To begin our story, we must start with a simple, undisputed fact. Jacob Marley was dead. He was as dead as a doornail.
If we do not believe this, nothing wonderful can come of our tale. It takes place in the foggy, gaslit streets of London in the chilly 1840s, home to the most famous miser who ever lived, Ebenezer Scrooge.
Oh, he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, a squeezing, clutching old sinner, secret and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his features, and he carried his low temperature everywhere, never thawing it even one degree at Christmas.
On a bitterly cold Christmas Eve, Scrooge sat in his drafty counting house, keeping a suspicious eye on his clerk, Bob Cratchit, who shivered in a tiny cupboard of a room, trying to warm his hands by a single candle.
Suddenly, Scrooge's cheerful nephew, Fred, burst in. "A Merry Christmas, uncle!" he cried. "Bah! Humbug!" barked Scrooge, declaring that anyone celebrating should be boiled with his own pudding.
Fred warmly defended the charity and joy of Christmas, prompting Bob to applaud from his cupboard. Scrooge threatened to fire Bob, refused Fred's dinner invitation, and grumbled, "Good afternoon!" until his nephew finally departed.
Next, two portly gentlemen entered, seeking donations to buy the poor some food and warmth. Scrooge coldly refused, asking if the prisons and workhouses were still open.
When told many would rather die than go there, Scrooge snapped, "They had better do it and decrease the surplus population." The gentlemen left.
Later, a young caroler sang through the keyhole, but Scrooge brandished a heavy ruler, scaring the boy away into the fog.
At closing time, Scrooge grudgingly allowed Bob to have Christmas Day off, calling it, "a poor excuse for picking a man's pocket." Bob happily slid down a snowy hill on his way home, while Scrooge ate his lonely dinner at his usual melancholy tavern and walked home to his gloomy house.
At his front door, Scrooge stared in shock. The large brass knocker had transformed into the ghostly face of Jacob Marley, shining with a dismal light. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but Scrooge's blood ran cold. He went inside, locked his heavy door, and sat by his tiny fire eating gruel.
Suddenly, a disused bell in the corner began to swing, ringing out loudly along with every bell in the house. Then came a clanking noise from deep below, like heavy chains dragging up the stairs.
The noise came right through the locked door, and Marley's ghost walked in. He was wrapped in a massive chain of cash boxes, keys, and ledgers. Scrooge tried to deny his senses, muttering that the ghost might just be an undigested bit of beef or a fragment of an undone potato.
But the spirit let out a frightful cry and dropped its lower jaw to its breast. Terrified, Scrooge fell to his knees.
"I wear the chain I forged in life," the ghost groaned, warning Scrooge that his own invisible chain was already longer and heavier.
When Scrooge remarked that Marley had been a good man of business, the ghost cried, "Mankind was my business." Marley then revealed he was there to offer Scrooge a chance of escaping this miserable fate.
"You will be haunted," the ghost warned, "by three spirits. Expect the first tomorrow when the bell tolls one. The second, the next night at the same hour, and the third, the following night at midnight."
The ghost drifted backward through the window into the foggy night, where Scrooge saw countless other chained phantoms wailing in regret. Closing the window, Scrooge tried to mutter, "Humbug," but the word caught in his throat.
Shaken to his core, he went straight to bed and fell fast asleep.
When Scrooge awoke, the room was pitch black. Suddenly, the nearby church clock chimed the four quarters and struck the hour. Ding.
"One," said Scrooge, and nothing else. At that very moment, a bright light flashed, and his bed curtains were drawn aside. Scrooge found himself face to face with a strange, unearthly visitor.
It looked like a child, yet also like an old man. A bright jet of light shone from its head, and under its arm, it carried a metal extinguisher cap.
"I am the ghost of Christmas past," the spirit said softly. "Your past. Rise and walk with me." It touched Scrooge's heart, and they passed right through the solid wall into the open countryside.
"Good heaven!" Scrooge cried, clasping his hands. "I was a boy here." The cold, crisp air filled him with forgotten joys, and a tear came to his cheek.
They walked past schoolboys riding ponies, shouting holiday greetings to one another. Soon, they entered a cold, silent schoolhouse, where a solitary, neglected boy sat reading by a feeble fire.
