kept, as was his hair, both the color of flames. His eyes sparkled with warmth, rivaled only by the rapturous blaze now burning in the fireplace, and he smiled at Scrooge like a long lost friend. He wore a robe, red as his hair, and trimmed with holly, and traveling clothes peeked from beneath. The robed was belted with a sword belt, the worn scabbard empty and rusted.
The room itself had undergone an amazing transformation. It was filled with all manner of confectionery, meat, poultry, fruit, vegetables, berries, punch, beer…Scrooge could barely take it all in.
“Hope you don’t mind,” the spirit said. “But I took the liberty of…well I guess re-decorating is the wrong term, because, well it’s not like it was particularly decorated to begin with.” He shook his head in affectionate disapproval. “Really man, you should take more time and enjoy your span on this earth.”
Scrooge stood mute, still taken quite aback by the spirit’s presence. There was such energy in this man that the room seemed barely able to contain him. And yet, he was placid too. Confident and calm. “I,” he said. “For the purposes of this night, am the Ghost of Christmas Present.” He held out his arm. “Come, for there is much to see, and far have we to travel.”
Scrooge nodded mutely, and took hold of the spirit’s robe.
It seemed as thought the instant he touched the garment, the room about them fell away, and with disorienting clarity, Scrooge saw that they now stood upon a snow covered street. The weather was gloomy and foggy, the street narrow and poor, and yet there seemed to be an air of cheer about the area none the less.
“Where are we?” Scrooge demanded. “Camden Town?”
“Indeed.” The spirit said. “I thought we’d start with someone you know well.”
Without seeming to move at all, they were suddenly in the front room of one of the dwellings. There, bustling with anticipation and determination, a woman and some children were preparing a modest meal.
“Who’s this?” Scrooge asked. He remembered how no one had noticed him or the Spirit of Christmas Past, and so felt quite comfortable speaking and moving around these people. He did however dodge out of the way of the smaller children who darted here and there, not wishing to know what would happen if they ran into him.
“This,” the Spirit said, while inhaling the aroma of the pot over the fire. “Is the home, and family of one Bob Cratchitt.”
Scrooge boggled. He’d known Bob was married and had children, but it’d never occurred to him that they’d be so…energetic. They had so little that was obvious to his eyes, and yet they didn’t seem to mind.
Another young woman came in, greeted enthusiastically by Mrs. Cratchitt. Scrooge soon learned that this was Martha, Bob’s oldest daughter. And he was astounded to hear the younger Cratchitts bragging to the girl of the size of the goose. He eyed the bird skeptically. How could they possibly feed all of them on that?
And no sooner had the girl arrived, then Bob himself returned home, a tiny child perched on his shoulder. The boy’s legs were supported by an iron frame, and he held a crutch in one hand. He was a wisp of a boy, much, Scrooge thought, like his own dear sister.
The family all gathered, they soon sat down to eat, truly grateful for what they had, meager though it might be. Tiny Tim, the youngest and smallest of Bob’s children, the sickly one, seemed to have the brightest spirit of all of them, a phenomenon that mystified Scrooge. If ever there was a boy deserving of all the foul humor he wished, it was Tim. And yet he was mild, and kind and patient. And happy. Above all Scrooge observed that the Cratchitts, From Bob, down to Tiny Tim, were happy.
“Spirit,” Scrooge asked reluctantly. “Tell me, will Tiny Tim live?”
The spirit looked at him. “That is the future, and not my province.”
Scrooge’s expression appeared to move the spirit who seemed to confer with someone Scrooge could not see.
“I see an empty stool by the fire.” The spirit said. “And a crutch without an owner. Unless something is done, he will not see another Christmas.” Then he looked at Scrooge reproachfully. “But if he’s going to die, he’d better do it eh? And decrease the surplus population.” His expression grew darker. “If you be a man, forbear that wicked cant. Will you decide who shall live and who shall die? I have seen empires rise and fall, and time and again, men like you are less worthy than millions like this boy.”
Scrooge bent under the weight of the rebuke, but before he could even properly feel remorse for his earlier statement, he heard his name called.
“To Mr. Scrooge.” Bob was saying. “The founder of the feast.”
“The founder of the feast?!” Mrs. Cratchitt said incredulously. “Indeed! I wish he was here now, I’d give him a piece of my mind to feast upon!”
Bob looked chagrined. “Martha, Christmas-“
“It should be Christmas I’m sure, to drink to the health of such an, an, odious, stingy, hard, unfeeling man as Scrooge. You know he is Robert, no one knows it better than you.”
Bob’s expression showed that yes, he certainly did know that. But it was clear where Tiny Tim got his mild manners. “Martha, please.”
She sighed with frustration. “Very well. I’ll drink the toast for your sake Robert. Not his. Longlifetohim.”
The children spoke and drank the toast as well, but it was clear that even Tiny Tim had little joy in it. The spirit gave Scrooge just enough time to take this in, before a merry laugh split the air, and Scrooge whirled around to find himself in another room, far better furnished than the one he’d just left.
It was, in fact, the sitting room of his nephew’s, in which, a gathering of close friends was enjoying itself thoroughly.
“He didn’t!” one of the guests was saying.
“He did!” Fred insisted. “He said Christmas was a humbug.”
“More the fool him Fred.” The young man’s wife said, shaking her head.
“You’re an absolute saint to try.” Said another guest.
Fred laughed ruefully. “Well, he’s not as pleasant as he could be, but can’t bring myself to be angry with him. Truth to tell I feel sorry for him. His offenses carry their own punishment. But I mean to give him the same chance every year. Whether he likes it or not.”
There was more merriment at that, while Scrooge examined the scene with as much astonishment as he had the Cratchitts. Fred, pitied him? Of all the emotions he’d ever imagined anyone directing towards him, pity was not one of them. Not that he’d ever given it much thought. He supposed, more than anything else, the spirits were forcing him to actually look at the world around him.
Speaking of which, Scrooge looked around for the spirit, who had been mostly silent. And found him sampling the punch. “Not bad.” He decreed. He saw Scrooge watching and smiled. “Getting the point man?”
Scrooge scowled, but the Spirit was unfazed. “Come Man, there is more to see. And my time is brief.” The spirit took him far and wide. He showed him wretched miners, lonely sailors, isolated lighthouse keepers, prisoners, wanderers, hospitals, forts, farms and cities. And everywhere they went, the Spirit gave his blessing to those they found, and everyone of them had a kind word, or thought, or act, for someone on this day.
Soon, they found themselves in a Church, where a choir sang hymns. The music was sweeter than Scrooge had heard in a long time. Though he hadn’t actually listened to music in a long time. Just how he knew, he was not certain, but Scrooge became aware that his time with this second Spirit was drawing to a close.
“Spirit,” he said. “I have been meaning to ask, there, there is something, not belonging to you underneath your cloak…”
“I had wondered if you would ever notice.” The spirit said pointedly. “Look, look here.” And he brought forth from beneath his robe, two children, a boy and a girl. They perhaps had once been human, but now, they were starved, beaten, terrified and terrifying animals. Whatever abuses had been heaped upon them had driven the innocence and humanity from them, leaving devils lurking behind their eyes.
“Good lord,” Scrooge hissed. “Spirit, are, are they yours?”
“They are yours.” Came the hard answer. “They are man’s. Beware them both, and all like them, but most of all beware the boy. For open his brow I see that which is written doom. The boy, is Ignorance. The girl, is Want.”
“Is, is there nothing to be done?” Scrooge asked quietly.
“Are there no prisons?” the Spirit bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the church. “Are there no poorhouses?”
The bell struck 12.