Scrooge wept to see his lonely younger self. "Poor boy," he muttered. "I wish, but it's too late. I should like to have given something to the boy who sang a Christmas carol at my door last night."
The ghost waved its hand. The schoolroom grew darker, and a slightly older Scrooge appeared. Suddenly, his little sister Fan darted in, throwing her arms around his neck.
"I've come to bring you home, Ebenezer," she cried, clapping her hands. "Father is so much kinder now, and we're to be together all Christmas long."
"She had a large heart," the ghost murmured. "She died a woman and left one child." "Your nephew, Fred," Scrooge whispered, feeling a sudden, uncomfortable pang of guilt.
The schoolhouse vanished, and they stood in a bustling city street outside a warehouse. "Why, it's old Fezziwig!" Scrooge gasped. Inside, his jolly old master called out, "Yo ho, my boys, no more work tonight. It's Christmas Eve. Clear away and let's have lots of room."
In an instant, the desks were cleared, a roaring fire was built, and a fiddler struck up a tune. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, their daughters, and all the apprentices. They danced, feasted on roast beef and mince pies, and celebrated late into the night.
"A small matter," said the ghost, "to make these silly folks so full of gratitude. He spent only a few pounds."
"It isn't that, spirit," Scrooge protested, speaking like his younger self. "He had the power to make our service a pleasure or a toil. The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune."
Scrooge stopped, realizing. "I should like to be able to say a word or two to my clerk, Bob Cratchit, just now."
"My time grows short," said the spirit. The scene changed. Scrooge saw himself in the prime of life, his face already showing the sharp lines of greed. He sat beside a tearful young woman named Belle.
"Another idol has displaced me," she said softly. "A golden one. I release you from our promise for the love of the man you once were."
She walked away, and the younger Scrooge did not follow. "Spirit, show me no more!" Scrooge cried.
"One shadow more," the ghost insisted, holding him fast. They were in a warm, cozy room. Belle was there, now a happy mother surrounded by laughing children.
The door opened and her husband entered, laden with gifts. Later, the husband smiled at Belle. "I saw an old friend of yours today, Mr. Scrooge. His partner Marley lies dying, and there he sat, quite alone in the world."
"Remove me!" Scrooge roared in agony. "I cannot bear it!" He turned upon the ghost, snatched its metal extinguisher cap and pressed it down upon the spirit's head.
The spirit shrunk beneath it, but the bright light still streamed from under the cap, flooding the ground. Exhausted and overcome by drowsiness, Scrooge found himself back in his own bedroom. He fell back onto his bed and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Scrooge woke with a start, knowing by some strange instinct that the clock was about to strike one. But instead of a specter appearing at his bed, a warm red light began to stream from the adjoining room.
Shuffling to the door, Scrooge opened it and gasped in astonishment. His own parlor had been transformed with living green ivy, holly and mistletoe, and piled high upon the floor was a magnificent steaming feast.
Atop this glorious throne sat a jolly giant in a deep green robe, holding a glowing torch. "Come in!" the giant boomed. "I am the ghost of Christmas present."
Submissively, Scrooge touched the spirit's robe, and the room vanished. They stood in the snowy, cheerful streets of London on Christmas morning.
The spirit used his torch to sprinkle drops of water upon the passing dinners, and any quarreling crowds, instantly restoring peace. "To a poor dinner most," the spirit explained, "because it needs it most."
The spirit led Scrooge to the humble home of his clerk, Bob Cratchit. Inside, Mrs. Cratchit and her children were busily preparing their modest feast. When the eldest daughter, Martha, arrived, she hid to surprise her father.
Soon, Bob entered, carrying frail Tiny Tim, who bore a little wooden crutch and had his limb supported by iron frames. After Martha revealed herself to her joyful father, Bob spoke of Tim's sweet behavior at church, where the boy hoped people saw him, because it might be pleasant to remember who made lame beggars walk.
Then came the grand dinner. The goose, though small, was devoured with absolute delight, followed by a blazing, speckled cannonball of a Christmas pudding.
Afterward, the family gathered around the hearth, and Bob raised his glass. "A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us." Tiny Tim chimed, "God bless us, everyone."
Watching Tim hold his father's hand, Scrooge asked with real concern if the boy would live. "I see a vacant seat," the ghost replied, "and a crutch without an owner. If these shadows remain unaltered, the child will die."
When Scrooge pleaded for him, the spirit quoted Scrooge's own cruel words, "He had better do it and decrease the surplus population." Scrooge hung his head in deep shame.
Just then, Bob toasted Scrooge as the founder of the feast. Mrs. Cratchit angrily protested drinking to such an unfeeling man, but did so for Bob's sake, casting a brief shadow over their joy.
The spirit hurried Scrooge onward, visiting sickbeds, lonely lighthouses, and deep mines, bringing joy to every dark corner. Finally, they arrived at the bright home of Scrooge's nephew, Fred.
Fred and his guests were laughing heartily. "He said Christmas was a humbug," Fred chuckled, refusing to be angry at his wealthy, miserable uncle.
They played games, and Scrooge found himself eagerly playing along in secret. During a game of yes and no, the guests guessed that Fred's mystery subject, a disagreeable, growling animal, was indeed Uncle Scrooge. Yet they toasted the old man anyway, warming Scrooge's heart.
As the night wore on, the spirit grew visibly older, his hair turning gray. "My life ends tonight at midnight," he explained.
Suddenly, Scrooge noticed two wretched, ragged children clinging to the spirit's robe. They were pinched, wild, and twisted by misery. "Are they yours?" Scrooge gasped.
"They are man's," said the spirit. "This boy is ignorance. This girl is want. Beware them both, but most of all, beware this boy."
"Have they no refuge?" Scrooge cried. "Are there no prisons? Are there no workhouses?" the spirit mocked, using Scrooge's own words one last time.
The clock struck 12, and the ghost vanished. Through the mist, Scrooge saw a solemn, hooded phantom, draped in black, slowly drifting toward him.
The phantom slowly, silently approached, shrouded in a deep black garment that concealed everything but one outstretched hand. Scrooge felt a cold dread creep over him, knowing this was the final spirit.
"Are you the ghost of Christmas yet to come?" he asked. The spirit did not answer, but pointed onward. Scrooge declared his readiness to learn, hoping to become a better man, and begged the silent specter to lead on into the waning night.
They entered the bustling heart of London, standing among the merchants on the exchange. The spirit pointed to a small group of businessmen. Scrooge listened as they casually discussed a wealthy man's recent death.
They joked about his cheap funeral, wondered what he had done with his money, and laughed that nobody would attend unless a free lunch was provided. Scrooge looked for his future self at his usual desk, but another man sat there.
He resolved to watch these clues closely, sure they would reveal his own future. Next, the spirit led him into a foul, miserable slum he had never visited before.
Inside a dark, dingy shop, filled with rusty keys and rags, an old receiver named Joe welcomed three thieves: a laundress, a charwoman, and an undertaker's man. They untied bundles of stolen goods, taken from the dead man's very bedside while he lay cold and alone.
Scrooge watched in horror as they bartered away sheets, silver spoons, heavy bed curtains, and even the blankets and burial shirt stripped from the corpse. "The case of this unhappy man might be my own," Scrooge gasped.
Instantly, the scene shifted to a dark, silent bedroom. On the bed, beneath a ragged sheet, lay the uncared-for body of the dead man.
The phantom pointed to the head of the bed, urging Scrooge to lift the veil, but Scrooge trembled from head to foot. "I cannot do it!" he cried. "Let me see some tenderness connected with a death, or this dark chamber will forever haunt me."
The ghost conducted him to the quiet home of Bob Cratchit. Inside, the family sat sewing in hushed silence. Tiny Tim's little wooden stool was empty. His crutch leaned carefully against the wall.
Bob Cratchit entered, worn and sad. He told his wife he had visited the green churchyard where their sweet little boy would be buried, promising they would walk there every Sunday.
Breaking down in tears, Bob embraced his family, urging them never to forget Tiny Tim's patient nature and to always live in peace. Scrooge saw that despite their grief, their hearts were bound by love.
"Spirit," Scrooge pleaded, "tell me who that dead man was." The ghost led him to a dark, neglected churchyard, choked with weeds and soot.
The spirit pointed to a single headstone. Scrooge hesitated, asking if these were shadows of things that will be, or only things that may be. The finger pointed inexorably down.
Scrooge crept forward, brushed away the snow, and read the name on the mossy stone. Ebenezer Scrooge.
"No, spirit!" Scrooge fell to his knees, clutching the phantom's robe. "Hear me! I am not the man I was. Assure me that I may yet change these shadows by an altered life."
The spirit's hand began to tremble. "I will honor Christmas in my heart and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the past, the present, and the future, and I will not shut out their lessons. Oh, tell me I may sponge away the writing on this stone!"
In his agony, Scrooge caught the spectral hand. As he held on with desperate strength, the spirit's hood and dress shrunk, collapsed, and dwindled down into a bedpost.
"Yes!" The bedpost was his own, the room was his own, and best of all, the time before him was his own to make amends. "I will live in the past, the present, and the future!" Scrooge cried, scrambling out of bed.
"The spirits of all three shall strive within me." Sobbing with joy, he saw his bed curtains were still intact. He dressed with frantic haste, putting his clothes on inside out and in every which way, laughing a great bubbling laugh that hadn't been used in years.
"I am as light as a feather, as happy as an angel, as merry as a schoolboy!" he shouted, capering about. He threw open the window to a glorious, golden, cold morning, and called down to a boy in Sunday clothes.
"What's today, my fine fellow?" "Christmas Day!" the boy replied in astonishment. Scrooge laughed. The spirits had done it all in one night.
"Do you know the poulterers at the corner?" Scrooge asked. "Do you know if they've sold the prize turkey? Not the little one, the big one." "The one as big as me?" said the boy. "Yes! Go and buy it. Bring them here and I'll give you half a crown."
The boy was off like a shot. Scrooge chuckled, writing down Bob Cratchit's address. He would send it there anonymously. When the poulterer arrived with the giant bird, Scrooge paid for it, paid for a cab to Camden Town, and rewarded the boy with a beaming smile.
Dressed in his best, Scrooge walked the streets, smiling so warmly that people wished him a Merry Christmas. Suddenly, he spotted the portly gentleman who had asked for charity the day before.
Scrooge took his hands. "Allow me to ask your pardon, sir," Scrooge said, and whispered a massive sum into his ear. "Lord bless me!" gasped the gentleman. "Are you serious?" "Not a farthing less," Scrooge smiled. "A great many back payments are included. Will you do me that favor?"
After going to church and finding joy in every little thing, patting children and questioning beggars, Scrooge turned toward his nephew Fred's house. He paced outside the door a dozen times before finding the courage to knock.
When the maid opened it, he walked right into the dining room where Fred and his wife were preparing for guests. "Fred," said Scrooge, "it's your Uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in?"
"Let him in?" Fred nearly shook his arm off. Within five minutes, Scrooge felt completely at home. The dinner was a magnificent success, filled with games and laughter, and Scrooge felt a joy so deep and pure that he wished the night would never end.
But the next morning, Scrooge was early at his office, hoping to catch Bob Cratchit coming late. Sure enough, Bob was 18 and a half minutes behind. Scrooge sat with his door open, pretending to write in his ledger with a stern face.
Bob ran in like a whirlwind, writing furiously to make up time. "Hello?" growled Scrooge, feigning his old voice. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day?" "I am very sorry, sir," Bob trembled. "It's only once a year."
"Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," Scrooge said, stepping up to Bob and poking him playfully in the ribs. "I am not going to stand this any longer. And therefore, I am going to raise your salary."
Bob shrank back, reaching for his ruler, fearing his master had gone mad. But Scrooge clapped him on the shoulder with earnest warmth. "A Merry Christmas, Bob. I will raise your salary, assist your struggling family, and will discuss it over a bowl of smoking bishop. Now, make up the fires and buy another coal scuttle before you dot another eye."
And Scrooge did it all, and infinitely more. To Tiny Tim, who did not die, he became a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old city of London ever knew, or any other good old city, town or borough in the good old world.
Some people laughed at his sudden change, but he let them laugh and didn't care. For he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset. His own heart laughed, and that was quite enough for him.
He had no further visits from spirits, but lived upon the total abstinence principle, as he called his new life, ever afterward. And it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge.
May that be truly said of us and all of us. And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless us, everyone.
Our story ends here with the warm glow of the Christmas fire and the sound of laughter in the London streets. But as the fire burns down and the stars come out, we are left with a quiet, beautiful puzzle to carry in our hearts.
Can a person truly change? And what does it take to begin?